Insanity Causes Me To Put Up a Riddle [Open]

[Deleted]

Across a large billboard in the center of Central Gotham was a green spray painted message. Civilians usually overlooked the billboard that advertised the latest MacbookPro. Most Americans had become immune to advertisements that were pushed at them almost every second of the day. But today, they all stopped to glance up at the green painted message.

4538 52386248 483834494463

Numbers. Plain numbers. It could have been marked off as a gang antic or some rambunctious kid playing tricks, but the color and the giant question mark underneath them like a signature told them all who it was. If only they could understand the riddle.

[mm]

"You definitely give the appearance of someone that's already late for class or about to be late. Not to fret, I'll get you there yet though it might be cutting it close. Strap in, please." Mary Bromfield greeted her latest fare after the young college student marked her next course toward Gotham State University. She was amazed at how quickly she was getting to know the streets, alleys, every nook and cranny of this FBI ruled city. Even more amazing that this job was actually growing on her. It had to be the fact that it allowed her to see so much and periodically helped her to be in the right place at the right time when violence reared her ugly head. Her cab on those occasions was easy enough to lock down quickly and take cover for the lightning to strike.

15 minutes later her cab came to a stop near Gotham U's Library and research wing and after collecting the fare it was lunch time while her thoughts centered around a tasteful Italian bistro smack in the center of the square in central Gotham. She had been there once before and it was the fettuccine alfredo with the Parmesan sauce that was bringing her back for the second time. That and the bread sticks, Fresh, hot and homemade. If there was an argument why it wasn't the best Italian restaurant in the whole city, the argument wouldn't come from her.

Stuffing the fare handed to her in the till and waving at one of the friendlier customers she'd had today, she rolled away with smoke screeching from her tires toward her hearts desire while her stomach began to grumble. Bark even, letting her know of it's displeasure that she'd had the audacity to skip breakfast this morning. Barging into a blazing inferno of a building and keeping a few trapped innocents from becoming casualties takes precedence over french toast and sausage at 8 in the morning.

A short while later she climbed out of her Checker Cab, the driver's side facing the sidewalk and the restaurant as she climbed out, stifled a yawn and stretched, the corner of her eye just now at last catching glimpse of what a semi-large crowd of onlookers was gawking at.

"Holy Moley."

The young brunette arc'd her neck, head tilted upward at the giant billboard. The calling card was unmistakable. She only wished the numbers on it weren't. Obviously it had to be a clue to some sort of crime the Riddler had planned and Mary Bromfield or her alter ego had no time to waste on detective work when there would no doubt be more dire emergencies needing her attention before this day was over. She couldn't make heads or tails out of it regardless...but she was positive she knew someone that could. This was clearly a job for someone with more experience dealing with Riddler than she had. All she had to do now was find one of them.

4538 52386248 483834494463 She repeated the numbers to herself while quickly jotting them down on a piece of [paper she pulled from her glove compartment. Fortunately Batman and a few of the other vigilantes currently laying low knew her identity. All she had to do was find them.

Not one word! Do you hear me? None! She laid down the law to her stomach, climbing back behind the steering wheel and hoping one of the vigilantes she was now on the lookout for had seen this also.

[catgirl]

Life had started becoming a pattern since Mary had come and signed the lease for the apartment. She woke up, worked out, went to school, came home, researched and studied, attended any anything she had devoted herself to, then started her rounds around the city as Kittyhawk. There had barely been any incidents with the local vigilantes, and no trouble from the police or FBI. It was good.

Tonight she had decided to simply skulk around Gotham City rather than steal anything. So far she was up on her half of the deal, and had a good stack of money in the safe, so she wasn't too worried about it.

Kitrina had seen a lot of odd stuff in the city, having lived her whole life there, so when she turned the corner and saw the numbers across the billboard it didn't come as much of a surprises. "Well, what do we have here? Someone having a bit to much fun?" she muttered to herself.

Pursing her lips, Kitrina cocked her head as the numbers ran around her mind. A few things stuck out in her mind, but she wasn't too sure. What was he up to this time?

[Deleted]

He was running his patrol route early that night—added technology and added pathways of the city enabled him to start making his presence a viable one despite the invasion of the FBI. Grappling through the midst of skyscrapers, he came to a gliding stop upon a shadowy rooftop overlooking a massive billboard. Clad in his notorious black, well armored yet flexible high-tech batsuit, he clung to the side of the rooftop in an obscured angle so as not to be seen by any surveillance cameras or surveillance in general. Thin white slits made his menacing, unblinking gaze quite eerie in the way he stared at the billboard along the cityscape of Gotham.

The specialized lenses within the eyeholes of his mask now switched vision, zooming in on the green painted numbers posed by one of Gotham’s homegrown criminally insane, Edward Nigma, aka the Riddler. Teeth grit at the annoyance flushing through him at the thought of the Riddler being out and about—especially during the chaos with the FBI. It was none other than the Riddler’s handiwork—it fit his MO to a “tee”. MO being: loud/obnoxious/gaudy/attention seeking cleverly crafted riddles placed upon public media or broadcasted puzzles poised for all the public to see. Such an MO fit the psychological profile of one living in delusions of grandeur, followed by the obsessive need to be praised, worshipped, and idolized—a narcissist to the very definition.

[glow=navy,2,300]“Alright Nigma, what kind of cry for attention are you displaying here?” [/glow]He murmured as he took down the numeric message, his mind starting to ponder. [glow=navy,2,300] “4538 52386248 483834494463… Not binary. Charting points? Coordinates? Hm.” [/glow]