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He’d lived too long. It was not a matter of opinion, just a fact. Edward Nygma was not supposed to live this long. He'd long since passed his expiration date, now doomed to suffer aching joints and endless fatigue. Heaven forbid the day his mind began to slip.
He was supposed to go out with a bang! Extinguished in a fiery fight with the Bat, or riddled with bullets from a flock of police officers. Leaving behind him a legacy of genius criminality, his hoards of loving fans going on in his stead. Proving his genius even after his death.
Now it seemed that he would wither away quietly, no fight, no gunshots, no meaning behind his death. No one to go on in his place.
The bat seemed to go on. Every time it seemed as though the big bad bat was gone for good, one of his little birds would take up the mantle. Even though the bat would always return, Riddler knew even after the Bat’s death, there were plenty to go on in his name. His legacy.
Oswald had little birds of his own. Both of the feathered variety and not. Riddler had never realized that the notorious Penguin, the King of Gotham, had children until the two of them had grown close. The man had kept his fledglings under very close watch, shielding them away from the criminal underworld until they grew old enough to leave the nest.
Riddler wondered if any of Penguin’s children would carry on in his name after the old bird died. Edward had always thought that Oswald’s oldest son would carry on for his father. He was ruthless, large and in charge even from a young age.
He was now a part of the GCPD. Funny how things like that work.
A young Edward had once foolishly asked his father why he’d had children.
“Most people have kids so that a part of them lives on after they die. So they can help create something greater than themselves. A legacy.”
His father looked down at him with disappointment.
“But I got stuck with a fuckup like you.”
What a stupid idea. To have children only for the purpose of boosting your own ego, to make sure one’s idiotic ideals lived past them. No wonder there were so many idiots wandering around.
Not that it worked either. A child was no guarantee of a legacy. Penguin’s eldest son was proof enough of that.
Perhaps that’s why he’d never felt the need to reproduce. Though there was no denying his passing on of genetic material would have greatly helped the world’s gene pool. But if there was any chance that Edward was like his father, it was better for him to have never had children.
Oswald would say otherwise. He considered his children to be shared. One big happy family. The domesticity of it all made Edward sick.
He had never even meant for his relationship with Oswald to become serious. And yet it did. Serious enough for Oswald to trust him with the knowledge of his children. A few of them still quite young at the time. Young enough to be molded by Edward’s presence.
Martin was his favorite. If Edward could have any of the children take up his mantle, Martin would be his first pick.
Second youngest of the flock, Martin had spent a lot of time around Edward, and there was no denying the boy’s brilliance. He’d be a perfect replacement.
Unfortunately for Edward, it seemed very likely that the boy would be the one to inherit Oswald’s empire if his eldest sister didn’t snatch it up first.
What a blood bath it would be if those two decided to bump heads. True to the fashion of the Penguin. A struggle in blood until one of them reigned triumphant. A fitting tribute to their father.
Edward would have no such tribute. Nothing left behind to be remembered. In the strangeness of Gotham it would not be long before a new generation of villains arose and the Riddler’s conundrums would all be forgotten by the new wave of crimes.
New villains seemed to pop up daily. Many of them were just Joker wannabes, but they existed, nonetheless. Riddler ignored most of the new rogues, very few of them were even noteworthy.
Until two of them approached him personally.
They’d nearly scared him half to death, sitting in the dark of his lair, lying in wait for him. They quickly introduced themselves before Edward could reach for whatever weapon was closest.
Echo and Query. Two young women dressed head to toe in his green and purple motif, question mark clad and everything.
An homage to him.
They were certainly smart. They had to be in order to break into his lair and survive his many defenses. Unlike some of his shoddy impersonators in the past, these two seemed genuinely intelligent enough to be worthy of his image.
They asked him to join their latest heist, so that they may learn from him. To truly enact the role of the Riddler.
How could he say no to that?
The heist had been a successful one, due to his genius, and his new proteges willingness to accept his guidance. Riddler felt more alive than he had in years. The adrenaline flooded him with each new scheme. Echo and Query were eager to learn, and each lesson taught to them was implemented flawlessly into their next attack on Gotham city.
A warm glow filled him every time he saw them giving one of the Bat Brat’s a beat down. Pride in his own work was common enough, but never had he felt it for another. Not even Martin.
These girls were perfect. Intelligent, witty, and absolutely driven in their conquest of Gotham. They could answer any riddle thrown at them. They were the closest thing to his equal.
Other than Oswald of course.
Now when he lay beside his bird, and the quiet of the dark crept into his mind, he did not feel despair. No more did he feel as though he’d lived too long. The rot that had grown in his soul was swept away by his newfound purpose.
The Penguin and the Riddler would live on. Both had left their permanent mark on Gotham city. One that would not be scrubbed clean after their deaths.
So long as there was a bat, there would be a Riddler ready with a question.