Gotham city! A fair autumn day has provided the perfect weather for Gotham State University’s row team to practice at one of Gotham’s biggest lakes for their next big event. Little did they suspect a number of city news sources to show interest.
As Alexis Johnson, 18, dragged her small two person boat back to shore with a fellow teammate, she was quickly ambushed by photographers and reporters in trenchcoats.
“Alexis!” one of the reporters shouted as the young woman turned around to face him, her shoulder length sandy tresses spilling over her face. The male reporter rudely pushed the other girl out of the way. “Next week will be your first big rowing competition for Gotham State... are you excited?”
The rest of the rowing team seemed to be spared by the group of news reporters at the moment, checking on the many boats they came to test that day. Everything made Alexis slightly nervous. When did Gotham’s press ever take such a big notice in the row team?
“Of course, I’m excited,” Alexis said with a heartwarming smile and beaming eyes, hoping her annoyance and distrust didn’t peak in her voice. “We’ve been working hard for competition and we’ll be working hard for it today.”
“Oh, I’ll bet,” another reporter agreed as her accompanying photographer flashed his camera in poor Alexis’s face. “But even with the small time meets you’ve been doing since you’ve enrolled, this is your first time playing in the big leagues, wouldn’t you say?”
“I wouldn’t call the row team for Gotham University the big leagues,” Alexis said kindly, fighting to keep her eyes still as the temptation to roll them was so strong. “I did pretty well at Gotham High and I would hope to continue through college and possibly pursue the sport longer than that. I’m very happy to be on the team, I like my teammates, and even my coach is awesome. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“You gained quite a lot of accolades at Gotham High,” one of the reporters noted as he shoved a microphone in her face. So many reporters and photographers crowded the young lady that she couldn’t tell many of them were there in total. “Will you be able to carry that success in the University? There’s no doubt that you’ll be competing against some of the best rowers and row teams in the country.”
“Miss, with all due respect, I’ve been in meets, regionals, and even nationals since I was a kid. My coaches have trained me pretty hard. Whether I’ll continue my success or not, I’m not too concerned. I love this sport. I love winning too, but I’m not so hard pressed about it that I can’t function without winning. But I will give my all for my team, my school, and everyone that believes in me.” The girl glared into one of the cameras. “I would say ‘hi, dad’, but... he doesn’t watch the news. Thinks its all propaganda. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”
“Your father had that big gambling problem long before you enrolled in GSU, didn’t he?”
Alexis didn’t see exactly which male offered the strange, unexpected and invasive question, since her back was turned to make her leave. The harsh comment made her turn back to the row of reporters immediately, her smile uncontainable now as a frown tugged her lips downward. “Excuse me?”
“I think what he meant to say,” a female reporter added, “is that your father has problems. Great business man, well deserved wealth, but probably too much alcohol. Clouds the judgement.”
“Hey!” Alexis immediately stood defiantly, her cheerful demeanor annihilated under a heated grimace across her pretty face. “You know nothing about my family or me. If you want to watch the practice, then watch the practice. But you watch your mouth around me. I don’t like being harassed like this.”
“Blah, blah, blah!” A new, strange voice seemed to ripple from the middle of the crowd of reporters. News personnel were pushed out of the way as an eccentric looking man made his way through, his checkered hat and trenchcoat draped around him like a horrible Colombo parody. Alexis tried to get a look at his face, but he was holding his hat down over his face with one strong hand with a microphone grasped in his opposite fist. “None of you are going to get any real answers without any real questions!”
Alexis was surprised by how much the crowd of reporters had calmed down when this strange man entered the scene, as if his weirdness captivated the crowd.
The man made his way to the front of the crowd, still concealing his face with the brim of his hat as he inconsiderately thrusted his microphone to the poor girl’s lips. “This is what everyone really wants to know, Alexis Johnson! When... is a row boat... artificial? Hoo hoo....”
The sandy haired athlete stared confusingly at the man in the checkered hat and trenchcoat. She offered a little laugh, both relieved by the surprise corniness of an obvious joke amongst invasive insults and frightened by the peculiarity of the man’s question. “Well... I... I don’t know.”
The man looked up, eye to eye with Alexis as his face was shrouded behind a blank, shiny purple mask with question marks. “When it’s a rooooooooooooooooooooooooow bot! Huu hu, hu huhuhuhuu!”
The rounded tip of the microphone expelled a harsh stream of lilac tinted gas into the young athlete's face, causing her head to shift backwards. Consciousness was robbed immediately, and her body fell limp less to the ground.
Alexis’s teammate, who had been watching helplessly on the sidelines of the reporters since she was first pushed out of the way, gasped as she attempted to step towards her friend. “Hey, what are you doing!”
Immediately, the sea of reporters turned towards the concerned girl. With microphones raised, they sprayed purple gases towards her as they rose clothing and trenchcoat collars protectively towards their noses. The girl dropped like a fly.
Other teammates started to take note of the perilous situation after hearing the girl’s shout and the hissing of gas. Any attention they gave, however, came too late as the reporters spread along the field like exterminators, spraying their lilac sleeping gases along the green after they produced portable gas masks from their coats and strapped them to their faces. The helpless row boat team reacted poorly, unable to run far before sleep claimed them.
The man in the purple, question marked mask held onto Alexis in his arms and inspected her face. He had caressed her left cheek for a moment, then rudely slapped at it. He had no reason to check, even as he lifted her eyelids and stared into her unresponsive, icy blue eyes. The girl was out cold, and why wouldn’t she be? She had been doused with the best knockout gas in the business.
Two of the fake reporters had already discarded their trenchcoat disguises, dressed in their criminal bum attire as they helped each other carry a small metallic boat, fit for two people. A matching metal oar rested inside of the little contraption.
“Here you go, boss,” one of the thugs announced. “Row bot build for two.”
“And I always keep my promises, do I not?” Riddler cradled the unconscious woman close to his chest as the men moved the boat out to the tip of the shore. “Come along, Alexis. It’s time we discuss this unfortunate... conundrum of a riddle your daddy has involved you in.”
The Riddler handed the young woman to his subordinate criminals, who quickly worked to rope the athlete’s wrists and ankles tight. Then, with The Riddler waiting at the head of the boat, the goons carefully sat the slumbering girl opposite of him.
“That’s the ticket, lads!” Riddler voiced before cackling maniacally. “We’ll continue Alexis’s interview at Riddler HQ!”
The row boat immediately sped off with the click of a button on The Riddler’s oar. His insane chortle didn’t seem to end until he was well out of sight.
Mr. Johnson drank his next scotch with a pronounced sigh, wishing he could share the sound with someone, anyone, in that lonely bar. There were people walking all over, calmly smoking and having a drink themselves, but he knew he couldn’t connect to any of them, and surely, he couldn’t share his private woes with any of them either.
The businessman knew he shouldn’t have been there. For one, the place was seedy, not as bad as crime alley or any of the other places with their own dark hole in the walls, but it wasn’t a ritzy scene. Still, it wasn’t bad, and it wasn’t a criminal hotspot just as much as it wasn’t a rich socialite’s playground. The Hap Cat was just a normal, quiet bar for your run of the mill folks that didn’t want any trouble. There was no danger of accidentally stepping on a boorish character’s boots but no danger of accidentally embarrassing yourself in front of big shots, either. Charles had never accidentally ran into his associates or business partners in this bar, either, so he knew this was a place where he could get away and no one, not even the laconic bartender, would bother with getting to know his name.
Charles was still lonely, but you couldn’t have the best of both worlds all the time.
So far, the businessman had been lucky. For 20 years, raising assets and winning high risk stakes had been his forte. Lately, however, he couldn’t help but wonder if the pickle he was in was his worst yet. In his legitimate job, everything was fine, just swell, or at least seemed that way on the surface to his co-workers and clients. In actually, his underworld dealings were catching up to him. The fear and anxiety was weighing heavily on his usually controlled alcoholism, and his wife’s patience was wearing thin. Even his daughter had refused to talk to him a few weeks, getting absorbed in her college life. The drinking was bad enough. What if they knew about the gambling spots, the prostitutes, the ‘favors’ he sometimes hired roughnecks to do? And the guys he got in deep with this time told him they had a well known boss in Gotham’s underworld, a really big time guy...
Oh man, did he need more than just the two drinks he already finished.
The man was about to cry before a beautiful woman grabbed the chair opposite of his small table, placing what looked like a glass of rum and coke on the table. “Need another?” She pushed the other emptied drink out of Johnson’s way.
Johnson looked the woman in the face. She was beautiful, alright. Though he had noticed her sleek yet curvy legs and hips first as they were hugged in her tight blue dress, he immediately realized how soft and milky her skin was. Even her eyes were a striking blue that matched her dress and complimented her red, slightly spiked hair. “Oh, wow! This is the first time a woman has ever brought a drink to me! Usually, it’s the other way around, and I fail miserably.”
The woman nodded as she took a seat, not waiting for an invitation. “Which is why you often produce the cash for what you’re really after.”
Johnson had to smirk. Of course, it had been too good to be true. “Ah, I see. Well, I do have time, I guess. The day is still young.” The sly businessman pulled his foot out of his shoe and pressed his expensive sock against the woman’s leg, teasing her with rubbing toes. “How much?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m not that kind of girl.” The woman looked at Johnson’s face with a slightly amused smirk. “Besides, I’m nearly young enough to be your daughter.”
The man leaned back in his chair a bit, noticeably disturbed by the woman’s comment. He drew his foot away immediately.
“But I do know how much you like that sort of thing, Mr. Johnson. The prostitutes, I mean.”
The man gulped, putting the rum and coke down as his eyes peered nervously at the woman. “How do you-”
“Enough of that, we don’t have enough time.” The woman pulled up a newspaper and flapped it open, fluffing it out a few times as if to knock out some wrinkles. “Let’s discuss business,” she said, her eyes glancing on the inside contents of the newspaper nonchalantly.
“Um, okay.” The man looked at the woman with a cautious glance. “Did the man send you? I mean the... the really important guy those thugs told me about?”
“Yes,” the woman answered without missing a beat. “He did.” The woman sat quite snugly in her chair, an easy smile creeping along her lips. “Interesting article this week, I must say. Hmm.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, feeling like he was on the end of a cruel and drawn out joke. “Exactly what is it you’re reading, miss?”
“Quite a conundrum. But it’s not for me to solve.”
“Huh?”
“It’s for you to solve. Yes. Has your name written all over it, Johnson. He’ll be waiting. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” The woman folded the paper and threw it rudely into Johnson’s face before standing up and quickly walking towards the bar’s exit.
“Wait,” Johnson said as he stood up, walking towards the woman. “Wait!” He tried to chase the woman down as his hand grasped the newspaper, surprised that she was so quick in her heels. Some of the other patrons looked at the shouting man as he chased down the sophisticated looking woman, obviously annoyed.
“Pervert!” the woman in the blue dress shouted as she neared the door, spraying Johnson with what looked like a miniature bottle of mace. Immediately, he raised his hands to his face, expecting a load of pain and burning. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he was unharmed, his face spared of any real pain. By the time he had come to that realization, however, the woman was well out of the door.
“You upsettin’ the dames in here, pal?” the bartender shouted. “This is a peaceful bar, we don’t need jokers like you around here. Get the hell out!”
“I’m sorry!” Johnson shouted to the bartender as he obeyed the command, leaving the bar. How disappointing. He hoped he hadn’t blown his chances at going to Hap Cat again.
Johnson looked to both sides of the street as Gothamites walked in crowds along the sidewalk. The woman was gone.
Discouraged, the man started to walk away from the bar. So, he thought, the lady works for whatever guy I upset. The real big wig. Or maybe she was just teasing him, just saying yes to confuse or upset him. What a mess. He was already paranoid, looking over both shoulders, expecting to get beat up or whacked as he walked along the Gotham streets, but he never thought his enemy would send a pretty girl in a blue dress to get his attention.
All he had was the newspaper now, and if that didn’t bring up any clues, he didn’t know where he’d get more answers.
Looking at the front of the newspaper only brought more questions than answers, though. Literally. The newspaper wasn’t a well known commercial paper like the Gotham Herald or the Gothamite Gazette. No, this one had a strange title, and story titles that made no sense. The title read Conundrum Junction, with the day’s current date under it. Besides that, in small yet bold letters were the words- Johnson Edition.
“What the heck?” Johnson uttered uncomfortably.
The news stories titles were just as strange and upsettling. His body chilled as he read the title, “When is a Johnson not a Johnson?” The others seemed to just be filler, something to make the newspaper seem more weighty than it should have been. “The Question of Morality” and “How do Cows Produce Chocolate Milk” were adorned with stories filled with gibberish, wingdings and hieroglyphics. “Rubbish. Pure rubbish.” Johnson shook his head, turning the pages with dread.
Then, his heart seemed to shatter and split as one page really grabbed his attention. In the center of the newspaper was a picture of his daughter, resting on a couch littered with question marks. Though the rest of the newspaper was in black and white, this picture was in color. The girl’s recognizable sandy hair rested on the green couch. She was knocked out, strapped with ropes as purple tape held her mouth shut. She was stripped down to her underwear.
The title read in cold, bold letters:
WHAT IS A DAUGHTER BEST SERVED COLD?
“Oh my god,” Johnson said with utter fear permeating his being. He had to get the police, he had to call his wife, he had to-
Johnson skimmed the article for more. Every line was just made of question marks, question marks, question marks! The middle aged father’s heart raced beneath his coat jacket, and his looped tie felt like a noose. He could find no answers to the posed riddle that served as the headline to this malicious story, but nearing the end of the article, purple printed words stared him dead in the face:
HINT: Me and kiddo Johnson are gonna rendezvous for now, pops, but you should start at one of the many chilly Autumn lakes on the Gotham outskirts. I won’t say you’d get any warmer, but any starting place is better than none.
Signed, T.R.
A League Of His Own
By Quizz AKA Aghori Shaivite
Police were lined around the lake. They had been out here for two hours by now, investigating everything they could.
The row team had been taken into ambulance cars and were probably just starting to wake up.
A shame we’ll have to question them later, Commissioner Mooney thought with a shake of her sorrowful head. To make victims reexamine their moments of terror is such a dreadful part of this job.
“Lots of sleeping gas residue on the grass,” one of the investigators said as she pulled her gloves away from green shards near the lake. “You’d be surprised how much of this stuff lingers well after the gas evaporated.”
“So many villains in this town use gas as their M.O.,” Mooney responded. “Especially sleeping gas. I just wish there was some way to get more information.”
The sound of a motorcycle pulling up turned many of the police officer’s heads. Batgirl pulled her bike to a halt and kicked the stand to the ground, taking her keys out of the ignition before pulling off her helmet.
“Oh, Batgirl, it’s a blessing you’re here.” Commissioner Mooney walked towards the crimefighter. “We’ve been rattling our brains over this mystery for at least an hour and a half.”
“Are any of the victims alert?”
“I’m hoping they are by now.” Commissioner Mooney pointed to some of the ambulance vehicles nearby. “Luckily, they were just gassed. We haven’t had to wheel anyone to the hospitial just yet, but we didn’t want to take any chances. I think they’re just being attended to before they wake up.”
“Must be some heavy duty stuff if they’ve been passed out this long.”
“So strong that there’s still residue on the grass, apparently.” Commissioner Mooney shook her head. “I don’t get it, Batgirl. I would be quick to say that international criminal Sandman is back, but he’s too easy of a choice. There’s many villains that use sleeping gases on unsuspecting victims-”
“And villains are rarely without a motive, Commissioner. I assure you, we’ll find a hint somewhere. Really soon.”
Suddenly, a dented, wobbly looking Buick winded up the field and parked a few inches away from the Batmobile. The car door opened for a drunk, short cropped blond haired man in a suit stumbled out, his eyes bloodshot as he rubbed his sleeve against his wet nose. “Alexis? My baby? Where is she? This has to be it, it has to be?”
“Whoa, slow down!” Commissioner Mooney shouted out as police officers came to the drunk man’s aid, wrapping arms around him to support and calm him down. “Sir, you can’t just come here drunk and driving. You could have killed someone! We should have you arrested right now!”
“Wait,” Batgirl said as she stepped forward, staring the man up and down. “Who’s Alexis?”
“My daughter! She’s on the row team. I know she comes out here to practice sometimes... I had to stop and think about it. There’s a lot of lakes up here in Gotham, and I forgot the name for a moment, but my daugther told me this is where she practices sometimes. Hasn’t spoken to me in weeks. I’m such a horrible father.”
The police stood silently, staring blankly at the man. Batgirl was just as speechless.
“But this had to be the one,” the father continued, noticing he would get no sympathy. “I kept reading over, and over, again, thinking, with the strange riddle and all-”
“What strange riddle?” Batgirl asked.
The man sheepishly looked at the officers, then reached into his jacket and handed a newspaper to Batgirl. After opening the newspaper, it took less than two seconds for Batgirl to know who was behind the publication.
“The Riddler!” Batgirl reached the center of the newspaper.
“T.R.!” The man’s eyes widened in utter shock. “That was the name he signed the article with! He’s the big wig? He’s the head honcho? He’s... does he have my baby girl? Oh no!”
One of the officers shook his head as he looked over Batgirl’s shoulder and at the article. “She was definitely not among the victims we picked up.”
“Are you sure?” Batgirl held up the paper and showed the girl’s disgracefully embarrassing photo. “Do any of you recognize this victim among the others you found out here?”
Each officer shook their head mournfully.
“Oh dear,” Mooney said sadly. “We’ve got a kidnapping on our hands.”
“I’m afraid so. And The Riddler isn’t to be taken lightly.” Batgirl looked at the man with stern eyes. “I’m not sure why he would target you, but your daughter is in extreme danger. I’m sure Riddler printed the majority of this newspaper earlier. He probably just inserted this new page with the photograph as a final edit... and a mockery to you, Mr...” Batgirl looked at the last line of the article. “Johnson?”
The man nodded slowly and morosely. “Yes. I work at a very prestigious bank in town. Please. Find my daughter. I’ll pay whatever I can.”
“I don’t follow this line of work for money, Mr. Johnson,” Batgirl stated, hiding her feelings of being insulted. “I work for the citizens of Gotham. We will find your daughter.” Batgirl handed the newspaper to Commissioner Mooney. “Some extra investigation work for the both of us, I’m afraid. Keep me up to date if you get any clues from the victims. I’m going to check around town myself.”
“Keep at it. I’m sure you can get it, if you’re smart.”
Alexis would keep at it. She wouldn’t give up until she was free. But the ropes were too tight, too firm, and held her in place like some doll on a shelf. Her muffled voice was crowded beneath that purple tape, and the green blindfold with question marks blocked out her vision. On top of the discomfort of being confined by ropes, it was also quite scary to be hanging upside down from the ankles, her bare feet exposed past the wooden stock holding her.
The Riddler crept closer and closer to Alexis’s body. “These things... these ropes, the wooden board you’re suspended from, even the tape holding your mouth shut. It’s like a riddle, a riddle that binds you, keeps you from that a-ha moment, the A-HA epiphany where you are free and what holds you confused and baffled merely melts away with new understanding.” The Riddler stood over Alexis, staring her feet face to face, stroking one of his fingers against the right sole. “But to find an answer, one must think.”
The girl couldn’t kick, couldn’t punch or even shout. She could only shake in the limits of the ropes and stock, only scream a muffled voice into a cruel piece of tape. Matters weren’t helped with the fact that she was extremely, extremely ticklish.
“You have to be smarter than daddy, I’m sure. At least you got into college. You didn’t have to cheat the system like him. But school is overrated, isn’t it?” The Riddler preoccupied his fingers with the woman’s feet, tickling them more and more voraciously, tending to them with more precious care. “Yes. A girl like you would probably learn more in a life of crime. You’d pay daddy’s debts and be a good little mule, spreading my puzzles over town. That would be more fun than dangling upside down, feeling like an ignoramus, wouldn’t it?”
The poor college girl whined and screamed into the tape on her lips, and RIddler had even noticed some chokes of laughter. Perhaps they were teary sounds, but it didn’t matter. He could see her feet being very, very sensitive, and he was just getting started.
“Wow, we’d have lots of fun. Oh well, no matter how long you want to prolong this, we’ll have fun either way. Because by the end of this, you’ll be a good addition to my gang, unless daddy Johnson figures out how to pay what he owes.” The Riddler tapped his chin. “On second thought, he’s missed his chance to settle his debt with money. You’ll do.”
The Riddler stepped back from the girl and pulled out a remote control, pressing a button. “I had saved this trap for Batgirl, but... I think it’s a bit amateurish for it. It’ll fit a rich little brat like you more pleasantly.”
Suddenly, strange little doors popped open from the ceiling. Spinning, feathery things came down, attached to metal rods and cables.
“This is a tickle torture machine, my dear,” Riddler gloated. “State of the art, since I made it myself. What it will do is tickle you, and tickle you, and tickle you... until you pass out, or possibly go insane.”
Alexis didn’t have to wait too long to test Riddler’s hypothesis. The strange tools were already tickling her feet merciless, spinning and rubbing along her soles without a moments break. The girl laughed boisterously in a muffled tone under that taped mouth. Riddler could almost feel his own ribs aching.
“Ah, yes. The Riddler Tickle Torture rack, maybe more suitable for naive girls like yourself than for Batgirl. I’ll have something better planned for her. But, you should be privileged. You’re the first girl I’ve chosen for my latest caper! You may have thought your athletic interests would have stopped after college but... I’m sure you’ll enjoy my games.”
The girl continued to shake helplessly as she was tickle tortured, her eyes shut and tears falling down her cheeks, her face... it was horrific for her.
Riddler grinned as he watched the girl in her trapped state.
“Boss,” a soft voice called behind The Riddler.
The Riddler turned around to see a pretty number in a tight blue dress, her icy eyes sparkling as she grinned. Her spiked red hair shined under the light.
“Ah, Puzzelina, my pride and joy,” the Riddler stepped away from the gasping, groaning girl. “What’s the crossword?”
“Daddy took the first step down the rabbit hole, Riddler.” Puzzelina walked to her boss with her hands on her hips, grinning devilishly. “I dropped off the message and let him ponder for a while.”
“Good. If the idiot wasn’t too much of a dimwit, he’ll at least know where his daughter practices.”
“He lacked intelligence,” Puzzelina stated matter of factly.
“A centerpiece news story of a prized daugher tied up and gagged in her underwear does wonders for wising up any idiot quickly.”
“Agreed, boss.” Puzzelina smirked as she watched the tickle girl so helpless. “Shall we go to our next destination?”
Suddenly, the girl’s body became motionless. The machine, sensing Alexis had passed out, slowly wound down. The tools went back into the ceiling.
Riddler stared passively at the collapsed girl with her soles so red. “Yes. I would say we are done here.” The Riddler whistled loudly.
Two goons wandered into the room and raised their arms up in a salute.
“Get our new pal in crime out of that stock for now,” Riddler commanded. “She’ll need to be prepared for her first job.”
Batgirl could only hope the cops were interrogating the victims diligently while she looked through her computer programs for some leads. Where could The Riddler be now? How many abandoned printing presses for riddle books and funny pages could there be in town? How many retired toy stores, old buildings for puzzle geek conventions, and other weird haunting grounds littered Gotham City? The freak could be anywhere.
There had to be a clue though. For now, Batgirl merely knew a newspaper played a part in it, so she wasn’t throwing a printing press or an old news syndicate out of the window in her brainstorming ideas. As her eyes scoured old news feeds on internet searches for clues, she hoped something would pop out at her.
Her Bat Talkie suddenly started buzzing wildly.
Batgirl picked it up immediately. “Hello Commissioner. Any leads?”
“The victims are all awake, Batgirl,” Commissioner Mooney announced. “Their starting to give us something, and I can only hope they add to some clues. Apparently, these attackers appeared as reporters and cameramen.”
“Reporters and cameramen, huh?”
“Yes. As if they were part of an evening news crew or something.”
“That would fit in with the newspaper thing. Okay- so he had a news gimmick.” Batgirl thought about how much this might have expanded her need for research. While she was first looking for old newspaper buildings and printing presses, she may of had to throw in television news studios onto the search. Could things get any more difficult?
“But that’s not the best thing we found. There was actually something found in one of the trenchcoats that these henchmen left behind. Some sort of wierd crossword... most of it is filled in but there are three spaces left, and they all seem to deal with locations.”
“Of course!” Batgirl stood up with cheer and relief mixed. There was no way The Riddler would make it too hard to be found. He wanted to make it easy for his whereabouts to be found, so he could laugh at how stupid people had to be for not being able find him.
“I have to admit that we’re finding it hard to solve these cryptic riddles, Batgirl,” Mooney said with some embarrassment. “We’re going to need your expertise. We’ve brought everything back to the police station for more analysis.”
“I’m on it. I’ll be there in a matter of minutes, Commissioner.” Batgirl wasted no time.
Porsha Rodriguez had been on the tennis court for hours. Her dark hair fluttered around her face as she ran up and down her side of the court, hitting her ball back to her private trainer.
“Doing good, Porsha,” the woman announced when they reached a moment to break. She was panting heavily, in the golden age of 55 and way older than the 23 year old she was working with. Still, she was very healthy. “This will probably be your best season yet.”
“I hope so.” Porsha stretched her right arm. “I have to make a good impression this last year if I want to go into the pros.”
“You could have just went in after high school,” the older woman complained. It was an argument she made often.
“You know I wanted a good education before I went in, Sarah,” Porsha said, not really wanting to explain herself for the one hundredth time.
“Well, I’m sure you haven’t blown your chances. You’re still good, if not better.” Sarah started to walk off the court. “I’m going to head to the locker and get a bottle of water. You want one?”
“Sure.”
Sarah walked beyond the tennis gates and into the parking lot. She was quite surprised to see what looked like a delivery truck. A professionally dressed woman in a gray suit seemed to be guiding two big guys wheeling out a tall package on a pulley from the back.
“That’s odd,” Sarah thought. Who could want a package at a tennis court? The nearest houses were a little further down the street.
As Sarah walked near the suspicious vehicle, the woman in the professional suit turned around. She was wearing gray, and her glasses were quite thin and fancy looking, but her wild, spiky red hair seemed to clash with the reserved look in an interesting way.
“Oh, perhaps she knows, excuse me madam,” the woman said, flagging Sarah down with a clipboard.
“Yes?” the elderly, sweaty woman said.
“Do you know if future world famous Porsha Rodriguez is here?”
“Future world...” Sarah raised her left brow quizzically. Sure, she trained Porsha out at this random tennis court every now and then, but who would know that? “Why, do you have a package for her or something?”
The spiky haired woman rolled her eyes and scoffed, as if she found Sarah’s questions beneath her. “We have a package for Porsha Rodriguez, yes.”
“That’s interesting, who sent you here? I’ve specifically told her not to tell anyone where we practice. She’s a rising star and I’m afraid the press can be a nag, even to these University athletes.” The woman caught her self, a bit ashamed by her lack of manners. “I’m sorry, miss...”
Sarah waited for the woman to say a name, but she only looked back at Sarah with a stone cold lack of emotion.
“Miss. I’m sorry to be a nag-”
“Yes, you are a nag. A nag and a hag.”
“Excuse-” was all Sarah got out as the business woman pulled out a mace bottle and sprayed the woman in the face with a lilac mist. Without a moment’s hesitation, she crumbled onto the asphalt.
“Quickly, boys. She’s fallen and she can’t get up.” The woman motioned her hand as the goons started to wheel the huge package towards the tennis court.
Porsha started to walk to the edge of the gates, wondering what was taking Sarah so long. She was surprised to be met by a woman with a subtle punkish hair cut and gray business clothes.
“Huh-” Porsha said?
“Surprise!” the redhead announced. “A present from Ms. Sarah Donahue, your coach!”
“Is this what she went out there for? That clever rascal!” Porsha was ecstatic to see her trainer would bring such a huge present for her. What could be inside? “Where did she go?”
“She’s resting. You really tired her out, Porsha. Well, shall we see what she got you?”
The big delivery men pushed the big present off the pulley. The wrapping had tennis rackets all over it.
“Well, what are you waiting for, dear?” The redhead smiled ecstatically. “Open it!”
Like a submissive pup, Porsha did what she was told without a second thought. She really wanted to know what was in it, and the delivery woman Sarah hired seemed so excited, it only motivated her. Her hands ripped through the wrapping.
“Open it!” the woman commanded with vigor.
Despite how cheerful she sounded, the lady could really be forceful. Porsha tried to ignore her. The more she ripped through the package, however, the more a shivering tingle went up her spine.
“W-what is this?” Porsha said, suddenly making out a humanoid shape. Was it a life sized doll? Sarah did know about Porsha’s extensive doll collection, most of which she inherited from her rich aunt. Her hands threw some of the discarded wrapping paper to the side, but noticed something interesting printed on it. Although the outside of the wrapper had a tennis racket design, a riddle had been printed on its inside. Porsha peered closely and read-
WHAT DO YOU CALL DATING A TENNIS PLAYER?
Porsha was a bit taken back from the strange riddle. Was this really appropriate? She was aware that Sarah was a lesbian, but Sarah had never ever dropped any hints of an attraction to Porsha. Besides, Sarah liked butchy types her age. Such a question in the wrapping seemed completely out of character, and totally weird for a professional wrapping company to just ‘choose’.
“Did you get it yet?”
“Huh?” Porsha asked as she looked at the woman.
“Did you get it yet? The riddle.” The woman looked back with such a seemingly naive smile on her face. “It’s fairly simple.”
“Well, I, er, just saw it,” Porsha ripped the top part of the package away. A girl with sandy hair and shut eyes faced her. Strange metallic headgear held a strange breathing device over her nose.
Porsha’s heart raced.
“The answer is courting, dear,” the woman said as she enjoyed every small moment of watching Porsha’s shocked face. “Courting.”
Suddenly, the breathing device released gaseous vapors that immediately struck Porsha in the face.
After covering their faces, the woman and her fellow goons looked at Porsha, crumbled out on the tennis court.
The woman knelt down to Porsha’s side, softly caressing her cheek and knowing the girl was knocked out cold. “I am Puzzelina. A pleasure. Now. Come along, Porsha dear. Your suitor awaits.” Puzzelina fanned the men over to take care of the new captive.
Pulling out some ropes, the men bond Porsha to Alexis and calmly wheeled the girls out to the parking lot on the pulley. The Riddler was waiting patiently in the vehicle.
“Another riddle solved,” Riddler said gleefully. “Now, let’s pick up our next athlete.”
“Batgirl, I don’t know how you do it.” Mooney shook her head. “You impress me, you really do.”
“Detective work,” Batgirl said with a shrug of her shoulders. She immediately wished she had said something that wouldn’t have sounded as condescending, but hoped it hadn’t been taken that way. “Well, Riddler gave us enough hints that he was at a news station of some kind, and it matches the boxes and questions perfectly-”
"The old Early Nightingale Herald. I remember that paper from when I was a kid. I remember how they had a huge section of crosswords, puzzles, and riddles. They weren’t big on funnies, but they would sure entertain you for hours with the brain games they had.”
“I bet Riddler remembers those games as well.” Batgirl nodded. “Which is exactly why he’d want to be in a place like that.”
“Are you sure you don’t want any help, Batgirl? I feel we could help you out just as much as you help us?”
“I’d rather go at this alone, Commissioner. Knowing Riddler, he’s got the place booby trapped for cops. He can’t keep bats out, though.”
“I understand. Well, I wish you luck, Batgirl.”
“Thanks.” The caped dynamo didn’t waste a moment. Diving out of the Commissioner’s window, she was off.
Lisa sat in the gym room, tired and dripping with sweat. Her eyes were cast down to the floor as her lacrosse stick rested at her feet.
She had just been reading a weird news alert in her email that appeared on her cell phone. “Girl Kidnapped At Gotham Lake.” She recognized the picture immediately. It was Alexis Johnson, another GSU athlete. Even though Lisa knew very little about rowing, she always respected the other teams of the school, and it was unfortunate that this girl was missing.
“You look like you’ve been working hard!” The ecstatic voice came from a strange woman that had invited herself into the gym room. She was a pretty woman, although a bit older than Alexis by a few years. At the most, she might have been in her thirties, sporting a mature yet saucy look. Her hair made her look quite young too, quite dynamic for one her age.
“Um, yeah?” The college girl looked at the woman with some hesitation. “Are you allowed to be back here? This is for the team-”
“Jessica Roberts.” The woman exchanged her hand as she approached Lisa. “Coach Robert's daughter?”
“Ohhhh!” Lisa was surprised. “That’s funny- I heard she had a few daughters, but I never thought I’d meet any of them.”
“Well, you know how my mom is... if you don’t play lacrosse, you don’t exist.”
Though the woman had a lighthearted, joking expression as she said the harsh comment, Lisa couldn’t help but feel for the girl and take what she said very seriously. “Oh... I bet that can’t be true. Coach Roberts is a nice woman, I bet she cares about you a lot.”
The woman shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.” She pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Cigarette?”
“Oh... I don’t smoke.”
The woman slapped her forehead. “Of course! Athlete. That means you’re one of the good ones. What am I thinking?” She pulled out a cigarette of her own. “You won’t mind if... I smoke, would you?”
Lisa felt a little squeamish. “Well, I don’t know if you should smoke in here...”
“I guess not. Well, look here. I’ve got one of those electronic mist cigerettes. The kind you can smoke indoors. That fine?”
“Well, I guess-” but it was too late. The woman had already taken out her electornic cigerette and started to smoke it.
The cigerette let out a really nice fragrence. As flowery as it was, Lisa couldn’t pinpoint the scent. “Wow. That smells pretty good.”
“Gee, thanks. Got it from my friend T.R. You’d be surprised, there’s actually no nicotine in this thing. Drug free actually.”
“Oh, wow. That’s awesome.” Feeling a bit relieved, Lisa took a deeper whiff of the stuff. “Wow, does it smell good! It really tempts me to smoke!”
The woman giggled.
“But, Jessica, I’m curious... does it really help with your nicotine fix? I mean, if you smoke cigarettes-”
“Well... I guess I don’t really... smoke... cigarettes.”
Lisa was confused, though she felt so euphoric with the cigarette smoke. “Really?”
“Nope.” The woman shrugged. “I guess I just carried them for show.”
“For... show.” Lisa was starting to feel nice and relaxed. Her body was feeling a bit numb as well.
“Yeah. Besides, this electric ciggie T.R. gave me is way better.”
“Hey... Jessica... I’m feeling... really weird.”
“Yeah?”
“Kind of weird but... really good.”
“Oh. That's just the effect of the fumes from T.R.’s electric cig. I had the second component that mixes with the fumes and forms sort of an.. antidote. So I don't get that really weird, relaxed feeling it's supposed to produce. But you’ve only been exposed to the fumes, and not to its counterpart, so, well, it’s having a numbing, euphoric effect on you.”
Lisa leaned against the woman with a smile. “Jessica.”
“Oh. I should tell you by now that I’m not named Jessica actually.”
“You’re... not?”
“No. Or even Roberts, actually. I have no relation to your coach, whatsoever. That was just a lie so I could get close to you and do what The Riddler instructed me to do, which is very simple. Put you in a nice, feel good and sleepy state, have the boys come in to take you with us, and... well, you’ll find out what your new purpose is later. Oh, I forgot to tell you... The Riddler is my friend T.R. that I told you about earlier.”
“The Riddler.” Lisa knew all about The Riddler and how bad he was, but at this point, she didn’t care. She just felt way too good.
“Yeah.” Puzzelina took a final drag of her cigarette. “A very intimate friend and boss of mine. So are ya gonna go to sleep or what?”
Lisa slumped in her chair against Puzzelina, smiling as she slept peacefully.
“About time.” Puzzelina pulled out a whistle and blew into it.
Two big goons with gas masks came in and knew what to do. They picked up the girl and immediately pulled her out of the gym room as Puzzelina followed calmly behind.
Batgirl had been investigating Riddler’s quarters while she still could, trying to find clues of the kidnapped girl. All the signs of his motifs were there- riddles, rubix cubes, puzzles and games. The place was an unkempt yet colorful madhouse of a brain game madman.
“Ridiculous,” Batgirl said under her breath as she read the many riddles and newspaper articles lined around the place.
Going from room to room, Batgirl looked around cautiously, still perusing through papers and drawers.
“Oh, you’re Gotham’s Batgirl.”
Batgirl turned around quickly to see a spiky red haired woman in a skin tight uniform lined with puzzle pieces.
“Where’s Riddler?” Batgirl asked fiercely.
“Seriously, Batgirl. You’re in his lair, looking through his games, papers, and toys. Truly it can’t be that hard to find him?” The woman took a step forward.
Batgirl held up a Batarang. “Don’t make another step.”
The woman raised her hands. “No need to be violent, Batgirl. We’ve hardly gotten a chance to meet each other.” The rival redhead started to step back from the caped crusader.
“I don’t need to meet any friends of The Riddler. All I have to do is apprehend you and take you to the proper authorities.”
“That’s quite rude, Batgirl. I was hoping that you would want to know all about me. Let’s start with an introduction, shall we? My name is Puzzelina, and I like to play.”
Batgirl threw her batarang, but she was too late. Puzzelina had already reached the door and turned down the hallway. As Batgirl ran towards the door, it immediately shut with metal doors closing in from the top, bottom and sides in a tightly unified shield.
“Drats!” Batgirl shouted.
“Bats!” a voice on an overhead intercom announced. It was obviously the voice of The Riddler.
“Riddler!” Batgirl looked up. “Where is Alexis Johnson?”
“Correction, Batgirl! The riddle is: where is Alexis Johnson, Porsha Rodriguez, and Lisa Schmidt? I never had any faith that Mr. Johnson would find his own daughter, and even with your good track record of foiling my plans, I highly doubt you’ll solve his case either!”
“I don’t have time for games, Riddler!”
“Poor, stupid Batgirl. You should know by now that games are my life. If you wander into my world, you have to play by my rules.”
Batgirl reached into her utility belt and put a small little bomb on the metal door before running to the other edge of the room.
“Take this riddle with you, Batgirl! What do psychiatrists carry?”
The bomb detonated, making the room shake. Batgirl was safe on her edge of the room as the doors exploded outward, creating a hole to break free from.
Batgirl quickly jumped through the hole and covered her nose with her cape as the smoke surrounded her. Unfortunately, she didn’t expect the little falling weights that spilled from the ceiling. One of the weights knocked her head without warning.
“A headcase! Get it, Batgirl? A headcase! HAHAHAHAHA!!!” The Riddler’s cruel laughter filled the halls with dreadful amusement.
When Batgirl awoke, her head was throbbing. The weight that had fallen on her head hadn’t been heavy enough to do any real damage, but it did knock her out pretty hard. Now, she was staring into pitch blackness, her breathing a bit restrained as her body felt tightened. What was going on with her?
“Mmmmph!” Batgirl said in the darkness.
“Ah! You’re awake.” Riddler’s gleeful voice vibrated all around the heroine. “I guess I should tell you what predicament you’ve gotten yourself into this time.
“Let’s start with the girls I’ve... drafted today. They’re fine. They’ll all fit well into my team. They’re all quite respected in their sports and I didn't want to go for the typical basketball, baseball kind of thing. Not to mention, they are all quite pretty and will make excellent sports molls. And pretty soon, I will introduce a game that Gotham will be dying to play... whether they want to or not. It’s a shame that you won’t see the game of the century, Batgirl, but either way, I will leave Gotham behind in ashes and live a future as a rich and happy man. My genius will be recognized the world over for what I’m about to do, and you’ll be nothing but bat droppings on the eye of history.”
“MMMmmmphhHHH!!!”
“Oh yes! Your trap. Well... I had prepared a tickle trap for you, but, let’s admit it, that’s far too juvenile for someone of your expertise. So what I’ve prepared for you is a special body tightening trap. The more you move around, as I’m sure you’ve already noticed, the more your body will be compressed until the point of... well... death. Oh, and I was kind enough to let you wear my purple riddler mask I wore on my first outing today. The only thing is I blindfolded you underneath so you can’t really see anything.”
“Mmmm mm mm mm!!!”
“Oh. I’m wanted at my other locations were I dropped the girls off. My loyal goons and molls are wondering what the next course of action is. Oh well... I guess this is it. Ta ta, Batgirl! It wasn’t nice knowing you.”
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!
A Horrid Mess!
A Proud Riddler!
Will He Get Away With This Wretched Crime?
Can Batgirl Brake out of this Mysterious Trap?
Will the Young Female Athletes be Freed in Time?
Tune IN, Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel!!