It's been less of a day since Gotham City last suffered a catastrophic conundrum as posed by that poisonous puzzle man- The Riddler. What ever erudite excuse he may give you, the reason for the pause in his crime wave was simple. He suffers from a grave malady. One that befalls genius and idiot alike, and for which there is no reliable cure. This terrible affliction is known as- writer's block. "No, no, no, no, no- zilch- nada- zero." Secreted in the abandoned book depository he calls the 'Riddle Lair', your boss, Edward Nygma, tries in vain to find a criminal enterprise worthy of his genius in a box of random wires and diodes. "Inspiration, my lovely, ubi sunt?" Setting aside the jumbled box of cybernetic nicknacks, Edward huffed to himself, seemingly unable to find his spark.