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Changing Tactics	By : spankingfemfatale Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 2299 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Edward sighed dejectedly as he stared out the recreational room window onto another dismally gray day. He examined the bars and plexi-glass thinking it seemed bit overkill even for Arkham. He hated being here with every fiber of his being. He didn’t belong here.

He was, after all, far superior to most of his fellow cellmates who often whooped and hollered manically throughout the day and night. He cringed in annoyance at the mere thought. Edward knew he had his moments, but he justified to himself that most of those episodes had come about from just being imprisoned in this place. Arkham would draw the madness out of anyone.

None of them could recognize his genius, but deep down he knew the truth; he wasn't like the rest of them. Monkeys. That's what most of them were to him exceptions ran few and far between. Sure, he could enjoy talking to Crane on an intellectual level, but most conversations with him, if they didn't involve discussing fear tactics on the psyche, turned to talking about current events, which more times than not, turned into discussing their arch rival, Batman, and how he’d taken down and returned yet another escaped Arkham inhabitant.

At the mere mention of Batman, a pang of resentment would course through Edward as he wondered why he had to be the one Batman had decided to pick on. Why not Crane or Tetch or any other one of Batman’s rogues? Had any of them had to endure such pain and humiliation at the hands of Batman? If he had to guess? He doubted it. There was no way to be sure of course save actually asking, and even though it drove him crazy wondering if he was the only one, there was no way Edward planned to breach that subject to deduce a solid answer to his query. Too many questions would follow, questions led to implications which led to more questions.

No, Batman was a name he definitely didn't want to hear or discuss. Another cringe rippled up his spine at the memory of their last encounter. He hadn't come back to Arkham full of his usual sarcastic witty banter that night. And as a matter of fact, he had kept decidedly quiet the whole time Batman was present. Edward had only answered direct questions making sure to say nothing that might raise otherwise invasive questions about his capture.

The doctors opinions at Arkham all differed when it came to Batman's methods, but no matter what their stance, they were all very interested in discussing in detail a patient's escape, plots, and capture. This of course was not only to try and figure out more about their patient's psychosis but to also analyze Batman vicariously through their patient.

Edward stayed silent mostly because he didn't want any remote chance of Batman bringing up what he had done to him in front of the Arkham staff. The thought of them micro analyzing that event made him feel ill. Not to mention, if the doctors knew about it, it wouldn't be long before everyone else also knew about it. If at all possible, that was a secret that would stay buried for a lifetime and then some.

Batman had thankfully been kind in that department staying stone silent as the guards took him into custody and wordlessly disappeared moments afterwards. Edward had somehow managed to hide the proof of his battered bottom from the admissions doctors at check in which was no small feat, even for a genius such as himself!

The staff always made an inmate undress in front of them before they gave him the regular white clad Arkham duds. It was standard procedure to make sure no patient was hiding anything from the outside to help facilitate another escape or put themselves or the staff in any danger. That is saying that the patient had arrived conscious and was not in need of immediate medical attention. If needed, any trips to the infirmary followed to which an inmate was put under a microscope until fully recovered.

Luckily Batman hadn't bruised him up… visibly speaking, so there was no reason for the doctors to do more than ask the preliminary questions about his physical health before escorting him back to an awaiting cell.

The gallery of rogues had jeered, laughed, and shook their heads in disgust at seeing his incredibly quick return. He'd only escaped less than a month prior. Normally Edward would have tried to save face by bragging that he'd almost thwarted Batman, and next time, he would come up with an infinitely better riddle to foil his best opponent. They would all see that it was he who would be the one to finally outwit and defeat Batman!

Not this time. This time all he wanted was to get back to his cell and be alone, so he could silently cry himself to sleep. Crying one's self to sleep was not an uncommon occurrence in a place like Arkham.

The morning after had been better since the first few days an inmate was returned, they were kept in solitary. That meant no group, no moving to a doctor's office for one on one therapy, and unless medically needed, no poking and prodding. If a doctor planned to speak with him, they would do so through his plexi-glass cell.

The solitude was meant to be a type of punishment keeping an inmate out of the regular populace since most inmates relished being able to tell their tale of ‘life on the outside.’ Not that these tales wouldn’t still be told, just not as enthusiastically. The seclusion also gave the doctors a chance to get ‘first dibs’ at getting the accounts of a patient’s romp through Gotham before the story became muddled and embellished through many times of telling it.

The privacy was good; it left him time to lick his wounds and heal both emotionally and physically. Edward’s ass stayed sore for the next few days, and he had angry red welts for the remainder of the week. Every time he'd sat down or absently rolled over on his cot, he was reminded of the incident. Anger was the first emotion to settle in his mind, the next emotion was humiliation followed by fear of it ever happening again, and finally regret for pushing Batman to the extreme to spank him in the first place.

Why did he have to keep ending up here? Why couldn't he just be satisfied without having to challenge the Bat? These endless strings of questions poured across his mind on a daily basis until he stopped questioning and made a decision. No more.

He was done having face offs with Batman, and he wasn't going to end up back in Arkham. He had told Batman that he would work with the doctors, and at the time, he had only said so to try and refrain from getting punished. Now, he took the time to really think about his future and his options. He didn't want to be in Arkham anymore, and he honestly meant to really make an effort to change that.

Since returning three months prior, he had made what the doctors had said were great leaps and bounds in his progress to being able to re-enter society. He'd talked to them and listened to their suggestions carefully forcing away the urge to lace every answer in the form of a riddle. Although he mentally responded in a riddle, he did his best to answer without being cryptic. It wasn't easy, and Edward had often times found that he was still giving riddles within his answers without meaning to.

This fact discouraged him when he thought about his actual progress being made, but the doctors of course weren't on par with his intellect to figure out his subtleties. Batman would have noticed, but Batman wasn't here, and Edward wasn't about to point out any flaws in his efforts towards rehabilitation. Not when freedom was so close he could almost taste it! He did tip them off slyly through some of his answers, but as he’d suspected, none of them got it, and that was just fine. He’d done his part, it wasn’t his fault if they couldn’t see he wasn’t fully ready to give up the guise of the Riddler. The real question was whether or not he could keep himself fooled.

After several hearings in front of the parole board. Edward Nygma was released back onto the streets of Gotham as a free man. They said he was cured of his criminal ways.

Batman watched from a distance as Edward exited the court house building as the cameras flashed and the news crews all fought to be the first to get a statement from the reformed villain.

Edward of course lavished the attention gratefully smiling broadly for the cameras.

Batman frowned at the display as he thought, ‘They may think you’re reformed, we’ll see. I’ll be watching and waiting for you to slip Nygma. And when you do, I’ll be there to catch you.’

"You can start this Monday Mr. Nygma." The disheveled overweight gentleman behind the desk at Truman's Networking stood to shake his hand. He smelled like stale cigarettes and coffee grounds, and by the stains on his button-splitting shirt, he'd probably smeared the coffee grounds on himself yesterday and had not bothered to change yet.

Had he even noticed he was so filthy? Edward held back a grimace. He was repulsed by the man in general, but gave him a small polite smile as he stood and returned the handshake mentally wishing he had worn gloves. The man opened his desk drawer and gave Edward a company cell phone and keys to one of the work vans that held all the cable supplies he would need to set any of the company's various customers up with service.

Part of his parole requirements was getting a job and a local residency. Arkham had given him avenues linking him into a job, and as dull as Truman's Networking promised to be, it was a job that paid 24 an hour for his computer expertise. They were one of the few places that would hire him after his last attempt at reforming with Wacko Toys went so sourly. Those damn two way radios had cost him his freedom, and had put quite a black mark on his already sullied name. Wacko Toys being a huge company with a lot of influence, he was lucky any semi-good paying job in Gotham would touch him with a ten-foot pole now.

At least this job afforded travel around Gotham working his own hours. He'd never have survived long having to deal with office politics especially not day in and day out in these sardine-cramped offices. Edward quietly thanked Truman, stuffed the keys and phone into his pocket, and proceeded to see himself out.

As he turned to leave the office he frowned; he had just started the job, and he was already bored. Within the ten-minute follow up interview with Truman, his mind had begun to wander mentally finishing the man's upside down crossword puzzle. His eyes had then drifted over to the desk plaque that read the company's emblem: TRUMAN'S NETWORKING... Edward proceeded to jumble the emblem into a word puzzle NEW MARK RUNT SONG to keep his mind occupied while the man prattled on about company policy, strict bookkeeping on inventory, and GPS tracking, blah, blah. He'd managed to stifle a yawn doing his best not to look bored by giving slight nods at appropriate times in the conversation to give the impression that he was in fact paying attention to the man.

'How am I ever going to stay out of trouble surrounded by such monotony?' he thought glumly to himself as he walked through the parking lot. Number twelve the key ring read, he found the junked up van easily. Upon giving the late 70's VW van a once over, he scoffed indignantly at the thought that Truman would even assume he might think to steal such a hunk of junk. He would be surprised if it even ran let alone got over 50mph.

He pulled up to the washed out stone building that was his temporary residence. There was one door leading into the building and a maze of fire escapes leading up to its numerous one windowed rooms. The apartment wasn't as posh as he'd have liked; there actually wasn't much at all to like about it since it was technically not even an apartment but rather a room in a house with a shared bathroom on each floor. The room reminded Edward of Arkham with a less comfortable bed, its only redeemable fact being that the lock was on the inside. No matter, he'd only stay here for the month, get legitimate money coming in, and then go for something a little more upscale.

He did have a small reservoir of cash saved up in a few bank accounts throughout Gotham for use upon escaping from Arkham. One could never tell when he would need 'get out of dodge' money. He had been in and out of that place so often, it was a wonder he didn't feel homesick.

That money could have gotten him into a nice apartment, but flashy was never wise. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself and chose to rent something cheap and under the radar to keep up a clean appearance. He didn't want the authorities questioning how he was able to afford something nice with the allotted cash Arkham had given him; patience was a virtue after all. And all things would fall into place if given enough time.

The real question was whether or not Edward could wait out his own boredom. He wanted desperately to make a change for the better; even this horribly boring job and cramped living space was better than being an occupant at Arkham. Or was it? In a way, this life was just another cage, the only difference being this cage didn't have walls and temptation was present at every corner.

The days were passing painfully slow, and when he wasn't working, he spent the majority of his time creating and solving different forms of puzzles, figuring out how to break into several elaborately secured facilities, or finding a way to make heists gimmicky so that they could correspond perfectly with riddles he'd concocted.

As much as he wanted to, he didn't act upon the urge to actually commit the crimes he’d put to paper, but unraveling ways to conquer a supposed impenetrable system was always an ego boost. He had even gone so far as to make all the necessary clues to send Batman on a perplexing chase if he did in fact decide to pull off a caper.

The act felt wrong concerning his active therapy was to not feed his impulses, but Edward chose to simply dismiss the act as nothing more than a harmless mental release. As long as he didn't actually commit a crime, he should have nothing to feel bad about. He didn’t feel bad, but he also thought it best to omit his newfound hobby from conversations with Dorothy, his out-patient psychologist. So what if he needed to work out his compulsions, that didn’t mean he was crazy! Did it?

By the time the month in hell was up, his little room had become littered with such plans and puzzles. He needed a change and moving to a nice private residence he knew would help break up the depression that had started to take hold of him from the lack of anything truly stimulating; he honestly didn't know how much more of this he could take. He wanted a challenge, needed one; something, anything to break up this drone-like buzz that had begun to fill his head.

Moving to a new place had helped a little; he had opted to pull out some of his stashed away cash to decorate the place up quite nicely with all the comforts he had become accustomed to, but by the end of his second month out of Arkham, his patience was exhausted.

He was done waiting for life to miraculously get better. All of his talent wasted at this dead-end job, and his creativity wasted on mock plans; it was enough to infuriate him. He wanted to start concocting a new ingenious plan to stump Batman, even if it meant returning to Arkham. The only thing that had prevented him thus far was the thought of what Batman might do to him before bringing him back to Arkham. No, he didn't want to go down that road again. It was a deterrent in its own right, but time had started to wear down the memory of the pain and humiliation he'd suffered.

He growled in frustration crumpling up and throwing the current sketches of Norton's Jewel exchange's architectural plans across his study. He'd spent the better half of his afternoon hacking into and downloaded them off the City Hall's data bases; his latest imaginary heist. While all this planning and thinking up different capers had been entertaining, without actually implementing the ideas, there really was no way to know just how challenging his tests of wit really were. He’d thought up some wing-dinger plots before in the past only to have Batman prove them not to be as perplexing as Edward had originally imagined them to be. The Bat was just too good a detective to assume any plan was fool proof.

Edward pondered, there had to be ways to challenge the Bat without breaking the law, ways that Batman would respond without the fear of suffering any repercussions. He sighed in defeat as he rose from his computer, turned out the light, and begrudgingly decided to call it a night.

42 across…

A three letter word for a mineral from which metal is extracted.

Ore.

21 down…

A nine letter word for the area of the mind aware of surroundings.

Conscious.

Edward finished the newspaper’s daily crossword inwardly wishing that the local Gotham Times would make a puzzle that took longer than ten minutes for him to complete. Less than satisfied with his morning mental stimulation; Edward settled back in his armchair and began to flip through the contents of the rest of the paper.

"What's this?" Edward mused, the title of the article read: MASS HYSTERIA GRIPS GOTHAM! Edward's eyes soaked up the information settling on the symptoms as he chuckled to himself, "My, my, Jonathan; haven't we been busy?" he mused. Every other night there had been a bank that had been robbed during the wave of toxic panic. The robberies were listed as separate entities in smaller columns of the paper. Edward shook his head in disgust, ‘Honestly; how these reporters are unable to correlate these two events as being related is beyond me.’

His frown turned into a devious grin as new schemes began to take root. ‘Who said I have to be the one committing a crime to point out clues to a robbery? If I can figure out where the Scarecrow will strike next, I can upstage Batman’s detective skills and leave clues to see if Batman can pick up on the trail I’ll have already found.’ He had to admit, it wasn't very sporting for the Scarecrow, but then again, if Jonathan wasn't predictable enough to be able to pin point then he wouldn't have anything to worry about.

A cocky smile spread across his face, it would be a battle of wits, a race against the Bat to see who could solve the mystery of where the Scarecrow would strike next! And what was even better was that his riddle would present a two-fold challenge for Batman; if Jonathan was quick enough to recognize the riddle pointing to him first, it would act as a warning telling him if Edward had figured his next move out so would Batman. It was a perfect plan to have Batman actively solving his riddles without Edward having to pay the price for it.

Edward contemplated becoming completely engrossed in his new challenge. 'What do all these people have in common?' he wondered. He knew he’d have to do a little more research; it wouldn't take much to hack into the victim's hospital records.

Edward's brow creased in agitation as he continued to sift through the numerous patient files. He mumbled to himself, "I've spent three hours puzzling over possible associations. Most of these people have no recognizable patterns relating them to one another." He frowned almost ready to take a break when something clicked and he made a connection. He shouted out gleefully, "Time of hospitalization! Most of the people who came into the hospital were found in centralized groups!"

A small feeling of victory washed over him as he rushed off to look for his maps of the city. He quickly assembled a list of the whereabouts and times of infection for each group of victims. It was a circular pattern, starting from the eastern part of Gotham wrapping northward to swing around to the west. Edward mused, 'If my calculations are correct, the scarecrow's toxins will be taking more victims on the South side tonight.' From the area, Edward deduced the next bank would most likely be the 1st National. He grinned cockily thinking, 'Look out Gotham, the Riddler is back.'

Edward glanced in the store room mirror tipping his hat and giving his reflection a charming smile. "You never disappoint me Charles," he chirped satisfyingly as he turned to acknowledge the tailor by his side.

"Well Mr. Nygma, Gotham Alterations is considered one of the worlds finest in custom apparel," the man bragged beaming with pride.

"Of course it is my good man; I would not travel across town to acquire your wears if your reputation did not precede you," Edward responded hanging his jacket back on its hanger before handing it over to Charles.

Charles nodded quickly taking his cue to box the Riddler's purchases as Edward strolled up to the check-out counter.

"That will be 723 sir," Charles stated briskly his eyes following Edward's hand movements resting on his opening wallet. Edward smirked watching the man mentally count the hundred dollar bills before he handed them to him.

"And your hat sir?" Charles asked as he handed Edward his change and newly boxed items.

The Riddler's smile grew as he readjusted the hat on his head as he advanced to the door replying, "No thank you Charles, I'll be wearing this out."

Exiting the store, Edward was hit with a cool breeze and the smells of spring. It really was a lovely afternoon. He usually enjoyed a good walk; walking always helped him to collect his thoughts and analyze his situation. Today was not one of those days he wanted to get trapped in his own mind. He kept thinking, 'Why? I've been released from Arkham clean, and yet here I am compelled to don the guise of the Riddler once more.'

Even though he hadn't planned to commit any wrong doings, he felt a twinge of guilt knowing that he had no self control. By the time he had made it back to his apartment the guilt had been pushed away and replaced by thoughts of eager anticipation at getting the chance to challenge Batman again. At least this time if Batman was clever enough to figure out his clues, it wouldn't land 'him' back in Arkham.

The Riddler unboxed his domino mask, coat, and tie to meticulously adorn himself in his Riddler garb before sitting back to think out his next point of execution, and what kind of puzzling riddle he leave for Batman to keep him guessing where Jonathan would strike next. After thinking about the facts a little longer, Edward grabbed a phone book thumbing through names of stores. He found what he was looking for, "Ah yes, here we go," he stated letting his finger rest on a toy store named Ring around the Rosie, "A perfect riddle to signify a circle! No, you'll never figure this one out in time," the Riddler mumbled as he scribbled down a suitable riddle to pointing Batman to the Scarecrow’s likelihood of robbing the 1st National Bank:

Pockets full of trepidation.

A primary firm exchange, amalgamated across the hemispheres.

"Now, for the store's address," Edward contemplated aloud, "2048 NW 69th drive hmm? I know! I'll hide it in binary code."

2 0011 0010

0 0011 0000

4 0011 0100

8 0011 1000

N 0100 1110

W 0101 0111

6 0011 0110

9 0011 1001

He quickly worked out the equations beaming with pride at his cleverness. “I’ll transmit the numeral puzzle digitally across the downtown stock quote billboard,” Edward decided as he went to his computer primed to hack into the telecommunications center. Within thirty minutes, he had set up a program to execute at eight O'clock. Edward giggled mirthfully, "Alright Batman; let the games begin!"

Batman and Robin peered up from the Batmobile at the stock exchange billboard as the mass of numbers ran across the screen. Robin gave Batman a clueless shrug, “What do you think it means?”

Batman was busy typing the ones and zeros into his wrist communicator. He stared at the numbers a few moments before figuring out it was binary code. He set the computer to work letting it sift out the calculated numbers and letters. His eyes narrowed in anger as he responded gruffly, “It’s a puzzle. The answer is a street address on the Northwest side of town.”

Robin scoffed, “As if the Scarecrow wasn’t bad enough, we have to deal with the Riddler to?”

Batman grimaced as he stepped on the gas before responding, “What we need to do is get across town and find out what the Riddler is planning.”

The duo found the store easily, and cautiously approached the door. In the door frame sat a green envelope with a question mark painted on its cover. Batman examined it for any tricks before opening it. A single orange ‘Get out of jail free’ Monopoly card was all the envelope held. Batman flipped the card over and read the riddle aloud, “Pockets full of trepidation. A primary firm exchange, amalgamated across the hemispheres. Hmm…”

Robin looked more confused then ever, “Pockets full of what?”

Batman frowned, “Fear. Trepidation is another word for fear. He’s telling us that the Scarecrow is going to hit the 1st National bank. One being a primary number. Amalgamated another word for merged, and I’m guessing the store name is supposed to represent a circle.”

Robin’s eyes lit up, “Oh I get it; to complete the circle the next logical place to hit would be a bank on the Northwest side of town. The 1st National bank. So then the Riddler and Scarecrow are working together?”

Batman shook his head no, “I don’t think so. He put this riddle on the back of a ‘Get out of jail free’ card. I think it’s his way of saying he’s not involved.”

Robin was bewildered as he asked, “Why? If he’s not committing a crime, why the riddle?”

Batman thought about it not really sure himself why the Riddler was sending riddles but he planned to find out soon enough.
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Changing Tactics