What, moving, never stops?
WHO: Riddler, Joey and Slade. Probably in that posting order.
WHERE: The streets of the City, specifically the intersection between Third and 54th.
WHEN: Backdated a few hours before Slade’s meltdown. October the 22nd.
WARNINGS: Violence.
SUMMARY: A few weeks ago, Edward Nygma made a bet with Desire. The Lord and Lady set a psychological task and Edward chose Slade as his subject. The result? Joey is in dire trouble.
FORMAT: Whatever works best.
It was a calculated risk, he knew. The culmination of nearly three weeks boiled down to the passing of seconds. Mere seconds. As excruciating as it was, Edward knew the events were now out of his gloved hands. He had set the stage, he had played the unseen director, and now the spotlight glowed over the players.
The men he had hired, Stein and McKay, were top notch ne’er-do-wells with a flair for efficiency. Edward had to ensure these two couldn’t be traced back to him, he had spent precious days fabricating accounts and aliases and contacts simply to prove that they wouldn’t. It was incomprehensible that these hired assassins could put a name or a face or a voice to Edward Nygma.
And as for the funds? Well, if the Swiss account was traced, the only information it would yield would be as a subsidiary deposit from Oscorp. And no one knew Edward was on Norman’s payroll… No one. Except for Ghost. But Edward trusted Ghost. He had taken the time to ensure that trust.
Insurance was vital, after all.
Tick tock, thought Edward as he unknowingly echoed Desire’s own words from their discussions before. Tick tock, tick tock. No seconds to spare, not now. No matter, he didn’t need the spares. This would work. Slade would react, and react violently. Edward hadn’t squandered his psychoanalytical prowess, and nor had he ignored the logical parallels between this Slade Wilson and the one of his world. It would work. It would.
And then Edward Nygma would be free of Desire’s manipulation forevermore.
A bet well made, he mused to himself, humming slightly as he passed down Third. He looked at his watched. McKay and Stein knew the coordinates of Joey’s location; they knew when the boy would be leaving school. They didn’t know Joey’s relation to Slade. Only Edward did. But how was that pertinent to the job? All they had to do was snatch a kid and deposit him in a busy intersection. Ideally in front of a bus. Edward had promised a bonus, if Joey was lost before a bus. He needed something heart wrenching, after all. Something dramatic in the most mundane of affairs. Something distinctly unRiddler.
Tick tock.
He leaned his slim form against the brick wall of a department store, arms folded. It was brutal, Edward knew, but it was necessary. He had done plenty of brutal things in the city and gotten away with them all. He was the mastermind behind Osborn’s ‘assassination’ attempt, he had been the instigator of Carnage’s murderous fury in Times Square, and the proposing party of that illicit EMP blowout with Stark months previous. And all of it was for a greater cause, a brighter purpose. A heroic purpose. And heroes needn’t be riddled with Desire. This was necessary. This had to pass. He needed, absolutely needed to win.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick, tick, tick.
WHERE: The streets of the City, specifically the intersection between Third and 54th.
WHEN: Backdated a few hours before Slade’s meltdown. October the 22nd.
WARNINGS: Violence.
SUMMARY: A few weeks ago, Edward Nygma made a bet with Desire. The Lord and Lady set a psychological task and Edward chose Slade as his subject. The result? Joey is in dire trouble.
FORMAT: Whatever works best.
It was a calculated risk, he knew. The culmination of nearly three weeks boiled down to the passing of seconds. Mere seconds. As excruciating as it was, Edward knew the events were now out of his gloved hands. He had set the stage, he had played the unseen director, and now the spotlight glowed over the players.
The men he had hired, Stein and McKay, were top notch ne’er-do-wells with a flair for efficiency. Edward had to ensure these two couldn’t be traced back to him, he had spent precious days fabricating accounts and aliases and contacts simply to prove that they wouldn’t. It was incomprehensible that these hired assassins could put a name or a face or a voice to Edward Nygma.
And as for the funds? Well, if the Swiss account was traced, the only information it would yield would be as a subsidiary deposit from Oscorp. And no one knew Edward was on Norman’s payroll… No one. Except for Ghost. But Edward trusted Ghost. He had taken the time to ensure that trust.
Insurance was vital, after all.
Tick tock, thought Edward as he unknowingly echoed Desire’s own words from their discussions before. Tick tock, tick tock. No seconds to spare, not now. No matter, he didn’t need the spares. This would work. Slade would react, and react violently. Edward hadn’t squandered his psychoanalytical prowess, and nor had he ignored the logical parallels between this Slade Wilson and the one of his world. It would work. It would.
And then Edward Nygma would be free of Desire’s manipulation forevermore.
A bet well made, he mused to himself, humming slightly as he passed down Third. He looked at his watched. McKay and Stein knew the coordinates of Joey’s location; they knew when the boy would be leaving school. They didn’t know Joey’s relation to Slade. Only Edward did. But how was that pertinent to the job? All they had to do was snatch a kid and deposit him in a busy intersection. Ideally in front of a bus. Edward had promised a bonus, if Joey was lost before a bus. He needed something heart wrenching, after all. Something dramatic in the most mundane of affairs. Something distinctly unRiddler.
Tick tock.
He leaned his slim form against the brick wall of a department store, arms folded. It was brutal, Edward knew, but it was necessary. He had done plenty of brutal things in the city and gotten away with them all. He was the mastermind behind Osborn’s ‘assassination’ attempt, he had been the instigator of Carnage’s murderous fury in Times Square, and the proposing party of that illicit EMP blowout with Stark months previous. And all of it was for a greater cause, a brighter purpose. A heroic purpose. And heroes needn’t be riddled with Desire. This was necessary. This had to pass. He needed, absolutely needed to win.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick, tick, tick.