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Chapter Text

"We would like to welcome you all to Las Vegas! The local time here is 5:06 PM..." 

You were one of the hundreds of passengers aboard Ferris Air Flight 198, which had just landed at its destination. 

You loved Gotham City almost as much as you loved your favorite foods, but you had sassy thoughts about the sort of logic that blanketed your hometown. 

For instance, why didn't Batman's family of vigilantes seem to do more to protect their secret identities—such as wearing contacts that weren't their natural eye color, changing their hairstyles so observant people couldn't deduce their public identities, or incorporating voice changers into their uniforms? 

You loved how they helped to keep your city (and Blüdhaven) safe, but you wanted a break from comic logic, so here you were! 

It felt like an eternity had passed before you finally got your rental car. 

During your drive to The Cosmopolitan, your mind flooded itself with thoughts about all the places you wanted to visit during your week here. 

Your bucket list included screaming your head off while riding the Big Apple Coaster (preferably in the front row), taking pictures of Vegas from The Strat's tower, stopping by Area 15, and watching Bellagio's fountains. 

In other news, social media had set itself on fire hours ago with reports of Bruce Wayne being accompanied by his butler as he checked himself into Aria Resort and Casino... but when weren't people crazy about what Gotham's richest man was up to? 

If you had to guess why he was in Vegas, it was something relating to Wayne Enterprises. 

(Hearing about him taking time off for himself was so rare that your boss had started to throw shade at his work-life balance even in professional conversations.) 

You wouldn't be surprised if anyone in his family had accompanied him. 

There were valid reasons for the "entertainment capital of the world" to be called "Sin City," especially with how a few of Gotham's villains were involved with some of the more elaborate crimes that took place here. 

Being caught in a villain's plan was the last thing you needed right now.

The nightmares known as traffic, crazy drivers, and rivers of pedestrians clogging up crosswalks kept you from arriving in the underground parking garage for you-didn't-count-how-many minutes. 

It then devolved into an empowering game of Find a Parking Spot Close to Garage Elevators, with your car's steering wheel occasionally looking like a hardened cushion which you could repeatedly bash your head against. 

(For obvious reasons, you didn't do that.) 

Once you had checked yourself in, your legs gracefully dragged you to the correct set of the Boulevard Tower's elevators. 

You were quietly grateful about how you got to board an elevator with nobody else inside. 

As for your room on the 51st floor, the jet lag came dangerously close to making you forget how its balcony came with a breathtaking view of the Las Vegas Strip north of The Cosmopolitan. 

Planet Hollywood... Paris Las Vegas... its Eiffel Tower Restaurant... Bally's.. Bellagio... Caesars Palace... Flamingo... The Mirage... High Roller... Treasure Island... The Venetian... Encore... Resorts World... 

...every landmark greeted you with wordless reassurance that Gotham's madness didn't follow you. 

This mostly sunny evening was the start of a week when you could treat yourself as much as you could without... well, running out of the money you saved! 

Be that as it may, you needed to take a power nap before doing anything else.

After you woke up almost two hours later, getting dinner was your first order of business. 

It was followed by you boarding the Aria Express to go to Park MGM, where you navigated your way to its lobby with a purpose. 

A short time later, you were in the Big Apple Arcade, which turned out to be something of a small maze whose walls were shamelessly lined with games. 

While easier games such as the Big Bass Wheel and Skee-Ball were welcome sights, you weren't always fond of more difficult games such as that stupid ring toss game that brought back memories of playing rage games on your computer. 

Your biggest pet peeve when it came to arcades was any dang claw machine. 

Whoever invented the device either wanted a challenging new way for others to get prizes or secretly sought to spread misery. 

Regardless of what the answer was, trying to get a prize from a claw machine was like searching for a thumb tack in a haystack (which made both things pretty much impossible to do). 

Even so, there was a bit of voluntary suffering you had signed up for. 

Colleagues of yours who had visited Vegas spilled the tea to you about a specific claw machine that was slightly easier than the others at this arcade, and it had plushies of the Justice League's members. 

Three strained minutes of Don't Look Like a Lost Idiot in Public slipped away before you found Claw of Justice—a punny name that had you stuck between scoffing and smiling. 

Luckily, the first time proved to be an unexpected charm, as you got the claw to grab one of the few Batman plushies inside and drop it right behind the machine's prize door. 

"How, Cain? How could someone be superior at getting prizes from a claw machine?" 

"Damian, chill out." 

You turned to see Damian Wayne doing his best to scowl at Cassandra Cain (a.k.a. Orphan), who was sheepishly smiling at you. 

"Oh, I'm not actually good with claw machines! Getting this Batman plushie was dumb luck. By the way, I'm [your full name]!" 

"Cassandra Cain! Nice to meet you! This is my little brother—" 

"Damian Wayne. Small talk's terrible, and Father's parties are how I learned that lesson." 

You giggled upon imagining the sorts of empty conversations which took place at such parties, but you didn't forget how he probably wanted a turn at Claw of Justice. 

"Their small talk must bore you! Anyways... would you like to try?" 

Mr. Wayne's nine-year-old son didn't hesitate to set himself up to follow in your prize-winning footsteps after you stepped off to the side. 

"None of my findings on claw machines have helped to improve my chances at getting anything from them... which is why I need any advice you can give me at once. I must best her and prove my worthiness after neither of us became the victor of our latest Dance Dance Revolution battle." 

Competitive siblings much? 

"Well, hey! Damian may be a tough dancer, but I'm even tougher." 

"Enough of that nonsense... and in a truly tragic moment, I didn't get my well-deserved prize! Hmph!" 

Damian's complaining caused your giggling to return with a vengeance, and Cassandra's reaction was to playfully roll her eyes. 

"I'll have a go at it." 

To nobody's surprise but her own, her luck with getting a prize was no better. 

"Come on, come on, come on, come on... I have it in the bag..."

Down went the claw...

...and back up it went without a plushie in its grasp.

"...NO! This is so annoying..." 

"That attempted extraction was a travesty to watch, Cain." 

"Whatever, Damian! I'm going to get at least more one plushie than you will." 

"So that's how it is. May the best of us—also known as me—win this latest battle!" 

Your first night out in Vegas became memorably entertaining thanks to their competition.

The "battle" lasted for almost half an hour, with Cassandra and Damian getting two plushies each before the three of you parted ways. 

You really hoped to meet up with them again while you were touring Vegas! 

Once you got back to your room, you were ready to settle in for the night... 

...but that's when you noticed an index card on the coffee table. 

Your curiosity got the better of you as you picked it up and read what was written on it. 

FOR [YOUR NAME]'S EYES ONLY 

The invisible ice of dread began circulating through your body as you recalled how the New Riddler always addressed others like that in the riddles they left in places to quietly signify their presence. 

This criminal mastermind initially known for "just" blackmail, extortion, money laundering, and racketeering didn't bother with making a public debut like Gotham's other villains did. 

With that, they didn't become infamous in the public eye until they scared off the Riddler himself when he tried getting them to work for him. 

It was their way of being "reasonably sane," and it spoke volumes about their mental state since many of their other targets disappeared like they never existed. 

Of course, it was unless they were discovered to have "committed suicide" or "died in [who-knows-what kind of] tragic accident." 

Their motive for mainly targeting people who were in cahoots with the League of Assassins was one of the central mysteries about them, with the other being the matter of their identity. 

With every second that passed, you felt dizzily numb as the foreboding reality of your situation sunk in. 

The New Riddler had broken into your room, and they wanted your attention for who-knows-what reason. 

Two further reasons for you not to sleep came in the forms of a text and a photo you received from an unknown number. 

Unknown: Please don't try to get yourself out of this, and do your best to solve my first riddle for you! 

[A picture taken from your room's balcony showed your reaction to finding out the card was "for [your] eyes only."] 

As you looked to your right, growing desperation buried you in the hope they would still be there...

...but all you could see were the symphonies of glittering lights that defined Vegas at night.

It took everything in you not to unleash a glass-shattering scream while you assessed what you could do. 

• You could stubbornly try getting yourself out of this anyway by contacting anyone who would listen to you... but risk dooming yourself to die. 
• You could politely do as they asked, which would mean you wouldn't face their wrath... but at the cost of being alone through it all.

You couldn't get your head to untangle itself from the fear that was holding you back from deciding, so you simply read the riddle awaiting you on the other side of the card. 

Empowered by a strong bond, I won't break or bend. 

With my indomitable will, I'll remain steadfast to the end. 

What am I doing?

Chapter Text

What did you get for waking up in Vegas? 

For one, you remembered the New Riddler wanted you to solve some stupid riddle, and you had no idea why. 

You were far from perfect since you're only human, but working with a bunch of good-for-nothing assassins is something you would never do... so why the riddle in the first place? 

As if the timing couldn't have been better, they decided to ruin your morning further with another text. 

Unknown: Thanks for not blocking me—not that I wouldn't get around it like I've done before. 

Well, GREAT! That option crumbled to dust faster than your sense of security did. 

Your multiplying frustration at the setback was slowly replaced by morbid curiosity thanks to their next text. 

Unknown: Anyways, while I'm guilty of a lot, it doesn't include what's making headlines. 

"What's making headlines?" 

In record time, you turned on the closest TV in your room and tuned in to a local news channel...

...but to say your lower jaw detached itself before falling onto your bed was putting it lightly.  

"...Dr. Grace Wilson fell to her death from The Cosmopolitan's Chelsea Tower last night. Witnesses described the 34-year-old medical consultant for Ace Chemicals screaming as she plunged to her grisly fate, and the cause is under investigation." 

You never thought you'd see her short coffee brown hair, her green eyes, her slightly tanned complexion, or her shockingly calm smile again—especially in the form of a picture occupying the upper right corner of the TV's screen. 

When you were a Hilltop Elementary School student, Grace turned several classmates into her servants... turned your hobbies into ways to humiliate you... turned weekdays into living nightmares... and turned your sadness into fuel for her happiness. 

One part of you was low-key relieved that she was gone, but the other part shuddered at the terror she must felt while gravity dragged her to her mortal doom. 

Unlike what you were hoping, eating breakfast didn't get your mind off Grace's death. 

Over 24 years ago... 

You just wanted to go home so you could get away from her, but it was too late. 

"Why would you DARE get the right answer before me?" 

She had been waiting for you in the hall. 

"I was just—" 

"Stop trying to get me in trouble!" 

Grace Ellis pushed you so that you fell onto your butt, leaving you scared as you looked up at the biggest bully you had ever met. 

"What... 'get in trouble?' I don't get it..." 

"You don't have to get it! You're just a know-it-all who's been messing my life up!" 

She punched her first into her palm as she walked closer and got ready to hurt you.   

"Are you trying to hurt her again?" 

You stood up and looked behind you—where a woman with olive skin and short reddish brown hair was giving the you're-in-trouble look to Grace. She was your favorite teacher because she made learning math fun, was super nice, and didn't like bullies! 

"Hi, Ms. Moriarty!" 

"Hello again, [your name]! Are you hurt?" 

"No, but—" 

"She was trying to hurt you. I could tell... and you know what to do, Grace. I don't have to say it again." 

"UGH! This is SO UNFAIR!" 

While Grace walked herself to Principal Holden's office, Ms. Moriarty smiled down at you as if to quietly say "I'm here now." 

"You don't need to be scared of her. I'll be there with you as we talk to Principal Holden about what just happened, okay?" 

There was a warm feeling in your heart as you smiled back at her. 

"Okay! Thank you for being here for me." 

"You're very welcome!"

The kindness of people like Ms. Moriarty never failed to cheer you up... though it didn't stop you from hoping answers about your childhood bully's fatal fall would be revealed sooner than later. 

At the moment, you wanted an answer for when you'd find a parking spot outside of Area 15. 

A crazy driver here, some minor traffic there... 

...and a little over six minutes later, you welcomed your car to its temporary home. 

On this partly cloudy morning, you wanted nothing more than to distract yourself from the situation that the New Riddler had trapped you in. 

For all you freaking knew, they masterminded Grace's murder—with their first riddle to you being a way to admit responsibility without getting the police or any of the Bats involved. 

I mean, why else would they go out of their way to suddenly make you their civilian confidant?

Tens of questions were paving roads to potential answers in your mind while you walked around Art Island, which was the open-air art gallery right outside Area 15's entrance. 

Your self-guided tour started out alright, but it wasn't long before you started to feel someone's eyes burning holes into you. 

Turning to the source of the sensation proved to be the WORST mistake you could make today. 

Your watcher was a person in an olive green hoodie, purple sunglasses, black pants, gray shoes, and a black face mask with a jagged version of a light green question mark—standing outside a corner of Area 15. 

You almost jumped backwards on instinct, but you couldn't stop a small gasp from escaping your lips at the sight of the New Riddler standing right there. 

How were they able to follow you around so dang easily? 

The feeling of dizzy numbness from last night returned, and it continued plaguing you even after Gotham's most shadowy villain wordlessly walked off. 

Nowhere was safe, and you couldn't do crap about their machinations. 

Your newest realization was only cemented with their latest text to you. 

Unknown: Enjoy your time at Area 15! Blame my foreknowledge and my presence on my organization's reach. :D 

"Excuse me? Are you okay?" 

"More importantly, who was that creep watching you from over there?" 

You looked up from your phone to notice Tim Drake and his boyfriend Bernard Dowd with worry written into their facial expressions. 

It was clear they wanted truthful answers, so you summarized what had happened so far. 

"Okay. I thought the Joker was terrifying, but after what you just told us, the New Riddler might just be more messed up than him." 

"Agreed, Tim. Anyone we run into could be working for them!" 

"Don't worry, Bernard. I'm texting people who can also help [your name]. While the situation's escalating quickly, I think we can handle it." 

As Tim's thumbs swiped themselves across his phone's keyboard, Bernard surprised both you and his other half with what he had to say. 

"OOH! You think Red Robin's also in Vegas? He's my favorite Bat, and if I trust anyone to solve a mystery, it's that cutie of a genius detective!" 

Congrats, Mr. Dowd! Red Robin's the guy you're head over heels for! Also, you totally didn't figure out who was who in the Batfam last year. 

"Heh... yeah! He, uh... sure is a cutie, right...?" 

"Tim? Why are you suddenly blushing so much?" 

"What do you mean? I'm not blushing THAT much!" 

You and Bernard burst into brief fits of laughter at Tim's playful denial.

The best way you could describe Area 15's interior was a fairly well-lit spin on a glow-in-the-dark mini-mall that came with a few theme park attractions. 

Also, the lovebirds low-key insisted on you being their third wheel given what happened outside. 

That's how you found yourself in Omega Mart with one of Gotham's cutest couples—making a grossed-out face as you stared at the words Organic MOTH MILK on one side of a can. 

You knew it wasn't real, but just the thought of what actual moth milk would be like almost caused you to vomit. 

"Eww... who in their right mind would buy stuff like this?" 

From the sound of it, Bernard was equally as disgusted by the very concept of moth milk as you were. 

"I would buy it to prank Damian... but then I remember how a prank war between us got out of control to the point Bruce had to step in." 

A prank war between the third Robin and the fifth Robin? No wonder Batman had to intervene. 

"For real? It got that bad?" 

"Sure did, Bernard! Things are back to being okay between us." 

"That's fantastic! I don't have any siblings, so it's always nice to hear about people unconditionally loving them." 

Two new voices joined the conversation. 

"What's up, guys?" 

"Did someone say 'siblings?' The best one in her family's right here!" 

The three of you turned to see that Duke Thomas (a.k.a. Signal) and Stephanie Brown (a.k.a. Spoiler) were excited to run into familiar faces. 

"Anyways, you said the New Riddler's stalking [your name], Tim?" 

"Did you say the New Riddler, Steph? People have been saying they could be Gotham's scariest villain because it's like they're a living shadow." 

"Maybe not for much longer. Bernard, Tim, and I saw them in their disguise outside Area 15... but they walked off without saying a word." 

Just like that, Duke and Stephanie were frozen in place for a few seconds—an understandable reaction given this villain's seriousness. 

"I'm sorry; they were what?" 

"I just got goosebumps. Why would they bother to follow you here?"

You answered Duke's question in the only way that made sense to you at the moment. 

"That's for them to know... and for us to figure out."