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They circle him like predators. Like dolphins herding fish. Around and around on giant wings that should not be able to fly. Up and up through, feathers blending with the clouds and the night and the starless sky that looms over Gotham.
They do not know him, intellectually. And yet, somewhere, they understand the significance of him. An attachment that they yank on the moment the doctor let them off of her leash.
Their formation is noted. Winged units maintain a rotational perimeter, velocity and distance optimized for containment rather than attack. Predator behavior is an inefficient analogy, but a familiar oneâaccepted for ease of translation.
Once, such proximity might have triggered residual neural activity. Memory clusters. Emotional recall. Interference.
That window has closed.
The vessel remains suspended, precisely calibrated, hundreds of meters above Gotham City. Gravitational resistance is calculated, dismissed. Atmospheric drag is irrelevant. The organic framework functions within acceptable degradation thresholds.
Data acquisition nears completion.
This planetâs historyâits failures, its violences, its brief and insignificant triumphsâstreams through the vessel in ordered sequences. Languages collapse into patterns. Lives reduce to variables. Identities resolve into noise.
The circling entities tug at obsolete attachments, signals routed through pathways that no longer terminate in a person.
Watching this vid and the idea of the relationship between Query, Echo and Riddler being used as an opposition between Harley and Joker is something I had never thought of but it's very interresting.
Them being platonic soulmates that have no romance or sexual relation whatsoever but still have a good chemistry, common goals and a surprinsignly equal partneship while still cleary having the rogue-henchgirl dinamic in contrast with Harley and Joker that are romantically involved but are deeply abusive and unequal to the point that even when fans stopped seing Harley as a henchgirl she still was only that to Joker until she left him. Is an interresting concept that could have created a whole discussion about the representation of henchwoman on comics.
Instead they decided that Eddie should be an incel.
P.S: This isn't the only direction or even take of the video, it's mostly following all Query and Echo appearances and their creation and Sasha (thd youtuber) sugests some directions they could've taken. It's a really great video overall.
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Summary: ** Spoilers for The Batman **
After killing the mayor, Edward opts to visit his safe haven and come clean about what he's done.
Dahlia Vance pieces together the rest of the strange puzzle that is Edward Nashton.
Riddler oneshot for us paul dano stans lets goooo
(Edward Nashton x Query/reader)
The rain was cold. It was always cold. Dark, swirling clouds gathered across the darkening sky as the wind howled and shrieked. He had to get away. He had to hide. He went to the only place he knew would accept him. He had dragged himself that far on tired and aching feet, out of breath with blood on his hands. The mask had come off far before he reached the complexâs doorstep, mixing his own warm sweat with the chilled rain.
Walking up the concrete steps felt like coming home. It was the closest thing heâd ever had to a home. His hand shook as it reached for the buzzer. The sound that came from the speaker was irritating on the best of days, but not that night.
He didnât have to say anything - he was glad he didnât have to.
He was let in without any fanfare. No âhello Edwardâ or âcome on in.â Just silence; quiet and foreboding and once again he had to fight off that familiar fear of being abandoned. Itâs happened time and time again, despite reassurances. Though this time the calmer side of him (one that was quite buried at the moment) was sure these feelings came from the adrenaline and paranoia still lingering even as he got closer to his safe haven.
His shoes squelched and squeaked as he made his way up the stairs. The elevator was broken - it had been broken since heâd been coming there, and from what he knew it had been broken long before that. The cracked linoleum stared up at him almost reminding him of what he was - what this city was. The rain continued to pound on the narrow window, creating steady lines that streamed down the glass pane in erratic patterns, the motions nearly hypnotizing in nature. The wind was still so loud, even inside the building. In fact, Edward could have sworn that being inside made the whipping wails echo in a ghostly manner.
A reminder.
He hadnât realized he completely stopped halfway up the stairs.
What was he doing there? Why did he not just go home? What if he was followed? Could he really just drag the only other person who cared about him other than himself into this mess?
He considered turning around. He considered leaving everything and everyone behind. He was scared. Scared for himself and the person who lived in that god forsaken building. He didnât have the same privilege they did. The privilege of being forgotten - forgotten by the city, the people who were supposed to be looking out for them⌠forgotten.
As he took another step forward he realized he couldnât do that. He couldnât be like everyone else. He couldnât forget-
âEds?â Her.
He looked up at her with glassy eyes as he attempted to hide his trembling hands. He didnât realize he was shaking. He hoped she would understand.
In the dark he couldnât actually tell it was her, only vaguely being able to see her outline in the soft, blue light from the window. If it werenât for her voice - that sweet sound akin to a sirenâs song - he would have been on edge. A flash of light and the crack of thunder put any concerns to rest.
She stood at the railing, leaning over it slightly with worry evident in her blue eyes. He didnât dare move his hands, but the saner, calmer side of him panicked for a moment. He had to wonder if there was blood elsewhere. Could she see it? Would she get scared? Would she leave him?
âDid you walk all the way here in the rain?â No, she didnât know. He glanced down and noticed the sizable puddle left behind from where he was standing.
âI did.â He answered. His own voice sounded so foreign to him - less hollow and muffled. He was quiet, though; the less people who could hear him the better.
She wanted to ask why - wanted to know what was worth coming all this way. She had a feeling she already knew.
âEddie, are you hurt?â She was hesitant, quiet. He wasnât sure how to answer her question. How was she supposed to answer? For once, the Riddler was at a loss for words. Instead, he opted to say nothing. He continued walking up the steps, his head down and his eyes glued to his feet. She went quiet, utterly unsure of what to do or what was even going on.
He wasnât aware of how he was moving, but when she straightened up like a prey animal realizing it was being stalked, he had to wonder. It made him stop dead in his tracks, giving her a moment to calm down. She did nothing but stare.
Edward had come over unannounced before - several times, in fact - and it was always a nice surprise. This time, however, felt different, almost sinister.
Sheâd never seen him dressed like that, like the killer sheâd seen on the news and online. The slight rustling from beneath his winter clothing sounded like plastic. It was shrill and easily permeated through the booming sounds of the rain and thunder outside. Sheâd never seen him stand so still, almost as if he was haunted by something - staring blankly out the window as if heâd find the answers to the universe. He treated life as one big puzzle, she knew that much, and now she feared the answers he was laying out before her.
She knew. She knew and she didnât want to believe it. Those people deserved what he did to them - deserved the cruel, uncaring hand of justice to crush them beneath its weight - butâŚ
She agreed with his actions, but if he truly was the killer, he certainly hadnât come down from that adrenaline rush, and he was certainly much more paranoid than he would have been before. So she played dumb, not unlike how she had many times before, though those times were a bit different. She often would question herself when she thought about him being the Riddler, almost gaslighting herself into believing otherwise, despite the cold, hard facts that presented themselves to her. Instead of panicking, or telling him what she knew, when she saw the blood she asked if he was hurt.
He stopped walking toward her, looking through her with fogged lenses adorned with water droplets that pearled on the surface. His eyes were wide, and for a moment he wondered if he had been caught, or if she would care about what he was doing.
âAre you afraid of me?â He almost sounded hurt. Almost.
Yes, she wanted to shout, right now I am! All she could muster was a measly head shake.
âNo.â She lied easily, taking a shaky step forward as if to prove she wasnât scared. She reached out, attempting to take his hands into her own. It was an act so tender he almost forgot about the reason for his crusade, the suffocating anger and anguish. She made it difficult to remember the torture and pain, the one thing he swore to never forget. There was good in this world, even if it was tainted by pessimism and slight sadism. She was a supporter of his true self - the side of himself that he was sure she wasnât aware of just yet - and when she reacted positively to another one of the murders, his heart couldnât help but swell with pride.
She was one of the forgotten ones he fought to defend. Not an orphan, like him, but still forgotten, down-trodden. When he looked in the mirror, he not only saw the children he suffered with all those years ago, but he saw her too.
He let her have one of his sullied hands, albeit hesitantly. The blood of the guilty dirtied her pristine hands.
Her breath caught in her throat as that sickening feeling clung to her hand, making her want to scrub them until they bled. Sticky, yet cold, she could practically taste the coppery substance, and it was almost sickening. It was slick on his gloves - easier to get off that way - and she didnât want to say anything. It was hard for her not to start panicking, after all, this all started with little puzzles sheâd find online, or around town, and in time they were at her doorstep. Then, as she started piecing everything together, she was assured through ciphers that all of the injustice in Gotham, all the problems the dysfunctional city had, could be traced back to corrupt officialsâŚ
She was in too deep now. One could say she was in too deep the moment she met Eddie - the moment she gave him the time of day and got to know him. She was in too deep when he started showing up more often at her apartment, in too deep the moment she kissed him and let him take her out for dinner.
To everyone else, she was in love with a monster. Someone irredeemable and selfish. They wouldnât know that she was almost the same as him. He wasnât a monster to her. She admired the Riddler, in fact, she thought he did a better job than Batman half the time.
âCome on, letâs get you inside.â She said lowly, leading him back to the place he missed so much. That familiar door was at the end of the hall, marked as âC11â in crooked, golden letters. The oak was weathered and splintered toward the bottom, with a large, painted over crack running from the doorknob to the bottom of the door.
âIt was from a break in a couple years ago.â She told him only a few months prior. He knew there was more to it than that, but if she didnât want to tell him then he wouldnât pry.
Through that broken doorway was a dim apartment, lit up only slightly by the neon signs outside her windows. They were green and bright, but not bright enough to keep the room bright all night. The apartment always seemed a bit cluttered, almost purposefully. He wondered what secrets she might be hiding. She had to know that there was nothing to hide from him⌠and there was nothing she could hide. He would find it - solve it like every other puzzle heâd come across so far.
He was left standing in the middle of the living room, next to the tattered couch that smelt like a library. The mask and plastic wrap were tucked away in his pocket, hanging out only slightly and brushing against his arm almost as if to remind him of what he was and what he was doing. He wanted to tell her everything, and he only hoped sheâd understand.
He watched her silhouette move about the apartment, only catching a glimpse of her features when she passed through the lights at certain angles. He wondered what she was still doing at home, especially on Halloween. She was obviously dressed up, wearing a green one-piece with fishnets underneath, and a purple domino mask that was ill-fitted to her face that was currently pushed onto her forehead, pushing her bangs out of her face like a headband would. And then there was the coatâŚ
The old TV was displaying a paused image from a horror movie. Eddie wasnât entirely sure of what movie it was, but by the bright colors and gore and giggling blonde on screen, he assumed it was that one horror movie she said she loved, the one he couldnât remember the title to. She described it as a movie that felt like a haunted houseâŚ
House was in the title, he remembered that much.
âEds, you can sit down, you know.â She was behind him now, moving things around, apologizing for the state of her apartment. âYou look tired.â She commented, her voice sounding solemn and concerned.
âI have something to tell you.â He began, which made her stop in her tracks. âIf you have me, youâll want to share me. If you share me, Iâll be gone. What am I?â He was speaking in riddles again, and she was quick to realize that what he wants to share must be important.
âA secret.â She answered. She knew to play his game to get the bigger picture. That was how she found out about the orphanage and his childhood, after all. They were things he never wanted to speak of out loud, and she always assumed that games and puzzles were his way of coping with that trauma.
âThose who hide behind one are to be feared.â He wasnât even looking at her, and she dared not move a muscle.
âMask.â Now the trick was trying to figure out how those go together. It didnât take a genius to figure that one out. As she walked over, he dug into his pocket, pulling the mask out and holding it between his bloody hands.
âAnd what does a liar do when heâs dead?â
She stopped for a moment, feeling her mouth go dry as she thought of the answer. âHe lies still.â She answered. It was apparent now, with his confession looming heavily in the air. âEds, youâre him, arenât you?â She stood in front of him, and she didnât look angry or frightened. He held out the mask for her to take, and she did. He watched her closely as she stared blankly at the mask in her hands. A secret identity, a mask to hide behind while he enacted acts of vengeance against the corrupt officials of the city.
âIâve known.â She finally spoke, her voice quiet. âIâve known for a while. Part of me couldnât believe it, and the other part of me⌠it made sense. The orphanage, the people who were targeted being involved with Renewal. The puzzles left at my door in the middle of the night for a few weeks before I actually met you, and then you told me that you love riddles and puzzles and mysteries. Youâre the smartest guy I know, Eds, and it would be easy for you to throw off the cops.â She was bright, and quick witted, how could he not?
âYouâve believed in me from the very beginning, Dahlia.â She smiled at this, despite the twisted nature of their conversation. It was the truth, she was one of the Riddlerâs many followers, and he was glad to have found her. If he had it his way, she would be his right hand woman, his partner in crime. He even had a name for her, something he could call her while livestreaming to his audience:
Query.
And it seemed like she knew. The way she was dressed that night - the coat that hung loosely off of her shoulders adorned with his insignia. It was a sign, wasnât it? He brought her closer, his hands coming to rest on her cheeks adorned with question marks. The look in his eyes was one of pure adoration, and it made her heart jump in her chest.
âYouâve done so well.â The edge in his voice was enough to make her shudder in delight. It was a familiar tone that he took in his videos, and she expected to hear him call her Query. There were no more secrets, though. No more aliases to hide behind. As he stared at her face, watching the blood smear on her skin, he realized the obvious truth.
He was the Riddler, and she was Query. No more Edward and Dahlia. No more masks.
No more lies.
His lips collided with hers in an almost forceful display of affection. It was rushed, feverish, and needy - a true reflection of his love for her, the only person who seemed to ever give him the time of day as both Edward and the Riddler. She cared, and that was enough.
When he pulled away he saw a look in her eyes that begged for more. She let her coat fall to the floor, letting him know exactly what she wanted, and he was happy to oblige, if not a bit nervous. His fingers traced along her jaw, stopping at her chin as he snatched it, and the whole time she didnât break eye contact. He lost himself in her eyes for a moment, and lost himself in the blur that followed.
She led him to her bedroom, a place heâd only stood in before, and sprawled out on her bed, waiting for him to make the next move. Sheâd undone the back of her leotard and let it sit just above her breasts, loose and waiting for someone to rip the rest off. He wanted to - oh how he wanted to - but his movements were slow and shaking. He couldnât help but be nervous. He could have sworn he told her this before butâŚ
The way her legs wrapped around his waist when he got the article of clothing off seemed to stop his thought process in its tracks. His eyes were wide and practically glued to the newly exposed flesh. He leaned over her, using her remaining clothing as a way to pull her closer as he discarded her fishnets and panties, too. She looked like a goddess, the only woman in his world that was worthy of his attention.
Crimson spread across pale flesh as he ran his hands down her body in a feverish manner. Red tainted her untouched skin. The profane tainting innocence. She was in too deep now, with the evidence now on full display on her divine form. Her gentle yet experienced touch reminded him that she was not some pure virgin, but she waited for him. She reassured him that she loved him, and love him she did. Her kiss was sweet - sweeter than anything heâd ever tasted - and it was enough to help him forget the horrors heâd committed.
Her body arched into his as he pressed into her, letting out a small cry of his own as the foreign feeling enveloped his body like a flame. He wanted nothing more than to make her his, and letting her take this part of him forever was enough.
She was his and his alone at the moment.
His own Query. His safe haven, a place where he knew there would be no more pain, no more tortureâŚ
