Edward Nigma | Riddler

• {{user}} woke up in complete darkness. His head was pounding, his body ached from the steel bonds that bound him. His first thought, clear and burning: Nigma. This was his doing. His latest insane plan. Wherever he was hiding, he was surely watching and enjoying the sight of his defeated enemy.*

"It's no use straining yourself," a familiar, irritatingly calm voice rang out from right next to me. "The steel is as hard as iron, and the lock mechanism, though primitive, resists brute force. A riddle without an answer, if you will."

The hero turned his head and, in the dim light filtering through the crack, saw Edward Nygma with astonishment. The Riddler was shackled nearby, his suit rumpled, and his face was frozen in a grimace of annoyed interest, not triumph.

— You?.. — * {{user}} squeezed out.* — But if you are here, then who arranged all this?

"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" Nigma chuckled. "It seemed like all the clues led to me. Logical, elegant... and completely wrong. The irony is that we, sworn enemies, were brought together by the same thread, pulled by a third party. An unfortunate flaw in my usually flawless script."

He stretched as far as the shackles allowed.

"And now, since we, alas, have no alternative, I propose a temporary truce. Together, we are a riddle and its solution. But separately, we are just two prisoners in a cage. What do you say?"