The ground beneath Edward's feet began to collapse.
At first it felt like a subtle sense that something was wrong. A faint instability beneath him. Then the feeling sharpened. The floor cracked, spreading outward in thin lines like a spider's web, and suddenly he was falling.
The walls around him were no longer concrete. They crumbled and dissolved into fragments that scattered like ash. The lights flickered violently before disappearing. Above him, the ceiling faded away and revealed an endless black void.
When the falling stopped, he found himself standing in a library.
It was nothing like any library that could exist in the real world. The place resembled a Gothic labyrinth built from impossible geometry. Vast domes shaped like question marks curved high overhead. Columns of bluish-grey marble stretched upward into shadow. Stained glass windows cast fractured light in strange, shifting colors.
Brass oil lamps lined the walls.
Spiral staircases rose and descended through the surrounding void, twisting back upon themselves in ways that made his eyes ache. Some climbed upward, some descended into darkness, and some seemed to lead nowhere at all. The shelves were filled with books, but when he looked closer he saw that the spines bore no titles. Instead they were marked with ciphers and unfamiliar symbols.
He reached out and took one.
The moment his fingers brushed the spine, the entire wall of books flipped like a magician's card trick and dissolved into a cloud of white butterflies. They scattered through the air, their paper wings whispering softly. As they drifted past him, he realized they were not butterflies at all. Each one was a fragment of a crossword puzzle.
"Where is this?"
His voice echoed through the space in a strange and hollow way.
"A prison," a voice answered behind him. "A temple. The crown of an ignorant king. Salt crystallized from the bloodline of Oedipus."
Edward spun around. Standing a few steps away was another version of himself.
But this Edward wore a perfectly tailored suit in deep emerald green. The fabric shimmered faintly in the light. A matching tie was knotted with flawless precision. And a green bowler hat rested on his head, decorated with a gold question mark that glinted beneath the lamplight. In his right hand he twirled a black cane topped with a green gemstone shaped like a question mark.
"Riddle me this," he said.
"My prison has no iron bars,
Yet the key hides within questions.
When you think you have caught my tail,
You have already taken residence in my walls.
I always ask, yet never answer...
What am I?"
Edward looked down at his own white forensic coat. He knew the answer immediately.
"The Riddler."
The green-suited figure smiled wider.
"You truly are me." He gestured with his cane. "But look at you now. Hiding behind that lab coat. Pretending to be some rule-abiding scientist. What a pathetic disguise."
Edward felt the floor beneath him ripple. His mental palace was responding to the Riddler's presence.
"You're not me. You shouldn't be here."
"Not you?" The Riddler laughed. "Oh, Edward. Edward, Edward, Edward."
He spread his arms wide, the cane held loosely in one hand.
"I have no keyhole, yet I see everything.
I have no wings, yet I soar the skies.
What am I?"
He tapped his temple with one gloved finger.
"The answer is me. Your mind. Your purest, most unrestrained essence. Without me, you are nothing!"
He stepped closer.
"You are lost, Edward. But deep down, you know the truth. Admit it."
He leaned in close enough that Edward could smell cologne.
"You need me."
Edward staggered backward. He tried to fight back the only way he knew how.
"I can fill a room yet occupy no space. I can suffocate you, yet weigh less than a feather. What am I?"
The Riddler just curled his lip.
"Fear? Please. That's just the appetizer. You will have to do better than that."
He snapped his fingers.
The library maze twisted violently as the shelves shifted into new arrangements. The walls turned into mirrors, yet none of them reflected Edward as he was now.
Instead, they showed his failures.
He saw classmates mocking him for knowing the answers too quickly. Colleagues called him a freak because they couldn't understand his methods. Women turned him away, unsettled by the intensity that seemed to define him.
"It shows your past, yet foretells your future," the Riddler said softly. "It makes you laugh, and makes you cry. What am I?"
"It is... a mirror," Edward whispered.
"Hahaha!" The Riddler laughed. "A mirror? How shallow! It's your incompetence! The deep fear that you will never be perfect."
Before the echo of his words faded, he slammed his cane against the floor.
The entire mental space screamed.
"Let us play a game, shall we? Here is a classic for you..."
Green chains erupted from the void. They shot toward Edward, wrapping around his arms, legs, and chest.
"I can be created, and I can be broken.
I make no sound, yet can be deafening.
I reveal truth, and conceal lies.
What am I?"
Edward opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. The chains tightened, constricting his chest. He felt himself sinking, drowning in the riddle.
"You are nothing." The Riddler extended a gloved hand toward him. "Nothing but useless. Let them save you. Run away like a frightened child. Or..." His smile widened. "Let me help you become your truly perfect self."
Edward's breathing grew ragged. He could hear someone shouting.
"Bullshit!"
---
"His blood pressure is spiking!" Leslie moved quickly, checking the monitors. "Neural activity is off the charts! Prepare a sedative injection!"
Marco watched Edward's body convulse on the hospital bed. Sweat soaked through his shirt. His eyes were moving rapidly beneath closed lids, darting back and forth. His lips were moving, forming words that came out as fragmented syllables.
"...create... break... silent... deafening... truth... lies..."
"What is he saying?"
Dr. Quinzel leaned closer. "He is repeating a riddle. The fear toxin is amplifying some kind of internal conflict..."
"A riddle?" Marco frowned, then leaned down close to Edward's mouth.
When he heard it clearly, he almost laughed.
"That'sway too easy, Ed."
He raised his voice, even though he didn't know if Edward could hear him.
"The answer is a fart. It can be created and it can be broken. Sometimes it comes out silently, and sometimes it's loud as hell. Admitting you farted is the truth. Denying it is a lie"
---
The answer crashed through layers of fearful fog, reverberating through the Gothic maze. The Riddler froze.
"Idiot!" he finally shrieked. "Vulgar! Illogical! This is blasphemy against intellect!"
The green chains wrapped around Edward flickered. The symbols making up the links seemed to glitch.
Edward felt something crack inside his chest.
The Riddler's face twisted with fury. "That's not... You cannot just..."
Edward was no longer listening. Marco's voice echoed in his memory.
He pulled against the chains, and they loosened further.
"It speaks without a mouth. Runs without legs. Cries without eyes. What am I?"
The Riddler's anger vanished at once. He spread his arms wide as if expecting applause.
"Too easy! The answer is..."
"Is that the survivor from that serial killer case?" Leslie's voice said somewhere beyond the darkness.
"Right," another voice replied, one Edward didn't recognize immediately. "It was Gordon's case. I have seen this victim before."
Something shifted in Edward's mind. The chains loosened further.
"Hey!" Dr. Quinzel's voice burst in. "Can I meet the killer? He must be fascinating!"
The Riddler staggered backward as if struck. "No! Stop! These are not... You cannot..."
Edward felt clarity returning.
The Riddler attacked again.
"I am everywhere, yet nowhere to be found! Everyone needs me, yet once they have me, they quickly discard me! What am I?"
Before Edward could think, Dr. Quinzel's voice rang out again.
"A terrible relationship!"
The Riddler screamed in fury.
His constructed world of riddles was being invaded by barbarians.
The chains around Edward shattered completely. He rose to his feet and brushed fragments of green light from his shoulders.
"No beginning, no end. I end life, and I create life. What am I?"
"Time?" Leslie's voice responded immediately.
"The destiny bestowed by Trigon," Raven's voice answered.
Then a male voice joined in, sounding eager to help.
"Oh, I know this one! It is a grand org—"
The word was cut off by muffled sounds of struggle and angry shouts.
"Shut up, Darnell!"
"There are minors present, you idiot!"
Edward almost smiled. Every answer, whether correct or ridiculous, struck the Riddler. The green suit began to fade, its shine disappearing. His hat sat crooked on his head, and the cane in his hand trembled.
"No! No! You fools! The answer should be a cycle! Eternity! It should be..."
More voices poured in from outside.
"Constipation!"
"Gotham weather!"
"One of Cobblepot's goons?"
"Has to be Chief McGinnis!"
The Riddler clutched his head. "Shut up! All of you, shut up! How could you use this garbage to pollute my place!"
Edward walked toward him slowly.
The fear toxin had amplified his deepest conflict. But this green phantom was not an essential part of him.
Those absurd answers from outside represented something he had once dismissed but now understood as invaluable.
Support wasn't built on logic or perfection. It came from simple care.
"Do you hear them?" Edward asked quietly.
The Riddler stared at him.
"This is the answer," Edward continued. "Real, chaotic, and sometimes even crude. But honest. They don't follow your rules. And I no longer need you."
"You need me!" The Riddler's voice was desperate now. "You know you do! Without me, you will become ordinary! You will lose what makes you special!"
Edward shook his head.
"No. Even without you, I'm still Edward Nygma. I'm a forensic specialist at the East End Precinct, the researcher who solved Crane's formula, and a friend to those willing to entertain my absurd answers."
He stepped forward, reaching out with one hand.
"My value doesn't lie in creating riddles. It lies in solving real problems. My intelligence exists to protect and build, not to create obstacles for my own amusement."
He pressed his palm against the Riddler's chest, right over where a heart would be.
"I solve riddles because they exist and need solving. Not because I need riddles to define who I am."
As he spoke, his white forensic coat began to glow with a soft light. Wherever the light spread, the twisted green symbols melted away. The maze's chaotic geometry slowly straightened, and the impossible staircases resolved into logical paths.
The Riddler looked down in horror. His body was dissolving, breaking apart into tiny motes of green light that drifted away like embers.
"No... I am... the more perfect you... I am..."
Edward shook his head.
"You were just a phase I needed to outgrow. Now be still."
The Riddler opened his mouth one last time, but no sound came out. His body scattered into fragments of green light that slowly faded into the white glow surrounding Edward.
The entire mental maze trembled once before collapsing inward. The question mark domes, the staircases, and the coded books all folded away until nothing remained but simple, ordinary space.
When the light finally faded, Edward found himself standing in a plain room.
---
Anna wiped the sweat from Edward's forehead with a damp cloth. Every so often she swatted Dr. Quinzel's hands away when the doctor tried to pry open Edward's eyelids to check his pupils.
"His vitals are stabilizing," Leslie said while watching the monitors. "Heart rate is coming down. Blood pressure is normalizing."
Suddenly the tension left Edward's body. His muscles relaxed and his breathing grew deeper and steadier. His eyelids fluttered.
"He is coming back," Raven said quietly.
Edward's eyes opened slowly. At first they were unfocused, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it. Gradually awareness returned and his gaze sharpened. He looked exhausted, like someone who had just survived a war, but his eyes were clear.
"He is not dead!" Dr. Quinzel exclaimed.
Edward turned his head slightly toward Anna and gave a weak nod.
"Thank you, Officer Ramirez," he said. Then he looked at Dr. Quinzel. "And thank you, Dr. Quinzel. Though I have to ask... why do you sound more disappointed than relieved?"
Before anyone could answer, his eyes widened slightly, as if remembering something important. He struggled to sit up, looking directly at Marco.
"Record... end time."
Marco stared at him for a moment, then glanced at the clock on the wall.
"8:51 PM. Holy hell, Ed. You... wait. You are still Ed, right? Answer me. In Gotham, what walks into an alley on six legs and walks out on two?"
Edward sighed.
"Marco, honestly, if Mr. Wayne heard you say that, you would probably never get another grant from him."
Marco burst out laughing. "Then it really is you."
He caught Leslie's disapproving expression and straightened up quickly. "Sorry. That was just a medical experiment for science."
"It had better be," Leslie muttered, turning back to the monitors.
Edward spoke again, "Record... post-experiment cognitive level: baseline restored. Subjective conclusion: fear toxin can be disrupted and overcome through willpower and external anchors. Personal addendum..."
He paused, his eyes closing briefly.
"Some riddles don't need answers. And some answers matter more than the riddles themselves."
He lay back against the pillow, no longer looking at the empty syringe on the medical cart.
He was still the old Edward Nygma.