Chapter Text
In a dreamy haze Ed Nygma became vaguely self aware that he was dreaming, flashes of puzzles and rooms like some confusing powerpoint presentation in his head but delivered so hastily and jumbled up he could gleam nothing more from it. He felt tired and stressed, something uneasy to it, however again he felt his dream shift - something lighter - in the way that dreams often do, fading in and out of certain ideas until settling on one.
For what reason he didn’t know, but his dream switched to a gentle pondering of his old friend - Oswald Cobblepot.
It was faint and soft, like a fun memory that flashed in his mind to bring on a smile automatically, but it wasn’t specific and instead all encompassing - at least of the positives. Hearing his voice, how in the early days in Ed’s apartments they would play piano or chat away together, later the fun they had ruling the city together, building something important and while the whisper of the wrongs gone by, the murder of Isabella to be specific, maybe some bratty demands for spicy mustard too, flashed up they were brief and fleeting.
Then their voices, his own angry and Oswald’s a fearful kind of heartbroken - the shot, the bang of the gun and sense memory of the smell of the gunpowder making itself known.
Ed awoke, startled and breathing hitched in his throat though he barely moved from his heap on the floor. The floor. Why was he on the floor?
Whispers of the dreams he’d been having were leaving him quickly, sorting themselves away deep in his subconscious in a filing system he had no say in it’s organisation and therefore struggled to find anything. He was numbly aware of the subject of one of his dreams, The Penguin, and he grimaced at the weakness. The old friend turned rival wasn’t deserving of that sleepy smile on his face from before, not for what he did, and Ed decided to stop thinking about it. He really needed to answer the question from before - why was he on the floor?
Lifting his head from the hardwood he winced at the crick in his neck and other aches from staying in a crumbled position on the unforgiving floor for god knows how long and he slowly moved into a sitting position and after spotting the clock saying the time was 9:12 AM, the next thing he noticed was his clothes. He was in his green suit. One he didn’t put on. And yet…here he was. He felt a flare of something in his mind, like something from his subconscious coming to the surface but it was stronger than a simple idea - The Riddler.
A sudden panic hit, flailing into standing and wincing again at the aches as he started frantically looking around the room for signs of The Riddler and the carnage he often brought when he took over. Ever since the death of Sofia Falcone Lee had been focusing on being Queen of The Narrows so Ed had focused on his own endeavours, daring puzzles, big plans and heists just for the excitement and finding his own niche - it was exciting, but it did bring it’s own kind of isolation o there was no one to reliably ask for feedback from.
“Please, no murders…” he muttered to himself, there was no literal blood on his hands, no bodies, no ticking sounds of explosives “looking good…looking…uneventful…” as he said warily checking his apartment “good…but weird…”
Why wasn’t there anything? It wasn’t like his other side to take the reins for a simple relaxing night in, he was dressed so he likely went outside, saw people - some horrors at worst and some shenanigans at best. The Riddler had been getting restless lately, ever since the day Sofia was taken down and Oswald had saved his life, sacrificing his own revenge on the woman, the Riddler had been very…present. But the last couple of weeks he’d gotten quiet, now it concerned him that he couldn’t find any reason for that to have changed.
There were no signs of last night beyond some papers and things moved around, but nothing more to help him understand his missing time, nothing that left any consequences of it to him to discover, leaving obliviously and thoroughly unprepared. “Oh no…oh no, oh no…this is bad, if I don't know what he did….” he muttered to himself before trying to think of where The Riddler might go, what he may have been up to.
After a careful search of the apartment and a few calls that got him nowhere, no bomb scares on the news or death threats his way (yet), so Ed decided to head out to check some spots or find some clues. So focused on heading from point A to point B in the most efficient way possible in a reasonably prioritised order Ed didn’t think anything of leaving his apartment building into the busy streets and feeling the not so fresh Gotham air hitting his lungs to steady his nerves - just before a hard hit to the head - knocking him out.
Groggily, head pounding and his stiff neck even worse than before, Ed started to fade in and out of reality but eventually blinked awake and lifted his heavy head. His arms instinctually tried to move but met with resistance and he was realising the series of cuffs and straps fixing him to the bolted down chair. Pulling at them, Ed was sleepily tested their force but he wasn’t fully with it.
Just as he was theorising that The Riddler had pissed someone off and now they were enacting their revenge or trying to get information (which he didn’t have!) out of him to rectify some crazy situation, his vision also focused enough to see a couple of men moving around the room wearing balaclavas.
In a sudden jolt fully awake he tried at his bonds more aggressively and looked around to assess the situation before asking gruffly “who are you? who hired you?” his tone demanding.
Of all the responses however one man tilted his head confusedly for a moment before answering “you did, you freak” before shaking his head and continuing to set up the room - as he was hired to do.
“Oh my…” he replied, letting the reality of the situation settle in, “so…I’ve been abducted by masked men and I am paying for the privilege…” he mused aloud, and while the men ignored him he could tell they were still finding him terribly odd…which was fair. “Whatever he…” he started to say and corrected “whatever I paid you…I’ll double it if you forget this whole thing and tell me what he…I told you to do.”
One of his kidnappers sighed and said “you said you'd say that.”
If he could have slapped himself he would have, and was about to offer more and negotiate terms but realised The Riddler would have accounted for that. “I could keep naming numbers but it’s the criminals equivalent of the playground ‘whatever he said plus 1’, isn't it?” he asked far too calmly in the given situation.
Nodding, the stranger said “by all means keep raising your price” with a chuckle.
Rolling his eyes, Ed looked around the room and couldn’t see anything of note other than himself strapped to a bolted down chair and a small, round table in front of him. “Can you at least tell me what I asked you to do? Can I expect torture, death…what’s the deal here?”
“We just got told to pick you up, press a few buttons and bring you both here” he shrugged.
“Damnit” he cursed before clenching his jaw in thought “never mind, I’m sure I can get myself out of this no problem…I’m smart enough that this will be child’s play…” he rambled before he realised something of note in what his kidnapper had just said “wait…’you both’…who else is…”
It was then that one of them dragged in another person, strapped to a chair and with a bag over their head, no doubt one had been placed over him on his journey too, from their body language and how the head fell forward this new person was clearly unconscious. The kidnappers brought out a drill that admittedly made him tense before he realised it was to bolt the chair to the ground as his own was.
And as much as he tried to tell himself this new company could be anyone, there was something oh so familiar, identifiable in certainty in fact, about the make of his suit, the purple tie and smaller build that it was none other than-
Oswald.
The face of none other than the King of Gotham himself was revealed to him when one of the kidnappers removed the bag. Ed stared for a long moment, the room was dark but it didn’t make a bit of difference - that was Oswald Cobblepot. Fully dressed in his usual three piece suit, he must have been kidnapped just as Ed was and brought to wherever the hell this was. But…what did The Riddler do this for? He could understand if The Riddler had maybe gifted him a restrained Penguin to torture or manipulate to gain some leverage…but this?
“Huh…” Ed said, thoroughly puzzled and it showed “that’s…something…” but he was ignored as a stranger ridiculously placed a tablecloth over the table between them and lit a candle as though the final touch was anything to the decor of what would no doubt be some kind of torture chamber.
When the candle was lit and the dark room was illuminated by only a little, but it was something and it was particularly strong over his unconscious enemy’s pale skin. It was still odd however so he asked “what is all this?”
“Who knows, weirdo” the man shrugged before having a look around making sure everything had been set up as he was hired to make sure of before the pair just started to walk out and leave them, Ed called after them but gave up soon after. They hadn’t had reason to lie about just being kidnappers to bring them both here, so at very least they weren’t his torturers or to administer whatever treatment the Riddler had decided on.
With the new little source of light in the room and left to himself Ed looked around the room with a bit more success, if success was defined by finding pretty much nothing of use, the door the men had exited by looked heavy and needed a key, it looked pretty much bare though the floor looked concrete. The walls were not the best kept with cracks and uneven planes to them, and there were no obvious indicators of just where they were.
There were no windows and nothing auditory to give him any clues and as he looked to the ceiling it was hard to make anything out from the darkness but beams, metal and chains all hung up there ominously. However, he could make out random bits of spray paint around the room, the place was so covered it turned into more of a texture than a series of drawings, and while he couldn't make out the colour from the sepia lit room he would bet it was his signature green.
“What am I up to?”