Edward stood outside the orphanage, his arms outstretched and head tilted to the sky, pretending to be a scarecrow. The small, dirt-poor church that ran the orphanage couldn't afford proper scarecrows to keep the birds away from their meager crops. Instead, they had Edward, the only child left in the orphanage, standing in the field for hours on end.

He was used to the isolation. The other children had been adopted or sent away, leaving him alone with the nuns. He didn't mind, though. He had grown accustomed to solitude, finding solace in his thoughts and the quiet rustle of the wind through the fields.

The days were long and often boring, but Edward's mind was always active. He would create puzzles and riddles in his head to pass the time, challenging himself to come up with increasingly complex problems. It was a way to keep himself entertained, to escape the monotony of his reality.

One chilly afternoon, as Edward was brought inside for a brief respite, Mother Superior called him into her office. Her stern face softened as she handed him a small, wrapped package.

"Edward, you've been so patient and diligent," she said, her voice gentle. "I thought you might like this."

Edward carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a worn, leather-bound book. The title, "The Big Book of Riddles and Puzzles," was embossed in gold on the cover. His eyes widened with delight, a rare smile breaking across his face.

"Thank you, Mother Superior!" he exclaimed, hugging the book to his chest. "This is amazing!"

Mother Superior smiled warmly. "I thought it might keep your mind occupied during those long hours outside. You're a bright boy, Edward. Never forget that."

From that day on, Edward's love for riddles blossomed. He devoured the book, solving every puzzle and riddle it contained. The satisfaction he felt with each solved riddle was unparalleled. It was a challenge, a game, and a way to make sense of the world around him.

As the weeks turned into months, Edward began to create his own riddles, writing them down in a notebook he kept hidden under his bed. The riddles became his escape, a way to transcend his lonely existence and explore the boundless realms of his imagination.

Even when he was standing outside, acting as a human scarecrow, his mind was always at work, crafting new riddles and puzzles. The birds, which had once been a nuisance, became participants in his mental games, each one representing a clue or a piece of a larger puzzle.

———
Ten years later

Edward Nigma, sat in his small, cluttered office at the Metropolis Daily Paper. The walls were lined with various puzzles, riddles, and complex brain teasers he had collected over the years. His desk was buried under a mountain of papers, each one a potential clue to some grand mystery he had yet to unravel.

The glow of his computer screen illuminated his sharp features as he typed furiously, crafting his latest riddle for the paper's weekly puzzle section. Edward took immense pride in his work, knowing that his puzzles challenged the minds of Metropolis's residents. He often received letters from readers praising his ingenious creations, and he relished every moment of it.

But it wasn't always praise that came his way. Edward's obsession with perfection and his insatiable need for intellectual stimulation often put him at odds with his colleagues and superiors. They found him eccentric, difficult to work with, and sometimes even insufferable. His high standards and relentless pursuit of the ultimate riddle made him a lone wolf in the bustling newsroom.

Edward approached Daniel Mockridge's office, clutching his puzzle column. As he got closer, he could hear Mockridge's raised voice through the closed door. Curious and slightly nervous, Edward hesitated, straining to make out the conversation.

"I told you, Malcolm, my paper is not for sale! I don't care how much money you throw at me. I've built this company from the ground up, and I won't see it turned into another one of your corrupt enterprises!" Mockridge's voice was firm, filled with conviction.

Edward's heart sank as he recognized the name. Malcolm Strickland. He was the father of his girlfriend, Melinda. Strickland was notorious for his shady dealings and abusive nature, running a crooked university and film studio. Edward knew all too well the horrors Melinda had endured at the hands of her father.

"You don't scare me, Malcolm. You can take your threats and shove them!" Mockridge continued, slamming the phone down with a finality that echoed in the hallway.

Edward took a deep breath and knocked on the door. "Mr. Mockridge? It's Edward. I have the puzzle column."

"Come in, Edward," Mockridge called, his tone still tinged with frustration.

Edward entered the office, trying to act natural despite the tension in the room. He handed over the column, and Mockridge glanced at it before nodding approvingly.

"Good work, Edward. This looks challenging. Just what our readers need," Mockridge said, his tone softening as he focused on Edward.

"Thank you, sir," Edward replied, trying to gauge if it was a good time to ask about what he'd overheard.

Mockridge must have noticed the concern on Edward's face. "Is there something on your mind, Edward?"

Edward hesitated but decided to speak up. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, sir. That was Melinda's father, wasn't it? Malcolm Strickland?"

Mockridge's expression darkened. "Yes, it was. He's been trying to buy out the paper for months. I've been resisting, but he's not taking no for an answer."

Edward felt a mix of fear and anger. "He's a terrible man, Mr. Mockridge. He's hurt so many people, including Melinda. He can't be allowed to take over the paper."

Mockridge sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know, Edward. Believe me, I won't let him get his hands on this place. But he's persistent and has powerful connections."

Edward nodded, feeling a sense of dread. "If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."

Mockridge gave him a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Edward. Your support means a lot."

Edward's apartment was a small, dimly lit space that barely qualified as a home. The walls were a drab, faded gray, and the sparse furniture was second-hand and worn. A single lamp on a rickety table provided the only light, casting long shadows across the room. The shelves were filled with books and puzzle magazines, the only things that gave the place any semblance of personality.

As he walked in, Edward let out a sigh. The silence of the apartment was always the hardest to bear. He put down his bag and sat on the edge of his bed, a thin mattress on a creaky frame. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the positives, as he always did. But his thoughts inevitably drifted to his past.

Edward had been born to teenage parents, both just sixteen. They hadn't been ready for a child and had put him up for adoption immediately after his birth. But it wasn't just that they had given him up—they had gone out of their way to ensure he would never contact them or find them. All records of his birth had been sealed, and any attempts he made to uncover his origins were met with dead ends. It was as if they had erased him from their lives entirely.

His childhood in the foster care system had been equally challenging. He bounced from home to home, never staying in one place long enough to form any real connections. Many of the foster families were indifferent at best, and a few were outright abusive. School had been his only refuge, a place where he could lose himself in books and puzzles, where his intelligence could shine.

Despite everything, Edward had always tried to stay upbeat. It was amazing, really, how he managed to maintain a positive outlook.

Edward was deeply engrossed in his puzzle, the world around him fading as he focused on the intricate patterns. The soft knock on his apartment door startled him, and he looked up with a bright smile. He knew who it was.

"Coming!" he called out, bounding off the bed with his usual energy. He dashed to the door and swung it open to reveal Melinda. She stood there with a warm smile, her presence a stark contrast to the drab surroundings of his apartment.

"Hey, Eddie," she greeted, stepping inside and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Melinda! You have no idea how happy I am to see you," Edward beamed, practically bouncing on his toes. "Come in, come in! I was just working on a new puzzle. Want to help?"

Melinda laughed softly, shaking her head. "You and your puzzles. Sure, but I was thinking we could hang out and maybe watch a movie or something. You need to relax a bit."

Edward's eyes lit up even more. "A movie sounds great! What did you have in mind?"

She shrugged, looking around the small apartment. "I brought a few options. Let's see..." She pulled out a small bag and began rummaging through it, pulling out a couple of DVDs. "How about something light and fun?"

"Perfect!" Edward agreed, moving to set up the old TV and DVD player he had. "You always know just what I need."

As they settled on the couch, Edward couldn't help but feel grateful for Melinda. She was a bright spot in his life, someone who understood him and accepted him for who he was. Despite his hyperactive nature and sometimes overwhelming enthusiasm, she never seemed to mind.

Melinda handed him the DVD, and he popped it into the player, then joined her on the couch. As the opening credits rolled, he glanced at her, feeling a wave of gratitude. Melinda was more than just a girlfriend; she was his anchor, someone who understood and accepted him despite his quirks.

"You're my bright spot," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Melinda chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder. "You'd manage, Edward."
———
Now

Edward sat in his small, cluttered apartment, the sunlight filtering weakly through the dusty windows. He was hunched over the morning edition of the Daily Planet, his eyes scanning the headlines with practiced speed. The familiar rustle of the newspaper brought a small sense of normalcy, but it did little to ease the gnawing tension in his gut.

Ever since the mission with Leslie had gone south, things had been spiraling. Deadshot and Sportsmaster were missing, and the entire plan had crumbled like a poorly constructed puzzle. Edward sighed, folding the newspaper and placing it on the table. He glanced around the room, taking in the scattered riddles and puzzles that adorned the walls.

He stood up, stretching his legs, and grabbed his coat. There was somewhere he needed to be. Locking the door behind him, he made his way down the creaky stairs and out into the bustling city streets. The flower shop wasn't far, a small, quaint place nestled between larger, more imposing buildings. The bell above the door chimed softly as he entered.

"Good morning, Mr. Nigma," the florist greeted him with a warm smile. "The usual?"

"Yes, thank you," Edward replied, managing a small smile in return. The florist handed him a bouquet of white lilies, their fragrance filling the air with a sweet, melancholic scent.

He walked to the cemetery, his steps slow and measured. It was a quiet place, a stark contrast to the noisy city. He made his way to two specific graves, side by side. One bore the name Daniel Mockridge, the other Melinda Whitmore.

Kneeling between the two graves, Edward placed the flowers gently on each one. He took a deep breath, his eyes misting over with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

He stayed there for a while, lost in his thoughts and memories. Daniel had been a tough but fair boss, someone who had seen potential in him despite his quirks. And Melinda... she had been his light, his anchor in a world that often felt overwhelming. Losing them both had been a blow he still struggled to recover from.

After a while, he stood up, brushing the dirt from his knees. "I'll be back," he promised softly.

As Edward walked away from the cemetery, the sky began to darken, and a light drizzle started to fall. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, shivering slightly as the cold rain soaked through his clothes. His footsteps splashed through puddles, and a passing car sent a spray of water over him, soaking him even more.

He kept glancing over his shoulder, his senses heightened and alert. The memory of what had happened with Slade and Leslie was still fresh in his mind, a constant source of anxiety and paranoia.

———

Flashback:

The night had been chaotic, a blur of gunfire, explosions, and desperate escapes. Edward, and Leslie, had been tracked back to their base. Slade and Carapax had found them, and the ensuing battle had been brutal.

"Leslie, we need to get out of here!" Edward had shouted, his voice barely audible over the din of the fight.

Leslie, her face set in grim determination, had nodded. "Follow me, Edward. We'll make it."

They had fought their way through the chaos, dodging bullets and evading their pursuers. Edward had stayed close to Leslie, trusting her to lead them to safety. But as they neared an exit, she had suddenly turned on him.

"Sorry, Eddie," she had said. "But I need a distraction."

Before he could react, she had shoved him towards Slade and Carapax, leaving him to face their wrath. The betrayal had stunned him, and he barely had time to register the pain as Carapax's metallic fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Slade had loomed over him, a sadistic grin on his face. "Looks like your luck's run out, Nigma," he had sneered, raising his sword for a killing blow.

But at that moment, something miraculous had happened. The structure of the warehouse had begun to collapse, weakened by the ongoing fight. A large beam had fallen, separating Edward from his attackers. Using the chaos to his advantage, he had scrambled to his feet and fled, his heart pounding in his chest.

———

The memory faded as Edward continued to walk, the rain now coming down in earnest. He wiped the water from his face, his mind racing. The betrayal had left him scarred, but it had also taught him a valuable lesson: trust no one.

As Edward continued to walk through the rain-soaked streets, his thoughts drifted to the countless hardships he had endured over the years. His life had been a series of setbacks and betrayals, each one more painful than the last.

His three previous relationships played through his mind like a tragic movie reel. The first, Melinda, had been strangled and...just leave it at that. Her death had left a gaping hole in his heart, a loss he had never fully recovered from. The second, a vibrant and passionate artist named Sarah, had shattered his trust by cheating on him. The betrayal had stung deeply, leaving him wary of love and intimacy. The third, a kind and intelligent woman named Rachel, had come out as asexual. While he respected her honesty and identity, the revelation had led to an amicable but heartbreaking separation, as their needs and desires no longer aligned.

Losing his job at the Metropolis Daily Paper had been another devastating blow. He had worked tirelessly, pouring his heart and soul into his puzzles and articles, only for it all to go up in flames. He was certain the fire had been arson, orchestrated by Malcolm Strickland, Melinda's father, in a twisted act of revenge. Strickland had always been a cruel and manipulative man, running his crooked university and film studio with an iron fist. Edward had stood up to him once, and he had paid the price. Being blacklisted by Strickland had made it nearly impossible for him to find work in his field again.

Edward thought about his childhood. His parents had been just teenagers when he was born, and they had given him up for adoption. They had gone out of their way to ensure he would never contact or find them, a rejection that had haunted him his entire life. Growing up in the foster system had been a nightmare, filled with neglect and abuse. He had always felt like an outsider, never truly belonging anywhere.

His mind raced with other painful memories. Friends who had turned their backs on him, colleagues who had betrayed him, and the constant struggle to prove his worth in a world that seemed determined to break him. The loneliness, the rejections, the betrayals—it was a wonder he managed to stay upbeat and optimistic at all.

Edward sighed, the weight of his past pressing down on him. Despite everything, he had always tried to keep a positive outlook, using his intelligence and wit to navigate the challenges life threw at him. But some days, the burden felt too heavy to bear.

Edward boarded the bus, shaking off the rain from his coat. He took a seat near the middle, trying to settle into the rhythmic hum of the vehicle and lose himself in his thoughts. However, his attention was soon drawn to the front of the bus, where three rowdy men were harassing the bus driver, a woman in her late twenties, and her blind boyfriend who sat in the first row.

"Hey sweetheart, how about giving us a little smile?" one of the men jeered, leaning too close to the driver's face.

"Yeah, we bet you're real friendly when the bus is empty," another added, making crude gestures.

The third man chimed in with a sleazy grin, "Bet you wouldn't mind a few extra passengers after hours, huh?"

The driver, clearly uncomfortable, tried to maintain her composure. Her blind boyfriend, holding onto his cane, looked tense and helpless. Edward's blood boiled at the sight.

"Leave them alone," Edward said firmly, standing up and walking towards the front.

The three men turned to look at him, their expressions shifting from surprise to amusement. "Who do you think you are?" one of them sneered.

"Just someone who doesn't like seeing bullies get their way," Edward replied, his voice steady despite the fear bubbling inside him.

Without warning, one of the men shoved Edward, sending him stumbling back. The others joined in, landing punches and kicks. Edward tried to shield himself, but the blows kept coming. The other passengers watched in shock, some even pulling out their phones to record the incident.

As Edward lay on the floor, bruised and bleeding, he summoned all his strength and fought back. He grabbed one of the men by the leg, pulling him down and delivering a swift punch to his face. Another came at him, but Edward ducked and landed a punch to his gut, making him double over.

The bus lurched to a stop, and the driver yelled, "That's enough! All of you, off my bus!"

The men picked themselves up, cursing and spitting at Edward. "You'll regret this," one of them snarled before they all stormed off the bus.

Edward stood up, breathing heavily, his face swollen and bleeding. The bus driver and her boyfriend approached him, their faces filled with gratitude and concern.

"Thank you," the driver said softly. "You didn't have to do that."

"It was the right thing to do," Edward replied, wincing from the pain.

As he turned to face the rest of the bus, he saw the disapproving looks from the other passengers. Whispers and murmurs of him being a troublemaker and instigator filled the air. Despite having defended the driver and her boyfriend, he was labeled the bad guy by everyone else.

"Hey," the blind boyfriend said, extending his hand towards Edward. "I know you did the right thing. Don't let these idiots tell you otherwise."

Edward shook his hand, offering a small, pained smile. "Thanks."

The bus driver gently guided him off the bus at the next stop, apologizing for having to let him go. "I'm really sorry, but I can't have any more trouble tonight."

Edward said nothing. He stepped off the bus, back into the rain, feeling the sting of both his physical wounds and the unfair judgment of the crowd. Had this happened to his girlfriend Oswald, nobody on that bus would never be heard from again.

Edward limped home, the pain from the fight still throbbing in his body. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and glistening under the streetlights. He finally reached his apartment, his sanctuary, and closed the door behind him, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

He hung his coat, wincing as he moved his sore arm, and made his way to the small, cluttered living room. He plopped down on the worn-out couch, pulling out the day's newspaper that he had tucked into his bag earlier. Flipping through the pages absentmindedly, he froze when a headline caught his eye: "New University Initiative by Malcolm Strickland Raises Eyebrows."

Edward's heart pounded as he read the article. Strickland, a name that had caused him endless grief, was opening a new university. The article detailed how Strickland claimed the institution would be a beacon of innovation and inclusivity, but Edward knew better. His stomach churned as he read further. The university was named "Riddler University," a direct nod to Edward's own moniker, a nickname he'd earned during his time at the Metropolis Daily Paper for his love of puzzles and riddles.

The article quoted Strickland extensively, praising himself how he was the "brilliant mind" behind the name and how it symbolized the challenge of thinking critically and solving complex problems. Edward's hands shook with a mix of rage and disbelief. Strickland was exploiting his identity, turning it into a marketing gimmick for his new venture.

He dropped the newspaper, his mind racing. Strickland had blacklisted him, destroyed his career, and now, he was using Edward's name and reputation to further his own agenda. The memories of his previous hardships flooded back: his failed relationships, the tragic death of his girlfriend, the arson that claimed his job and boss, and the university that swindled him. It felt like every step forward he tried to take was met with a force pushing him back.

Edward's eyes widened as he read further into the article. Strickland had dedicated the new university to his late daughter and wife, painting a picture of a grieving, noble man doing good in their memory. The hypocrisy was too much. The anger surged through him, and in a fit of rage, Edward ripped the newspaper apart, shreds of it scattering across his living room floor.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His mind was a whirlwind of anger and frustration. Edward looked down at the torn pieces of paper, one catching his eye. It was about a new hero in Metropolis: Superman.

Intrigued, he pieced together the fragment and read the article. It detailed Superman's latest feats: stopping a high-speed train from derailing, saving hundreds of lives; preventing a bank heist with minimal damage; and, most astonishingly, lifting a burning building off its foundations to save those trapped inside.

Edward sat back, his anger momentarily forgotten as he thought about how the world was changing. There were others, too—figures with extraordinary abilities stepping into the light. One had recently saved an entire ship of sex trafficking victims, and nearly killed their captors. Another had been spotted using animalistic powers to bring down poachers and rescue endangered species in remote parts of the world. Yet another was rumored to have used advanced technology and a powerful suit to stop a wave of crime in his city.

The world was indeed changing. Heroes were emerging, each with unique abilities, making a difference on a grand scale. Edward couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. These individuals had found ways to use their talents to fight back against the darkness in the world. They were admired, celebrated.

Edward leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. His mind raced with thoughts of how he could turn his own situation around. The idea of fighting back, not just against Strickland but against the injustice that seemed to follow him, began to take root.

The world was changing, and perhaps it was time for him to change with it.

Edward's mind raced with renewed determination as he rose from his chair. He walked purposefully to his closet, the air in the room seeming to thrum with his newfound resolve. Pulling open the door, he reached to the back, feeling around until his hand closed around a familiar object.

He drew out a cane, its polished surface gleaming even in the dim light of his apartment. The handle was shaped like a question mark, a symbol that had always resonated with him—questions, puzzles, the pursuit of knowledge. He grasped it firmly, feeling the weight of it, the balance. It felt right in his hand, a part of him.

Next, he reached into the hidden compartment at the bottom of the closet and pulled out a small box. Opening it, he revealed a piece of alien tech—a ball made of liquid metal. The surface shimmered and flowed, constantly shifting in mesmerizing patterns. Edward had come across this piece of tech during one of his heists, and he'd kept it hidden, knowing its potential.

He held the liquid metal ball up to the light, watching it reflect and refract in a dance of colors. This was the key, the catalyst. He could use it to create something extraordinary, something that would change the game.

"The newspaper's right," Edward said to himself, his voice steady and filled with purpose. "The world is changing."

He looked at the cane in one hand and the alien tech in the other. "It's time I changed it too."

Edward grinned. He had work to do.

Later he sneak into the university under the cover of night. The campus is eerily quiet, only the faint hum of security systems breaking the silence. With practiced ease, Edward bypasses the security protocols, slipping through the shadows until he reaches the central laboratory.

He pulls out the Liquid Metal, a mysterious substance that morphs into a vibrant green and ominous black. The metal seems to pulse with a life of its own, responding to Edward's touch. He smiles, feeling a surge of power as the metal begins to flow and spread, upgrading the technology around him. The lab's equipment glows with new energy, blending seamlessly with the liquid metal, which integrates and enhances the machinery. Every device, every screen, every terminal now follows Edward's command.

As he works, Edward hums a tune to himself, his voice echoing softly in the transformed lab:

"Let's begin
I'm gonna make you wish that I'd stayed gone
And when I'm done
Your status quo will know its race is run"

With a final flourish, the liquid metal solidifies, creating an intricate network of technology that obeys his every whim. Edward takes a step back, admiring his handiwork before turning his attention to a list of names on a nearby console.

The list contains the names of everyone who had wronged him.

He walks down a dimly lit hallway, the hum of machinery accompanying his every step. Edward continues to hum his song, the melody growing darker and more intense as he reaches a heavily secured room.

With a quick command, the liquid metal forms a key that unlocks the door. Edward steps inside, revealing a room filled with surveillance equipment and data servers. He approaches the central console, fingers flying over the keys as he begins to access confidential files and manipulate the university's network. Security footage, personal data, and secret communications are now at his disposal.

Edward's eyes gleam with satisfaction as he plants evidence and sets traps for those who had crossed him. The university's own systems are turned against it, twisted into a web of deceit and retribution.

With one final, satisfied smile, Edward leans back in his chair, the tune still playing softly in his mind:

"Oh, this will be fun."

———
Two years ago.

The nightclub, Oblivion, was buzzing with energy. Lights pulsed in time with the thumping bass, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and anticipation. Edward Nigma, clad in his bartending uniform, moved behind the bar with an effortless grace that belied his hyperactive nature. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he served drinks and entertained the patrons with his riddles.

"What's black and white and red all over?" he asked a group of regulars, flashing his trademark grin. They groaned in response, already knowing the punchline to his favorite joke.

"A newspaper!" one of them shouted, rolling their eyes.

Edward laughed, enjoying the camaraderie and the brief respite from his restless mind. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.

She walked into the club with an air of authority and danger, her presence commanding immediate attention. Her long black hair framed a pale, angular face adorned with dark, smudged eyeliner. She wore a sleek, black outfit that clung to her slender frame, and her eyes were as sharp as daggers. This was Oswald Cobblepot, known as Penguin, one of the most feared figures in the underworld.

Intrigued, Edward couldn't help but watch her as she moved through the crowd with an almost predatory grace. He felt a thrill of excitement and curiosity. Against his better judgment and the quiet voice of caution in his head, he decided to approach her.

"Did you know," he began, his voice cheerful and animated, "that penguins can dive to depths of over 500 meters and stay underwater for up to 20 minutes?"

She turned her piercing gaze on him, her eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, Edward felt a chill run down his spine, but he held his ground, his curiosity outweighing his fear.

"Fascinating," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do you have a death wish, or are you just incredibly stupid?"

Edward laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Neither, actually. I'm just a fan of interesting facts and... interesting people."

Her eyes bore into him, as if trying to decipher the enigma that was Edward Nigma. Before she could respond, his boss, Roman Sionis, appeared at his side, his face a mask of barely concealed irritation.

"Edward," Roman hissed, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "A word, if you don't mind."

Edward allowed himself to be led away, casting one last glance over his shoulder at Penguin. She was still watching him, a curious smile playing on her lips.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Roman snapped once they were out of earshot. "Do you have any idea who that is?"

"Of course I do," Edward replied, his enthusiasm undiminished. "She's Penguin. One of the most dangerous people in Gotham."

"And you think it's a good idea to flirt with her?" Roman shook his head in disbelief. "Stay away from her, Edward. She's not someone you want to mess with."

"But she's fascinating," Edward protested, his ADHD-driven curiosity refusing to be quelled. "I can't help it."

Roman sighed, his expression softening slightly. "I know you mean well, Edward, but please. For your own sake, keep your distance."

Edward continued his duties behind the bar, though his mind kept drifting back to his brief encounter with Penguin. He noticed her glancing his way a few times, her sharp eyes following his movements. It made him both nervous and excited, a potent mix that fueled his hyperactive energy.

Penguin, on the other hand, found herself intrigued by the young bartender who had dared to approach her. His cheerful demeanor and relentless enthusiasm were a stark contrast to the grim and often fear-filled world she navigated. She decided she wanted to know more about him.

She beckoned for one of the club's waitstaff and whispered something in their ear. The staff member nodded and hurried off, reappearing a few minutes later with Roman Sionis in tow.

Roman approached her table with trepidation. "Miss Cobblepot, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Penguin leaned back in her chair, her gaze never leaving Edward. "That bartender of yours... Edward, was it? Tell me about him."

Roman's heart sank. He feared that Edward's boundless curiosity had offended her in some way. "I apologize if he overstepped, Miss Cobblepot. He's a good kid, just... a bit too enthusiastic at times."

Penguin's lips curved into a smile. "Relax, Sionis. I'm not here to have him killed. Quite the opposite, actually. He's... interesting."
———

———

On the next all new episode of Broken, but not Evil.

"I grew up from a seed, as tough as a weed. But in a mansion, in a slum, I'll never know where I come from. Do you know what I am?"

"If you are justice, please do not lie. What is the price for your blind eye?"

"Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum saw it. Can you see it?"

———

Here's my version of Task Force X for this story

What do you think?

Deadshot

Riddler

Freeze

Sportsmaster

Mirror Master

Ivo

Slade

Clayface

Scarecrow