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BATMAN: SOUTHERN KNIGHT
A GREATER EVIL, PART TWO:  “RIDDLED WITH GUILT”
Based on the DC Comics Characters created by Bob Kane

It has been a week since the Catwoman had taken it upon herself to make Christopher Maxwell’s professional life a living hell, so the cold and confident gentleman finally decided to go through with the Mall of Gotham’s gala grand opening.  And despite his unusual good mood that day, Maxwell felt that he needed to give Gordon his usual mouthful before he had to address the masses, foolishly assuming that the lawman was intimidated by him.
“Any luck bringing in your pal Batman?” he whispered.
“Batman was not responsible for what happened, Mr. Maxwell,” replied Gordon.  “There were clearly traces of…”
“Then what the hell was he doing passed out in my house at seven in the morning?  You know, you and that vigilante better hope I can negotiate a new contract with those hard-asses who own all that stinkin’ wildlife refuge land, or I’m gonna…”
“You know, I’ve had about enough of your threats, Mr. Maxwell!” bellowed Gordon, who did intimidate Maxwell a bit.  “It’s hard enough that I have to watch this abomination of yours put many of the hard-working citizens of this community, some of them long time friends, on the unemployment line.  Now, I constantly have to hear you jump down my throat.  You want to run your mouth?  Then get up there and make your blasted speech!  Just stay out of my face or I’m sure I can find a reason or two to put you behind bars.”  Maxwell had nothing to say to this, but was quick to say something to the man he bumped into as he backed away.
“Hey, watch it you jer…”  He then adjusted his attitude.  “Bruce Wayne, good to see you here.”
“Mr. Maxwell,” said Bruce dryly.
“Hey, why don’t you come by the club Saturday… drinks on me?”
“Sorry, Mr. Maxwell, I can’t.  I’m holding a charity event for the families of those who are now out of work.”
“How… noble,” sighed Maxwell.  “Well, gotta go make my speech.  Folks ready to shop, you know?”
“Come to think of it, Bruce,” said Gordon.  “Why are you here?  Obviously not to support that wolf.”
“I wanted to get a good look inside the place,” shrugged Bruce.  “Just to see if it was all worth it.”  Gordon gave me a sad look as if to say you and I both know it wasn’t.  They then found themselves surrounded by applause as Maxwell reached the podium in front of the mall’s main entrance to make his speech:
“Well, my friends,” he began with the most counterfeit sincerity.  “We’ve had a few bumps in the road, but in the end the old saying holds true:  Nothing can stop progress.  This mall is the rocket ship that will send Gotham Hill to new heights, and into the future!  And well keep going from here; brand new shopping centers, fun parks, museums, there are no limits!  Tell your friends, folks!  Let them tell their friends, and together we will finally turn Gotham Hill into Gotham City!”  He paused for another round of cheers and clapping.  “Well, I guess I’ve said enough.  After all, you good people are here to shop!  So without further ado… gentlemen open the doors!”
As the entrance opened, Maxwell led the crowd inside like a shepherd leading mindless sheep.  There were the expected “oohs” and “aahs” before people began making their way into stores, the food court, and the built-in movie theater.
“Hey,” said Bruce, who looked towards the center of the mall.  “I see you got the Gotham Eagle back.”
“It’s a cheap replica,” mumbled Maxwell.  “But these morons don’t need to know that.”
Suddenly, the lights went out.  There was some momentary panic, but that ceased when a series of green lights shaped like question marks began to appear throughout the mall.  Then, a spotlight was shown on the fake eagle.  Green sparks and smoke shot out of the bird until it exploded.  As Maxwell, swore to himself, Bruce took a picture of the strange happenings via a hidden camera in his cufflink.  Once everything returned to normal, Maxwell laughed nervously and raised his arms to his patrons.
“Just part of the opening festivities, folks,” he assured.  “Nothing to be alarmed about.”  Some sighed with relief, some gave him a look of doubt, and some could care less either way as they went back to their business.  Maxwell, Bruce, and Commissioner Gordon then stepped over to the eagle’s remains.
“Look,” said Gordon as he pointed to a small, green envelope.  “That must have come out of the bird.”  He opened it and read the piece of paper inside: “Instead of a cat, you’ll find a fiddle.  Look all about you to solve this riddle.”
“Nygma!” growled Maxwell.  “That little twerp Nygma pulled this!”
“Nygma hasn’t even been seen since his mother’s funeral,” said Bruce.  “And besides, why would he want anything to do with you?”
“Well, because I…”  Maxwell shushed as a few curious shoppers began to approach them.  “I’ve got things to take care of, photo-ops and all that.  We’ll… discuss this later.”
“Wanna grab a late breakfast, Bruce?” asked Gordon.
“Sure… just somewhere far from here,” laughed Bruce.
“Couldn’t agree more.”
As they walked away, a woman with black, curly hair and thick glasses stepped over to the perch the eagle sat upon.  Underneath the disguise was Selina Kyle, who vowed to never show her “true face” inside the mall.
“Ed Nygma,” she whispered.

“Ed Nygma,” repeated Batman from the Batcave deep under Wayne Plantation.  Truth was, he just didn’t want to believe his old friend, a man he knew to be good-hearted and honest, would pull something like the incident at the mall.  But Batman knew he had been through Hell:  He lost his store, his mother, and possibly his childhood home.  Lesser things had driven good people to madness.  But then Batman realized he had to put Bruce Wayne’s personal feelings aside.  He now had a triple threat to deal with; Catwoman, whoever was indeed behind the morning’s excitement, and Christopher Maxwell, a man who was destroying lives and legally getting away with it.  First thing was first… the riddle:
“Instead of a cat, you’ll find a fiddle.  Look all about you to solve this riddle.”
“It appears the fiend is telling Maxwell that he has more than just this Catwoman to deal with,” said Alfred, who overheard his employer as he dusted some of the equipment in the cave.
“Partially,” said Batman.  “But I think it’s also a clue as to where this new villain will strike next.”
“A rogue who leaves riddles as clues?” said Alfred.  “Clever.”
“Look all about you to solve this riddle.  He must have meant that fancy light show with all the question marks.”  Batman then had the photo he took at the mall blown up on the Bat-computer’s main screen.
“Do you really think you’ll find your answer in that interrogative mish-mash?” joked Alfred.
“Wait a minute,” said Batman after a few seconds of silence.  He then had two white perpendicular lines appear on screen, dividing the photo into four sections.  “Alfred, notice how in each section, there are a certain number of lager question marks in the center; three in the top left corner, four in the top right, nine in the bottom left, and two in the bottom right.”
“You suspect it might be some sort of code?”  Another brief silence.
“Or an address!  Of course; 3492 Welster Street!  The street was named after an old fiddle player who was famous around this area.  Christopher Maxwell owns a very posh restaurant there… and tonight he’s having a private dinner party to celebrate the opening of the mall.”
“Oh yes,” yawned Alfred.  “I forgot to mention that you received an invitation in the mail.”
“Shred it, Alfred.  After all, it’ll be a tad bit difficult for Bruce Wayne to be there when Batman may very well need to be in attendance.”

The population under Nomad Bridge began to rise rapidly as the unemployed were forced out of their houses and evicted from their apartments.  Many of them went from respected and successful business owners to despised and penniless outcasts.  And while he knew they weren’t criminals, the figure approaching them felt he could rely on them to aid him in his plot of chaos and revenge.
“Where the hell did you come from, the circus?” laughed a man who spotted him.
“Ah, my friend,” said the figure calmly.  “I know I may not look the part, but we have a great deal in common.  I, like you, watched my hopes and dreams crushed by the corporate fist.  The only difference is that I decided to fight back.”
“Forget it, pal,” said another man.  “We went to court and everywhere else with the big guns, and got shot down.”
“Yeah,” snorted a fellow behind him.  “Guys like Christopher Maxwell are gonna have to be dead before we have a fighting chance again.”
“Now you’re beginning to catch on,” smiled the figure.  “I have a proposal for you, gentlemen.  Come with me tonight and I’ll give you something to live for again… or at the very least, you’ll get a good, hot meal and earn a few bucks.”
“Go on,” said the first man he spoke with, who now had that icy stare of interest the figure had hoped for.

Commissioner Gordon stood outside Maxwell’s Petite Paris restaurant, wondering what his job had become.  For weeks and weeks, it had been all about Maxwell and his elite associates, not the average citizen, not the people who walked the streets and back roads at night, hoping that vicious human predators weren’t lurking in the darkness.  Gordon and his officers felt like they were reduced to lackies and, thanks to the likes of Catwoman and the one responsible for the morning fiasco, very unsuccessful ones.
Gordon thoughts were interrupted when he saw his uncertain ally standing in the shadow of a large oak tree.
“I guess we’re both wondering what the other is doing here,” said Batman as the Commissioner approached.
“Quite frankly, I’m ready to call it quits on that corporate quack,” said Gordon.
“Don’t.  It’s not just about Maxwell anymore.  It’s about the lost souls that he’s driven to madness, about the innocent that could seriously be affected by this.  Gordon, don’t let this man’s ego blind you from seeing the big picture.”  Gordon could only sigh and nod before he turned to see that the festivities were about to start.
“Well, I suppose I’d better…”  He turned back to see that Batman had vanished.  “I guess I’ll eventually get to that.”

“…And so,” said Maxwell, mercifully wrapping up another speech from the head table.  “Here’s to every proud citizen of Gotham Hill in this room.  Your generous and selfless funding has put a once obscure and meaningless town on the map.  A toast!”  Everyone raised their glasses as chefs and waiters began to bring in several covered dishes on silk clothed rolling tables.  The wealthy looked on with hungry anticipation as the lids were lifted, only to cringe at the sight of turkey skeletons and half-to-completely empty side dishes.  The chefs and waiters, those very same people found by the mysterious figure under the bridge, then removed pistols and machine guns from under the table cloths.  Curious green smoke filled the entranceway as a very strange gentleman walked in.  He was dressed in a black three-piece suit with matching tie, eye mask, and derby.  All throughout his attire were little green question marks, and in his hands was a long, silver question mark-shaped cane.
“A small question, ladies and gentlemen,” he said.  “Why are you all like a clock at noon and midnight?  Because both of you’re hands are going up!”  The dinner guests got the message, and watched in dismay as they were relieved of their cash and jewelry.  Maxwell’s eyes them widened with rage.
“Nygma, it is you!” he howled.
“Incorrect, Mr. Maxwell!” said the man in black and green.  “Edward Nygma died with his mother and his family’s store.  I, my good man, will simply be addressed as… The Riddler.”
“Do something about this nut, Gordon!” ordered Maxwell.
“Apparently you’ve forgotten about these other nuts who are pointing guns at your dinner guests,” said the Commissioner.  Then, another cloud of smoke filled the room, this time signaling the entrance of Batman.  The Caped Crusader forgot himself for a moment as he locked eyes with a man who was once Bruce Wayne’s family friend.  However, he shook off any feeling of pity as the Riddler gave him a sinister bow.
“Do I now find myself in the presence of the Black Avenger of Gotham?” he asked.  “I thought you despised monstrosities like Maxwell… or maybe I am the monster now?”
“Don’t play games with me,” said Batman.  “I don’t have time for them.  I’m simply here to keep the peace.”
“But games and riddles are my glass cup of tea, and you may want to really focus on my next little conundrum:  A pesky annoyance I tend to make, as at the same time I give and take.  What am I?”
Batman then spread his cape and lunged at the Riddler, but was thwarted by several of his henchmen.  He laid them out with a series of punches and kicks, but then turned to see the Riddler press a button on his cane.  The chandelier and lamps in the restaurant then went out and in their place were a number of flickering green strobe lights.  Between those and the screams of the dinner guests, even Batman was bewildered.
And then, all was normal again; no strobe lights, no panic… no Riddler.  The green fiend had fled, leaving Batman and the police embarrassed once again, and Maxwell about to blow a fuse himself.

The abandoned building that was once Nygma’s Puzzles and Games was now the Riddler’s place to plot and ponder, and he was overjoyed to make his new “army” a part of it.  Those who were once unemployed and homeless now had a place to go and a purpose, albeit an illegal one.  The old store was now a carnival of multi-colored lights, computers, and numerous gadgets… the ideal dwelling of a mad genius.
“Welcome, my friends, welcome,” said the Riddler to his henchmen.  “Bring in your plunder and relish in it, but don’t get too cozy.  We must prepare for the next move in my clever little game!”
“Next move?” snickered one of his “guests”.  “Why don’t we just kill Maxwell and get this over with?”
“Oh, but you’re not thinking outside the proverbial box, my good man!  If Maxwell dies, another rich schmuck will replace him, meaning more woe for Gotham Hill.  You must understand it’s not just Maxwell we’re here to destroy.  It’s every man  and woman who walks around with that silver spoon up their keisters, without a care in the world while hard-working folks like you watch their dreams go up in smoke!”  He then rapidly typed on the keyboard of a large computer in the center of the main room, and a picture of the Mall of Gotham and its surrounding shopping centers appeared on-screen.  “My friends, the tyrant’s kingdom is about to fall…”  He then pressed a button which altered the photo to feature a series of dramatically reconstructed black and green buildings.  “And then the time will come for us to have it all!”  The Riddler then sprung back as a black cat leapt onto the keyboard.
“Don’t be afraid, Mr. Nygma,” said a voice behind him.  “Jezebel just wants to say hi.”  The Riddler turned and smiled at the statuesque sight of the Catwoman.
“Well, looks like we have another guest, gentlemen,” he said with a bow to the lady.  “Unexpected… yet hardly uninvited.”  The Catwoman smiled as she walked up and patted his right cheek.
“You and I have a great deal in common, Edward… or may I call you the Riddler?” she asked.
“Your preference, my good lady.  And you were saying?”
“I’m saying that we both want to change the way this fallen town is being ran… and are willing to do anything to make that change come about.  So…”  She drew close enough to kiss him.  “How about I scratch your back and you scratch mine.”
“Well, in that case, you might say I’m itching for a little mayhem.”  The Catwoman drew back at this, but then she and the Riddler shared a laugh.

The next afternoon, Alfred decided that it was best not to say anything as he brought Bruce’s lunch down to the Batcave.  The look on his employer’s face was one of disturbance and depression.  However, as he walked away, Bruce spoke to him.
“I tried to pity him, Alfred,” he said.
“Who, sir?” whispered his butler, who stepped back over to him.
“Ed Nygma.  When I saw him last night, I wanted to feel sorry for the good man I used to know.  But then I discovered that the same thing happened to him that happened to Oswald.”  Alfred nodded and sat down beside him.
“I know, sir,” said Bruce’s old friend.  “He was corrupted by a greater evil.”
“A greater evil, Alfred?”
“Yes, sir.  For Mr. Cobblepot, it was hatred.  For Mr. Nygma, it is greed and lust for power.  I’ve lived a long time, sir, and I’ve seen the cycle more times that I’ve cared to.  A greater evil forces a good man or woman to confuse a life of vengeance for doing what’s right.  Very soon, it plagues one’s mind and soul to the point where one becomes the very thing one sets out to destroy.”
“So Nygma’s become part of the greater evil?”
“Both a victim and a follower, sir.”
“Well, what about me, Alfred?  Batman was born because of a greater evil.”
“And I’ve prayed everyday that it doesn’t consume you, sir.”  He then rose.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to work and allow you to get back to Mr. Nygma’s latest riddle.”  Bruce gave him a small, unsure smile before Alfred returned upstairs.
“I wish I had the faith you did,” he whispered.

There were two men in Christopher Maxwell’s office at Maxwell Corporate Properties.  One was Maxwell himself.  The other was hidden in the room’s shadow.
“The fact is that I’ve got two people trying to ruin me, a police force that is useless to help me, and a man dressed as a bat who is just making someone of my profession nervous altogether.  So since you came so highly recommended by your past clients, I have turned to you.”
“No worries, amigo,” said the other man in a deep voice and Spanish accent.  “My terms are quite simple:  You pay cash and I break bones.”
“Excellent,” smiled Maxwell.  “Oh by the way, I never caught your name.”  The man then stepped into the light to reveal a freakish mountain of muscle in a white t-shirt, blue jeans, black biker boots and black fingerless gloves.  His entire head, with the exception of his eyes and mouth, was covered by a black and white mask.
“My real name is of no consequence, amigo,” he said.  “But for… business purposes, you may call me… Bane.”

… To Be Continued.

Description
BATMAN: SOUTHERN KNIGHT
A GREATER EVIL, PART TWO:  “RIDDLED WITH GUILT”
Based on the DC Comics Characters created by Bob Kane

It has been a week since the Catwoman had taken it upon herself to make Christopher Maxwell’s professional life a living hell, so the cold and confident gentleman finally decided to go through with the Mall of Gotham’s gala grand opening.  And despite his unusual good mood that day, Maxwell felt that he needed to give Gordon his usual mouthful before he had to address the masses, foolishly assuming that the lawman was intimidated by him.
“Any luck bringing in your pal Batman?” he whispered.
“Batman was not responsible for what happened, Mr. Maxwell,” replied Gordon.  “There were clearly traces of…”
“Then what the hell was he doing passed out in my house at seven in the morning?  You know, you and that vigilante better hope I can negotiate a new contract with those hard-asses who own all that stinkin’ wildlife refuge land, or I’m gonna…”
“You know, I’ve had about enough of your threats, Mr. Maxwell!” bellowed Gordon, who did intimidate Maxwell a bit.  “It’s hard enough that I have to watch this abomination of yours put many of the hard-working citizens of this community, some of them long time friends, on the unemployment line.  Now, I constantly have to hear you jump down my throat.  You want to run your mouth?  Then get up there and make your blasted speech!  Just stay out of my face or I’m sure I can find a reason or two to put you behind bars.”  Maxwell had nothing to say to this, but was quick to say something to the man he bumped into as he backed away.
“Hey, watch it you jer…”  He then adjusted his attitude.  “Bruce Wayne, good to see you here.”
“Mr. Maxwell,” said Bruce dryly.
“Hey, why don’t you come by the club Saturday… drinks on me?”
“Sorry, Mr. Maxwell, I can’t.  I’m holding a charity event for the families of those who are now out of work.”
“How… noble,” sighed Maxwell.  “Well, gotta go make my speech.  Folks ready to shop, you know?”
“Come to think of it, Bruce,” said Gordon.  “Why are you here?  Obviously not to support that wolf.”
“I wanted to get a good look inside the place,” shrugged Bruce.  “Just to see if it was all worth it.”  Gordon gave me a sad look as if to say you and I both know it wasn’t.  They then found themselves surrounded by applause as Maxwell reached the podium in front of the mall’s main entrance to make his speech:
“Well, my friends,” he began with the most counterfeit sincerity.  “We’ve had a few bumps in the road, but in the end the old saying holds true:  Nothing can stop progress.  This mall is the rocket ship that will send Gotham Hill to new heights, and into the future!  And well keep going from here; brand new shopping centers, fun parks, museums, there are no limits!  Tell your friends, folks!  Let them tell their friends, and together we will finally turn Gotham Hill into Gotham City!”  He paused for another round of cheers and clapping.  “Well, I guess I’ve said enough.  After all, you good people are here to shop!  So without further ado… gentlemen open the doors!”
As the entrance opened, Maxwell led the crowd inside like a shepherd leading mindless sheep.  There were the expected “oohs” and “aahs” before people began making their way into stores, the food court, and the built-in movie theater.
“Hey,” said Bruce, who looked towards the center of the mall.  “I see you got the Gotham Eagle back.”
“It’s a cheap replica,” mumbled Maxwell.  “But these morons don’t need to know that.”
Suddenly, the lights went out.  There was some momentary panic, but that ceased when a series of green lights shaped like question marks began to appear throughout the mall.  Then, a spotlight was shown on the fake eagle.  Green sparks and smoke shot out of the bird until it exploded.  As Maxwell, swore to himself, Bruce took a picture of the strange happenings via a hidden camera in his cufflink.  Once everything returned to normal, Maxwell laughed nervously and raised his arms to his patrons.
“Just part of the opening festivities, folks,” he assured.  “Nothing to be alarmed about.”  Some sighed with relief, some gave him a look of doubt, and some could care less either way as they went back to their business.  Maxwell, Bruce, and Commissioner Gordon then stepped over to the eagle’s remains.
“Look,” said Gordon as he pointed to a small, green envelope.  “That must have come out of the bird.”  He opened it and read the piece of paper inside: “Instead of a cat, you’ll find a fiddle.  Look all about you to solve this riddle.”
“Nygma!” growled Maxwell.  “That little twerp Nygma pulled this!”
“Nygma hasn’t even been seen since his mother’s funeral,” said Bruce.  “And besides, why would he want anything to do with you?”
“Well, because I…”  Maxwell shushed as a few curious shoppers began to approach them.  “I’ve got things to take care of, photo-ops and all that.  We’ll… discuss this later.”
“Wanna grab a late breakfast, Bruce?” asked Gordon.
“Sure… just somewhere far from here,” laughed Bruce.
“Couldn’t agree more.”
As they walked away, a woman with black, curly hair and thick glasses stepped over to the perch the eagle sat upon.  Underneath the disguise was Selina Kyle, who vowed to never show her “true face” inside the mall.
“Ed Nygma,” she whispered.

“Ed Nygma,” repeated Batman from the Batcave deep under Wayne Plantation.  Truth was, he just didn’t want to believe his old friend, a man he knew to be good-hearted and honest, would pull something like the incident at the mall.  But Batman knew he had been through Hell:  He lost his store, his mother, and possibly his childhood home.  Lesser things had driven good people to madness.  But then Batman realized he had to put Bruce Wayne’s personal feelings aside.  He now had a triple threat to deal with; Catwoman, whoever was indeed behind the morning’s excitement, and Christopher Maxwell, a man who was destroying lives and legally getting away with it.  First thing was first… the riddle:
“Instead of a cat, you’ll find a fiddle.  Look all about you to solve this riddle.”
“It appears the fiend is telling Maxwell that he has more than just this Catwoman to deal with,” said Alfred, who overheard his employer as he dusted some of the equipment in the cave.
“Partially,” said Batman.  “But I think it’s also a clue as to where this new villain will strike next.”
“A rogue who leaves riddles as clues?” said Alfred.  “Clever.”
“Look all about you to solve this riddle.  He must have meant that fancy light show with all the question marks.”  Batman then had the photo he took at the mall blown up on the Bat-computer’s main screen.
“Do you really think you’ll find your answer in that interrogative mish-mash?” joked Alfred.
“Wait a minute,” said Batman after a few seconds of silence.  He then had two white perpendicular lines appear on screen, dividing the photo into four sections.  “Alfred, notice how in each section, there are a certain number of lager question marks in the center; three in the top left corner, four in the top right, nine in the bottom left, and two in the bottom right.”
“You suspect it might be some sort of code?”  Another brief silence.
“Or an address!  Of course; 3492 Welster Street!  The street was named after an old fiddle player who was famous around this area.  Christopher Maxwell owns a very posh restaurant there… and tonight he’s having a private dinner party to celebrate the opening of the mall.”
“Oh yes,” yawned Alfred.  “I forgot to mention that you received an invitation in the mail.”
“Shred it, Alfred.  After all, it’ll be a tad bit difficult for Bruce Wayne to be there when Batman may very well need to be in attendance.”

The population under Nomad Bridge began to rise rapidly as the unemployed were forced out of their houses and evicted from their apartments.  Many of them went from respected and successful business owners to despised and penniless outcasts.  And while he knew they weren’t criminals, the figure approaching them felt he could rely on them to aid him in his plot of chaos and revenge.
“Where the hell did you come from, the circus?” laughed a man who spotted him.
“Ah, my friend,” said the figure calmly.  “I know I may not look the part, but we have a great deal in common.  I, like you, watched my hopes and dreams crushed by the corporate fist.  The only difference is that I decided to fight back.”
“Forget it, pal,” said another man.  “We went to court and everywhere else with the big guns, and got shot down.”
“Yeah,” snorted a fellow behind him.  “Guys like Christopher Maxwell are gonna have to be dead before we have a fighting chance again.”
“Now you’re beginning to catch on,” smiled the figure.  “I have a proposal for you, gentlemen.  Come with me tonight and I’ll give you something to live for again… or at the very least, you’ll get a good, hot meal and earn a few bucks.”
“Go on,” said the first man he spoke with, who now had that icy stare of interest the figure had hoped for.

Commissioner Gordon stood outside Maxwell’s Petite Paris restaurant, wondering what his job had become.  For weeks and weeks, it had been all about Maxwell and his elite associates, not the average citizen, not the people who walked the streets and back roads at night, hoping that vicious human predators weren’t lurking in the darkness.  Gordon and his officers felt like they were reduced to lackies and, thanks to the likes of Catwoman and the one responsible for the morning fiasco, very unsuccessful ones.
Gordon thoughts were interrupted when he saw his uncertain ally standing in the shadow of a large oak tree.
“I guess we’re both wondering what the other is doing here,” said Batman as the Commissioner approached.
“Quite frankly, I’m ready to call it quits on that corporate quack,” said Gordon.
“Don’t.  It’s not just about Maxwell anymore.  It’s about the lost souls that he’s driven to madness, about the innocent that could seriously be affected by this.  Gordon, don’t let this man’s ego blind you from seeing the big picture.”  Gordon could only sigh and nod before he turned to see that the festivities were about to start.
“Well, I suppose I’d better…”  He turned back to see that Batman had vanished.  “I guess I’ll eventually get to that.”

“…And so,” said Maxwell, mercifully wrapping up another speech from the head table.  “Here’s to every proud citizen of Gotham Hill in this room.  Your generous and selfless funding has put a once obscure and meaningless town on the map.  A toast!”  Everyone raised their glasses as chefs and waiters began to bring in several covered dishes on silk clothed rolling tables.  The wealthy looked on with hungry anticipation as the lids were lifted, only to cringe at the sight of turkey skeletons and half-to-completely empty side dishes.  The chefs and waiters, those very same people found by the mysterious figure under the bridge, then removed pistols and machine guns from under the table cloths.  Curious green smoke filled the entranceway as a very strange gentleman walked in.  He was dressed in a black three-piece suit with matching tie, eye mask, and derby.  All throughout his attire were little green question marks, and in his hands was a long, silver question mark-shaped cane.
“A small question, ladies and gentlemen,” he said.  “Why are you all like a clock at noon and midnight?  Because both of you’re hands are going up!”  The dinner guests got the message, and watched in dismay as they were relieved of their cash and jewelry.  Maxwell’s eyes them widened with rage.
“Nygma, it is you!” he howled.
“Incorrect, Mr. Maxwell!” said the man in black and green.  “Edward Nygma died with his mother and his family’s store.  I, my good man, will simply be addressed as… The Riddler.”
“Do something about this nut, Gordon!” ordered Maxwell.
“Apparently you’ve forgotten about these other nuts who are pointing guns at your dinner guests,” said the Commissioner.  Then, another cloud of smoke filled the room, this time signaling the entrance of Batman.  The Caped Crusader forgot himself for a moment as he locked eyes with a man who was once Bruce Wayne’s family friend.  However, he shook off any feeling of pity as the Riddler gave him a sinister bow.
“Do I now find myself in the presence of the Black Avenger of Gotham?” he asked.  “I thought you despised monstrosities like Maxwell… or maybe I am the monster now?”
“Don’t play games with me,” said Batman.  “I don’t have time for them.  I’m simply here to keep the peace.”
“But games and riddles are my glass cup of tea, and you may want to really focus on my next little conundrum:  A pesky annoyance I tend to make, as at the same time I give and take.  What am I?”
Batman then spread his cape and lunged at the Riddler, but was thwarted by several of his henchmen.  He laid them out with a series of punches and kicks, but then turned to see the Riddler press a button on his cane.  The chandelier and lamps in the restaurant then went out and in their place were a number of flickering green strobe lights.  Between those and the screams of the dinner guests, even Batman was bewildered.
And then, all was normal again; no strobe lights, no panic… no Riddler.  The green fiend had fled, leaving Batman and the police embarrassed once again, and Maxwell about to blow a fuse himself.

The abandoned building that was once Nygma’s Puzzles and Games was now the Riddler’s place to plot and ponder, and he was overjoyed to make his new “army” a part of it.  Those who were once unemployed and homeless now had a place to go and a purpose, albeit an illegal one.  The old store was now a carnival of multi-colored lights, computers, and numerous gadgets… the ideal dwelling of a mad genius.
“Welcome, my friends, welcome,” said the Riddler to his henchmen.  “Bring in your plunder and relish in it, but don’t get too cozy.  We must prepare for the next move in my clever little game!”
“Next move?” snickered one of his “guests”.  “Why don’t we just kill Maxwell and get this over with?”
“Oh, but you’re not thinking outside the proverbial box, my good man!  If Maxwell dies, another rich schmuck will replace him, meaning more woe for Gotham Hill.  You must understand it’s not just Maxwell we’re here to destroy.  It’s every man  and woman who walks around with that silver spoon up their keisters, without a care in the world while hard-working folks like you watch their dreams go up in smoke!”  He then rapidly typed on the keyboard of a large computer in the center of the main room, and a picture of the Mall of Gotham and its surrounding shopping centers appeared on-screen.  “My friends, the tyrant’s kingdom is about to fall…”  He then pressed a button which altered the photo to feature a series of dramatically reconstructed black and green buildings.  “And then the time will come for us to have it all!”  The Riddler then sprung back as a black cat leapt onto the keyboard.
“Don’t be afraid, Mr. Nygma,” said a voice behind him.  “Jezebel just wants to say hi.”  The Riddler turned and smiled at the statuesque sight of the Catwoman.
“Well, looks like we have another guest, gentlemen,” he said with a bow to the lady.  “Unexpected… yet hardly uninvited.”  The Catwoman smiled as she walked up and patted his right cheek.
“You and I have a great deal in common, Edward… or may I call you the Riddler?” she asked.
“Your preference, my good lady.  And you were saying?”
“I’m saying that we both want to change the way this fallen town is being ran… and are willing to do anything to make that change come about.  So…”  She drew close enough to kiss him.  “How about I scratch your back and you scratch mine.”
“Well, in that case, you might say I’m itching for a little mayhem.”  The Catwoman drew back at this, but then she and the Riddler shared a laugh.

The next afternoon, Alfred decided that it was best not to say anything as he brought Bruce’s lunch down to the Batcave.  The look on his employer’s face was one of disturbance and depression.  However, as he walked away, Bruce spoke to him.
“I tried to pity him, Alfred,” he said.
“Who, sir?” whispered his butler, who stepped back over to him.
“Ed Nygma.  When I saw him last night, I wanted to feel sorry for the good man I used to know.  But then I discovered that the same thing happened to him that happened to Oswald.”  Alfred nodded and sat down beside him.
“I know, sir,” said Bruce’s old friend.  “He was corrupted by a greater evil.”
“A greater evil, Alfred?”
“Yes, sir.  For Mr. Cobblepot, it was hatred.  For Mr. Nygma, it is greed and lust for power.  I’ve lived a long time, sir, and I’ve seen the cycle more times that I’ve cared to.  A greater evil forces a good man or woman to confuse a life of vengeance for doing what’s right.  Very soon, it plagues one’s mind and soul to the point where one becomes the very thing one sets out to destroy.”
“So Nygma’s become part of the greater evil?”
“Both a victim and a follower, sir.”
“Well, what about me, Alfred?  Batman was born because of a greater evil.”
“And I’ve prayed everyday that it doesn’t consume you, sir.”  He then rose.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to work and allow you to get back to Mr. Nygma’s latest riddle.”  Bruce gave him a small, unsure smile before Alfred returned upstairs.
“I wish I had the faith you did,” he whispered.

There were two men in Christopher Maxwell’s office at Maxwell Corporate Properties.  One was Maxwell himself.  The other was hidden in the room’s shadow.
“The fact is that I’ve got two people trying to ruin me, a police force that is useless to help me, and a man dressed as a bat who is just making someone of my profession nervous altogether.  So since you came so highly recommended by your past clients, I have turned to you.”
“No worries, amigo,” said the other man in a deep voice and Spanish accent.  “My terms are quite simple:  You pay cash and I break bones.”
“Excellent,” smiled Maxwell.  “Oh by the way, I never caught your name.”  The man then stepped into the light to reveal a freakish mountain of muscle in a white t-shirt, blue jeans, black biker boots and black fingerless gloves.  His entire head, with the exception of his eyes and mouth, was covered by a black and white mask.
“My real name is of no consequence, amigo,” he said.  “But for… business purposes, you may call me… Bane.”

… To Be Continued.