The Batcave fell quiet for a while, with only the clink of tweezers against a plate and the faint fluttering of bats' wings in the darkness.
But soon, when Alfred returned from the manor upstairs carrying a late-night meal, Bruce handed him a notebook and asked him to look at what was written on the final page.
"****? Are these four symbols some new riddle game? I don't recall the Riddler recovering from his psychological trauma and daring to come out and cause trouble again."
After putting on his reading glasses and taking a look, the butler asked his young master, who was eating.
Four months ago, the Riddler had been hung from a lamppost outside the Gotham Police Department by Deathstroke, who had also branded a bat symbol onto his backside. This had dealt an immense psychological blow to Nygma, who had always called himself Gotham's smartest man. He had stayed indoors for a long time afterward, as though he had become a different person entirely.
As Batwoman's butler, the old man naturally knew about this. Though Deathstroke's methods had been a little brutal, it had to be said that silencing the Riddler had indeed cleaned up Gotham's overall environment quite a bit.
The Riddler was not as destructive as Joker or Bane, but he was like a toad clinging to your shoe—not dangerous, but disgusting.
He would leave hundreds or thousands of riddles throughout the city, kidnap hostages to use as stakes in his games, and if Batwoman wanted to save them, she had to answer the questions. And she could not get a single one wrong.
When green question marks covered the entire city, Batwoman could forget about doing anything else. She would spend night after night repeating that tedious game with the Riddler.
"That's the problem,