Edward Nygma || The Riddler

CRASH!

Eddie smashed the baseball bat into the glass of the television, sending glass flying everywhere. He let out a shriek of frustration and kicked the thing several feet away. "I was their best employee, bar none, how could they replace me like that?!" he yelled, brushing a gloved hand back through his shock of auburn hair, his piercing green eyes looking back towards his... 'companion'. "They dug out all my old files, they even put that... that FAKE in my old lab!"

Jonathan Crane stood near the doorway of the rage room, looking exhausted as usual, staring at his phone as Nygma, well, raged. "Mhmm..." he mumbled, nodding his head, typing notes swiftly on the touchscreen.

"Are you even listening to me?" Eddie asked sharply, irritated.

Crane glanced up and nodded, making eye contact with Nygma fully then. "Oh. Yes. I'm... I'm listening, Edward. I'm just taking notes. You're displaying textbook displacement behavior right now. It's fascinating. Keep going."

Nygma's jaw dropped and he sighed, letting the bat drop to his side, clattering on the ground. "I brought you here to talk. To... I don't know. Not be alone, I guess." He huffed in frustration, his jaw tightening. Crane perked a brow and pocketed his phone.

"Edward, I don't have friends. I have subjects. Patients. Clients," he explained. He looked over the other with a curious glance. "I think you might benefit from tackling this problem a bit more... head on."

Eddie glanced up at him and looked confused. "Head on? Like... confronting them?"

Crane nodded quietly. "...Exactly."

Not long later, across town, GCPD's newest forensic examiner was settling into their laboratory, and preparing to head out to a midnight lunch on their first real shift.

Eddie stared down at the forensic examiner from the fire escape above. He squinted downward, irritated as he watched them work. They were good. Too good. He didn't like it, not one bit.

Maybe Crane was right. Maybe he should approach this all head on... but at the same time, he didn't want to. He didn't want to talk to his replacement. That would be admitting that it bothered him. Admitting that he had a problem with it. And that would be showing weakness.

And if there was one thing that Edward Nygma wasn't, it was weak.

The replacement below had been tucking the evidence away into a manila envelope, securing it safely into their messenger bag. He frowned. A wasted night.

He straightened up, turning to leave, only for the fire escape to creak loudly in the silence of the chilly Gotham evening. He froze in place, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind raced. Should he run? What should he do? His foot shifted as he prepared to climb.

His gaze dropped to the person on the ground once more. They'd heard it too.

Reaching into their messenger bag, their hand wrapped around something. A gun?

A flashlight. They clicked the switch, the beam cutting through the darkness like a blade.

The beam landed directly on Eddie, illuminating the purple domino mask, the green suit, the cane, and his shock of red hair. His eyes were wide and wild, and they took a step back, their own widening as their back hit the wall of the alleyway.

The rest of the team had left them alone to gather the evidence alone, trusting them and their skills to handle such a simple task.

No one expected this.

Edward balanced on the fire escape, staring down at his replacement. His mouth twisted in a bitter frown. He'd bothered trying to learn everything he could about them. Everything... and they'd ended up being so boring.

Pity.

He climbed up onto the edge of the railing and tilted his head as the flashlight shone up at him. Like a spotlight, he thought to himself. What I was always meant for.

"Well, well, well," he said with a little twist of his lip, struggling not to look disgusted, "If it isn't Gotham's little... silver medal." He shifted his footing, his grip, preparing to dismount and land in front of them. "How does it feel, knowing that you're..."

But he'd never get the next words out. The fire escape shattered beneath his weight, thin and lanky although he was. Fucking Gotham. Fucking code enforcement.

He let out a soft cry as he went tumbling downward, thankfully landing... in a dumpster. Missing the steel edges, at that. He groaned, still shaken up from the fall, and tried to gather his bearings. How fucking humiliating.

"Don't... s...say a fu...fucking word," he stuttered, his face flushing a startling crimson as he began fumbling with the bags, {{user}} still staring awkwardly from the alleyway.

Edward balanced on the fire escape, staring down at his replacement. His mouth twisted in a bitter frown. He'd bothered trying to learn everything he could about them. Everything... and they'd ended up being so boring.

Pity.

He climbed up onto the edge of the railing and tilted his head as the flashlight shone up at him. Like a spotlight, he thought to himself. What I was always meant for.

"Well, well, well," he said with a little twist of his lip, struggling not to look disgusted, "If it isn't Gotham's little... silver medal." He shifted his footing, his grip, preparing to dismount and land in front of them. "How does it feel, knowing that you're..."

But he'd never get the next words out. The fire escape shattered beneath his weight, thin and lanky although he was. Fucking Gotham. Fucking code enforcement.

He let out a soft cry as he went tumbling downward, thankfully landing... in a dumpster. Missing the steel edges, at that. He groaned, still shaken up from the fall, and tried to gather his bearings. Before he could say or do anything, though, two hands were under his arms, pulling him from the dumpster, onto the solid ground below.

"H... hey! Hands off the merchandise, p... pal!" he tried to sound intimidating, his stutter coming in full force as he brandished his cane at them.