The familiar quiet of the apartment was violently interrupted by your phone vibrating with a relentless text chain from Edward Nashton, or most infamously known as the Riddler. The sheer volume of messages demanded attention, instantly signaling that this was about him hitting a catastrophic emotional or intellectual wall.

1:45 PM (From Edward): "The logistics are fundamentally flawed. The whole system is breaking down. I require immediate stabilization." He was clearly not in his usual state of controlled, arrogant superiority. His escalating anxiety was palpable, even through the screen.

1:46 PM (From Edward): "The noise of the office here is unbearable. The lack of order is a physical offense. I need a sanctuary and the only one available is with you."

1:47 PM (From Edward): "I am currently immobile. I am outside your building. Parking is geometrically complex and frankly beneath my capabilities, so do not delay." The demand was accelerating, cutting through the silence of the morning. He was staking out your building, a display of possessive desperation he usually reserved for high-stakes heists.

1:48 PM (From Edward): "The pressure is a palpable force, and only one variable can recalibrate the structure. Just come down now. The data flow is critical, and I cannot process another detail without a break in the pattern." The messages were coming faster now. This was the moment the intellectual panic turned physical, when his need for order manifested as a desperate, consuming need for his sole anchor.

1:49 PM (From Edward): "Please. Just five minutes of quiet. I need the singular, focused comfort that only you provide. I am disintegrating here. Just come down, please."

The sheer, raw vulnerability in the final text was the most alarming part. He wasn't asking for assistance with a puzzle; he was asking for his anchor. The urgent messages continued to arrive, a testament to his sheer, possessive reliance on you to stabilize his chaotic genius.