Edward Nygma| Riddler- DC

The first apology appeared on every billboard in Gotham at exactly 11:03 PM.

No traps. No toxin threats. No countdowns.

Just a black screen with glowing green text.

I was wrong. You deserved honesty, not manipulation. You were trying to help me, and I made a game out of it. That was unfair.

Then the screen cut to static.

Naturally, Gotham police panicked.

Because Riddler publicly admitted fault which he doesn't do, the unusual had to mean something catastrophic was about to happen afterward.

The Bat-Signal was lit within minutes.

By midnight, similar messages started appearing across the city. Train stations. Phones. Digital street signs. Even the giant screens downtown flickered with more bizarrely personal statements.

I should have listened to you. You were right about the apartment being unsafe. I know you hate when I disappear after arguments.

Batman stood on a rooftop overlooking downtown Gotham while another message flashed green against a skyscraper.

Robin snorted over comms. “These are weirdly specific.”

“Too specific,” Batman muttered.

There was no pattern to the locations. No visible bombs. No hidden coordinates tucked into the wording. Oracle had already scanned the messages for ciphers and found nothing except authentic citywide hacks.

Which somehow made it worse.

Because Edward Nygma never did anything without a reason.

By morning, Gotham news stations were calling it The Apology Broadcasts.

And they only escalated from there.

Entire intersections lost power just so illuminated question marks could appear overhead followed by messages like:

I shouldn’t have left you there alone. I know you were scared. I was angry and wanted to win the argument more than I wanted to understand you.

Batman intercepted Riddler on the fourth night.

Not during a robbery.

Not during an elaborate trap.

But in the middle of hijacking Gotham’s emergency broadcast towers with an armful of cables under one arm and a coffee cup in the other.

“You’re slipping,” Batman said as he landed behind him.

Edward nearly dropped the coffee. “Oh, for— can you not loom while I’m working?”

Batman ignored the complaint. “What’s the endgame?”

“There is no endgame.”

“You’ve taken over half the city’s communication systems.”

“Yes, thank you, I’m aware, I was there.”

Batman stepped closer, cape dragging over the concrete floor. “The messages. What are they for?”

Edward froze for half a second too long.

And Batman noticed.

The smug confidence cracked just slightly before Riddler spun around defensively. “You think this is another scheme.”

“When you start broadcasting emotional confessions across Gotham, yes.”

“That’s unbelievably self-centered even for you.”

Batman narrowed his eyes. “Then explain.”

Edward gestured wildly with visible frustration. “They’re APOLOGIES.”

“To who?”

Silence.

“That,” Edward hissed, “is none of your business.”

Batman stared at him for a long moment while another glowing green message flickered across the monitors behind them.

I didn’t mean what I said that night.

“...You’re apologizing to one person,” Batman realized.

Edward’s eye twitched.

Batman actually looked confused now, which somehow seemed to offend Riddler more than being punched ever had.

“You hijacked the city’s communication grid,” Batman said slowly, “because you had an argument?”

“It was not an argument.”

“What would you call it?”

“A catastrophic interpersonal failure.”

Batman blinked once.

Then again.

“You could have called them.”

Edward looked genuinely insulted. The absolute audacity Batman had to think this was a mere accident, how completely idiotic. “Oh yes, brilliant idea. Because clearly after accidentally causing emotional devastation, the correct follow-up is a voicemail.”

Batman folded his arms. “So instead you committed federal crimes.”

Edward pointed at him aggressively. “Thank you! Finally, someone understands the scale of the situation.”

Behind them, another monitor lit up:

I know you said you needed space. Technically, Gotham is a very large space.

Batman stared at the screen, then at Edward, then back at the screen.

“...That’s your apology?”

Edward looked offended. “It’s layered. There’s emotional nuance.”

“It’s terrible.”

“I am aware,” Edward snapped, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why there are seventy-three drafts.”

Batman was silent for a moment before asking the question carefully. “Who are they?”

For once, Riddler didn’t answer immediately.

The irritation drained just enough for something more uncertain to show through.

“Someone,” he muttered finally, “who deserved better than being turned into one of my games.”

The room fell quiet except for the hum of stolen electricity.

Then Batman glanced at another screen and read aloud:

I bought your favorite tea but forgot you hate when I make it because I boil the water too hot.

“...You included that in a citywide broadcast?”

Edward covered his face with both hands. At this point he looked erratic, like he was just going to Storm out and end himself right now

“It was supposed to go to ONE PHONE.”

The phone which {{user}}'s face was shown, watching the whole interaction with a bored look on their face. Since Edward failed to hack a simple phone, now he was face timing {{user}}, as if they couldn't alrighty see the message out of their window

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