Chapter 3: PUZZLE KING

Max was on her couch, watching the time slowly fade past midnight. She had work tomorrow morning, but she couldn't sleep. She was elating at the recent and receptive publish of her article on Nigma. A negative and trashing review of Mayor Don Mitchell's recent speech, all under the anonymity of her username. She scrolled through the positive comments unable to contain a brimming smile.

"You said it! Fuck this guy!"

"Journalism at its finest. Finally, someone talking about the riots and drops. It's all Mitchell's fault!"

"I work for the union of Whistler's Contractors. The stories I've heard! The mayor repeats no matter how much we speak. We need to shout!"

She was finally in an element where her works were being perceived positively. No more shame in writing an article she had no faith in. The only thing she regretted was having to use a pen name on the site. Her name was known for publishing Mitchell's pretentious and bootlicking stories. On this site, she was known as whatshedoing26. And that username was getting subscriptions and likes far more than her spot at the Times.

It was late, but she wasn't tired. She was enjoying the bliss of Nigma too much. She figured she'd post another puzzle, perhaps it would be received more positively this time. She scoured online for a decent one and scratched her head for too long at one on an IQ test. She appropriated it and posted it on the puzzle forum she administrated.

Whatshedoing26 uploaded a post:

"Alright, I got a hard one for ya'll. You guys will be banging on your temples with this!

The day before two days after the day before tomorrow is Saturday. What day is it today?"

First answer pinged. RATMM posted, "Trick question. It's Saturday."

She replied, "Nope! Try again!"

GOAT commented, "I think I had a small stroke reading this."

More comments flooded through, none answering the puzzle but simply protesting the question, itself.

"I think if I really try to figure this out my brain will shut down."

"Nice going, whatshedoing! Been a while since you've brewed a good mind exploder."

"This doesn't give enough context. But maybe Sunday?"

She replied cheekily, "Close! But not close enough."

Then an answer, a perfect answer pinged. Catching the attention of other viewers and Max, herself.

PUZZLE KING posted, "It's Friday. The day before tomorrow is today. The day before two days after is really just one day after. So, if one day after today is Saturday, it must be Friday."

Whatshedoing26 replied, "That's right! Woohoo!" Followed with a flurry of confetti and firework emojis.

Other spectators praised.

"There he goes again! This guy aces every puzzle!"

"Bro, you should seriously be doing this professionally."

"Puzzle King is actually the Puzzle King. You should see him play, whatshedoing26. He'll blow your mind!"

Max pulled up private messenger for the name and wanted to give him a personal congratulations.

"Good job! Honestly my puzzles suck half the time. I'm flattered a pro figured it out."

"It was a good puzzle," they replied timely, "Thanks for the challenge."

"Thank you! :) I get teased for my shitty puzzles so that means a lot coming from you. They were right, though. You should play professionally."

"I kind of do already at my job."

"Oh nice! Where do you work?"

There was a string of silence for a time. Max felt the twinge he was uninterested in carrying the conversation on further. Then her messages pinged again.

"I'm a forensic accountant."

She wrote back, "Wow. Wanna do my taxes? ;)"

Another string of silence, Max wasn't too bothered if he replied back or not. She was simply engaging in a conversation she wasn't completely invested in, just something to pass the time and feel good about. Flirting with a stranger online wasn't foreboding. She was completely anonymous on Nigma.

But she amended it anyway, "I'm kidding, by the way. Lol."

He replied the exact time she sent it, "Not saying I can't, but you don't want a forensic accountant doing your taxes. Might find something dirty. ;)"

Max couldn't help but titter at the glow of her screen.

She typed back, "Oh, don't worry, I'm a squeaky-clean journalist. You could do my taxes in your sleep."

"Journalist for Nigma?"

"And for Gotham Times. Been working there for a year."

After a while he replied, "That's impressive. Must pay pretty good."

"Nope. Not at all. I'm led down a narrow road of politically paid journalling. I usually just paint Don Mitchell's ego. Not by choice, of course."

"Mitchell pays the Times for good publicity?"

"You know it. My real work is on Nigma. I am forced to write about how 'just' he is in the papers. Then I come home and write the real truth on a website under a pen name. Pretty sure if anyone found out at work I'd be fired. Lol"

"That article on here about Mitchell's pay cuts of the GCPD and the riots, was that you?"

"Yeah, I just published that."

"I just read it. You're a good writer. If it means anything, I never read the papers, I get most of my news from Nigma."

"It does mean something. :) My best work is on here. My real work."

The correspondence between her and this stranger was now taking her focus from anything else.

PUZZLE KING replied, "A man with similar beliefs."

She replied hastily, "I'm a woman lol."

The message stayed lonesome for a while, waiting for a response.

"I'm sorry. A woman with similar beliefs." He sent another, "I should have guessed by the name. I'm dying to ask, what is she doing?"

"Wasting time on Nigma when I should be writing up a sample for work. :P"

"I don't want to waste your time."

"You're definitely not. ;)"

Silence again, the three dots would cycle as if he was responding, then stop. It repeated like that for some time until Max broke the ice again.

"So… you're a guy. A forensic accountant. A puzzle warlock. So little info but I'm intrigued. How old are you?"

The dots appeared again, this time with a quipped answer, "I'm 33. You?"

An older guy definitely wasn't a deterrent. If anything, it drew her in more.

"25."

Maybe he wouldn't be fond of the age difference. But there was no inclination this was more than a harmless conversation between two nerds on Nigma.

"What do you like to do for fun?"

"As of now, talking to you. ;)"

"(: I like talking to you, too. You're a good writer, you must love to read."

"I do! I actually aspire to be a writer. Journalism was just something to pay the bills, believe it or not."

"You writing anything else? Besides journalism?"

"I did want to write a story about my sister. It's kind of in the trenches right now. Hard to write a story when it doesn't have an ending."

"You have a sister?"

"I did. She died when I was really little. My family is mostly in Nebraska. Yours?"

Another gap of silence. She thought he was listing off all the various names and family members on his end. Then he wrote back quit sullenly, "I don't have a family."

"I'm sorry. ): You didn't know them?"

"No. I was raised at the orphanage. I'm kinda used to being invisible because of it."

"You're not invisible to me. Even if you are just a text on my screen. You made my night, sir. (:"

"You made my year."

Max giggled and typed back, "I sure hope you're as cute as you write."

"I don't know about that."

"I'm sure you are. ;)"

"Nothing compared to the beautiful journalist on the other end."

"Haha! How do you know I'm beautiful, huh?"

"Hopeful thinking. (:"

"LOL. You're a treat."

"I should get off, though. I got work in the morning, and I think you do, too."

"You're not wrong. ): lol."

"Goodnight."

She asked him back quickly before he went offline, "Can I talk to you more tomorrow?"

"Please? (:"

She had a flutter in her tummy, unsure why as she didn't know the person and didn't even know what they looked like. Talking to him was the most seen she'd been in Gotham since her two years living here.

"I'll be blowing up your phone, for sure. ;)"

"I can't wait. Goodnight, Ms. Journalist."

"Goodnight, Puzzle Warlock."

The rest of the night was restless. She was excited for the next day but debating on whether she'd be the first one to send a text or would he. Who was he? What did he look like? He was humble and smart, incredibly smart. He was charming in his own way in text. He made her smile. In a city so grim with a message as dire as an axe blade, a sanctuary in a screen was easy to fall into. She closed her laptop and laid back in bed, hearing her mothers voice echoing back.

"You need a boyfriend, Max! Gotham's full of men. Try one of those online websites."

How would she react if she knew I may have found someone on a game website?

She awoke to another routine, the same as the day before and the day before that. She brushed her teeth, showered, got dressed, packed a lunch and struggled with her wheezing and sputtering car before going to work. She checked her phone at the stop light. Over a hundred comments and three hundred likes. All positive praising and kindred unity of the oppression from the mayor's office. She went back to her messages with Puzzle King, and he was offline. She wrote out a text, "Hey Puzzle Warlock. You sleep well?"

She hesitated at the send button, not wanting to seem desperate or too forward. Then the blare of a horn shook her senses. The light was green.

"Shit!" She pressed on the gas to accelerate from the angered Gotham drivers behind her and straight to the Time's parking lot.

At work she struggled before her desktop, trying to summon the appropriate and guile words for Mitchell. They would be the exact opposite of what she intentionally meant on Nigma.

Your bills, Max. Your bills. Just think about the bills. Dissociate from the disgust and get it over with.

She started typing, going over the layout she made in the notes on her phone. How he was an admirable family man, how he supported the GCPD, how he was a fighter for the city. He looked good on the stage, she pointed that out. He seemed confident, all politicians seem confident, but she wrote it anyway. She'd write any dismal piece of positivity to the speech if it meant getting it over with. She was still stuck in politics. Without a good crime story to delve into, the pit of immobility in her line of work was beginning to cave in.

I'm gonna be doing this forever.

Then the phone rang, startling her from her own self-loathing. She picked it up, "Hello, Maxine Atkins speaking."

"Hello, this is Lieutenant Gordon. We… spoke yesterday."

Max's friendly demeanour left in the blink of an eye, "Oh. You. Hi."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about Savage. I had to ask for his go ahead when I spoke to you, and clearly, he had his objections."

"You think?"

"I told you. In these kind of cases we are sworn to a secrecy. Keeps the focus on the evidence. Journalists get involved things get messy."

"So, we're just gonna ignore that he took on an entire drug case himself and is keeping it from public knowledge, and that he threatened me not to say anything. Your guy Savage is looking mighty suspish there, Lieutenant."

"I know how it looks. But… rest assured he's just trying to protect the case. You don't need to publish anything about it."

"No worries there, story was pulled. Not that I could write about how I feel considering the commissioner, I'm a politics slave."

Gordon sighed on the other end and said, "Look, I'll… see what I can dig up for you. Most of the time with homicide and drugs, GCN is on it fast. If something comes up and the seagulls don't get to it first, I'll ring you. You got a cell number?"

"Yeah," Max obliged, "210-6789"

"Good, I'll remember when a call comes in and see what we can do for you. I'm… sorry Ms. Atkins. He's not a bad guy. We work our asses off to keep drops off the streets. Any leverage we got is a good thing. The less the bad guys know, the better. Alright?"

"Right. Thanks for being kind. Can't say the same for your buddy, there. But… thank you."

She hung up the phone, feeling a slight bit relieved there was at least one cop vouching for her. The fear of having the police trek into the office and shackle her in chain was a reality she was anticipating any moment. With that gone, and with his help in other potential stories, she rested easy into her chair. Then her mind swam with the ideas of an article on Nigma regarding Commissioner Savage. The phone call in itself was enough to write a glaring narrative, but if he saw it, he'd know instantly it was her.

It was nearing 2pm. The sun beams were heavy in heat through the windows. Manny was talking on the phone with a friend, then his phone call ceased abruptly. Once she heard the familiar clack of high heels, she knew why. Cindy clapped her heels past her cubicle ranting on the phone. She pressed mute.

"Hold on a second. Hey Max, how's that article coming? Deadline is the end of the week."

Max flinched from her screen and made a flat smile, "It's gradually getting there."

"Can you speed that up for me, please? I'd like a rough draft before Friday."

"Sure," replied Max with dead eyes, "I'm halfway. Should have something for you at the end of the day."

"Good girl." Cindy returned to her call and her frantic ranting before slamming in behind her office doors. Max released a pent-up sigh, typing another paragraph in anger.

"Mayor Don Mitchell does all the good things for Gotham. Many good things. He is the messiah of our shithole city. Praise Mitchell. Vote for him so I can keep getting paid please."

She dimmed a smile at the paragraph before ultimately deleting it and returning to her structured work. Just a break in her phone for a moment to dull the frustration. She opened her phone to scroll Nigma again. Max bit her lip and grinned to see a new message in her inbox. To her disappointment it was just a memo for the administrators. She went back to her messages with Puzzle King, unsure why. He was online. Then another ping just as she was staring at the online emblem.

"Hey, Ms. Journalist. (: How's your day been?"

"Hi!" She giddily wrote back, "I was just about to text you. It's much better now. ;) Yours?"

"Just another day. Much better now that I'm talking to you. You left an impression."

"Yeah, it's weird. I was thinking about you all night." She had a blushing emoticon next to it.

"You were thinking about me?"

"Yup. I wanted to keep talking lol."

"Why would you want to think about me if you don't know me?"

"I don't know. You ever feel like you're suffocating through the day?"

A message was being written. It was taking a while to develop on his end. She hoped she didn't scare him.

"Yeah. Everyday, actually. Do you feel that way?"

"I didn't last night. Talking to you was like coming up for air. I was holding my breath for a while. You gave me some relief. If that makes sense."

"That's exactly how I felt."

She covered her smile with her hand and sent a happy crying emoji.

He sent another, "That small conversation was the best thing to happen to me in a long time. I'm kind of a loser."

"Same and same ;). I need a loser in my life."

He sent an emoji of someone raising a hand, "I'm first in line!"

"LOL. You're too damn cute."

"You'll change your mind if you saw me."

"Maybe I don't need to see you to see your worth."

"I just know you're as beautiful as I think you are."

"You'll have to see me to find out ;)"

He didn't respond for some time. Max took that time to add to her article. Manny popped from his cubicle wall like a gopher.

"What you smiling about, mama?"

Max flinched, "Huh?" She set her phone down to the desk.

"I can hear your phone going off like an alarm. You a mouth-breather when you smile, girl. Who you sexting?"

"I'm not sexting anyone, ass. I'm texting." She broke out in a nervous giggle.

Manny scrunched his lips, "Bullshit. I may be gay, but I can smell your girl hormones all outta whack over here like a Chinese buffet. Spill the tea, a bitch be thirsty!"

Max kept a smile but scolded, "Go away."

Manny hummed as he slowly went down from the wall like a cartoon, keeping his disapproving eyes until he disappeared into his cubicle. When she returned after a paragraph or two, Puzzle King still hadn't responded.

She changed the subject, "Do you live in Gotham?"

"Yeah. Unfortunately, I do. Near Tricorner."

"Me too! I wonder if I ever passed you or sat next to you on the train?"

"You probably wouldn't think much of me."

"I doubt it. I bet you and I had our faces so buried into our phones we didn't even see each other."

"Maybe. You take the train to and from work, too?"

"Not all the time. Stinks really bad and the people are super sketchy. I only do if my car is out of whack."

"I'm usually ignored on the train. I have seen some fights break out, though. If a drophead wants your seat, you give it."

"Haha. True that. Tricorner is infamous for our drophead population."

"The whole of Gotham, actually."

"Basically, seems like the tool the 1 percent in Gotham is using to keep the poor and rich plight current. I mean, it's hard to even find an affordable studio apartment, nevermind a 1 to 2bedroom. Slums are so bad right now. Tents line the streets. Drops make the conditions blend in."

"I couldn't have said it better. Finally, someone who sees what's wrong with this city."

"Too much to write on paper. Yet, we don't report it. It blemishes Don Mitchell. You know I had to sign a waiver when I was hired? Confidentiality agreement that I would never discuss Don Mitchell's buy outs with the Times, even after unemployment. We can't report any of the issues, they get turned down. We don't report the news."

"You're restricted in a cage, it sounds like."

"Yeah! No one wants to read about the sports, Don Mitchell, or Renewal. They want to read about change. But there is no change. If we can't talk about the problems, then when will anything change?"

"The politicians are happy in keeping it that way."

"Sometimes I want to just pack up and move back to Nebraska. I only took this job because it was the Gotham Times, one of the hugest papers in the state. If I knew we were bought out, I would have just stuck with my blog and worked at the gas station. Lol"

"I've read your material on Nigma. When you're able to report the full story, you weave it in the perspective of the people. If only they knew what a gifted writer, they have in that tower."

"Aww. (: Thank you. Me too. Feels like I'm wasting my skills away."

"I know just how you feel. Been at my job for five years. The guy they just hired five months ago outranks me. I don't want to sound full of it, but this brain can do so much. I finish the books months before anyone else, I find things none of the other accountants do. Yet, I'm here. I don't think a promotion for me is ever in the future. Good things don't usually come for me."

Max was beginning to type, then he messaged again.

"Besides you (:"

"I'm a good thing for you?"

"Yeah. I don't know you. I don't know what you look like. But I've never felt more like myself than I do now."

"I've seen you on Nigma and you're a damn genius. I know you're not tooting your own horn. Some higher officials are actually smart. Why did Gotham get dumped with the stupid ones? ): lol."

"Corrupt and stupid. Dangerous combination."

"True that."

"You're the only one I've met in this cesspool of a city who makes sense."

"Not true. We haven't met yet. ;)"

She was hoping he would catch on, but it was radio silence on his end. She waited at the phone impatiently, hoping for those three dots to start up again. When they did, she bounced in her seat.

"I gotta go. My lunch hour is done. I'll text you later, okay?"

"Okay! Talk to you soon."

He went offline then, leaving her with a yearning she hadn't felt in years. The contentment and companionship through digital text was just as powerful as face to face. The anticipation and wondering of who the other person was made her excited. There was no body language to read or cues that would make it unnerving, it was just their own bubble. No one else knew, they didn't need to know. Anonymity in text was giving her the capacity to be herself more than she ever was with any man. She would tell him everything and anything, not worried how he would respond. This mindset so far only grew their conversations closer, as he was likeminded in her own beliefs.

Who are you? Are you tall or short? Fat or skinny? White or black? Are you Asian like me? Are you socially awkward like me, too? Are you boyfriend material?

She spent much of her time rereading the texts for the rest of her day, relishing the attention he was giving her. She couldn't help but wonder if he was doing the same on his end. A name like Puzzle King was suddenly a gut-pulling thing. The same derivative as Prince Charming in a storybook. It invoked a certain giddiness she hadn't felt for a long time. A high school bubbly ripple of emotions that had been stomped down for years. She'd go to his page; it didn't say much.

PUZZLE KING

Description: It's in the name.

Hometown: Gotham

Occupation: Forensic Accountant

He was subscribed to many puzzle forums, including the one she administrated. His score board on crosswords, math equations, and jigsaws were all the highest. He was clearly incredibly intelligent, making him even more alluring. Mysterious and vague, with only his words to provide a proper description of who he was. She wanted more hints, more clues of who he was. Every now and then she'd check his activity, but he remained offline for the entirety of her shift.

She would look up forensic accounting firms in Gotham. There was Myler Associates, Gotham Accounting, KTMJ, Gibbler and Kyle Accounting. Puzzle King could be at any one of them. They all had an array of staff, buildings scattered to all corners of Gotham. The only ones in Tricorner were Gotham Accounting and KTMJ. Max could see herself in the third person and chastised.

You're being a stalker. Stop.

Before she knew it, it was already time to leave her shift and go home. The article for Mitchell still in the works. Hardly any progress or actual work accomplished today. The main pull of her day was a username with no actual face, body, name and surname attached to it. Just his words, and strangely enough, that was enough for her to become completely engulfed.

Uh oh.