#arkham!riddler

As with every disagreement between you and your employer, you approached it tentatively, but with glee. Edward Nigma was fiery when enraged, and it didn't take much to get him there. And while you normally delighted in riling him up for the sake of it, this time you were arguing because you believed you were right. After all, he was still Edward. He could argue until his pallid face became blue, or more likely bright red, but you couldn't imagine his claims were anything but fabricated and egomaniacal delusions. No one who willingly named themselves The Riddler could be quite as well-versed sexually as he happened to be stating as fact. And given it was such a personal point of contention, you knew you could get some joy out of seeing him scramble to convince you.

"I hate to be insubordinate, b-"

"But you will try your best to persevere."

Eddie interrupted you with the casual, quick witted cruelty that came so naturally to him, and you rolled your eyes as you continued in spite of his comments. After all, his dismissive attitude had only encouraged you to keep going, dead set now on engaging him, and refusing to back down from the argument. Especially if he was going to be so childish.

"But! If you'll let me speak. I hate to be insubordinate but I will be. Since I know how much you hate that…" The sarcasm spilled forth so easily, your own specialty, the familiar tone you took in any disagreements the two of you had as you worked together. You gave it as good as you got from him. It was likely one of the few reasons he kept you employed, because as much as he liked to be right, he loved an argument so much more. "But. I will have to argue with you here, Eddie. I just don't picture you as… Like… That kind of guy."

He remained focused on his work, his eyes never moving from his tools or his hands, only a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth a sign that he was still listening, smiling at your inability to find the right words. So you continued, desperate to hook him in.

"I mean, you're just… You're like… Not the opposite, exactly, but… I've just never seen you with anyone. So I always figured you were kind of inexperienced. Which isn't a bad thing of course!"

Now you had him. Hook, line and sinker. Eddie had actually put down his tools and had turned his entire body to face you, wearing a scowl on his face that shifted the goggles he wore above his forehead into a slant. It was no longer idle chit chat, no more a playful argument that he suspected he would win eventually either through his determination or your lack thereof. Your belief that he was simply bragging falsely about his skills in an attempt to boost his ego or confidence had bruised his ego, insulted his reputation. The rage was to be expected, and as much as you knew that getting him into that state would result in a long-winded lecture, you had continued to tease him anyway. And now you would suffer the consequences.

"Oh, you poor misguided creature. Do you think if I had any guests around that qualified or quantified my experience that you would know about them? My personal life is none of your business. Surely I remind you of this frequently enough for it to have settled into the surface level, minuscule ridges of your otherwise smooth brain, no?"

"You say that, but here you are, trying to convince me th-"

"It's not as though, within the boundaries of this one particular argument, that I am divulging every single physical or sexual encounter I have ever had!"

Eddie's teeth fell together, upper jaw gritting against the lower as he tried to calm himself down. He knew all too well that become frantic and loud was a sign of desperation, and he wanted to convince you without making a fool of himself. So with a deep breath and a renewed focus, he continued at a lower tone.

"I am simply stating to you that I am exceptionally skilled in all areas, including those matters. In everything, I am studious and practised. You have seen me take on tasks fresh and new only to become adept and expert in them within seconds.

The desperation in his voice had risen once more. He couldn't help it. You were so frustrating, so irritating, so ignorant to all evidence to the contrary to be able to suggest that there might be something out there in the world that he wasn't good at.

"Why do you find it so hard to believe that when it comes to the particular art of cunnilingus, that I might be sub-par!?"

Eddie was furious now, frothing through his clenched teeth as he raised his voice which had, much to his chagrin, taken on a whining and frantic tone as he became more determined to convince you. And the fact that he was behaving in such a manner over something you viewed as trivial, perhaps even inconsequential as far as you were concerned, was a little bit funny. So much so that you couldn't help but giggle a little as you spoke, trying to keep your answer light in order to relieve some of the tension. You offered him a shrug as you offered up your reply, watching as his face turned a light shade of pink.

"Maybe because you call it cunnilingus…"

Your found your own comment hilarious, having to purse your lips in an unnatural manner to hold in your laughter. Eddie, on the other hand, did not find it amusing in the slightest.

"So, because I am formal and educated, that means I can't be good at something? A million academics worldwide might disagree with that."

"You're not an academic though."

Now you were hitting him where it hurt. His status amongst those he refused to call peers was always a source of contention, a particularly soft spot. Eddie could argue all he wanted that he didn't require formal certification or recognition to know he was smarter than everyone else, but knowing some of his fellow criminals had a title, held doctorates, did rub him the wrong way. But that was an argument, regretfully, for another time. He had to stay focused.With a furrowed brow, he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath, releasing it with a growl.

"And what would you rather someone like me called it, then? Hm?"

As always, he had you cornered. His intellect was hard to beat. You were caught short of an answer. Or maybe it was more that saying the words you would usually use but in front of Eddie seemed like breaking a rule or crossing a line. You could feel yourself cringing in embarrassment just from thinking them in his presence even. Silence filled the space between you as you prayed that he would move on from this, but he never was one for letting things go.

"Oh, now it seems you're suddenly short on words? Nothing to say? Cunnilingus isn't an appropriate term for you, but you can't think of a good enough replacement? A shocking lack of foresight or your own argument, but I shouldn't be too surprised."

Heat flushed over your skin as he stepped out from behind his desk and took one solitary step towards you. Under any other circumstances his repetition of such a ridiculously formal term might have elicited either immature giggling or no reaction from you at all, but hearing Eddie now enunciate each syllable sent a shiver through you, and you could feel yourself tensing to try and avoid the warmth of arousal settling in. Futile, ultimately, as he continued.

"Shall I help you to come up with some alternatives? Do you need me to assist you in this, as well as everything else I ask of you? Perhaps you would rather me say that I'm an expert in 'eating someone out'? That I can 'devour pussy' better than anyone else who would claim to? Or I can profess that there isn't a chance that my skilful tongue couldn't conjure an orgasm from your wet, eager cunt?"

Each sentence was underscored by a few paces closer to you, the genuine filth he spewed for the first time since you'd met him punctuated by the decrease in space between his form and yours. Leaning back against the desk for support was your only option for stabilisation as you felt your body weakening, in resolve and physically. Your clit throbbed, a jolt that tickled through you, and you pressed your thighs together as though that would stop your juices from spreading onto your underwear anymore than they already had. But there was no hope for you, as Eddie was now standing before you, a cruel expression worn on his face, giving him the look of someone who believed they had already won before the fight had truly started.

"I propose a solution, my dear. And while normally I don't feel like I have to provide any kind of evidence to my skill set, I suspect it might be the only thing to make you cease this imbecilic insistence that you know all. Said solution would be to show you. To provide you with concrete proof."

Nerves began to bubble in your chest, bile rising in your throat as your body considered whether throwing up might be a reasonable response to what you assumed Eddie was offering you. It seemed like the kind of thing you might have blearily imagined, dreaming it up out of the confines of your deeply buried and lust filled desires. Hearing what you wanted to hear, and not what he had actually just said out loud in the real world. Instead of nervous retching, you decided to play stupid, hoping to buy yourself some time. Because embarrassing yourself by seeming like an idiot was far better than embarrassing yourself by seeming eager to take up an opportunity that wasn't actually being offered.

"H-how would you, uh, show me?"

Eddie smiled, a cruel grin that spread into his gaunt cheeks, wider and wider as he relished in your obvious fluster and the clear fact that you so badly wanted his demonstration.

"Don't force an act of stupidity, dear. Especially not when it comes so naturally to you. You know precisely how I would achieve a display of my skills. And do you see any other suitable subjects around? Am I expected to go up to the surface and find a potential victim to waste my energy on when I have a perfectly willing one right here?"

He spread his hand outwards, fingers fanning open in your direction, like he was showcasing you as a prize on some insane post-watershed game show.

"Is this a trick? Am I supposed to say no so that you can say I have no proof that you're wrong? Or do you actually… Want me to agree? Or is it that I say yes and then you-"

"I want you to believe me. I want you to know that I'm right, as always. Whatever that takes. Whatever I have to do. That's what I want."

"Fuck." You clasped your hand over your mouth, hoping the meaning behind the outburst wasn't too obvious, but from the sinister smirk Eddie wore, you could tell he had you figured out. So you stumbled over your words, not wanting to give him a second to be able to fluster you further. "OK, so… You do… that… to me… And I'm guaranteed to think you're the best? It settles the argument?"

A deep, withheld chuckle slipped out so delightfully through his throat and over his lips and you felt it change the steady beat of your heart's rhythm.

"If you give me even just five minutes to work at your dirty, desperate hole, I will show you something so extraordinary you'll never think of another person again. It will make you ache for me for the rest of your pointless life, and you will chase the high with no success of replicating the feeling I can give you. But it'll be definitive proof of my skills, at least."

"Fuck." There was no point in pretending anymore. No reason to hide your shock. "Well… Where do you want me?"

Eddie raised his eyebrows, surprised at how quickly you had come on board, but he maintained the upper-hand as he uttered yet another phrase you would have sooner believed had come from a dirty paperback than from the mouth of The Riddler.

"I could shatter your entire belief system anywhere and under any circumstances. So please, cater to your own comfort. The desk, the floor. I'll even happily take you upstairs to my bed if you so choose."

You had already begun to shake your head before being able to speak. Not his bedroom. That would be too much in one day. Having Eddie doing his best work at your cunt and seeing the environment in which he slept? That was far more excitement than you thought you could take.

"The desk. The desk is fine."

"As you wish."

More than a few awkward moments of pure silence and stillness passed between you both before you excitedly, and somewhat clumsily, hopped up onto the desk behind you, hauling your body up on arms that trembled under the stress of wanting to make sure you kept yourself desirable enough for Eddie to follow through. And then another minute ticked by, oh so painfully slowly. You didn't know what to say or how to start things off. Truth be told, you expected Edward might do that since this was his idea and he had claimed to be the experienced one. Luckily, he did eventually break the tension by spitting his next words at you, irritated yet again by what he believed to be your bad habit of appearing thoughtless, gormless even, in the face of what for you was great difficulty.

"You will have to take off the clothes on your bottom half. Your underwear too. I'm exceptional, but not a magician. Or were you waiting there so lazily, expecting me to do that? Perhaps if you lay back and let me take care of everything my efforts will be worth a few more points in your books?"

"You can if-"

"I was being facetious, dear. I insist you do at least some of the work involved. This isn't solely about giving you satisfaction, though it is ultimately the end goal. It is more important, however, for me to be proven right, thank you very much. So do the bare minimum and present yourself to me."

Your heart rose up into your throat, but at least with that statement you could consider permission now secured. And so your nervous hands moved to the front of your pants, fumbling with the button and zipper under Eddie's watchful and impatient eye. When he let out a long and deep exhale from his nose, you gave up and instead began tugging at the waist to slide them down over your form, past your thighs, your knees, and then to your ankles where you let them pool on the floor at your feet. A quick step to the side followed by a gentle kick and you had moved them out of the way. Now you had to face the scary part. Taking off your underwear. It felt like it was the true point of no return. He would see you, nude and exposed. From the waist down, at least. And there really was no other reason to be naked in his presence, to have your underwear off in Edward Nigma's work room, except for what was certainly going to happen once you were finally free of your clothes. It sealed your fate. It was definitive.

Trembling fingers that no longer felt like they belonged to you teased at the elastic band of your panties before your thumbs hooked under it and took hold, easing them down not too slow and not too fast, but definitely with the distinct air of overthinking an act that truly would requite no thought under normal circumstances. And the whole time, Eddie watched you, admittedly a little unsure of what he should be doing with himself in that moment. Looking away might make him seem prudish, or even rude. Or, worst still, could be misconstrued as an admission of his interest beyond the argument. On the other hand, staring too intensely could prove to be off-putting, discomforting, sleazy. It upset him to think he might not have the right answer, but at least he knew his brain was firing adequately even with your distraction to provide him with all the potential solutions and outcomes.

In the end, he settled on making a concerted effort to look at your hands, then to your legs, a quick look to the left of your face after that in an attempt to avoid eye contact but to provide the illusion of it, and finally back down once more to your hands. It was all an act, though. He could fix his eyes, his whole head, in any direction, never once directly facing what you were revealing, but in his peripheral he could still see you exposed to him. Your sex, hidden for so long but dreamt of so frequently, something he would deny wholeheartedly even to himself. Now, though, it was harder to pretend that he wasn't the least bit keen on seeing so much of you. As he stole glances at your mound, he could feel saliva pooling in his cheeks, his lips parting with a silent breath as he watched you nudge your underwear over by your pants. His fingers tensed, closing into a fist and then relaxing quickly, surreptitiously, as he studied the way you leaned back on your hands outstretched behind you, hips jutting ever so slightly forward and pushing your core towards him.

Trying to swallow the accumulating saliva without his Adam's apple bobbing too violently and giving his hunger away, he was suddenly aware of the fact that he might have been even more into this than he thought he was. There was something in the control of it. You were allowing him to prove himself, yes, that was a mutual understanding. But he was the one who told you to remove your clothing, and you had done so dutifully without question. And now there you were, presenting yourself to him. But he had to remain focused on the task at hand.

With a quick self-chastising, he was back on form. But the lingering knowledge that he was so desperate for you, wanting to taste you, keen to please you, did make him wonder if he might be giving himself even more of an edge than he believed himself to have in the first place. Desperation, after all, could easily win him over. Pleading? Begging? If he was on the receiving end of that kind of pathetic display he would find his ego stroked and his mind swimming. It made sense to assume that you would feel the same to know how keen he was. Not that he intended on giving too much of his desires away, but perhaps a little flavour of how he could woo you might tip the scales even further in his direction.

He'd mused over it long enough now. He had to get on with it. Before the nerves could settle in and he made a fool of himself for his earlier proclamations of expertise.

Taking on the brunt of this experiment finally, now that you had done all you could, Edward finally moved closer to you, settling himself directly in front of your body. From the close proximity where he stood you could feel the warmth of his breath, the stale scent of coffee behind it. The scent of his body was strong, the tang of deodorant used as a replacement for a shower that morning, an attempt to cover up the smell of his sweat rather than get rid of it. And you considered it lucky that the musk of his own odour was still identifiable. And luckier still, when your eyes drifted to his, you could see he was now laser focused. No amount of nerves were going to get in the way of him doing what he had to do. Without even realising it deeper than on a primal, natural level, you knew you could let him take over. And he did so without much more hesitation.

Edward's hands were on your knees first, his palm resting against them for a few seconds as he assumed it was a good idea to let you adjust to the notion of there being physical contact between you. It was an astute assumption for him to make, obviously, as the moment the surprising warmth of his palms touched your body, you twitched. And as much as it was clear on the outside, internally you were freaking out even more. Of course, not for any negative reason. It was only because he genuinely had never touched you in any way before, and certainly not bare skin to bare skin. Pathetically voracious, you felt another surge of hear from your cunt, warm and wet immediately from nothing more than what could have been an accidental graze against you under any other circumstances. That pule of excitement rang through you, and recognised it, knew it so well. Sharp, but dull. Sweet, but stinging. The kind of sensation that flooded your nervous system, every inch of you on high alert resulting in your skin prickling and hairs standing on end in anticipation of more, more, more.

It was so hard to believe this was happening. Months of restless and highly ambitious pining, directly in contrast to his cold, stoic indifference towards you had brought you to the conclusion that to him, you would be nothing more than an irritation that knew how to make his coffee well enough that he kept you around. And while he might only be doing this to prove a point, you would have taken the opportunity under any circumstances, as miserably pitiful as that made you seem.

As you let your mind wander, hoping the distraction would keep you from reaching your climax before he'd even done anything to you, Eddie was centred, immersed entirely in the present. With complete understanding of what the act would do to you, and hoping for a dramatic scene to play out in front of him as a consequence, he pushed your legs apart, forceful and commanding, spreading them slowly. He was keen to get a better angle at you. And, just as he expected you would, you moaned softly in response, a sound you had no intention of making and weren't even aware of until far too long after it had escaped your throat so breathily. You whipped your hand up to cover your mouth, snapping it tight over the offending orifice, embarrassed entirely that you were already so receptive, so sensitive, and so wet. It was desperation, clear and simple. Despite him expecting it, the sound still surprised him. It was sensual, light on his ears and deeply indulgent, and it inspired a rumble of appreciation in his own chest that he suspected was low enough you couldn't hear. Though he wouldn't allow himself to make a sound, not quite yet, he did revel in a wicked smile, mean and teasing, as he looked into your eyes to offer a sincere but light-hearted reprimanding.

"Do not stifle any sounds. I consider them to be important feedback, without which this whole affair could be considered adulterated, debased even. I forbid you to withhold anything from me, as it is a requirement of the performer to know what pleases his audience. As such, I expect to hear every single moan, every whimper, every pleading, howling scream for more. Instructional as they are, they also serve as physical evidence to support my argument. Understood?"

You wanted to speak. He wanted you to speak. It would have brought him so much joy to hear you utter an agreement to his terms, to know you were happy to obey his rules. Perhaps, even, to hear you say his name, exhaling it on a sweet breath.

"Yes, sir, Mister Nigma. Of course, Eddie. Whatever you want."

Unfortunately, all you could conjure up in place of a verbal response was a weak nod of your head, mouth open in a silent gasp of shock at the way he was speaking to you, paralysed by the fact that his eyes had yet to move from yours.

In a sudden shift from his position of hovering over you, Edward moved slowly, carefully, to his knees. It was a thought out manoeuvre that told very little of the care he had to take at his age, but which let you in on it just a little. Now below you, he looked up with keen eyes. He craned his neck forwards, taking a painfully slow start to his process. Eventually, you felt the heat of his breath hitting you, the cured warmth of his lips as they came into contact with your thighs. A soft, surprisingly gentle kiss placed against your skin. And then another, this one pressed just next to the one that came before it. Another, and another, the trajectory of their journey suggesting that soon they would be getting closer and closer, moving temptingly near to your cunt. He was right there, just about to reach it, close enough for your entire body to become prickly with heat, and then he switched to the other thigh. Back down, closer to your knee, placing a kiss there to parallel the other side. Another two minutes of those slow, almost sinfully teasing kisses on your bare, quivering thighs. This time, as he got close once again to your core, he leaned in, loose strands of his greasy and unkempt hair tickling as they brushed against your mound. In response to the surprise stimulus, you let out a hissing breath.

The interruption made him pull back, and you worried for a moment that you might have thrown him off his game. But it seemed in reality to have served as nothing more than a reminder to him. he reached one hand up to the top of his head and pulled off his goggles, tossing them carelessly to the side. He couldn't let anything else get in the way, not again. That same hand pushed his hair back, fingers spreading through ti to make sure it combed itself into place, in his usual messily swept back style. And then, with no hint of the same tenderness he had held before in his previous, slow building of tension, Eddie's head fell forward against you. He pressed his nose to your mound, the first physical contact he'd had with your sex, and breathed in deeply. His inhale offered him your scent, and he could almost taste you in the back of his throat and across his tongue as he took it in, letting out one low and slow groan of satisfaction when he could no longer hold that tantalising breath. You were aching for him so thoroughly now, bravely resisting the urge to push his head into you, to wrap your thighs around his neck and shoulders and keep him there. Before you could act on that impulse, however, he had pulled his head back from you, almost as though he were pre-empting your desperate clawing for his attention.

You wondered how much of this was his regular performance and how much of it was tailored as a sort of punishment, teasing that was dedicated to you specifically. Cloying tension meant to make you grateful for the experience when it did arrive. Surely by now he had realised how badly you wanted, or needed, him. He was The Riddler, after all. There was very little doubt in your mind that forcing you to be in a position of only savouring each moment and letting it build up to astronomical levels of greedy, spoiled want was part of the pleasure for him. But it was a mean spirited approach, one you were certain he was well aware of. It seemed cruel even by his usual standards.

Just a short of a total temper tantrum, ready to demand that he get a move on and start before you decided to fire up the argument again, you were silenced into a choked gasp. Eddie had brought his thumbs to you, a firm pressure held to you in the most delicate of places. You were surprised to feel the touch of his hands against the sensitive skin of your folds, expecting him to only use what he needed to. Mouth, lips, tongue. Using those specific tools and no other to get the job done. Instead, he brought his digits into the mix, using them to spread your folds, opening you up to him. You leaned your head back, trying to avoid letting him see the way your eyes were widening, how your mouth opened in quiet glee, how sweat had begun to form on your brow already. Eddie himself could feel his mouth water in response to this new view.

Then, as if he were exploring you finally now that he had the chance to do so, he pressed a finger into your already wet and more than welcoming cunt. Only up to the first knuckle, a tentative step towards more, making sure that his presence was accepted before he went any further.

"Oh… Ooooh, my…"

If this was just the beginning, then you couldn't imagine how you would be able to last through the whole event that was about to begin unfolding before you. Obviously, you didn't want him to win too easily. But if he kept things going the way they were, the fingers prodding, his thumb reaching to pull back the hood above your clit so he could tap at it with a free finger, his hot, panting breath warming flesh that was already scalding with heat, you weren't sure you would last more than another single second. One firm press against your swollen lips, your twitching bud, and you would be cumming on his fingers before he had even gotten to show off the skills you were supposed to be testing. And you weren't sure how forgiving he would be if you were to succumb to his touch so quickly. You could end up lucky, being offered another orgasm, surprised to find that Eddie was kind enough to keep going in spite of your obvious weakness just to prove the argument in his favour. Or you could be entirely unlucky, as you suspected was more likely. He might call the whole thing off. You couldn't risk that, so you did your best to relax your body, willing it to cool down, focusing on trying to stave off the inevitable.

But, as if he knew you were struggling, Edward suddenly leaned in, pressing the tip of his nose to your clit this time and pushing against it. he was giving himself a better angle from which to press his tongue out against you once he'd achieved the perfect one. He let one long lick of the protruding muscle trace up your slit, then back down halfway where he allowed it to delve further, pressing it deeper between your lips. He pushed his tongue forwards, deeper, as he worked against your folder. Up and down with firm, rigid posture, never quite reaching your clit with the languid laves, until he surprised you by flitting his tongue quickly over the frayed bundle of nerves. He kept this going, back and forth, fast and erratic. The way he worked at you, with seemingly no end in sight to this one particular motion he seemed to have perfected, had you reaching for the edge of the workbench, fingers clenching, painful on your tips and on the joints as you held on with strength you hadn't been aware of having.

Then he stopped, taking the sweet movement away and leaving you with a craving for a fresh, new addiction. To make up for it, and in a somewhat romantic move that stunned you, Eddie placed a soft kiss to your clit. The gesture left you breathless as it moved from closed lips to open ones, his mouth closing around your clit, taking it between his lips to be sucked into his mouth. His tongue was flat against it, moving, writhing, as he consumed your taste in total ecstasy. Flagrantly ignoring all notions of needing to remain somewhat coy or distanced in this, nothing more than a display of his skill, you leaned your head back in a gasping moan and let out exactly how you felt.

"Oh, fuck you, Edward Nigma… Fuck you… You knew…"

And he did. Of course he did. He knew all too well that he was going to win the argument. he knew you wouldn't have stood a chance. And it was your fault for not recognising that, for not seeing the constant pattern in being proved wrong or stupid or thoughtless by him time and time again. You could feel the vibrations of his self-satisfied laugh against your cunt as he bathed in your pleasured irritation. It was gold plated hatred, violent desire and self-flagellation to let yourself be so easily tricked into letting go of your inhibitions, to allow him the satisfaction of not only winning, not only proving, but of knowing now how certain your desires for him were.

The chuckle fell into a constant droning sound as Eddie hummed around your clit, and he let his teeth graze over the stiff ridge, tracing down your hood, only letting go briefly, long enough to offer another kiss as an apology, in sympathy for what he'd done and what he was still intent on doing. The kiss against your bud was followed by another against your heat, wet, swollen lips that were sucked up into his mouth with an eager groan. His jaw dropped enough to take you in entirely, and with his mouth clamped tightly around your core Eddie pushed his tongue forward. It was loaded with saliva, and he let it drip onto you and into you, evidence of the way he was savouring you now coating you completely. He worked at your pussy with exactly the kind of expertise he had claimed before, his tongue wiggling as he breathed heavily against your body. He was growling now as he ate you, devouring you, animal more than human. It was a hunger you'd never seen him exhibit before. Normally, you would never see him eat a full meal, and as you felt him now you wondered if this was actually how he satiated himself. Because no other person had even seemed so feverishly intent on getting deep into you, on inhaling you, ingesting you, tasting you at the back of his throat as he swallowed to greedily and gratefully.

His tongue was pointed, moving quickly against your clit in between bouts of lapping at your insides, deep enough to tickle your core. The muscle was firm, focused and determined, and felt like having a vibrator pressed against you. Better even. Definitely.

"Eddie… I… This is…"

He paused, stopping his ministrations against your sopping wet cunt only to utter a smug response, a tone that was far less affirming and caring than his actions, the kind of sharp and pointed words that didn't seem like they could come out of a mouth that behaved as generously as he'd shown his could.

"I know, my dear. No need to say it. I can already tell."

When he returned to your sex he commenced his acts against your cunt with the same fervour, if not more. No drop in enthusiasm or effort. In fact, he seemed to be getting more erratic, more joyful. Sloppy and careless, as though he's lost all notion of what this was really about and was instead giving into his own desires. It worked all the same, if not to a greater effect. His chin moved up and down, his whole body joining in on the movement eventually, as he let his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, and now his nose and cheeks, drag themselves to and rub themselves against whichever part of you he wanted to feel.

You twitched at the sound of him as he began to moan, louder and louder, a long, droning note that vibrated on your skin and seemed to fill you. The sensation had your whole body trembling, and Eddie managed to remove himself from the fountain of flavour your cunt had become to him, only enough to allow you to catch some of your breath. He'd only left you with a second with which to bring yourself back to the reality of the room before he slipped a finger inside of you. At the very least, you were glad it wasn't his tongue. For all that it spent every day spitting horrid rhetoric and insults at you, working in sarcasm and insults only, it truly was the best you'd ever had. You knew another few seconds of his devilish mouth delivering such contrasting sweetness would have had you cumming, sweat dripping, ace flushing with heat, unable to speak, laying there weak as he delivered a final and self-satisfied 'I told you so.'

But even that one finger, which had felt like such a reprieve, was only him testing the waters, to see how hot and how warm, how adaptable you were. He was seeing how you responded, and given that the response in question was a hip rolling, limbs squirming, breathy moan, he slipped another digit in alongside it. He noticed the way you were holding the table now, your fingernails clawing at the underside, hands shaking, arms not fully capable of supporting you with how limp they now were. He clocked how badly they trembled under the weight of the pleasure he gave you. Your obvious satisfaction brought a lump to his throat, a hunger trying to escape, to push him on. It was a strangled howl that longed to come out.

With a growl, he dove back into you. His fingers remained there, inside, pumping in and out, fucking you in a not-quite-perfect imitation of the want that now danced in his mind. And he took your clit between his teeth once more, hungry for you, desperate. The prize he was chasing was no longer bragging rights, or the satisfactory, egotistical conclusion of being right. Now it was something worth so much more. Now, if he could get this right, he wondered if you would let him show you more. Wondered if you might be willing to return the favour?

It seemed as though his question was answered immediately, as you let one hand free of it's white-knuckle grip on the workbench and instead laced those same tense and tired fingers through his hair. You were taking the reins, trying to claw back a little control over your impending climax, not wanting him to move himself away from the apex of your needs before you were ready for him to. You seemed to be lost in lust, nothing holding you back from demanding what you wanted, and Eddie felt a shiver of anticipation of what might come in the future fall over him. It was enough to have him grunting as he pressed his face into you. And with grated teeth, you expressed the sentiment he was looking for, pushing him deeper, meeting his efforts in the middle.

"I hate to… huff… admit it… But you are a fucking pro…"

Eddie was practically giddy with lust, your praise expected but nonetheless sending him over the edge into the feral nature he'd been attempting to hold back. He drew himself from you, fingers still thrusting, twisting and curling inside of you, his mouth taking a break. He licked his lips, collected his saliva, and spat onto your cunt, following it up with a groan that came through his clenched jaw. he pressed his forehead to your thigh, his free hand on the other, and spread your legs wider. The hand that gripped his hair had loosened, but he looked you in the eye and demanded you resumed your attempt at what he knew was a false sense of control.

"I'll allow you to push me. Show me you want more. Prove me right, by all means. I'll have you showering me in the evidence of your incorrect assumptions soon enough."

You clenched your fist at the root of his dark hair, biting down hard on your lip to stifle the whine that was most definitely working it's way out of your throat. You tried to move him, but he remained still, impervious to your weakened strength, taking the moment of resolve to tease you further.

"Or is that too vague for you? Too wordy? Too flowery? Should I say that I'll have you creaming? It's more visceral, after all. More accurate, I expect. Or cumming? Hard. And wet. And loud. Let's find out how my victory will sound, shall we?"

Edward removed his finger from your body and opened his mouth. He placed it inside with a low hum, dragging it along his tongue and savouring the taste of you, as though he hadn't just dined on your sinfully wet cunt for what felt like hours. Then, once he was finished with that particular display of filth, the act of licking you from his skin certainly feeling like such to you, he wiped the digit along with his palm down the front of his vest and turned the attention of his hands to your thighs once again. That same touch that started it all, your legs still tingling with the memory of where he'd touched you before exactly. Now, they pressed into the meat of your body, far less gentle, as he felt his stomach rumble. He hungrily returned his mouth to your cunt and began slurping, his tongue firm and hard as he started to fuck you with it. The protruding muscle dove in and out of you, enough to have you squirming under him, and he sighed against you. This was it, the final round, the last lap. He was sure he had already done more than enough to prove himself, so now he could let loose and stop focusing only on the win, allow himself to indulge just a little more than he was already permitting.

His nose was practically inside of you as he tried to get closer and deeper. And his chin was wet and dribbling with your juices as he shook his head from side to side like a wild dog, lewd sounds echoing in the room, popping and sucking and wet smacking as he literally munched at your pussy. Your inner thighs and wet, dripping lips were beginning to burn from the friction of his stubble, and his moans were only growing louder, seeming to fill your ears like cotton. You could hear them, only them, despite the fact that your thighs were clenching so tightly around him that they should be muffled. But they were audible, physical. And that spelled out the end. The vibrations. The novelty of hearing him so loud and joyful, not holding back, not forcing composure. It was all over for you. There was literally no chance you could hold it in any longer.

Before you could warn him to pull back from you, it was too late. You were cumming, hard. Slick spread to his lips, in his mouth, and all of it lapped up by his tongue and swallowed down his slender throat. Eddie moved with you, even as you raised yourself off of the table and began to shake uncontrollably. His lips remained firmly suctioned to your dripping cunt as you came back down to rest, orgasm rolling over, slowly but surely dissipating from a quaking hold to a dull pulse, leaving you with only the warmth of satisfaction coursing through your veins. And even then, he kept going, only slowing down and coming to a stop once your body had ceased trembling and he was sure you were completely finished. It was far from what you expected from him. He didn't tease. He didn't laugh. He didn't stop to brag, as much of a terrible winner as he was.

When he eventually pulled away, however, you could see his smile. Even through your blurred vision you could make out how irritatingly smug it was. And possibly, behind that, was a hint of ecstasy of his own. As much as he'd seemed like he was definitely enjoying himself, however, you couldn't quite convince yourself of it. Your mind kept questioning your lust-addled beliefs. It told you that his grin, the enthusiasm, was all part of the show. You wanted so badly to believe that this wasn't just a one-off. That perhaps he might have developed a taste for you, or that he'd satiated a desire he'd been trying to hide so hard for so long. But the thought seemed far too good to ever be true, so instead you basked in the glow of knowing you'd been allowed to experience what was surely better than heaven at least once.

Eddie finally stood up as you let yourself relax into gratefulness, the rush of painful clarity subsiding as you allowed almost pathetic level of gratitude to sweep it away. Your eyes followed his, staring at him intensely, unable to do anything but watch him. You'd always held a little bit more than just admiration for him, always thought of him as oddly attractive, strangely charismatic, clutching a crush to your chest and never admitting it even to yourself. Now, though, he seemed to different. As though you'd unlocked something new. The inability to view him as anything other than a deeply sexual being. A shrill, piercing realisation that working alongside him would be so much harder now rang through your body. And it would be especially difficult if it were unrequited, as hard as that was to commit to believing given what he'd just done to you.

But as you finally broke your gaze away, not wanting him to be able to see through you into your thoughts in the way he so often did, you happened to catch a glimpse of a slight stain at the front of his pants. That sudden rush of louder groaning on his part made more sense now, and you could finally entertain the thought that he definitely had plenty of fun proving his skills to you. That damp spot was the evidence you required. He was just as weak, just as needy, just as human as you were.

Not realising that you had spotted the mess he'd made of himself, the telltale sign of his own climax spreading and darkening on the front of his pants with each second passing, no doubt warm and sticky against his skin, Eddie attempted to collect himself as casually as he could. He stretched his back until it cracked and then maintained his straightened posture, puffing his chest out in pride. He was smug, pleased with himself beyond reason, even, and satisfied with what he wrongly assumed was his own secret orgasm. His forearm wiped across his mouth and he licked his lips, coughing before he made another sound, trying to regain composure despite the fact that the lingering taste of you on his lips had him twitching and threatening to stiffen again already. He was surprised by that reaction, as much as he'd been surprised at his ability to cum entirely hands-free just from the act of pleasing someone else. At his age, it seemed like another notable skill worth bragging about that he could add to his growing repertoire, though he expected a lot of it had to do with you. The flavour of you, the feeling of you, the way you sounded exactly as he'd imagined you would on the occasions he'd allowed himself to indulge in those fantasies.

Sensing that he was getting carried away again, he focused on the point of this brief change of schedule.

"Ahem… I believe I proved my point effectively. If not timely. But you can hardly fault me for that. I take pride in my work, after all, as any expert would. Now… I would like you to get back to work, although I will allow you ten minutes to go and wash yourself off. You're no doubt sweating and… sticky…"

Eddie's eyes drifted back down to your cunt, to your plush thighs where he'd made his mark, eyes widening, cock thickening.

"Ah! I… I have to go. I have some things that I have to take care of. Elsewhere."

“At this rate, I should be done in under three hours!” You beamed up at your creation, and your creation returned the smile! Somewhat. It had been weeks you spent on this project in the notorious and infamously annoying Riddler’s workshop. The humanoid robot you’d been working to build so tirelessly was finally nearing completion, and you were giddy to see your project take form. Your boss would call it his project, but you had done the bulk of the work. He had drafted the schematics, but it was you hauling huge hunks of metal into the sewers! Running wires, oiling joints, nearly blowing your own eyebrows off when a controlled test explosion suddenly became uncontrollable, it was all you.

Despite it all, you could look back on the last few months fondly. While being employed by the Riddler wouldn’t be considered glamorous to most, you were ecstatic when he hired you as his assistant. Even if your job had mostly been transporting materials and cleaning up his sewer hideout the best you could. The robot that towered before you was, hopefully, your ticket to even more exciting opportunities. You didn’t just seek him out because you were desperate for work, but because you were desperate for work you actually cared about. You were also a little desperate for his approval, but you pushed that thought to the back of your mind.

Today, the workshop was particularly lively, both of you working in the same space. The air buzzed with the electrical crackling coming from your station, and the banging and whirring of a myriad bunch of tools from his. You looked to Edward for an assessment of your remaining work, hoping he could peel himself away from his own mechanism he’d been pouring over for countless hours. With a bit of verbal prodding you captured his attention, and he gave your project a cursory glance, an absentminded thumbs up, and returned to his own task one table over. A little disappointed with his indifference, but grateful that he didn’t have a tirade on the quality of your craftsmanship this time, you grinned.

Leaning away from your masterpiece, you pulled one of your arms out of the robot’s chest cavity, groaning as you stretched your muscles and rolled your shoulder. You couldn’t remember when you last had your arm free, likely hours ago. With a hand hovering over an electrical switch on your workbench, you prepared to temporarily put the robot in stasis. “I’ll be right back.“

Suddenly Ed was a bit more invested. While still hunched over his own work, he replied, “Excuse me? If you disengage the power without the lines fully linked, this entire stage will have to be restarted from the beginning.”

“Then I’ll just restart this part from the beginning,“ you shrugged. “I’m the one working this ‘bot, anyway. I’ll handle it, even if it takes a little more time.”

“And what is so important that you would halt my project’s progress at such a crucial point?”

“I’ve…just gotta take a piss?” you nervously chuckled.

He heaved an irritated sigh. “I don’t have you employed here to retrace steps and redo completed work. Especially not for something so…unfortunately biological. Perhaps your miniscule mind couldn’t retain an entire ten rules.”

You remained silent, and unseen by your boss, you raised an eyebrow.

He continued, “I’ll remind you of the seventh. Your bathroom breaks are discretionary, and thus, at my discretion, I am deciding you can wait. Finish this task before you go attend to your personal affairs.” His voice was dripping with condescension, as it always did when he affirmed control over his workspace. Always, even over trivial matters.

You tried to hold in the flabbergasted look on your face. Did he think eating and sleeping were ‘personal affairs’, too? You thought for a moment and came to the conclusion that yes, he probably did. “That rule wasn’t a joke?”

Riddler furrowed his brow. “Not only do you fail to comprehend the brilliance of my actual jokes-“ he paused when he heard you quietly snicker, “but you misconstrue my simple work guidelines? No, I was obviously serious.” His tone told you he was serious now, too.

Taking a deep breath, you somewhat calmly stated, “Okay, but I’ve been elbow deep in wire management for the past seven hours, and I’d have to rework maybe twenty minutes of my time when I get back.” Your eyes darted over the lines you’d been working. Twenty minutes was underselling how much time it’d take, but there was no way you could wait another three hours to take a pee break.

“While your time is infinitely less valuable than mine,” he scoffed, finally turning to face you, “it isn’t completely worthless when you’re working my machine. I won’t have a moment of it wasted.”

“Ed-”

“Rule the first,” he chirped, “you are to refer to me as Riddler, The Riddler, or Mr. Nygma, sir.”

“Mr. Nygma. Sir,” you spat, losing your composure, “I get what you’re saying, but I’m seriously gonna piss my pants if I stay here too much longer.”

“How embarrassing that would be for you.” he tutted and turned back to his workbench. The sound of his clattering tools filled the space once more.

You stared daggers at the back of his stupid, greasy head, in disbelief that he would be so firm on a bathroom break rule, of all things. Was he holding himself to the same standard? He hadn’t left the room since you entered it hours ago, you supposed. The workshop was sweltering and he hardly drank water, so maybe he sweated it all out? You’d believe it from the state of his soaked wifebeater.

“Can I speak to HR?” you mused, hoping humor would soften him up.

“He’s preoccupied.”

And before you could squeeze in a retort, the whirring of a drill cut you off. With an audible, exasperated huff, you resumed your own work. For a little while longer, you could put off your break.

This was not the first time Edward had harped on your adherence to his rules, but it was certainly the most frustrating. Issues had arisen many times, especially in regard to his name, with each spiel about your insubordination ending in a self-aggrandizing speech about the importance of his chosen alias, ‘Riddler’. Yet, in the confines of his bunker under the city, his title felt overly formal and detached. It was alien, speaking of ‘the Riddler’ while he was in the very same room you stood. As with most of his rules, you tried to bend the first when you could help it. If you couldn’t, you stuck to ‘Mr. Nygma, sir’.

And Mr. Nygma was a curious case. The man behind the ‘Riddler’ moniker was just as egocentric and cooky as his public peacocking would lead you to believe. When you sought employment under his wing, you anticipated an eccentric inventor, a toned-down version of the act he put on with the Batman. On the contrary, he was even more eccentric behind closed doors, away from the scouring eyes of the public.

While you were still a smidge combative as he picked apart your skills and sought to debase your self esteem with every sentence he spoke, his antics were no longer surprising. If anything, they were a bit endearing. Navigating the minefield of his personality had become a fun challenge, for which you were up to the task. Perhaps too much so, as you genuinely chased after his good favor. There was a seed of hero worship somewhere within you that sprouted and flourished when his usual mockery turned to praise, however baseless or nonchalant.

But you couldn’t just put your damn urinary system on hold for him, he was being ridiculous. You were still a human being.

Another hour and a half of tinkering and toiling passed before you unceremoniously wrenched an arm out from the machinery, oil stains and dirt smearing your skin. You knew the longer you worked, the more you’d have to backtrack, and your need was growing urgent. It had just been too many hours. “I seriously can’t wait anymore, I’m leaving. I’ll be back in a few, and I’ll work extra fast to get caught back up to where I am now, okay? I promise.”

Once again answering without even turning to face you, he simply replied, “You exit the workshop right now and you will not be entering it again.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Eddie?”

He overlooked your repeat violation of his first rule and shifted attention to your tone. “You should be thankful that someone so wholly superior is tolerating your nonsense at all.” As if he could sense the vitriol forming in your throat, he held a finger in the air to shush you. It worked.

“The project could have been finished hours, if not days ago, had I employed my own genius. I graciously allowed you to toy around and perhaps gain even a modicum of skill. Yet, the headway you’ve made on my goals is inadequate, and the ineptitude of your technical ability is only eclipsed by your lack of respect. Should I look the other way as you disregard the terms of your employment in my workshop when you already contribute so little?” “If you want to trailblaze mediocrity, I’ll escort you to the door. I’m certain Dent or Cobblepot could use another mindless, incompetent goon. Otherwise, control yourself and just complete the task at hand.”

Rage boiled under your skin and your face flushed, but the heat shifted from anger to embarrassment to genuine concern as you realized he was truly not budging. Either he assumed you were bluffing when you mentioned pissing your pants, or he didn’t give a damn of you did.

“Please,” you muttered. If he couldn’t be reasoned with, maybe he could be guilted.

Edward actually turned his head to cast you an unamused glance. “What?”

“You know what I’m asking,” you paused to collect yourself and push more of your pride down. “I’m begging you to let me go.”

“I don’t recall my instructions stating that begging would release you from your responsibilities, either,” he quipped.

“Listen, I’ll do what it takes to make it up to you, but please.”

“No,” his gaze met yours, unyielding. “And cease your needless pleading, the banter is growing tiresome.”

With his eyes on you, you tried to mitigate the venom of your countenance, poorly. If it weren’t for the hum of machines in the room, he would have even heard your teeth grinding. “Fine. If you want this to be a whole thing, I guess it will be.” Before a rebuttal could leave his throat, you held up a finger up to shush him, as he had done to you. It worked. “And if you want piss on your workroom floor, just know it’ll be your own damn fault.”

For an aching long and quiet moment, he studied you over his shoulder, his eyes hovering over your balled up fists and slightly shaking legs. His expression was unreadable, indifferent at best. His eyebrows knitted and hope welled in your chest as he seemed to seriously contemplate his next words, only to dash your hope against the rocks as the grimace on his face contorted into a thin, wry smile. “Rule the eighth: Accidents as a result of my strict enforcement of the seventh rule are to be considered your fault entirely.” Each word of his rule was enunciated with painful clarity, as if you had misunderstood them before. “You only have yourself to blame for the predicament you’ve put yourself in.”

“That’s ridiculous! And you can’t seriously expect me, or anyone to follow your bullshit rules, especially this one!” you snapped and yelled, your decorum gone. “This isn’t how you treat someone working for you! You’re unfair-“

“And you’re delusional if you think you can berate your intellectual better in this manner.” While his tone was sharp, his smug grin did not falter. “This is your final warning, otherwise forsake your project, your employment, and leave. Feel free to spend all the time you wish sitting in a restroom somewhere off my premises, messaging your moronic friends about how you lost another job.”

You practically snarled at him, but your frustration quickly deflated at the prospect of being fired. Pinprick tears formed as your emotions spilled over, and you squinted your eyes shut. “I can’t believe you,” you murmured. Without another word, you silently returned to your work. Thankfully after a quiet moment, Ed was once again enrapt in his own project, too.

Of course, it was impossible to get any more work done this way. While trying to look busy, you contemplated throwing your tools in his face and walking out. You wondered if he would really just let you leave, considering the liability you could pose as a free agent with knowledge on his base of operations. And with contempt for yourself, you daydreamed about your finished project, and the tiniest scrap of praise he would toss your way as reward. You stayed still, futilely attempting to push the pressure in your groin to the back of your mind.

When it couldn’t be postponed any longer, you leaned into the robot and faced away from Ed, pressing a burning cheek against the cool, clammy metal. The open cavity of your robot cradled your head as you buried your face inside, anything to hide.

A small sob threatened to rise from your chest, and to keep it at bay, you bit your lip with a force to bruise. Muffled, your slight noises could barely be heard above the ambient workshop noise. Yet his ears must have picked it up, as the sound of Ed’s tools quieted, and you heard his clothes rustle like he was repositioning. Like he was turning to face you. You could practically feel his eyes boring into your back.

There was absolutely no satisfaction in finally getting release. Mortified, you stood motionless as your undergarments became warmer and wetter, followed by the inseam of your shorts, and down your legs. Ammonia joined the other scents that hung in the workshop air, the motor oil and sweat and mildew. When a puddle formed around your shoes, you whimpered, but dared not move your feet. You dared not move anything.

You heard a snicker behind you. “Look at me, you sniveling fool.”

When you did finally open your eyes, you couldn’t turn to face him. On the surface you were a wreck. Tears stained your cheeks, and your bottom lip was quivering. Your chest rose and fell quickly, trying and failing to measure your breaths and stay level headed. You didn’t want to know what you looked like below the torso. Deep down you were even worse, with butterflies swirling in your stomach, and fire in your mind. That Ed had turned to see everything had you confused, unsetted, and absolutely in a tizzy. His undivided attention flustered you under normal circumstances, and your mixed feelings on this current mess now had you beside yourself.

“Are your ears just as defective as your bladder? I told you to look at me.”

You snapped your head toward him, eyes still bleary. After blinking away the remaining tears, you could make out Edward looking down at you, arms crossed and face amused. “Well?”

“…well?” you repeated through gritted teeth.

He gestured to your lower half. “Are you going to apologize for mucking up my workshop floor with your appalling bodily fluids?”

You stared at him in disbelief for longer than was comfortable before finally mustering the courage for a comeback. “I-I don’t remember the rules saying I had to apologize.”

“As if your deficient memory of my rules could be trusted,” he sneered, his grin still unwavering. “Honestly, I hadn’t anticipated needing to outline a response to this issue. You’re in the presence of the Riddler, and you should know to mind your manners.”

You kept your lips pursed, shut tight.

He rolled his eyes. “New rule, the eleventh. You will promptly apologize to me in the event of any accidents caused by your negligence, and pay your dues for the consequences accordingly.”

“Sorry, I guess,” you lied through your teeth.

“Good, now go change into something else, and procure something to clean this while you’re at it.”

“Ed- I mean, Mr. Nygma,” you glanced at the robot’s internal wiring and back to him, “I’ll have to restart this stage if I put the project in stasis…?”

“Or,” he walked over and nudged you aside, checking for dry ground where he intended to step before positioning himself before the robot’s chest cavity, “you could simply close this circuit.” With deft hands he rearranged the tangled lines, routing and configuring them in a manner you would have never considered.

“I’ve witnessed you failing to find this solution the entire day. I anticipated that a higher pressure environment would spur the wheels in your head to finally start turning,” he chuckled. “Evidently not.” With a click, he put the robot into stasis and turned to face you with some approximation of a genuine smile.

Tonight, the dizziness wasn't a release, it was just disorientation, and he wobbled across the dance floor, to wind his way upstairs. On his way there, he somehow latched arms with a few people, who ended up in his room with him, but he didn't have any complaints. And he made sure they didn't either.

When he dragged himself out of bed in the morning-well, midmorning-well, noon actually-only two of them were still there. He hoped the others hadn't fucked with any of his stuff on their way out, but his reputation still held on enough that most people didn't.

He was well aware that a lot of the people who found their way into his bed were in it for the thrill of who he'd used to be. The challenge, the bragging rights, the curiosity. Whatever. He didn't mind; he got to have a good time too, after all. Most of them didn't stick around for long afterward though.

These two, however, seemed to at least want breakfast.

“So big boy, you as good in the kitchen as you are in the sheets?” one asked.

His laugh was rough with sleep and residual alcohol.

“Unfortunately, no. I put all my extra points into my hips, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I do. That's okay, I can throw us something together. How d'you like your eggs?”

“Scramb-” he began, cutting off as he noticed her face fade from flirty, to frightened.

“What the fuck is that?” she whispered, pointing to one corner of his bedroom.

An anomalous form hunched there, pale gray and shifting, just barely humanoid. One of those damn wizard aliens! He didn't have much patience for these things.

“i'm curious about you”

Its voice slithered into his mind, nothing more than a whispered breath, as lacking in detail as its blank face.

“The feeling ain't mutual. Now scram!”

“Is it talking to you?” the other one asked, both partners taking shelter behind him. He glanced back.

“Hey, don't worry, okay? It's weird, but it'll be all right. Hey, you're freaking out my guests! Beat it!”

“i'm curious about how you were once one way but are now another way

how is that

humans can't really change so how are you doing it”

“Man, it's a long story, and I don't really feel like telling you. I just decided to, okay?”

“just decided to act differently and dress differently and be different

what part of it allows you to be different”

“The indomitable human spirit and my slammin' fashion sense. Go away.”

“ah your 'swag' as you humans put it

what a quaint concept

all that garish color and pointless detail

what if you didn't have that”

“Then I'd be naked.” Swag sneered. “Well...more naked.”

“then I expunge your 'swag' and all it entails

i want to see what will happen”

“Bro, that is so fuckin' stu-”

Magic flipped him inside out like a photo negative, a spool winding backwards. A spurt of malevolence splashed though his veins, making his fluffy bathrobe uncomfortably hot. He tore it from his thin form, and dropped it on the ground. Everything in the room felt wrong. Stifling. Everything was so...so fuzzy and soft, so clogged with dust, the perfect home for mites and allergens, and who knew what other kinds of potential pests and infestations?

It wasn't just the clothes. It wasn't just the clothes that made him who he was, it was the attitude, the demeanor, the coping mechanism he used to direct his mind away from its old paths. The Gray had lumped everything under the umbrella term of 'swag' and snatched it all away.

And who was he without that?

He knew. Unfortunately, he knew.

His sideburns itched, unnecessary, extraneous growths that served no purpose but to gather dirt. Everything was dirty; when was the last time anything in here had been cleaned?

“Eddie? Baby, are you okay?” One of the strangers placed their hand on his arm. He shoved them away immediately.

“Don't touch me!” he shouted, eyes wild. “You're filthy! All of you are covered in disease! Don't-”

They recoiled in fear.

“Fuck. Sorry. S-sorry, I didn't mean that.” he stammered, battling back a flood of anger and disgust. “Sorry, just...just don't touch me. You should...you should probably leave.”

“What happened?” the other asked, reaching out. “Do you need help?”

“Get out!”

He shoved them again, and this time, he didn't feel nearly as sorry.

They ran from him, but it didn't matter.

He needed to go check his cameras.

?~?~?~?~?

Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

It scuttled up the back of Detective's scalp, ruffling hairs along the way.

Something was wrong.

They hurried into their study, snatching up a small velvet bag along the way. Seating themselves at their antique leathertop desk, they lit a candle. They stared into the little flame, breathing deeply to push back against rising panic.

Once they had regained control, they opened the velvet bag, removing an ornate tarot deck.

What was the universe trying to tell them? They asked the cards while shuffling, slipping out three, and spreading them out on the desk.

The Five of Cups. The Tower. And off to the side, Temperance, reversed.

Regret. Failure. Terrible upheaval. And...

Swag.

They had to go find Swag. Something was wrong.

The world of the Question Mark shimmered at the edge of their vision. Swag. And danger. A faraway figure out on the horizon.

By the time they realized they were walking, their feet had already taken them to his doorstep.

Inside, everything was quiet and still. Detective heard muffled voices, and followed them to their source.

Swag perched on a chair in the kitchen, sketching on a roll a paper spread over the table.

“Crushing is always such a fun possibility.” Arkham's voice floated, tinny and harsh, from Swag's phone. “The walls closing in, just slowly enough that the victim can see what is going to happen, and panic at their own helplessness. The desperation. The inevitable ending. Such a good time. Well, when you're on the outside anyway. I have some of the parts you might need, if you feel like swinging by.”

“Hm. Not a bad suggestion.” Swag said. “But you'll forgive me if I don't jump at the opportunity to make myself vulnerable in somebody else's lair.”

“Will I?” Arkham said. “I suppose I will. Just this once.”

“Poisoning, perhaps.” Swag mused. “Something slow-acting. Pose the riddle and watch their terror grow as they begin to drop on the dance floor. If someone solves it, they get the antidote, but only the one who answered. Make it competitive.”

“Desperation and selfishness. A delight. But I thought you wanted blood?”

“Perhaps more metaphorically than literally, but I certainly wouldn't mind. Actually, there's enough space in here that I could put together a whole gauntlet without much trouble. I think I'll do that.”

“Swag?” Detective asked, worried. This kind of talk was...uncomfortable.

Swag held his hand up in a silencing gesture.

“How do you keep an idiot waiting?” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Arkham asked.

“Nothing to worry about. An interruption has arrived. I'll see to it.”

“Shall I call back?” Arkham offered.

“I think not. It's not that your company is unpleasant or anything, it's just that I know you're trying to distract me, and I'm not inclined to let you continue. Clever attempt though. I'm sure we'll cross paths later.”

Better hope not.” Arkham said, and they both laughed. Swag hung up the phone.

“I'll tell you later.” he finished the riddle, a drawl of challenge in his rolling tone. “So. You.”

“I can't help but feel as though you are on the edge of doing something you might later regret.”

“Something you might regret perhaps, but I'm feeling better than ever.” Swag asserted, holding his arms out wide. His eyes held no happiness that they could detect, just a manic sort of fervor. “I'm leaving behind all of my guilt and anxiety, ditching the false face. I'm letting that moron die and rising back up from the ashes. Call it an act of self care.”

“I shan't.” Detective said. “The Swag I know-”

Swag slammed his fist down on the table. Detective flinched.

“You never knew me.” he growled. “All you knew was a mask. A fucking jester. A coping mechanism that rose as a defense to too much thinking. He was, by nature and by design, my lesser.”

“He is loved.” Detective insisted. “What has brought this on? If you were truly so dissatisfied with things, why not speak with us about it? It's terrible to see you like this.”

“You will learn to like it!” Swag snapped. “Just like everyone else. Honestly, you act like I've killed somebody's best friend...which I have. Just not today. Not yet.”

“I will not allow-”

“It isn't your choice.” Swag cut them off. “Really, this infatuation of yours is pointless. Don't mourn that disgrace, Detective, welcome his restored superior! And also, leave. I have work to do.”

“Swag-” Detective stepped forward, stopping abruptly as the tip of Swags pen came up beneath their chin.

“Think you can take me?” Swag asked. “You aren't armed, are you? You don't bring weapons here. Swag's not dangerous, after all.”

Detective backed away.

“I shall take my leave.” they said.

?~?~?~?~?

No answer.

“Maybe he didn't hear?” Narci suggested.

“He'd better not be 'occupied'.” Puzzles grumbled, typing into his phone. “He knows we were coming, and I am not playing second fiddle to some floozie.”

He rang the doorbell several more times.

“Come on you strutting voluptuary, don't you dare leave us waiting.”

The door slammed open. Narci jumped. A stranger shoved his head out.

“What do you fucks want?” He snapped.

It was Swag, Puzzles realized with a shock. Clean-shaven and divested of his jewelry, hair slicked back under an olive green bowler. He glared coldly at them, and Narci shifted uncomfortably.

“You, uh, you were going to show me how to rewire an intercom system?” Narci said quietly, staring.

Swag sneered.

“Too stupid to figure it out on your own?”

“No!” Narci protested. “Of course not! You just said you were going to show us some tricks.”

Swag scoffed. He was actually in a suit for once, and...carrying a cane?

Something felt wrong here. Swag wasn't just in a bad mood. He felt different somehow.

“All right, spill it. Something's wrong with you.”

“How about you go fuck yourself.” Swag growled.

“How about I don't, and you tell me what's going on?” Puzzles shot back. “What's happened to you?”

“Nothing that needs to concern you. I had a change of heart, nothing more. I'm just trying to get something done, and I am out of patience with these interruptions.”

“What are you trying to do?” Narci asked.

“None of your business. Let's just say that Gotham needs a reminder. They've grown too complacent in my absence. I've been far too frivolous. Well, I mean to remedy that mistake.”

“Wait!” Narci cut in. “I could help you! If you could use another great mind, another pair of hands. We could punish this city together!”

Puzzles glanced aside. Narci had that weird look in his eyes again. The kid just got like that sometimes, like a curious dog, he just wanted to be involved in everything. Puzzles was vaguely aware of his isolated childhood, but there was a time and a place, and this definitely wasn't it.

But Swag-well, not Swag exactly right now, more like Less Swag, Opposite Swag, UnSwag-laughed mockingly.

“You? The constant failure? You're worthless. You don't have the respect of a single member of this wankfest of a Family, and you're going to help me? More like you need me to help you look better. Get lost you over-inflated fuck suit. You too, Autism Speaks, shove off before I bury you both.”

Puzzle's lip curled as Narci drew back, obviously hurt.

“No wonder you wanted to be anything other than this. You're insufferable.”

“Oh no, the twerp doesn't like me, how will I go on with my life? Go cry to mama, and get out of my parking lot.”

The UnSwag waved his cane threateningly at them. Puzzles eyed it cautiously. A Riddler's cane could be a dangerous thing; Puzzles own had a battery powered taser just under the question mark curl, a fear toxin dart in the bottom, and a short blade that could flick out of the side. Swag's preferred arsenal while he was a Riddler was a mystery to the Family.

“Perhaps a calculated retreat is in order.” Puzzles said quietly.

“He didn't have to say it like that.” Narci muttered, but he followed Puzzles away without arguing. “That's not...That's not actually true. I don't always fail. I'm not worthless. That's not true.”

“I'm sure you'll become capable eventually if you just keep at it.” Puzzles said, ignoring the betrayed glance the boy shot him. It was true. For the most part. Not many among them genuinely liked Narci, mostly just tolerating his antics for Nash's sake. Narci did have a lot left to prove, and whining about it wouldn't fix the problem. “More importantly; what's gotten into him? He has never acted that way since I've known him. We've argued before, and I know he is capable of being unreasonable, but I've never felt actually threatened before.” Puzzles mused, Narci sulking alongside him.

“Maybe he's just had enough.” Narci grumbled. “It could happen to anyone. Even m-even him.”

“Enough of what? The man is a bottomless pit of hedonistic debauchery.”

“But he wasn't always like that, was he? He was somehow else before...before all this. Maybe he got tired of people only thinking of him in one way. Maybe he needs to remind people what he's capable of.”

“Doesn't sound right.” Puzzles said dismissively. “But strange things do happen. We should probably let him be until this passes. Come on, we still need to talk about that sapphire heist.”

“I said I was sorry!” Narci groaned. “I just misunder...I just...”

“You were just wrong, and it cost us! Now come on!”

?~?~?~?~?

Nash spotted him near a wall panel tugging at a mess of wiring. This place was probably an electrical labyrinth, though maybe not quite as bad as the small lairs and foxholes Nash typically hid out in. Nash knew the Question Mark had once been an old warehouse; refurbishing those into hotspots for the night life was pretty common in Gotham, but Swag had really gone all out. On the inside, at least, it was impossible to tell what the building had once been.

Swag turned to look at him. Was he wearing a hat? That was odd.

Overlying his mind and perceptions, Lust hissed.

Nash stepped back, wary.

Swag smiled lightly, eyes sly.

“Good instincts.” he said. “But it took you just a little too long anyway.”

“Is...is something wrong?” Nash asked. Swag shrugged.

“Not from my perspective. Did we have plans? It doesn't matter, they'll have to be canceled, just like the rest. I find myself unexpectedly busy.”

This...this was wrong. Nash could still feel Lust bristling, able to sense things Nash couldn't, but he didn't need that to know something was terribly off here. Swags clothes...well they were always bright, eye-catching, stylish in a way that was either on the edge of going out of style, or just about to come back into style. Swag lived on the edges, shaped them and was shaped by them, but this green suit, that bowler hat, it was somehow lacking in the vibrancy Swag was known for.

And had he shaved???

Was this the same Swag, or yet another Riddler from another world? Nash knew Swag had been a Riddler, but not during the time Nash had known him. Not during the time any of them had known him.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Some kind of vague being came by and we had a talk. I came to the understanding that things were simply not working out the way I'd hoped. Oh well. I gave it a try, but I couldn't deny my destiny forever.”

“A vague... a Gray? Did a Gray do this to you?”

“A Gray? Can't I make my own mind up? Oh never mind, it doesn't matter. I have things to do.”

He didn't even sound like Swag. The easy-going affectation dropped entirely in favor of a mocking, almost angry tone.

“What are you planning?” Nash asked. He eyed the wires worming out of the panel.

“Grand re-opening tonight.” Not-Swag said. “This place will be filled with the most vapid, frivolous socialites middle class Gotham has to offer. How many of them do you think will make it out?”

A deathtrap. Swag was building a deathtrap. It was wrong. That wasn't what Swag did!

“Will Swag ever come back?”

Not-Swag rolled his eyes.

“He never left. I'm Swag. He's me! Ugh, why did I ever allow anyone to call me that? Fucking ridiculous. The disrespect I allowed...well that's over now. I'm him, he's me, we're the same person. I was always here, I was just wearing a different mask. Trying a different mode of being, but it didn't work. Too fragile a concept to build a life off of. Anxiety, pointless hedonism. No direction. No, I had already found what I was meant to be, no use in denying it any longer. It's time for a comeback. Now, why don't you come over here?”

Nash could feel Lust's denial, and he didn't feel very safe either. He backed up even farther.

“I think I'm gonna go...”

“Get over here, Nash. You won't have to do much. Just be tied to a chair so the others don't keep bothering me.”

“~The doorway over there~” Lust whispered in his mind. “~The worlds are thin there. I can get us through~”

“Come here, you fucking brat!” Not-Swag lunged for him.

“~Run for it!~” Lust screeched.

Nash threw himself blindly through the doorway-

-and stumbled into an entirely different building to sprawl, disoriented, on someones kitchen floor. He heard the patter of footsteps approaching and tried to climb to his feet. They were upon him before he knew it.

“Nash? When did you get here?”

“Oh, Nash! Are you all right?”

They helped him up, arms around his thin shoulders to stabilize him. Puzzles and Narci, their concerned faces hovering close to his. He was safe.

“Swag!” he gasped. “Something's wrong with him!”

Puzzles frowned, Narci's pale eyes slid away from Nash's face.

“We know.” Puzzles said. “We had an unfortunate encounter with him earlier. He was incredibly unpleasant.”

“Don't like seeing him this way.” Narci muttered. “Feels wrong.”

The three of them lapsed into an uncomfortably contemplative silence. They were the youngest of their group, just starting out on a journey that Swag had already ended. Narci and Nash were still figuring what the persona of the Riddler meant for them, and Puzzles only had a few years of experience under his belt. Swag was an odd outlier, but he was still a respected elder by now, at least in their youthful perspective.

And yet this thing that they all wanted so desperately to grow into, felt so wrong on Swag, who actually had once been that thing.

“It was a Gray.” Nash said. “He described it to me. He thinks he's made this decision himself, but it was one of those awful things.”

Puzzles sighed in irritation. “I suspected it might be something along those lines.”

“What's a Gray?” Narci asked.

“You haven't seen them?” Nash was surprised. He thought everyone had to deal with the mischievous creatures. Narci shook his head.

“Count yourself lucky.” Puzzles said. “They're some kind of magical being-yes, I know, but they are.” he insisted at Narci's disbelieving expression.

“They don't have any faces.” Nash explained. “They're all gray all over, and they kinda look like they're made out of slime or fog. They only barely look human. They talk inside your head. They're really creepy. They cast magic on you, like curses. They can make you do stupid things, or change your shape, or...practically anything! It's like they're playing pranks.”

“But they have been known to go too far.” Puzzles said bitterly. “Cause major problems for their own entertainment. Mostly they're just annoying, but they can be downright dangerous at times. The one saving grace is that their magic is nearly always temporary. This UnSwag has an expiration date. He'll go back to normal in a day or two. We'll just avoid him until then.”

“What about his customers?” Nash asked.

“What about them?” Puzzles said. “They can go a few nights without practicing their debauchery, I'm sure.”

“But he didn't close the club!” Nash exclaimed. “He's turning it into a deathtrap!”

Narci gasped. Puzzles stared at the ceiling with an irritated groan.

“Of course he is. This couldn't be easy, oh no, no, no. Instead, he has to go and do something that will get him tossed back in Arkham after the Gray magic wears off. This is why these creatures are so insidious, Narci. Their magic is temporary, but it can have long lasting consequences.”

“What do we do?” Narci asked. His feather light voice was laced with a fear Nash had never heard him express. He understood though. They could lose one of their number over this. One of their special Family. He and Narci didn't really have many people to turn to, and Narci had only recently been getting closer to the older members of the group. A few bad run-ins with Arkham had left him shy and demoralized.

But Swag had always been friendly. Always ready with another chance, even when Narci had been rude, or awkward, or-worst of all-wrong about something. He'd shown the same welcoming face to Puzzles and Nash too, even though Nash was technically too young to be allowed into the club during business hours, and Puzzles...well in the interest of being honest, Puzzles could get pretty rude about things too sometimes. Nash thought it must be a way of protecting himself. Even so, Swag still let him in.

“Well...We're Riddlers, aren't we?” Puzzles mused. “So, we stop him. Before he can kill anybody, and before any vigilantes show up. This is our business. We'll take care of it.”

Both boys nodded, dead serious.

“Okay. Narci, you go try to find YJ. I'll talk to Arkham. Nash, I want you to get Detec-”

“No need.” Detective's voice floated up from Puzzles left arm. “I'm already here~”

Puzzles shoved up his sleeve, revealing the tiny computer strapped there.

“Did you hack my Wrist Buddy?” he exclaimed, irritated and impressed.

“Never mind that. Do let me in. We have something to discuss.”

Grumbling, Puzzles typed a code into the tiny keyboard, and the front door unlocked. Detective entered without further preamble.

They were dressed for business, in a sleek green blazer over gray shirt and slacks, a green derby hiding their vermilion hair. They were even wearing their mask! Nash had never seen that before. They looked...dangerous. Not like the mothering figure Nash had grown to know, but like the debonair villain they had once been.

Narci stared with unabashed awe. Puzzles, on the other hand, crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.

“One would almost think you knew something in advance.” he said impudently.

“I did foresee something happening.” Detective replied.

“Oh, you foresaw it? How inconvenient that you didn't see fit to clue anybody else in!”

Nash squirmed. The Detective had visions. Claimed to have visions, anyway. And while Puzzles acknowledged the otherworldly beings that Nash was friends with, and the Grays with their magic, he did not entirely accept the Detectives oracular assertions.

“I didn't see exactly what it was. You know it doesn't work that way.”

“What a helpful ability.”

“Puzzles, we don't have time for this. Let's argue about it over tea some other time.”

“Yeah.” Narci said disapprovingly. “We have to help Swag. I'll go get YJ.”

“No, dears. I saw this too. YJ is too far away, and Arkham is too curious about the outcome to involve himself. He merely wishes to observe.”

“We'll see about that.” Puzzles typed speedily on his tiny wrist keyboard. “I'll contact him myself...Oh.”

The answer he got pulled his mouth into a frown. Detective cleared their throat.

“As I was saying, I saw something important pertaining to Swag. And then I spoke to him.”

“Odious, isn't he?” Puzzles said at Detective's disgruntled expression.

“Swag made an important decision about where to go with his life, and while it may be different that what you three would do, it was his choice. That has been taken from him, by force of magic, and that cannot be allowed. We make our own fates, and we must support each other in our decisions. We will not allow him to fall. So, suit up dear children. We're staging a coup~”

“How many times do I have to tell you I am not a child?” Puzzles complained, but Nash and Narci were already dashing back to their respective universes, to gear up.

Nash didn't have much; a mismatched thrift store Sunday suit, made for someone much younger than him. A shoplifted self defense keychain he could stab with. A miniature canister of pepper spray. He also had a lockpick that he hid in his department store trilby, and a very sharp hat pin, as well as a pocket knife, a portable usb drive with a deadly computer virus, a set of jewelers tools that he used on wiring, and one of YJ's smoke bombs. Nash tied his mask-just a strip of black cloth with holes cut out-around his head, and returned through the worlds, to Puzzles apartment.

Puzzles had taken the time to gear up as well, in his coveted kelly green suit and brilliant purple gloves. The colors smashed against each other, practically glowing at the edges. The classic bowler perched on his head and sleek mask always made him look older, and Nash knew he had some wicked weaponry hidden away.

Narci didn't have many places to hide things in his form-fitting, hand painted unitard and gymnasts shoes, but Narci carried few weapons or tools. He didn't need them; Narci was actually very strong, and could hold his own well in a fight, all of which was clear by merely a look at him in this getup. Any items he needed, he kept in a slender harness that girded his waist and thighs. He said it was to keep his freedom of movement, and Nash knew he'd been training as a gymnast ever since he could walk, but Nash couldn't help but bashfully notice how the harness accentuated certain of Narci's assets. In fact, the outfit put everything on display, and with his tight black curls, and slim, diamond shaped mask that hid very little of his face, it seemed like Narci wanted to be seen.

He practically posed; shoulders back and chest out, nose proudly in the air. He was only an inch taller than Nash, but seemed much bigger next to Nash's shrinking slouch.

“Have we got everything we need?” Detective asked. All three young men nodded. “All right. You have all been to the Question Mark before. Do you know the internal layout?”

“I've been inside.” Puzzles said. “I know how both floors are laid out.”

“Me too.” Nash added.

“I've only seen the first floor.” Narci admitted.

“All right. So here's what we'll do.”

?~?~?~?~?

The crowd outside the Question Mark was thick with people and irony; scattered among clubbers finery were people sporting Riddler costumes-the gallows humor of Gotham. Everyone knew who owned this nightclub, as Swag had not just not hidden the fact, but had actively banked on it.

Puzzles slipped unnoticed into the crowd, making his way up to the front where he immediately picked a fight with the bouncer. The others used the distraction to find a way into one of the areas few surveillance blind spots.

“Do you think you can do it?” Detective asked quietly. Narci scanned the wall carefully, taking in the texture of the bricks, the decorative façade, the bars on the windows, the height of the roof.

“Yes.” he said confidently, and began to climb. Nash watched him scramble up the building, taking out security cameras and motion sensors along the way. His job was to destroy as much of the security system as possible; especially the flood lights on the roof. They didn't move again until Narci had disappeared over the top, then they sneaked along, hugging the wall, until reaching nearly the back of the building.

This area was employees only, and fenced in with tall chain link. Nash was a Gotham youth, and scaled it easily, pausing at the barbed wire coiled at the top. His jeweler's tools included a wire cutter, and after a few tries, he was able to remove a length of the barbed wire wide enough for him to pass through. Back on the asphalt, he began working on the lock. It was good quality, but nothing Nash couldn't pick. Swag was protecting against the basic Gotham punks, after all, not other Riddlers.

In the meantime, Detective had set down their briefcase and opened it, lifting out a honed woodcutter's ax, with a handle wrapped in blue leather.

“It's one of Jervis's.” They said at Nash's stare. “He insisted I bring it with me. It may prove useful after all.”

The lock clicked in Nash's hand, and he tossed it over his shoulder, letting the Detective breeze through the gate. It sucked they had to cause all this damage, but it was better than letting Swag get dragged off to jail just because some Gray thought it'd be funny.

Detective began examining the power meter, but Nash noticed movement and pulled them back around the corner. The two peeked around to see a pair of very tough looking women approach the employees entrance.

“Oh dear.” Detective whispered. “This could be bad. I've seen those two before; they're this worlds Query and Echo. Rotten luck that they'd be here tonight.”

“I'll distract them.” Nash volunteered. Detective grabbed his arm.

“You mustn't try to fight them.” they insisted. “They are very dangerous!”

“I won't.” Nash said. “Just trust me, okay?”

Detectives lips thinned out, but they let go.

Nash stuck his hands in his pockets, let his head droop and walked into the employee parking lot, kicking at a rock.

The women paused. He let just a little bit of his secret power seep out, a supernatural drug that mentally disarmed anyone who looked at him. These two would see whatever it was that would make them most sympathetic towards him.

“Hey, either of you two got two dollars I can borrow?”

“What's the matter kid?” one asked. “Fake ID didn't work out?”

“Yeah.” Nash said sullenly, petulance seeping out of his demeanor. “And my ride says she's gonna stay anyway, and I don't have any bus fare. Can't call my mom to come pick me up; I'd be grounded for a month.”

He'd slowly made his way over to them, acting exactly like a defeated teenager, and both women smiled condescendingly.

“Ha. It was a nice try kid. Here, take this and come back in a few years.”

Nash was just reaching out to take the money, mind whirring on how to continue the distraction, when the floodlights went out.

“What the fu-”

Nash whipped his hand out of his pocket and threw YJ's smoke bomb to the ground. It exploded into a miasma of choking green. Behind him, the sound of metal striking brick as Detective took the chance to shear the meter clean off the wall. The rest of the external lights went dark.

Beside him, something dropped into the cloud of smoke, landing on one of the searching women with a heavy thud. Nash flinched and threw himself through the employee entrance, hoping Narci hadn't killed her with the impact.

He skidded down the hall, hugging the walls, as the sounds of fighting faded behind him. The area was bathed in eerie green, the emergency lighting casting deep shadows.

“Lust, help me hide.” Nash whispered.

“~Of course. Relax yourself and let me embrace you~”

Nash concentrated on relaxing his body through the tickling sensation of Lusts hundreds of amorphous tendrils breaching his skin. They wrapped tightly around every inch of his body, covering him in a smoky bodysuit of shifting shadows.

Now camouflaged, he slinked down the hall and up the stairs, not entering the dance floor. He was sure it was trapped, waiting for hapless revelers to meet their makers. Maybe they deserved it, maybe they didn't; Nash didn't care about that very much, but he knew that Swag would.

He crept along the second story, the darkness itself seeming to muffle his steps. A door banged open, and Nash threw himself into the bedroom doorway, heart in his throat. UnSwag stalked by and down the stairs, grumbling angrily about the power.

Nash skittered into the newly vacated room before the door shut. It was full of darkened screens and neatly lined computer towers, their whirring hum silenced.

Swag had backup generators. Of course he would. He must have. And that's where UnSwag had to be heading. Nash readied his usb drive. The screens flickered back to life, and Nash jammed the usb in. He might only have a few moments.

Fingers flying he unleashed the malevolent little worm of code, then slipped back out into the now worryingly lit hallway. Down the stairs, towards the exit-

Snatched off his feet, and slammed headfirst into the wall. Lust took the edge off the blow, but it still rattled Nash's brain. UnSwag twisted his arm behind him, held him by his hair, and dragged him out onto the dance floor.

“Hey guys! You looking for this? You fucking looking for this?” He shook Nash hard, who squealed under the pressure on his arm. Narci, Puzzles, and the Detective all turned from their positions creeping along the walls in search of traps.

“Lust!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“~If I do it, he will be harmed! Perhaps permanently~” the demon whispered from within him. “~I can get you free, but he might not recover~”

“Hold off then. We didn't come to kill him.”

“Stop mumbling, brat.” UnSwag growled in his ear. “Whatever code you're trying to use, it won't work. They won't do a thing while I have you. Isn't that right?”

Detective held their hands up, palms empty. Jervis's hatchet was nowhere to be seen.

“Please. There is no need to endanger the boy.” they said gently.

“He endangered himself. He didn't have to throw in with you and invade my home, but he did. He made his own choice. There are consequences for that.”

“Look, we're not trying to hurt you or anything.” Puzzles said. “We're just trying to save you from regrets.”

“Who asked you?”

“You would have, if you were in your right mind. But you are being controlled right now, by one of those gray beings-”

“Puzzles!”

“Wrong answer!” UnSwag snarled, and flung Nash out onto the trapped floor.

The others began shouting. Nash hit a pressure plate, heard it click.

Nothing.

“What.” UnSwag said. Nash rose from the floor, grinning like the devil.

“Oops.” he said. “I think I broke it. Sorry.”

UnSwag shoved his hand into his jacket. Whatever he was reaching for, he never made it. Narci hit him with freight train force, and he went down instantly. Nash winced. Narci never did pull his punches.

The acrobatic Riddler swiftly had UnSwag tied with a cord from his harness. He immediately started wiggling free, so Narci perched on his back and held him down.

“Wow. One punch.” Puzzles sneered. “You are going to be so embarrassed when you wake up.”

“I am already awake!” UnSwag insisted. “Why don't any of you see? It was all just a pipe dream! It was never real. This is who I have always been.”

“Then why is this temporary?” Puzzles asked. “Why did you have to be pushed back into it by force? You know it's temporary, don't you?”

“It doesn't matter! I am who I'll always be! No matter what mask he puts on, I'll still be here. He'll never be rid of me. And what does it matter to you anyway? Why would you go so far to stop me?”

“We are rather fond of our dear Swag~” Detective said. “And we respect the decisions he has made.”

“Why do you like me that way so much? I've made an imbecile of myself, and I'm only trying to rectify that. You three! Isn't this the life you've chosen? And you! You might have retired, but you didn't put your brain on the shelf! All I do as your precious 'Swag', is waste my time with harlots and drink to oblivion. I hate him as me. It was a mistake.”

“You don't see the value in your own choices?” Detective asked. “You've put in so much effort. Do you see what you've built? The people still dance to your tune, it's just more literal this time.”

“Don't fucking start. That shit might work on these fetuses, but not-”

Narci stroked his hair gently, and UnSwag shuddered.

“Don't touch me!”

“Swag is perfect.” Narci asserted. “In a different way from us, yes. But you are wonderful like that.”

“Bullshit. None of us actually get along.” he jutted his chin towards Puzzles. “That little bitch hates everyone. The brat over there can't be trusted. And you...” he bucked, trying to throw Narci off. “Even as that frivolous idiot, I still don't respect you. No one does.”

Narci sighed, and stroked his hair once more.

“I know. But you tolerate me, and that's important too. In time, I'll earn the rest of it. I know how to work hard to become something great. That's why I can't stand to see you like this. All that effort, taken away.”

UnSwag groaned in annoyance.

“So what about the rest of you? Any more pithy speeches before I fade back into featherbrained worthlessness?”

“Two to midnight.” Puzzles said, checking his wrist computer.

“Nothing to say.” Nash added.

“Now we simply wait.” Detective finished.

“Fine.” UnSwag said. “If that's the official consensus. Just know that if this ever happens again, you're all on the list. So nobody better ever bring me back.”

“It'll be okay.” Narci said, stroking his hair one last time. “It'll be over soon.”

“Don't touch me.” UnSwag repeated. “Just...let me sleep, I guess.”

Instead of looming over their defeated foe, Detective, Puzzles, and Nash gathered to sit on the floor next to Narci and UnSwag. He lay quietly, as they all waited together for the last moments of the past to trickle away.

Puzzles wrist computer beeped. Everyone held their breath. If they were right about the temporary nature of Gray magic...

“Hey Narci? You're a handsome young man and' all, but would you mind getting the fuck off? Kinda crushin' my ribcage here.”

Narci hopped off his back immediately. Nash reached out for the rope binding him.

“Wait!” Detective commanded. “Relief cannot be allowed to overcome caution. If you would all be so kind as to move away...”

The young Riddlers drew back.

Detective knelt next to their captive and raised him up by the shoulders. Looked into the clean shaven face, the deep blue eyes, and kissed him, long and deep.

Narci gasped, but Nash knew they were like that sometimes.

“Disgusting.” Puzzles muttered. But when they parted, Swag was smiling.

“Hell of a welcome home. Got any more for me? I'm already all tied up, after all. But we probably better send the kiddies home first.”

“It's him.” Puzzles said flatly.

Nash and Narci cheered.

They untied him, checked him for injuries-Narci had hit him pretty hard after all. Narci apologized endlessly, but Swag waved it off.

“Not like I didn't earn it.”

“Um, can you apologize to the ladies for me too? When they wake up, I mean.”

“N-Nina? And Deirdre? You took them out? By yourself?”

Narci stood straighter.

“Well, Nash dropped a smoke bomb, and I didn't really want to hurt them or anything...but yes. I did.”

Swag patted Narci on the shoulder.

“I'm impressed, kid. Now never ever do that again.”

The young Riddlers didn't stay long; technically it was illegal for Narci and Nash to be in the club during business hours, even if the Question Mark wouldn't be opening tonight. 'Electrical malfunction' they had told the disappointed crowd. But for a while after that, Detective stayed by Swag's side, comforting arm around his shoulders.

“You guys did right.” Swag said. “There's a reason I didn't want to be like that anymore. Like, yeah, that's me, and that's still swimming around inside me. Everything I did, and everything I thought and felt. That's entirely me. But this is also me. This is what I chose.” he stroked his chin. “Ugh, he shaved me. Damnit, that's gonna take weeks to grow back just right. And where are my earrings?”

He got up and began searching around for his jewelry.

“Swag.”

“Yeah?”

“If you are serious about letting go of the past...may I suggest that you actually let go?”

They gestured at the green suit Swag was still wearing. He plucked at the lapels.

“Yeah...guess I've grown out of it, huh. Doesn't fit quite right anymore. I don't know why I kept all this stuff. Contingency, I guess. But...I don't need it anymore. Tell ya what, I'll pack all this stuff up, the suit, the hat, the cane, all of that. And I'll... I dunno. Throw it in the bay. Donate it to a museum. Something like that.”

“I could help, if you like.”

“Nah...this is really somethin' I should do myself. 'Sides, you guys already helped me out plenty tonight. Guess this whole Family business is worth somethin' after all. If you can see me at my worst and still stick around...I dunno, it's giving 'hope for the future', you know?”

Detective stayed the night, just talking while Swag packed, bathed, rested. And though they did see that hope Swag spoke of peeking through as he chattered about future plans, they couldn't help but to let their mind drift to the mystery they knew hung on the horizon.