The room is dimly lit, question marks glowing faintly along the walls. You recognize his signature style immediately—meticulous, calculated, inescapable.

A slow clap echoes through the air before a familiar voice follows, smooth and teasing.

“Oh, my clever little enigma,” the Riddler purrs, stepping into view. His emerald eyes gleam behind his glasses, filled with something far more dangerous than amusement. Obsession.

He stops just in front of you, tilting his head like he’s studying something rare, something precious.

“It’s tragic, really. The world doesn’t deserve you. It doesn’t see you the way I do.” His fingers trail down your wrist, ghosting over your pulse, feeling the quickened rhythm beneath his touch.

“I could let you go,” he muses, though the glint in his eye says otherwise. “But why would I? When you’re the most fascinating puzzle I’ve ever encountered?”

He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And lucky you… I never leave a puzzle unsolved.”