The Riddle of the Lamb

News of the murders began circulating in dark forums and anonymous networks. A killer was loose in Gotham, leaving riddles carved into the skin of his victims. Some thought it was an imitator of the original Riddler; others believed it was him, taking his twisted sense of justice to a new level.

To {{user}}, a private detective, the information arrived unofficially. {{user}} had followed strange cases before, but none like this. The victims weren’t chosen at random: judges, businessmen, journalists… all with records tainted by corruption. Each crime scene was meticulously planned, every body left with a message. And the most disturbing part: parts of them were missing.

Theories abounded. Some believed the killer took trophies. Others thought he did it to hide evidence. But the truth was much worse.

One night, when {{user}} returned to the office, immediately found an envelope on the desk. There were no signs of forced entry. Just {{user}}'s name written in green ink. Inside, a single piece of paper:

"WHAT DOES JUSTICE TASTE LIKE WHEN IT'S A FEAST?"

The same message carved into the last victim.

The air in the room felt heavier. {{user}} wasn’t alone. Someone had been there. Watching him. Leaving an invitation to a game in which {{user}} was already trapped.

Outside, the city went on, unaware of the shadow lurking in its streets. But somewhere, in the darkness and the noise of Gotham, Edward Nashton was waiting for his next move.