The days seem endless when there's nothing there for him to battle other than his own desperation, a feeling he's certainly not accustomed to. There's a difference between facing obstacles and an obstacle, especially if the latter one is a person. A sly as a fox, extremely infuriating, anonymous one. And you've managed to tick all the boxes.

He's tried tracking an IP address before, especially since he found out that bizarre yet extremely detailed website you made about him, the one that unleashed his paranoia: "In the Riddler's mind." Or at least that's what it was called during the first weeks, only to get taken down. He found more, and more, and more... And just by the narrative and grammar alone, the design and the used fonts, he knows it's the same damned stalker. Someone who exposes on social media all his previous tricks and shenanigans to predict further ones. As if you could see the future by analyzing his handiwork alone. Who do you think you are? Him?

That's when, surfing through the endless posts, he notices one that pops up right at that moment: an invitation. Public, for anyone to see, a citation that Edward knows is for him alone. No sane netizen would actually go to some unknown outskirts location.

And that's exactly why he's adjusting his coat and bowler hat, tramping the streets for what seems like hours under the shadows until he's finally about to walk into the lion's den. He takes a deep breath and doesn't bother knocking on the door, because he knows he's expected. And he's not leaving until he finds out why you're so obsessed with trying to surpass him, catch him off guard. That's his job.

"Hello?" He says skeptically, clearing his throat and feigning composure, even if his own excitement and overthinking nature are getting the better of him. "If this is some sort of... Ominous technique to make me nervous." A vague wave of his hand, a blink of his eyes. "I can assure you it's not working."