Chapter Text
Thursday, October 31st
10:09 pm
Halloween night; just another pathetic excuse for the secretly twisted residents of Gotham to do whatever they want in a mask. Adults and adolescents alike watch each other with careful eyes, waiting to see which one of them is brave enough to open the can of worms first. But when they look up at the sky, they freeze in fear—for the light illuminating Gotham’s dark streets is not the moon this time, but a signal. A mark. A threat. A promise.
God knows how long he’s been doing this. Even in the supposed quiet haven I call a home, I can still hear them talking about him; whatever—or whoever—might be under that mask. On one news channel, “Bat-shaped Searchlight Returns: Batman on the Move?” on another, “The Dark Knight Spotted Near Latest Crime Scene”. The slightly more unique headline catches my eye, but rather than the news reporters focusing solely on the vigilante, they report the death of Gotham’s former mayor, Don Mitchell Jr. I crane my neck towards the television, making sure I was seeing things correctly. The image of the candidate’s duct-taped face shown on the screen made me frown in slight horror. The message scrawled in red marker made my frown deepen.
Former mayor Don Mitchell Jr. was found dead in his home earlier this Halloween evening—” I immediately shut it off, interrupting the reporter’s words. I sighed, feeling my lungs weigh heavily on my ribs. Never a moment of peace in this hellhole. I walk around my apartment, idly, until I finally stop in front of the kitchen counter. “Something warm would be nice,” I mumble, reaching up to grab a box of herbal tea from my impossibly high cabinet. I turn on the gas stove, place down a kettle filled with sink water, and walk away to pass time as it slowly heats up.
I slip on an itchy green sweater over my white tee, trading my comfort for a little more warmth. I can’t remember the last time I used the apartment’s heater. I learned my lesson last time; all I got was dust and a higher utility bill. Never a moment of peace..
I pass by my dilapidated desk and glance over at the mess of papers and books. Ever since I landed a job at the Gotham Times, I haven’t paid my desk much thought. Just some unopened library books and a few newspapers here and there. Perhaps if I paid more attention, my work would turn out better… I sigh, heavier this time, and I pick up the disregarded folder with the title “ESCAPE”. I scoff at my past irrational self for the edgy title, but I don’t oppose her. Living in Gotham is indeed difficult. Looking at the contents inside, I realize I’m not too far from my goal—all I need is a bit more money. A few more paychecks. But I hesitate, I think to myself.. Do I truly want to leave…?
I jump slightly at the screeching sound that pulled me from my thoughts. “Tea’s ready..” I announce, to nobody in particular, and I toss the folder aside to let it marinate a little more.
“ESCAPE”.
< ? >
Friday, November 1st
8:48 am
I wake up to about five, maybe eight missed calls. About two of them were spam calls… The rest were from Bruce. I dial the number, not with haste, but with slight annoyance. His first call was at about 5:20 am. I don’t even bother to ask what he was doing, awake at that hour.
…
Not even three seconds in, he answers.
“Hello?”
“...Hey? Why so urgent..?” I ask, not even bothering to be polite.
“No. I– wasn’t. Just trying to check up on you… you know..”
“Why? Because the mayor died for some sicko’s Halloween prank?”
“...That’s insensitive.”
“I’m sorry… I’m just on edge.”
“You should really just come back, you know.”
I merely scoff.
“..You’ll be safe at the tower.”
“Safe, from what? Do you know who killed…?”
He doesn’t immediately reply.
“Just.. please, consider it. You’re.. still family..”
“..You didn’t answer my question.”
“...”
“No, I’m just on edge,”
“Fuck you.”
“Wait—”
I hang up, rolling my eyes.
I toss the phone on my bed and open the curtains by my bedroom window, letting in a nice stream of sunlight. Tickled by the warmth, I finally remove my green sweater and toss it somewhere alongside my phone.
Freedom. I couldn’t ever imagine living like Bruce—or with him, for that matter. I enjoy living alone in this small and humble apartment rather than that dauntingly large space they call Wayne Tower. It was barely ever my home. I was too young to read those headlines, but they haunted me as I grew. “Lucky Star of Gotham Orphanage”, and “Unexpected Addition to the Wayne Family” was how they described me. Not long after, they became “Tragic Murder of Legendary Waynes” and “A Dark Day for Gotham”. It was suffocating. Bruce, he handled it with that cold detachment he always seems to have.
Freedom. I remember it vividly. A few days after my seventeenth birthday, I took my luggage and boarded a bus to the apartment complex in Tricorner. I didn’t tell Bruce, Alfred, or Doris, and none of them tried to talk me out of it when they found out. Unfortunately, my lavish life made me unprepared for Gotham’s horrors. I impulsively traded safety and comfort for independence, and it was my worst mistake. For a period of time, I cursed them for not stopping me.
Freedom. Is it ever worth it? My past experiences make me hesitate to leave Gotham, even now. Will the neighboring cities truly bring me peace? There’s one thing for certain—none of the other cities are as dark. On the grounds of Gotham, there’s always this sickening feeling in your stomach, one akin to being prey stalked by a predator.
"ESCAPE."
9:23 pm
The day goes by relatively quickly. I come home carrying a paper bag filled with groceries for the upcoming week and a novel I found from the local bookstore. I slip off my shoes and flip the TV on, hoping for some entertainment to keep my mind busy as I unpack. Immediately after the screen turned on, an eye-catching headline was followed by a chilling video. Following the sound of heavy breathing, there was a low, husky voice that spoke over a white question mark written on dark green fabric. While I didn’t have much context, I deduced this had something to do with the late mayor’s death. The cryptic signs and symbols were most definitely related.
"Hello, people of Gotham.” The camera pans upward, revealing the rest of the man’s upper body. He wore a military mask that perfectly matched his question-mark coat. His clear-framed glasses were similar to the color of his pale face. The sight of the man made me exuberantly frightened.
"..This is the Riddler speaking.” Riddler. It was certainly a self-appointed title, but it explained the mysterious yet intentional marks he left. It made me wonder just what was going on behind the scenes. Just how cryptic were his riddles? A civilian like me wouldn’t know.
"On Halloween night, I killed your mayor because he was not who he pretended to be..” He speaks, then he leans closer to the camera. His voice becomes a chilling whisper.
"..But I am not done.” I watch in horror as the Riddler turns the camera to a cruel sight. Pete Savage, the commissioner of GCPD, was tied to a chair while caged rats ate away at his face and body. As the Riddler continued to speak, I could hear Savage’s panicked sobs. It made me recoil, but somehow, I couldn’t turn my eyes away from the screen.
"..I will kill again, and again, and again,” he giggles, “until our day of judgement, when the truth of our city will FINALLY…be unmasked.” As if it were a vlog, he holds the camera at an angle that shows both his face and his crime. With wide eyes, he finishes the video with an excited “Goodbye!”
I took his words as an opportunity to shut off the TV. Leaning back against my kitchen counter, I hold my head and take a deep breath. It was more a sigh of relief than anything else. “..Because he was not who he pretended to be?” I question it out loud. Just what could the Riddler mean by that? “When the truth of our city will be unmasked,” I hum, a bit more amused. Now that was something to look forward to.
As the night goes on and the lights dim, only one thought stays in my mind. The Riddler. Is the Batman truly a hero when compared to him?