A story high above the low, recorded by few, disputed by later.
WHO: EDWARD NYGMA and POSSIBLY YOU.
WHERE: NOHoPE.
WHEN: August 8th - August 14th.
WARNINGS: Sweep you all up on a corner and pay for my bread.
SUMMARY: You know that I cannot believe my own truth.
FORMAT: To show what a truth, it's got nothing to lose.
They had taken away his pens. After the fourteenth riddle he had marked over the once-pristine walls, they had informed him that he was acting destructively and could not do with this privilege any longer. Eddie hadn't humored this exceptionally well. If you hadn't intended for me to express myself, he had argued, you wouldn't have encouraged such easily attained access. Whose idea was it to give me the tools anyway? His words were stonewalled, met with incomprehension or disdain. And shortly soon, punishment. Edward Nygma found himself alone, without release, staring at his blackly inked words driven over his walls. A room riddled.
He kept thinking of Norman. How that man was meandering through his life, undisturbed, when he had so abruptly ruined Eddie's own. How unfair it was, how cruel. How much he direly wanted to snip out Norman's vocal chords with a charming pair of symbolically rusty scissors and --
Oh. But that was rather frowned upon, wasn't it?
"Hardly a resonating concern anymore, is it?" Eddie muttered to himself. He had been in the habit of drifting in and out of speech in his solitude. Robbed of an audience and introduced to all kinds of new anti-psychotics (how the market had changed, since his Arkham days), he found himself prone to halfway-audible discussions with his own ears. It was grand company thus far, he wouldn't argue that. His eyes focused on the wall to his left, idly reading his own desperate scrawls.
PARTIAL OBLIGATION
FOLLOWING 01000111
ENDING WITH THE PENULTIMATE IN BEGINNING
Work that had yet been erased by his self-appointed caretakers. He rather liked that one particular riddle, it was rather pivotal. The act itself was soothing, something delving deeper into his past habits. A sort of solace granted in the dark, quiet places of his mind. An old friend. A resolve, an endurance. Truth screaming behind art. Truth. Obsession. Compulsion. This was better, he reasoned, this is how it should be. And that thought was perhaps the thing that Eddie hated the most, the one idea that he couldn't suffer; knowing how Norman Osborn made this realization first.
We may as well talk on equal terms, was what Norman had said to him as they both wore their respective costumes, both soaked in darkness. Equal terms. It was a phrase that stung, as surely Norman knew. When Eddie orchestrated his rival's convoluted downfall, he had done so with the superiority of his moral action. Eddie was right, and if he had to sacrifice a few dozen innocent lives to prove how right he was, so be it. If he had to pay with minimal blood in order to rescue thousands -- maybe even millions -- then it was a price well paid. His method was unconventional, yes, but effective. He was an agent of the greater good, a visionary of the Bigger Picture. He was the hero who had humbled a monster. Equal terms dismantled the idea, mocked it. Weaponized it.
SLAIN WITHOUT THE LEAD
VILE IN CONJUNCTION
WHAT IS THE HERO?
Locked within the painfully pale rooms of the Norman Osborn Hospital of Psychological Evaluation, Edward Nygma then decided that he was done playing games.
WHERE: NOHoPE.
WHEN: August 8th - August 14th.
WARNINGS: Sweep you all up on a corner and pay for my bread.
SUMMARY: You know that I cannot believe my own truth.
FORMAT: To show what a truth, it's got nothing to lose.
They had taken away his pens. After the fourteenth riddle he had marked over the once-pristine walls, they had informed him that he was acting destructively and could not do with this privilege any longer. Eddie hadn't humored this exceptionally well. If you hadn't intended for me to express myself, he had argued, you wouldn't have encouraged such easily attained access. Whose idea was it to give me the tools anyway? His words were stonewalled, met with incomprehension or disdain. And shortly soon, punishment. Edward Nygma found himself alone, without release, staring at his blackly inked words driven over his walls. A room riddled.
He kept thinking of Norman. How that man was meandering through his life, undisturbed, when he had so abruptly ruined Eddie's own. How unfair it was, how cruel. How much he direly wanted to snip out Norman's vocal chords with a charming pair of symbolically rusty scissors and --
Oh. But that was rather frowned upon, wasn't it?
"Hardly a resonating concern anymore, is it?" Eddie muttered to himself. He had been in the habit of drifting in and out of speech in his solitude. Robbed of an audience and introduced to all kinds of new anti-psychotics (how the market had changed, since his Arkham days), he found himself prone to halfway-audible discussions with his own ears. It was grand company thus far, he wouldn't argue that. His eyes focused on the wall to his left, idly reading his own desperate scrawls.
PARTIAL OBLIGATION
FOLLOWING 01000111
ENDING WITH THE PENULTIMATE IN BEGINNING
Work that had yet been erased by his self-appointed caretakers. He rather liked that one particular riddle, it was rather pivotal. The act itself was soothing, something delving deeper into his past habits. A sort of solace granted in the dark, quiet places of his mind. An old friend. A resolve, an endurance. Truth screaming behind art. Truth. Obsession. Compulsion. This was better, he reasoned, this is how it should be. And that thought was perhaps the thing that Eddie hated the most, the one idea that he couldn't suffer; knowing how Norman Osborn made this realization first.
We may as well talk on equal terms, was what Norman had said to him as they both wore their respective costumes, both soaked in darkness. Equal terms. It was a phrase that stung, as surely Norman knew. When Eddie orchestrated his rival's convoluted downfall, he had done so with the superiority of his moral action. Eddie was right, and if he had to sacrifice a few dozen innocent lives to prove how right he was, so be it. If he had to pay with minimal blood in order to rescue thousands -- maybe even millions -- then it was a price well paid. His method was unconventional, yes, but effective. He was an agent of the greater good, a visionary of the Bigger Picture. He was the hero who had humbled a monster. Equal terms dismantled the idea, mocked it. Weaponized it.
SLAIN WITHOUT THE LEAD
VILE IN CONJUNCTION
WHAT IS THE HERO?
Locked within the painfully pale rooms of the Norman Osborn Hospital of Psychological Evaluation, Edward Nygma then decided that he was done playing games.