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Chapter 28: A Fatal Error
The logical leap from Death of a Salesman to Arthur Miller, and then to Miller Harbor, combined with Roman numerals for 35, was immense. To a normal person, it was nonsense.
But Tim Drake wasn't normal. And neither was the Riddler. The more abstract the leap, the more likely it was correct.
Tim turned around and ran out of the school.
"Oracle, hack the surveillance at Miller Harbor. Focus on Cargo Area 35."
"On it," Oracle replied.
Minutes later: "Robin, you were right. Area 35 has double the usual number of workers today, but half the cargo. And... the cameras between Area 35 and 36 are smashed."
"Riddler's thugs," Robin confirmed, speeding toward the harbor on his bike. "She's there."
Gotham High School.
Sunlight streamed into the classroom. Darren Green shielded his eyes.
"So late..."
He glanced at the empty desk beside him. Tim was missing.
Tim is never late. Which means he solved the riddle.
He's rushing to Miller Harbor right now.
Darren looked out the window. If he succeeds, the girl is saved, and I don't have to work tonight. But Tim... I hope you didn't fall for the decoy.
"Mr. Green," the teacher's voice interrupted. "Please stop staring out the window. Do you know where Tim Drake is?"
"Uh..." Darren hesitated. "Tim isn't feeling well. I forgot to mention he's sick."
"Oh, thank goodness. I was about to call the police. With the kidnappings..." The teacher looked relieved.
Miller Harbor, Area 35.
Robin crouched atop a stack of containers, observing the fifty "workers" below. They held their tools awkwardly. They were definitely thugs.
It has to be here.
Now, which container?
Robin spotted a red container with the number ending in 35. It sat in an isolated spot. It smelled like a trap. But he had no choice.
He pried the door open.
Empty.
Ding-ling-ling—
An alarm bell rang the moment he stepped inside. Footsteps thundered towards him.
"Tsk. Knew it wouldn't be that easy."
Robin stepped out, staff in hand. Fifty armed thugs surrounded him. Pipes, bats, knives, guns.
"I liked you better when you were pretending to work," Robin quipped.
One against fifty. Impossible odds for a normal human. But Robin was trained by Batman.
Bang!
He threw a smoke bomb.
"Argh!"
Screams echoed from the cloud. Robin moved like a phantom, his staff cracking bones with precision.
"Fire! Where is he?!" a thug with a gun screamed, backing away.
He felt a hard cylinder press against his spine.
"Last one."
Thud.
The smoke cleared. Fifty men lay groaning on the ground. Robin stood alone, barely breaking a sweat.
"Cleared the obstacles. Now for the real search."
He began checking every container in the area.
Somewhere in the Dark.
Riddler watched the monitor, a twisted smile on his face.
"Robin, Robin... you're just a sidekick. Batman would have seen the trap."
"And Kid... he's probably running into the same wall. Coming at midnight? Ha! What a joke."
Back at the harbor, hours passed. Robin was getting desperate. He had checked half the containers. Nothing.
Did I guess wrong? Is it not Area 35?
He reached the border of Area 35 and 36, where the cameras were broken.
Thump... thump.
A faint rhythmic sound came from a container at the bottom of a stack.
"Found her!"
Robin rushed over, pried the door, and peered in. A girl was tied to a chair, a bag over her head. She was tapping her foot against the floor.
Robin rushed in to untie her.
"I'm here to save you—"
Suddenly, his vision swam. Heavy drowsiness hit him like a hammer.
"So sorry. I'm not the damsel you're looking for."
The "girl" shrugged off the ropes. The bag was pulled off to reveal a man's face.
Edward Nygma. The Riddler.
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