TDoBW He can't win every battle [Red Hood]

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[Hey All, all threads doing with this plot will be labeled TDoBW (The Destruction of Bruce Wayne)]

East Side of Gotham always held a particular smell of alcohol, vomit, and blood, which would stain and linger on your clothes for weeks like the stench of cigarette smoke. Usually his time on this side of town was spent in his warehouse near the docks, the polluted river of Gotham able to wash most of the stink outside of town. It was more bearable.

However, Edward had a particular person he hoped to meet tonight. He had heard his name, and the rumors surrounding him. It had mentioned that the man behind the hood was a robin who had fallen out of the nest. While the rumors didn’t give him concrete evidence, he himself had looked more into the issue. After his revelation, as he now called it, he prolonged his journey before returning to Gotham traveling to Eastern Europe to research the Joker’s attack on the boy. Oh the things, he had found, and with that he was fairly certain the man behind the hood was none other than Jason Todd, the second Robin.

Batman had won many battles. He had thrown Edward into Arkham more times than he could count, but all in the Gotham Underworld knew of his true loss. The moment he returned back to Gotham without his child partner. The next few weeks that followed Batman had become even more physically violent than normal. He remembered Joker returning in a body cast. Edward particularly remembered being at his own apartment, brushing his teeth as the Batman burst through his window, beat him senseless and threw him into a the bat mobile barely conscious. He hadn’t even been plotting anything! It was the only time he could remember the Batman acting on pure emotions, which told his truly a loss Batman saw it as. A loss Edward hoped to use against him, and a lesson to buy thicker glass for his windows.

He walked with his cane in hand through the darken streets. Allen behind him grumbling nonsense about how it was about to rain, but Edward took no note. The street lamps flickered which hid his bright green suit he currently wore. He had determined a bar that the man had been seen going to on a few occasions. He saw the flickering light of the name of it. A few of the letters had fallen, so it was just a jumble of lettering.

He threw the door open, stepping inside, loving an entrance.

The bar that had been wild, some men drunkenly arguing, others speaking deals in dark corners, all quieted for a moment to see the idiot who had just caused noise. When they caught the green suit, everyone knew to keep their mouth shut and never think idiot in his presence.

Edward’s eyes quickly scanned the room for one person in particular, a devious smirk appearing on his lips when he caught a red helmet. There he was sitting at the bar. “Move aside,” he shooed his hands to the two brutes in front of them who had been arguing over who was paying the tab before he stepped in.

“Who do you think you are?” an outsider from town stepped up, forcing his chest near Edward’s face. The other quickly stepped aside and went to go blend in with the shadows.

The Riddler frowned. “Can you finish the sentence? The bigger they are the harder they….” He paused, this was simple test.

“What?” the man shouted in rage not understanding the strange man in front of him.

A loud shot rang in the bar as Edward pulled the trigger, blasting the bullet straight though the man chin and up through his head. He hit the ground with a thud. “Fall,” he stated, stepping over the body, “I swear Allen, I make these easier and easier and they still don’t get them.”

Allen wore his normal large grey jacket and black jean pants. He grunted in response. No matter the weather, he always wore the parka. It hid the multiple guns underneath, but he still had one strapped to his back.

Not that Edward needed Allen’s bullets, he had his own. Edward wiped his gun on his slacks and then placed it back where it belonged. He walked towards the empty bar stool next to the Red Hood. “I don’t believe we have met formally,” he stated, “I’m the Riddler. I believe you kicked me down the stairs about four years ago when you had yellow and green in your wardrobe.”

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There was something about the shadows that made him want to roll around in them; soak them up; drink in all their glory. Glory, of course, was a word he used sparingly when describing anything in Gotham. And Gotham was completely composed of shadows. As a member of the League of Shadows, he felt right at home. You might say that Gotham always felt like home, but he never liked to go that far. The Wayne Mansion never felt like home. Neither did any of the galas or balls Bruce had dragged him to, way back whenever. The only time he felt... purpose was in the streets of Gotham at night.

His life seemed to be divided into three periods: life before Robin, life during Robin, and life after life (also referred to as life after Robin. Heh.) The only outward difference between his nighttime activities during Robin and post-Robin was his overseer or lack thereof. Without Bruce around, he could go on doing what he knew was right for Gotham. Whether Batman or any other man saw his point of view was inconsequential; just because he could see the clockwork and they couldn't, (or refused to, in Bruce's case) was of no concern to him. They would come to the same realization as he once the streets of Gotham were clean.

On the same theme, he dodged the lights that edged the roadside. A ratty car would linger every so often, but it was of no concern to him. His plan had only begun to start turning. He was on 'patrol,' you might say. The eastern side of Gotham, the filthiest and most obscene, was under the control of multiple gangs and drug dealers. But, they all answered to a single man: the Black Mask. He was his first target. Taking over his business associates and assassinating those who refused to cooperate was just an up-side. Crime rates were already falling, what with his patrolling and the marionette strings he held over the dealers and gang leaders. They were actually too simple. Hilarious, really. Batman should have done this years ago. But that meant stepping off his high-horse, which was apparently too damn easy.

His hood was rolled up halfway, enough so he could maneuver the cigarette into his mouth. Characteristically, he flicked the cigarette he had had hanging from his scowl into the sewer as he passed it, careful to trod back into the shadows once he heard to faint plop of the cig meeting water. As he crossed an alleyway, he removed his hood completely for the few seconds it took to run his hand through his hair and replace the hood back onto his head. He knew he had been sighted around the area, he wasn't the idiot everyone seemed to think he was. He may be a little more daring than the grand populace, but that doesn't assume idiocy. He saw the familiar bar sign swing in the distance, which was his usual end to the evening. His bar tab was free. The bar owner was the one paying him, anyway. "Protection" was, apparently, a hefty commercial expense in a place like Gotham. He shrugged it off. Free beer; less crime; win-win.

He smiled through his mask at the bartender as he entered. Antonio was pretty usual at this hour of the night. The rest of the onlookers noticed him and scampered away to their corners. A card game here, drunken jokes there; all in all, it was seemingly a typical night. Had he not come in his full Red Hood attire, he certainly would have been kicked out promptly on his ass. It was a 'members only' bar, in a matter of speaking. Which was why when the door clanged and he didn't hear "Ey, Larry!" or "Ey, Stevey!" he pricked his ears.

It had been a long time since he had been here in Gotham and ran with some of the old flames of his past-life, as he considered it. Voices were now distant in his head. Only a handful rang any bells when they could be heard. Riddle's voice was not one of the select few, so he continued lapping at his beer and listening intently as the intruder strode in and disrupted some perfectly good chaos. "Who do you think you are?" one man had said, the first to confront him. Curiously, the intruder answered him with a riddle. "Can you finish the sentence? The bigger they are the harder they…?” The riddler was affronted by what sounded to be the man's drunken infuriation. A shot rang out and the man was silent. "Fall." The riddle was degradingly simple, but a bell chimed inside of his head in a familiar tune. But he couldn't quite put his finger on it... "I swear Allen, I make these easier and easier and they still don’t get them." He would have shot up to confront the intruder, but he kept his head facing his alcohol in a miracle of self-control. The riddler was The Riddler. Fancy that.

He took the final swig of the foamy liquid and placed it back on the bar, amongst the other rings of drinks past. The Riddler's approach sent a zing through his chest, but he did his best to remain outwardly calm. This was his bar, anyway. "I don't believe we have met formally," he began. "I’m the Riddler. I believe you kicked me down the stairs about four years ago when you had yellow and green in your wardrobe." A ghost of a grin splashed his face before fading behind his red mask. "Ah, memories," he murmured beneath his breath, unsure if either Antonio or Riddle had heard him. So maybe he sounded a little sour, who could blame him? He turned to Antonio, who looked grimly at him. "Want me to call someone, boss?" He chuckled at Antonio's forwardness, but shook his head. "Negatory. Could you please get my old friend Riddle here a drink?" Antonio, eyeing him cautiously, reached for the scotch and poured a glass. He smiled sourly at The Riddler, murmuring, "On the house."

He smiled up at Riddle, something that might have been considered sincere if the man was stupid, which he was aware Riddle was not. He was actually quite clever, to his merit. But, not quite so clever to out-gun him in his own neighborhood. He guessed that was not his intention, though. He would have brought a bigger party. "So, what brings you to my turf?" he inquired. No, he was never particularly adept at guessing games so he hoped he hadn't just come to play Guess Who.

Besides, board games weren't ever any fun.

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He leaned his elbow against the bar, his ‘good’ leg holding his weight as his cane popped out right behind the Hood’s bar stool. He heard the soft remark and barely caught the smile. It caused Edward’s own lips to pout out in annoyance. So happy he held so much joy for almost breaking his neck. He had always this Robin had a bit of an unnecessary use of force. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely surprised to see him sorting with the bottom of Gotham, even though he heard the man had been killing off multiple people in the mob.

A judge and executioner.

Predictable, but Edward had no plans to see his execution tonight, so would continue to appease the man who once upon a time had seen him to his whole Arkham.

He grinned as the drink was delivered, “Quite the service you have here.” He took a sip and then pointed his cane to the outside, “I certainly would not have concluded that with the upkeep of this establishment, but I suppose like any good book, we cannot judge it by its cover.” He smirked, a statement that could be directed to the man sitting in front of him.

He kept his eyes locked on his mask, as he got asked the riddle of the evening. No, of course, he did not fall for the innocent smile. After all, a smile of a murderer is never innocent, but he supplied his own back. “Yes, a very interesting riddle indeed that you are correct, I do supply the answer to!” he said dramatically and then chuckled, “But I supply the answers for most riddles, so you we cannot be surprised there.” He placed the drink back down. He give himself a sip, but if it happened to be poisoned he would drink no more. He knew better to drink a full glass in a bar he knew he was not welcome at. Call it paranoia or intelligence, but it had saved his life on more than one occasions.

“I believe we have something in common. I think you have a grudge against a man who is strangely interested in straw and your beautiful alien friend. He’s in the protection of Arkham at the moment, but I know where he will be when he escapes. Riddle me this, would Gotham be safer without a Scarecrow in the shadows?” he asked as if he actually cared for Gotham’s safety.

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"Quite the service you have here." Riddle was quite the raconteur, he had to admit. The way he supplied a seemingly infinite amount of useless anecdotes was beyond his minimal comprehension. “I certainly would not have concluded that with the upkeep of this establishment, but I suppose like any good book, we cannot judge it by its cover.” The insult, so obviously directed at Antonio, brought the bartender to a huffing staring contest with the glass he was cleaning. He chuckled darkly and turned his own glass over in his hand absentmindedly. "You didn't happen to slip a sedative into Mr. Riddle's drink, did you Antonio?" The man sighed as if weighted and replied without turning, "Unfortunately, I did not sir." Jason turned back to Riddle's smirk, his own alight on his face in his own surprising entertainment. But he didn't respond to Nigma's useless babbling. He was waiting to hear what he was really here for. Riddle, if memory served, normally took an immeasurably long time to get to the point. But, fortunately for him, The Riddler was not so inclined today.

After a few cautious sips following Antonio's saddened assurances that his drink was as safe as alcohol could be, Riddle spoke with purpose. "“I believe we have something in common. I think you have a grudge against a man who is strangely interested in straw and your beautiful alien friend. He’s in the protection of Arkham at the moment, but I know where he will be when he escapes. Riddle me this, would Gotham be safer without a Scarecrow in the shadows?”

He paused a few heartbeats before answering. The fact that Starfire was brought up made him unnerved, especially in conjunction with Scarecrow (who, by the way, was on the top of his "bastards I need to kill" list. "Edward Nigma" was somewhere on there, just near the bottom. He hadn't spiraled out of control yet. But, the night was young.)

He knew Riddle's final question didn't need to be answered explicitly. It was an obvious 'yes.' What concerned him more was how easily two criminals would turn on eachother. It couldn't be that easy. "I daresay we'd all sleep a little better at night with the both of you off the streets," he replied in a snarky tone. Unfortunately that assumes sleep, which was hard to come by these days. He was reasonably glad the hood was on; it covered the bags that were inevitably hanging beneath his crystalline eyes. He swirled the liquid in the scotch glass around and stared down at its contents, thoughts obviously shooting through his brain rapidly. It all came back to one thing: It can't be that easy.

He was off-balance and he didn't like it. Riddle held the answers, like he always did, and he hung them over his head, like he always did. The man was nothing if not consistent. But this was his turf, damnit. Riddle didn't get to be the only one playing head games."Who's to say I can't kill Scarecrow on my own? And what about you? On my word every man in this bar would have their barrels pointed at you and -- Allen, is it?" He looked up at the henchman, his brows quirking as the huge man's forme frowned down on him. As if responding to his words, men from all corners shuffled as if reaching for something in their back pocket. He cocked his head and looked inquiringly at Riddle from behind the mask. He could play Riddle's game. No, it wouldn't be that easy, but why the hell not?

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Edward had a keen eye for details to the point that if he ever wanted to change career line he would make a great private eye. The way the Hood seemed to tense for the brief moment of hesitation confirmed all he had suspected about the Alien that had been roaming Gotham for some time now. Indeed, she seemed to have the talent of capturing men as puppies capture the attention of children. He knew that some form of relationship had already been created with the eldest Robin, but it appeared she liked birds and continued down the family line.

His coy smirk stayed on his face even as he heard the threat. Of course, he knew the Hood saw him no better than the rest of the other Rogues. But he truly believed that Gotham would mourn his absence and no one would sleep with the Riddler gone. How could they? They would have lost their great genius!

As with any dog when a postal service employee steps into their yard, the Hood barked. Threat followed by threat followed by the movements of guns. Did he not know that the Riddler was always five steps ahead? It was almost insulting, degrading actually, to think that you could just pull a gun on the Riddler and expect it to be so simple as pulling the trigger. Nothing was simple with the Riddler. He made sure of it.  For a brief moment, his lips pursed in annoyance not understanding why the Bat Family constantly underestimated him.

No, the Riddler had expected the guns, he had suspected the possibility of actually getting shot at a few occasions, he knew he would be outnumbered, and for that very reason, he had already sent out an anonymous tip to the GCPD. He knew the speed the department worked at, and in his estimate, they would be at this hole in the wall in 10 minutes and…he pulled out his phone to the check the time…45..44..43 seconds. Yes, he had been prepared, which is why his playful smirk returned just as quickly. “Ah yes, I have no doubt you could kill him on your own. It would just take unnecessary time, and with such a filth ridden city, I would suspect you might not want to waste your time…especially with your lovely friend he is after,” his hand shifted in the air as if he was actually pointing to her flying with his phone. “As for your,” he paused and glanced around the room, “Acquaintances. I suspect if you wanted to kill me today, you have done so when I stepped in. I think you are an intelligent man, and you know that I have something to offer, and my price is not steep at all. All I want in return is to help you eliminate your competition, and no, I’m talking about the mobs.”

Allen didn’t move. He wasn’t the type to pull a gun out unless if his Boss told him too or he felt they were threatened. By his Boss’s demeanor, he knew the man had something up his sleeve, so he stood there bored as per usual.

“If you don’t want to talk, I suspect 4th of July will come early this year, and I’m afraid I would have to leave,” Edward continued, leaning against the bar, his focus on the Hood and only the Hood. “The real riddle in the air right now is are you an intelligent man willing to strike a deal or a brute who acts carelessly and ask questions later?”

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"I'm more of a man of action," he began, with one hand gripped on his scotch glass and the other latched tightly to his magnum. He felt safer that way; more secure in answering. But he would never feel entirely comfortable while striking deals with people he couldn't control by force. Edward's 4th of July comment made him chuckle, but at the same time twinge inwardly. He knew the police weren't proactive enough to come to the East Quarter at night, much less deal with any of the grungier goings-on in this part of the city. That was what the initial premise of Batman and many other vigilantes were based on; that sole, undeniable fact. But... Doubt remained in his mind. Yes, the GCPD didn't have the go-get-'em attitude it required to get the baddies in this area, but if they had a target... There was no telling what they could do, or would do. That was the part that made him cringe. The police weren't going to spoil his scheme in this delicate stage if he had anything to say about it. It was for their ultimate benefit, anyway. He was on their side. The more he said it, or thought it, the more he believed it.

The only part that truly intrigued him was Riddle's use of the word "competition." That could mean a multitude of things. Of course, he assumed Riddle meant to use it that way, the multi-faceted bastard. The Red Hood was a man who had compiled a large amount of enemies from his ventures around the globe. Guessing which one would be involved could easily become a nightmare. Even narrowing down the vendettas to ones centered around Gotham would still leave a wide range of options. But, he had three good guesses.

Rather than shoot back snide remarks to Nigma's own jabs at his intelligence and status, he sat still and heard the man out. Only his chest moved with the slow rise and fall of his calm breaths. Even his eyes, hidden behind his hood, stilled on the lapping of the liquor in his glass. Gloved hands continued to grip at the glass, forgetting the trigger on his Magnum in his reverie. "But, I need to know what kind of 'deal I'm cutting.'" The men, who had so dutifully removed their weapons from their pockets, didn't realize the moment had passed. Thinking, exasperated, how he needed a brainier crowd to milk, he said a little more brusquely, "We'll talk." The added growl in his voice made even Antonio quiver as he continued his work, and the rest of the armed imbeciles replaced their weapons with sheepish glances at his fiery gaze. The absence of human orbs to shy away from only made his glare all the more frightening. Another burst of liquid seemed to flow into his glass. He noticed offhandedly that Antonio was ghosting around the bar, his eyes guarded. At least he had realized what was Jason's first priority. He would be more disciplined now.

His tenure as a crime lord, both here and in places anonymous, had turned him more power-thirsty than he had ever hoped to be. The pyramid of command was always the first thing he established, and it was always a dictatorship. The chain of command was likewise based upon blood and terror; fear. Batman knew. Fear was the only reliable way. The stupidity of his generals was dealt with in that way, and he was sure that was how they disciplined their inferiors. That was the way of it. But, it was at the point where he didn't need to kill anybody anymore. He just needed to threaten them. It was a dull sort of pride that he had when men cowered at his word, especially in front of The Riddler. This was a man who had seen him in the prime of his innocence. The difference between the two startled most. For that, he was unspeakably, unmentionably glad.

He looked back to his liquor once his anger subsided and his fingers massaged his temples. "Intelligence seems to be a superpower nowadays."

"Now," his question began as he repositioned himself on the barstool, one hand still gripping the glass within inches of breaking. "Enough of this lingering equivocation. Tell me which one of my many 'competitors' are we supposedly eliminating."

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Edward had a talent of staying smug even in the most dangerous of circumstances. His smirk never faltered on his lips for he knew that he held all the cards in his hands. How could he not when dealing with pawns? He saw the movement to his gun. He could have pulled it out and shot him in the head, but what would be the point when Edward was offering such a deal for him. A perfect deal benefitted those both on the end of the handshake.

He heard the goons in the room put down their weapons, but his eyes never turned from the mask. While it hid facial expression, it still was easy to read as a book. His smirk broadened at the compliment, and he twirled his cane almost giddy. “As it should always be. After all, mankind would still be in caves if we had not evolved our intelligence,” he said with a glint of confidence in his eye.

He turned on the bar, leaning his back against the wood as his eyes took in the room, ignoring the tension that seemed to increase in the air at the same rate it increased around the glass. His hand went to his own chest as if hurt, “I wouldn’t be called the Riddler if things were stated so blandly and simply, but your competitor I speak of is someone close to your heart. I do say, so close that your love interests could almost be the same.” He chuckled and turned to him, mentally noting the time he had before he needed to leave. “I don’t wish you to kill him, but if you decide to I won’t object to the idea either. I merely want you to take the eldest robin to fly from the nest and clip his wings so to speak.” His eyes turned back to the mask, his head tilting almost lazily to the side. “If you successfully accomplish it I’ll give you the information you need and sweet burning star will never face the threat again.”

Edward tapped his finger on his cane lightly before he pushed off the bar. “Does it sound like something you might be interested in?” he asked as he adjusted his suit.

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"I wouldn't be called the Riddler if things were stated so blandly and simply," Nigma continued. He had a point. But, there was also a reason Riddler had always been a formidable foe for old Bats. That knowledge in mind, as well as the reality that he held none of the cards in this gamble, kept him on edge. Like the rumors of wont, The Riddler had backed him into a corner, but it was surprisingly a tight space he would rather not escape from. Unlike what he had been suspicious of, the Riddle's offer was damn close to being too tempting to refuse. Refusal still loomed like a gilded rope waiting to be pulled, but unsure what it would trigger. Acceptance was similarly tantalizing.

Kori's presence in the conversation almost startled him into standing. He glanced abruptly at Riddle, rage again burning behind his eyes, as she was brought up casually. A myriad of questions tugged at his tongue. How did he know? Why did he care? Above all, Why did it matter? What was he scheming? And what did Dick have anything to do with his machinations? His grimace showed beneath his hood as he was thrown into intense thought. Riddle's final sentiment barely reached his ears through his brain as he considered every possible outlook and outcome. He murmured, distracted, "...It does...." But something about the situation made an alarm begin to whirl in his head. Cautiously, as if diffusing a ticking bomb, he began, "Before I fully gag myself, I'll venture to figure your lot in all of this." He paused, carefully running his words through a filter before chewing them out. "I know what is mine, but what is your gain from my killing the prodigal son?" He was fairly sure at Riddle's bigger target, but the pieces didn't fit properly. Why would Nightwing need to be occupied for Riddle to take on Batman? And how would that, if only sadden him, weaken the thusly-invincible vigilante? More so, why guarantee Kori's safety? Why not threaten it again? Why? Why? Why?

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The Riddler’s plans could never be easily understood. There were far too many pieces moving on the board and only a man of clear counter strategic skill could uncover the meaning behind a move five steps before it was made. Edward did have a habit of enjoying his own voice and tended to give away far too many clues to his riddles. It gave his opponent and unfair advantage, yet they seemed to never use the clues. They always missed them with dumbfounded expressions.

However, tonight was different. The bar was dirty and filled with far too many sweaty men encompassing him in an odor of three week old stench. He desperately hopped it would not stain into his suit, and he had no desire to stay longer then needed.

He noticed the subtle body movements that suggested anger. It was the action usually taken right before Edward’s face came into impact with a fist, but it looked like the boy was controlling himself. Good, he shouldn’t be surprised that he knew of his romantic interest. Edward knew everything going on in this city. After all, he had cameras everywhere in this city, and constantly watched them. Edward prided himself on information.

He smirked at his play on words and tapped his chin like he was actually thinking about the answer. “What would I gain? Quite the riddle to puzzle over,” he started to pace and then turned to him with a coy look, “I think most of us would gain a sigh of relief with not having to deal with boy blunder’s constant self-righteous invasion of our business, but you’re looking for something more specific, aren’t you?”

He pulled out his phone and turned it to him, pointing to the time. “My work requires strict deadlines. Helping me handle this bird problem in a certain window of time would help me meet my deadlines. Time is truly what I have to gain,” he stated and held out his hand. “And time is also what I have to gain now. So I must ask, do we have a deal?”

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The Riddler was never quite the straight-shooter that Jason was, both figuratively and not. His enigma of an answer was, undoubtedly, the best he could wring out of him without physically wringing it out of him. And Jason felt like he had had his fill of violence for the night; he had just earlier dispatched several meddling gentlemen whose heads were too small for the knowledge the sought. Their suits and ties were merely bonus points; he had never liked the gifted type. Call it a personal distaste for the fortunate or however you like. They were no friends of his, regardless.

Pushing his elbows firmly onto the wooden bar, he sat rather intent on an old scar latched across his forehand as he mulled over Riddle's phrasing in his skull. The word 'deadlines' clanged uncomfortably against his eardrums. More pressing, though, was Riddle's time reference. Time was Clock King's thing. What was Riddle doing babbling about time? He looked up, interested, at Riddle as he extended his hand and Jason saw the watch sitting prominently on his wrist. He remembered, vaguely, how Riddle had, seemingly absentmindedly, checked his watch numerous times. Another pang of suspicion rattled in his skull as he gazed down at Riddle's hand, eyebrow cocked strategically.A few careless words danced at his lips, but he held them back with a locked jaw. Something was happening, and soon. Finally, he deemed he could come to terms with Nigma without giving too much of himself away.

"I'll level with ya, Nigma." He began, shifting his weight in his seat and downing the last drop of alcohol before continuing, as if to bolster his reserves. "I'd kill my old 'brother' in a heartbeat, given the chance. Now that I have the chance, I don't hesitate saying yes. I'm not exactly a saint, and neither are you, and I wouldn't expect either of us to be." Nigma's hand hovered in the air, but lay untouched. He was never one for the formalities that came with deals such as these. He slid his glass along the bar toward Antonio, who caught it without a second glance. Standing from his spot, he looked directly into Nigma's eyes. His voice took on a lower, more threatening tone as he continued."But, I'm warning you: if you hurt or endanger anyone on my good side in the process, then you'll be higher on my list than Joker." His gaze never wavered, and remained insistently fiery even through his mask. There wasn't an inch of bullshit in his voice; he meant it in what was left of his soul.

With an element of finality, he began to stride toward the door even as he saw the distant police lights on a far street corner. Opening the door, almost casually, he shot a line over his shoulder in Nigma and his guard's general direction. The line opened in a wire net, based on encasing the two of them in a net. He knew they would escape before the police arrived. Actually, he was counting on it. Although he wasn't much for the knightly formalities that were entailed with Riddle's deals, he had his own formalities. He had to show Riddle that he was kidding; threats were threats. Even if they came from someone with a lot less experience, but at a much higher physical prime. Riddle may have came strictly for business, but Jason meant business himself.

That was all that crime really was. It was just good business.

[Deleted]

His hand stayed in the air waiting for him to shake it. It got to the point that it was in the air so long, that he couldn’t bring himself to pull it back down. His jaw locked and waited with his hand in the air. It could be described as embarrassing, but Edward was far too prideful and stubborn to let something like this go.

He watched and listened to the boy agree with him. At least that was one pawn moving into its place, but why wouldn’t he just shake his god damn hand! His eyes narrowed as a threat left his lips. Did he really expect him to be frightened of him? He used to wipe this red, green, yellow smear, on the floor with his cane. He couldn’t expect the great Riddler to be afraid of him just because the boy had decided that death was an appropriate tool. However, if he did use Starfire, it was likely that they would work together instead of killing each other and that would go against his plans.

The boy got up and started walking away, and all Edward could do was stare at his hand that still yet to have a proper shake of agreement. It made his OCD nature twitch. He turned around quickly, ready to chase him down, when a net flied ontop of them. Edward fell right into Allen, and the larger man grunted, losing his footing, they both collapsed on the ground. If he didn’t need the Red Hood, he would kill that egotistical boy himself, he cursed to himself as he rolled in the net. He could hear the sirens, and part of him had to hold a little respect for the kid for determining his riddle and leaving him trapped like this. He struggled and rolled around, looking like some fish out of water, a complete fool. He finally managed to wiggle his hand enough to get to his pants. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a small spray can. He had dealt with these types of nets before. They were always too strong to cut through, but with the right chemical balances could degrade. He sprayed the can on the rope, watching it dissolve as he pushed himself up. He grabbed his cane and hat from the floor before taking long strides to the door to follow the kid.

“Allen, get the car ready,” he snapped.

He saw the boy up ahead. His jaw locked before he increased his pace to catch up to him before he jumped to some rooftop or any nonsense like that. He quickly grabbed the boy by the shoulder and swung him back against the wall. He then grabbed his hand with his and shook it firmly. “I’m not certain what your Big Bat Father taught you, but at the end of a business agreement, you shake hands. It’s respectful,” he snipped and let go of him. For some reason, that mere action of shaking his hand took away his anxiety. He pulled away with a smirk.