Behind the iron door of the interrogation room, a man's laughter echoed.
Not the manic cackling of someone who'd lost their mind. Not nervous humor or desperate gallows comedy.
Just... genuine amusement. The sound of someone who'd heard a really good joke and couldn't help but appreciate it.
Jude wasn't directly outside the door. He stood several feet away, in the hallway between the monitoring room and the interrogation area. But even from here—through walls, through the heavy metal door—he could hear the conversation clearly.
And right now, what he was hearing made his chest tight with unease.
The Riddler seemed genuinely happy.
Which was wrong.
Because from what Lonnie had told him, this Riddler had been broken. Domesticated. Reduced to a cooperative pet who solved cases for cigarettes and bet on football games.
Happy prisoners were suspicious prisoners.
"Dozens of people have already been admitted to the hospital in Gotham, Edward Nygma!"
Through the small reinforced window in the door, Jude could see both men clearly.
The inspector stood on one side of the metal table. Black. Bald. Built like someone who'd played football in college and kept up the gym habit afterward. His face was covered with shadows from the harsh overhead lighting, making his expression appear extremely gloomy.
He clenched one hand into a fist. Pounded it hard on the table.
"So I'm sorry—I don't see the funny point in this."
Opposite him sat the Riddler.
And Jude had to stop himself from physically reacting.
Because this Edward Nygma was nothing like the Riddler from his universe.
He wore a simple white short-sleeved shirt and long pants. Prison-issue clothing. No green suit. No question mark iconography. No theatrical costume at all.
The shirt revealed his forearms—muscular, powerful, covered in lean definition that came from serious strength training. His shoulders were broad. The fabric of his shirt pulled tight across his back, showing the kind of muscle development you got from pull-ups and compound lifts.
This wasn't some skinny conspiracy theorist who hid in shadows and relied purely on intellect.
This was a man who'd clearly not neglected physical exercise during his time in prison. Someone who probably had considerable close combat ability.
Jude thought back to his own universe's Riddler.
That Riddler had been completely huddled up. Defensive. Compared with the tall and imposing Sofia Falcone, Jude's only impression of him had been "cowardly" and "weak." At most, he'd recognized a deeply hidden layer of "clever and self-centered" beneath the pathetic exterior.
Was that the effect that Riddler wanted to create? Jude wasn't certain. But he thought it was very likely.
Appear weak. Harmless. Beneath notice.
While this universe's Riddler had gone the opposite direction: appear strong. Capable. Dangerous enough that people wouldn't underestimate him.
Two different survival strategies. Two different Gothams.
The Riddler raised his head. The light caught his face—angular, square-jawed, with blond hair that made him look masculine and strong.
Unlike the Joker's thin and sharp features—all edges and cruel lines—the Riddler's appearance was almost heroic. Square face. Strong chin. The kind of look that belonged on a soldier or construction foreman, not a conspirator.
It was somewhat different from the general impression people had of criminal masterminds. Instead of looking like a scheming villain, he looked more like an ordinary strong man who happened to be relatively smart.
Which was probably intentional.
Camouflage.
He heard the inspector say, "I'm sorry, I don't see the funny part."
The Riddler finally stopped laughing.
"No." His voice was calm. Almost gentle. "I should be sorry. I know you don't see the funny part, Detective."
He deliberately emphasized the word "detective." Let it hang in the air with a hint of sarcasm.
"But at least you should be able to see that—" He casually pointed at the map of Gotham unfolded on the table between them. "—this is where my joke is."
The inspector's face darkened immediately.
Being ridiculed. Being told that a detective was being fooled by a criminal. That he was missing something obvious.
It was calculated provocation.
The inspector decided to take advantage of the situation. Use it. Turn the Riddler's arrogance against him.
When cooperating with criminals, this strategy almost always worked: make them think they're smarter than you, then use that overconfidence.
"Our deal is simple," the inspector said. Voice hard. "I help you if you help me. And since you can't help me—"
He stood. Pushed his chair back.
"—I'm done with you. Goodbye, Nygma."
He turned toward the door. Started walking.
Before leaving, he turned his head back. Curled his lips in disdain.
"I guess Gordon is right. Only that bat can find out where the Joker is hiding."
That got a response.
"Wait!" The Riddler's voice was suddenly urgent. Desperate. "Please, I can do this—I want to help, I want to help!"
The inspector paused. His back still to the Riddler.
A triumphant smile crossed his face. Hidden from the prisoner's view.
He'd used threats, inducements, and provocations. The tactics were almost always effective against criminals, especially the proud ones.
"I can handle this better than Batman," the Riddler said. Voice rising slightly. "At any rate, if you can explain one thing, it will be easily solved, Inspector."
"Oh, no problem, Nygma." The inspector immediately softened his tone. Pulled out the chair and sat down again. "What do you want to know?"
He'd been standing the entire conversation until now. The deliberate intimidation tactic. Only after the Riddler was "captured" by the bait did he want to sit down and have a proper discussion.
His consistent philosophy: a prisoner who wasn't hooked wouldn't be honest.
Outside, watching through the window, Jude didn't think the inspector was in control at all.
Rather than saying the Riddler had been seen through by the detective's manipulation, it was the specific phrase—"a mystery that only Batman can solve"—that made the Riddler feel offended.
Insulted.
The provocation had worked. But maybe too well.
Insulting the Riddler's ability to solve puzzles was like insulting a musician and calling their playing garbage. Like insulting a basketball player and calling their skills trash.
It was attacking the very thing they were most proud of.
And regardless of whether the insult was true or not, anyone with even a little pride in their skills would be offended.
The Riddler wasn't just "a little" proud of his puzzle-solving abilities.
He was also a psychopath.
Jude's eyes flicked to the surveillance camera in the corner of the interrogation room. The small red light blinked steadily—recording active. Someone in the monitoring room was watching this entire conversation.
It seemed like the situation had a certain degree of security.
Seemed.
The conversation continued.
The inspector leaned forward. "What do you need to know?"
The Riddler's expression changed. Something flickered across his face. Too fast to read properly.
"Oh, if you could—" His voice was casual now. Almost conversational. "I mean, just tell me: why does the end of the world never come? Okay?"
The inspector's face showed genuine confusion. "Can you say that again?"
No answer.
Instead—
The Riddler's right hand moved toward his waist.
Alarm bells screamed in Jude's head.
No.
No no no—
In the inspector's perception, it happened without warning.
One second, Nygma was sitting across the table.
The next, he was flying.
Launched himself up and over the metal surface with explosive power. Athletic. Practiced. The movement of someone who'd spent a year in prison doing nothing but preparing for exactly this moment.
A sharp white knife gleamed in his hand.
"I fucking knew it!"
Jude's voice, outside. Useless. Too far away.
He immediately activated his skill. No hesitation. No thought required.
[I Didn't Kill Anyone - Active]
[Target designated: Edward Nygma / The Riddler]
[Duration: 24 hours]
Inside the interrogation room, the gleaming dagger moved with surgical precision.
Slashed across the inspector's neck. Opened the carotid artery. Blood sprayed—arterial, pulsing, bright red.
The blade lodged in his jawbone. Stuck there. Bone stopped the motion.
The inspector's wailing filled the small room. Animal. Terrified. The sound of a man feeling his life drain away.
The Riddler made an unpleasant sound: "Tsk!"
Frustrated. The blade had gotten stuck.
He yanked it free. Adjusted his grip.
Then attacked again.
Abdomen. A deep slash. Opening the stomach cavity.
Chest. Ribs stopping the penetration but flesh tearing.
Neck again. Different angle. More arterial spray.
Face. The blade cutting across features. Disfiguring.
One knife strike after another. Without hesitation. Without mercy.
Methodical butchery disguised as frenzy.
Jude stared at the iron door separating him from the violence. Every muscle tensed. Ready to move—
Suddenly, he was pulled backward.
Lonnie Barron had rushed over from the monitoring room. Grabbed Jude's arm with surprising strength.
"What are you still doing?!" His voice was panicked. High-pitched. "The Riddler's gone crazy! Come with me—grab your helmet and weapons!"
He was already pulling Jude down the hallway. Away from the interrogation room. Toward the armory.
The system notification appeared.
[You have a new part-time job available. Please check it out.]
[THE DILIGENT WATCHMAN]
Mission Introduction:
The Riddler has been working honestly in the Gotham City Police Department for a year, but suddenly he kills the inspector. Everyone can guess what his next move will be, but not everyone can prevent it—after all, smart people must have made preparations before actually taking action.
Note: As an unexpected guard, you will of course do your best to prevent the Riddler's escape. Interestingly, scheming people often fall into accidents.
Status: To be completed
Rewards:
Intermediate Combat Mastery
$50,000 in Asset Points