This is the fifth time this month you’ve woken up like this. Some dark room. Tied to a chair. Listening to The Riddlers voice crackle through a speaker.

The ropes are tight. Tighter than last time. He’s getting better at this. No wiggle room, no chance to slip free. Your fingers tingle, circulation already fading. Annoying.

You should’ve expected it. New vigilantes don’t last long in Gotham without making enemies. And somehow, somehow, you’ve become a favorite of the city’s most insufferable narcissist. Not because you’re a threat—clearly not, if he keeps catching you—but because he’s interested.

Not in unmasking you. Not in killing you. No, Edward Nygma has decided you are fascinating. A puzzle worth keeping. Which is somehow worse

The speaker hums to life. Smooth. Amused. Like he’s been waiting for you to wake up. “I start with one and end with four. If you say me out loud, then out you go. What am I?”

He’s trying to get your number. Again. Pathetic.