Resurgence (Jason//Flashback)

Participants: Edward Nigma and Jason Todd
Open/Closed: Closed

Location(s): Gotham Harbor
Time of Day: 12:11am
Weather: Cloudy with drizzles
Summary: After a dip in the Lazarus pit cures his terminal brain cancer, Edward Nygma has sought out his old friend Dr. Thomas Elliott for assistance in an elaborate plan to bring Bruce Wayne to his knees once and for all. Upon his return to Gotham, many of his fellow villains (and a few newcomers) are resting as chess pieces on his board waiting to be moved. All that's left now is the acquisition of his ace in the hole: Bruce's adopted son who has recently come back from the dead!

??????

Light drops of rain bounced off the wooden floorboards of the docks as two men clad in all black outfits walked along the creaky structure. Streetlights and neon signs inside small waterfront buildings did nothing to help the dreary suburban nightmare that Gotham resembled at this time of night. The taller man was much bulkier and more muscled than his companion and had a scrunched up ski mask covering his hair on the top of his head. His companion was much smaller, but still fit, and had a strap around his arm that dangled an machinegun in front of his chest. The big man brandished a silenced pistol in one hand and a large knife rested between on his waist behind his belt. 

The small office that they were venturing to was just on a platform at the end of one catwalks that elevated it just above the dirty, murky waters of the city's harbor. A smeared, rusted sign that read Ahab's Bait and Hooks was displayed on the edge of the building's roof, and in one of its frontside windows a glowing neon question mark was visible propped up being the glass. Not the most discrete of hiding places for a villain so well associated with that insignia, but tonight was a night that their boss was looking to be found by someone. Someone who would prove to be essential to his master plan against his one and only dreaded enemy.

The two men stood by the entrance to the building as a white storage truck backed in around the side of the of the road the docks connected to and flashed its headlights to signal its arrival to them. The rear door of the vehicle slid upwards, and a thin man with a green vest and brass walking stick stepped onto the concrete slab beneath it. He he black fingerless gloves with yellow question marks painted on them and a black derby hat rested on his head. "Get everything ready." He snapped. Four other men scrambled out of the vehicle and began removing equipment from the truck and bringing it into the office. He approached the two men in front of the door and leaned on his cane in front of them.

"Boss...we heard you were sick! Is everything okay? Were they able to help--" The big man was interrupted by a smug, vain voice that reminisced of a James Bond villain that was getting high off his own arrogance. "It seems rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated." He pulled his cane up and walked passed the two men into the office. They turned to each other briefly and then followed suit. The Riddler switched on a light inside the building and walked over to his desk, which was scattered with brainstorming, notes, mathematical formulas and crossword puzzle books. A brilliant mind could also be scattered and disorganized, after all. He leaned his cane against the wall and sat down to face his two henchmen. "My recent brush with death has granted me more clarity then I have ever had in my entire life, amazingly enough. Not that its something that either of you two would understand, but for the first time in a while I feel...mentally refreshed." He pushed a few of the papers in front of him aside and folded his hands. He twiddled his thumbs and reviewed one of the formulas the he had scribbled earlier.

"We heard 'ya were terminal...we were so glad when we heard you were back, and this plan that you have...its gonna be hard hittin'...and none of these costumed freaks gonna see this comin'..." 

"Didn't your English teacher ever speak to you about proper grammar? Try to use it, especially when addressing myself. A mind such as my own should be reputable for hiring muscle that it is at least somewhat respectable, don't you agree?" The upper portion of his body was cloaked in shadows as he leaned back in his chair. The light in the room was far too dim to illuminate everything. It would short circuit every now and then, rendering the room pitch black for a second or so each time.

On a table to the side of the room underneath a window that had been boarded shut, an elaborate chessboard sat with all kinds of different pieces on display. The black side of the board had nothing but smaller plastic replicas of Batman's insignia on each square. Something that could easily be attained in any Gotham City giftshop, most likely. The white side of the board, however, was plenty diverse. Normal chess pawns inhabited the frontline of the half, but in the two rook spaces featured a brown piece of clay on the right and a toy dinosaur on the left. In the spots where the knights would be, a tiny jester's hat and a small resin figure of Scarecrow from Wizard of Oz. A small plastic leaf and a magnet with a clown's head on it filled in the rolls of the two white bishops, and a button with a Superman insignia on it lay in place of where the Queen would sit. The only spot that was empty was the King's throne. His ace in the hole. The one thing that Bruce Wayne would not be able to deal with. The only opponent on his side of the table that Batman had not faced before.

On the side of the board sat plastic figurine of a black cat and a vintage silver dollar. The mastermind's reserves would need to be in play if there were issues with any of his primary pieces, but he would address that when the time came if necessary. A chalkboard on the wall behind where the Riddler sat had more plans and keywords laid out all over it. Things like kryptonite lipstick and clay impersonation stuck out amongst all the various gibberish and technical jargon that a delusion maniac like Nygma probably believed that only he could understand. A pair of thugs stepped out of the office's lounge room, the only other part of the building's interior, headed towards the exit where they would depart with just beyond. 

The smaller man that stood in front of him tapped his foot in anticipation for his boss's next words. "Dr. Elliott is in Keystone City now, another business meeting, I'm afraid...but my contact in the League of Assassins has informed me that the final piece of the puzzle is in town tonight and looking for me. I'm not going to disappoint him, he is essential to my plan." The lights flickered again and Nygma looked at his watch. Almost twelve-thirty. He was expecting his new friend around one at the earliest, but bat children were often not as punctual or predictable as their parent wing. "Who is he?" The big man asked. "I've been hearing from some of the other guys that he's actually one of the bat freaks...that's just a rumor though, ain't...isn't it?" 

The Riddler shook on his head. "That is on a need to know basis, only...although me making company with such imbeciles would be quite out of character, don't you think?" Not that he didn't feel that some of his fellow rogues were imbeciles, as well, but as a costumed criminal you didn't always have the best of the lot to choose from by default. Some were worthy of respect, but others were misguided, barbaric and mindless. The sorts that the smartest man in Gotham would, naturally, rather not associate with. Dr. Elliott, however, had almost become someone he could call a friend...that is, if a brilliant man like the Riddler needed something as simple and petty as friends to begin with. Elliott's intellect was, of course, not on par with his own, but he did possess a business-like intelligence that made him handle anything a man of his position would deal with exceptionally well and his sophistication reminded him of the Penguin, in a way. 

Outside of the building, the truck could be heard driving off in the distance. Nygma wanted to keep his thug count low so he wouldn't appear threatening to his soon-to-arrive guest. "You two wait the break room, I don't want my new cohort to feel intimidated and you know how hired guns have a tendency to get their heads bashed in even before the the leading man gets a chance to speak a word to the caped monkeys around here, anyway." 

"Yes, sir..." The big man nodded. Before leaving, he picked up a large glass disc that was leaning against the wall beside where he stood. It was dusty and old. Nygma had not seen it since Batman had come to him for assistance with the Hangman killings. That was almost two decades ago now. It had a large question mark drawn in the center of it. "The searchlight outside...we thought this might help him find you..." 

"We don't want to draw any attention to ourselves here. I let word get out on where we'd be to the right people. Our friend will find us." The words seemed almost ironic. The Riddler. Not wanting to draw attention. Each one of his crimes centered around him showing off how smart he was, yet now he was saying he didn't want to be the center. He didn't want the leading role. The two men stepped into the break room and closed the door behind them. The Riddler looked at his pocket watch again. "Time waits for no man...and I wait for no Batman..."

He slapped a large brown folder on the desk in front of him. Metropolis General was pressed in black ink on its outside binding and Dr. Elliott's name was scribbled beneath it along with a few other things pertaining to the hospital. This contained photographic evidence of Bruce Wayne's childhood friendship with his new partner. This would be the bait that his White King would take to join in. Revenge on his former mentor. Revenge on the man who let him die.

Nygma sat back in his chair smugly and put his feet up. Soon the masterpiece that he longed to create since he became the Riddler would be fulfilled. The death of Batman. An intricate, intellectual plan. A mystery that not even the Dark Knight can solve. Something only he, the Riddler, could bring to fruition. And with that in mind, he waited for the arrival of Batman's long lost son.

Jason had already arrived fifteen minutes ago. He was stupidly early to the meeting. He knew, however, that he was expected to arrive early. He needed time for reconnaissance, however, so he’d arrived even earlier than that. Slipping into the building hadn’t been difficult. If anything had stayed the same since he’d bit the dust, it was the ineptitude of henchmen.

The thread he’d followed from Talia was supposed to lead him to this Hush guy who had some vendetta against Bruce. So, he was mildly surprised to find all the signs of the Riddler’s handiwork. He knew better than to doubt Talia’s information, though, so there was obviously a connection between the two. He’d had enough time for a quick perusal of Riddler’s office and the chessboard he had set up, along with the only somewhat legible scribblings on the chalkboard told Jason that maybe Hush wasn’t the only mastermind behind the whole scheme.

Now, he crouched on a rafter cloaked in shadow. He watched, listened, as Riddler arrived and conversed with his men. The fact that Riddler had a contact in the League of Assassins was either something Talia already knew or she would appreciate being made aware of, so he stored that little tidbit away for later. He rolled his eyes as Riddler complimented himself. He’d forgotten how annoying this particular rogue was. Not enough so yet that Jason felt his trigger finger twitching, but enough that he briefly imagined crashing his knuckles into his pompous face. That, however, would throw too big of a hitch into Jason’s plans. For now.

Riddler’s henchmen left the room—toward the breakroom, which was disappointing, because it had another exit to the outside that they could easily escape through. Not that Jason planned on killing any of them or even attacking tonight, but it was good to be prepared for everything.

He waited another ten minutes, enough time to hopefully let Riddler feel a bit of impatience. He moved silently along the rafters, before dropping just as quietly into a densely shadowed corner. From there, he finally stepped forward and revealed himself. He wore a domino mask, the only thing that visually set him apart from a regular citizen, as his Kevlar was hidden by the leather jacket and jeans he wore. He also died a section of his hair white, just to throw off Riddler from perhaps recognizing him later and also because, well, he’d come back from the dead and he needed that right now to feel spookier than it did.

He crossed his arms, said evenly: “You’re not Hush.”

Not much time had passed since he had ordered his henchmen to wait in the other room, but Eddie knew that he wouldn't be kept waiting much longer. In Gotham, if anything, bats were known for being on time. Predictable punctuality was a weakness that Eddie often kept in mind when he was designing traps for the Dark Knight detective to spring. Batman always showed up on the dot because he had to. Lives could be at stake. Destruction could be in wait. He even had to address things that he likely considered to be a massive waste of time. His city was also home to garishly goofy psychos like Kiteman and the Condiment King. Moronic bottom feeders that weren't fit to lick the dirt from anybody else's spats. In all honesty, Batman likely considered his contests with the Riddler to be pointless endeavors, as well. He didn't care how smart Eddie was and he certainly didn't care if Eddie was smarted than him or not. Eddie was certain that by the time his current vision had been fully realized, however, Bruce would be wishing that he had hung his cape and cowl up long, long ago.

In a corner of the room adjacent to his desk, some light ruffling could be heard behind a small cloud of dust that pushed out from the shadows. He was no longer alone. A young, masked figure with a white streak that ran through jet black hair stepped into the light to reveal himself. Behold...the golden goose. Eddie was immediately gushing inside about the young boy's new look. Dark...clad in mystery...in vengeance. The white stripe...like a zombified robin that had come back from the dead. A character that would surely fit perfectly in some nonexistent Universal monsters picture from the 30's or 40's that he had so adored as a child. The Son of the Bat. The Basil Karlo classic that was sadly never written or realized...until now, of course. 

"You're not Hush."

THe mAN wH0 mAkES iT doesn't Want it. THe mAN WH0 bUYS iT doesn't Need iT. THe mAN WH0 gets iT doesn't kn0w iT. WHat is iT?

Jason Todd had been freed from his coffin and was now ready to play. 

The Riddler's voice could barely contain his excitement. "Ah, quite obvious, though, isn't that dear boy?" He unfolded his hands on top of his desk and clapped them together enthusiastically. He had vivid memories of fighting several Robins that were at Batman's side over the years. The most recent one, who he had figured was likely to be Bruce's current ward, was actually a personal favorite of his because of his high intellect and deductive abilities. However, there was a familiar rage about this one that echoed in tune with a young apprentice that Batman could barely control. He remembered a time when this ill-tempered child's life hung in the balance between two giant steel sawblades that would have crushed him to death had Batman not arrived. He couldn't be certain if this was Jason Todd or not, but there was no question that the individual standing in front of him was just who his League of Assassin's contact had claimed he was. 

The Riddler picked up his cane and stepped out of his chair. There was a revolver taped underneath his desk in case he needed it and he had an electrified rug setup right in front of where his visitor stood. Even though he was looking to make this person an ally, precautions needed to be taken and he knew very well that in a town like Gotham hired muscle just couldn't be depended on at the end of the day. If all else failed him, he had a surprise or two in his cane, of course. The Riddler snagged the folder from the hospital and jovially stepped towards Jason. He leaned on his cane as continued to speak. "Dr. Elliot is, I must admit, quite brilliant, but I don't think just anyone could come up with what I've managed to put together here." The boy wreaked of lazarus pit chemicals. This wasn't something that just anybody would notice typically, but those who had been recently bathed had a way of sensing the same essence on others that had been reborn. The essence of giving life...and also, giving madness... 

"One thing that might not be so obvious to you is just how much we have in common, you and I..." In the shadows he sat as a menacing figure, but now in the light Eddie's question mark attire was fully visible. "Once at the top of my game, I, like you, have seen better days as of recently...during an earthquake I don't believe you were alive for, all of my glorious assets were discarded by mother nature...my vast fortune for concocting my mind warping schemes was lost..."

Eddie suspected that the woman who contacted him from the League was the same person that was pulling the resurrected Robin's strings. Perhaps she had a desire to kill Bruce Wayne that was equal to his own. Eddie had never seen Talia al Ghul in the flesh before, but he knew what she looked like. The cloaked woman he had been in touch with regularly was well-covered every time he saw her, however, so to him her true identity was as good a mystery as any. "I fled Gotham only to find that I was suffering from terminal cancer...my mind...my brilliant capacity for genius...infected with something so incomprehensible." The thought of it sickened him. The thought of him needing someone else to rescue him sickened him also, but he owed whoever his benefactor was a great debt that he intended to pay.

"But like you, I too, was given a second chance...one in the form of a pit of chemicals much like the one that brought you back from the grave...and now, I have something to offer you that you surely won't turn down..." 

The boy was looking for revenge on Batman. If he took part in his twisted scheme, he could have it. That is, unless Batman died earlier in the game, which was an inherent possibility. Eddie chuckled silently at the thought of Bruce getting strangled in Poison Ivy's vines or mauled to death by Killer Croc. Not likely, but hey, it could happen.

"So, what say you, my young friend...here me out?"

Eddie bowed to his audience eloquently before waiting for a reply. His bait was set and now the ball was on the court's other side.

Jason Todd

Dr. Elliot? The name rang a bell. Jason scrounged through his memories, some still hazy and others tinged with a thick green he had to squint through. If he remembered correctly, Bruce had a friend named Thomas Elliot who was a doctor. He’d learned of him over a sink of dirty dishes, talking idly with Alf- Jason couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised. He was just one person on a track record of those close to Bruce turning on him. He wondered how long it would be before the old man or someone with more sense than him started looking at the common denominator.

Riddler, predictably and entirely within character, began rambling. Jason didn’t react to any of his words, not even when Riddler revealed he knew more than Jason had assumed. Riddler’s League contact had some loose lips. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the fact Riddler knew he had died. It saved Jason some time from having to explain it, but he didn’t like the idea of someone potentially close to Talia spilling that information so freely.

He supposed he would’ve felt some sympathy for Riddler with his cancer diagnosis. Jason knew firsthand how s**tty that was, as it was lead his mo- Catherine to her drug use and eventual O.D. Yeah, he would have been sympathetic if Riddler wasn’t such an egotistical maniac that was just asking for Jason to snap his neck with every word out of his mouth. That wouldn’t get him anywhere, though, so he bit his cheek until his tasted blood and did his best not to focus on the urge to kill Riddler right here and now.

How in the hell had Riddler managed to dunk himself into a Lazarus pit? Frickin’ Talia had to go behind Ra’s’ back just to toss Jason in and he was still pretty sure Ra’s would kill him on sight. Still that explained the air around Riddler—like he was surrounded by television static and there was an acidic smell that made Jason’s gut nauseous.

He didn’t think of that, though. Instead, he focused on the little tidbit Riddler probably didn’t know he’d given away. Evidently, the egomaniac didn’t know everything. The Lazarus pit wasn’t what had brought Jason back—no one knew what the hell had done that. It was just what had returned his mind to him. Jason, of course, had no intention of clarifying on this.

He was tempted, honestly, to say screw this and get back to what he’d been doing, to crafting his own plan. But if Talia had thought this would be helpful…

“Get on with it. And make it good.” He knew he didn’t have the patience for Riddler’s theatrics and hopefully the rogue would realize that as well before he found himself with a broken nose or worse.

Jason remained completely speechless while Eddie babbled on about the backstory of his situation and the grandness of the plan that would unfold shortly. Clearly he wasn't interested in hearing a supervillain talk. In Eddie's mind, anyone would enjoy listen to him go on and on about nothing for hours, but the reality was that even some criminals did not have the patience for his theatrical panache. He was fortunate to be on good terms with most of his fellow costumed adversaries, but back in the day when ordinary men like Carmine Falcone ruled the city people who thrived on intellect needed to make their point quickly and then move on. 

"Get on with it. And make it good."

"Ah, how he reminds me of somebody..." Eddie thought with quizzical enchantment as he thumbed the button his chin with the hand that was clenched around the folder from the hospital. He stepped uncomfortably close to his soon-to-be accomplice and leaned towards him with his cane pressed against the ground. His voice lowered to a whisper to avoid the ears of his henchmen that waited in the other room. "You're not much for words, are you? You are at home within the confines of yourself, much like somebody we both know...a certain...Bruce Wayne..." At that moment the cat had leapt from the bag and cleared the entire room. The thing that would surely get Jason on his side was revealed. Death could have changed him a great deal, but Eddie knew it was likely that the brat would still have a twisted sense of morality from his years of being a pawn for the Bat. His hatred of the Joker would also be a risk to his compliance if he knew all the details about what was going to happen, so naturally Eddie would keep some of the information to himself. But everything that the boy needed to know would only aid him in his purpose of taking down the father who let him die and refused to avenge him afterwards. 

"Surely...that name must mean quite a bit to you...as someone who was...raised by him...partially murdered by him...abandoned and replaced by him..." Eddie was trying to rip open the wound again and he hoped that it would work. Surely Jason couldn't have been surprised that someone at his level of brilliance had been able to deduce Batman's identity. This detail was only being spilled to him because obviously he already knew who Bruce was. Elliot was the only person besides him that Nygma had admitted this secret to, and that was simply because he had to know in order to get involved. Really, did somebody Harley Quinn truly deserve to know the answer to the greatest riddle of them all? The mother of all riddles? Of course not. And they were foolish enough to be coerced through lesser means anyway, so why bother?

His good friend Dr. Jonathan Crane had provided psychological evaluations of each of their potential recruits before they were contacted so that he and Elliot would know exactly what they wanted and why. Most of them were foolish enough to just want money. The Joker, however, was sold when Eddie spilled the beans to him about the dead Robin gag. Like everyone else involved, he assumed that Clayface would just be impersonating the young lad, but behind the strings of it all the real delicious truth was that it would be at least partially real depending on how successful the plan proved to be. 

"Well, what do you say, Jason? Do you want to get rid of him?" Eddie could taste the aura of the pit's chemicals that fumed around the boy while at such close range. He took a few steps back and tossed the folder at the boy's chest. "It's all in there...all the proof you'll need. Dr. Thomas Elliott is a childhood friend of Bruce's...and fortunately for us, he happens to have the same streak of hostility against him that we do." Eddie felt like Elliott's grudge against Wayne was completely irrational, but then again, most people wouldn't have understood his obsession with Batman, either. Elliott's need for revenge was childish, however. Fortunately, it provided a means for his exploitation. When young Tommy had been a boy, he felt nothing but envy towards his best friend when his parents were murdered by a mugger and he was left with their fortune. This was because shortly before this the young sociopath had planned to murder his own parents by staging a car accident, but his goal was disrupted when his mother had been saved by Dr. Thomas Wayne, Bruce's father. Thus, no money had been inherited until his mother had finally passed away much, much later.

The folder not only contained photos of Elliott and Bruce together as children, but also pictures from the surgery Dr. Wayne had performed on Elliott's mother. Jason would likely not know what the photos of the operation had to do with anything, but all could be explained down the road if time permitted. There was also a photocopy of Dr. Elliott's medical license present along with xeroxes of checks that were written to some of the other villains involved. 

"I spent most of the remains of my fortune trying to rid myself of the disease, so we have had to rely mostly on Elliott's fortune when money has been a necessity...however, I know that what you're craving is far more rewarding than anything so trivial..." The Riddler sat behind his desk again with his cane in his lap. His pistol was once again within reach in case he needed it for anything. "We're moving forward this week...we need an answer now, but I've had good feelings about you since you walked in here, boy..." It was completely illogical for anyone to refuse. With so many enemies pitted against the Dark Knight in such strategic ways that most couldn't fathom, it would be impossible for anyone who wanted him dead to scoff at this. However, Eddie was keeping in mind that Jason had only been exposed to the tip of the iceberg, and like always, he was prepared to continue talking if he needed to. There was never a time that he wasn't ready to talk more, but with iceberg's tip being as spectacular as it was he doubted that he would need to say much more. 


Jason Todd

When Jason had first become Robin, he’d been kinda paranoid. One day, he’d stayed up way too late practicing his denials in front of the bathroom mirror, worried about the off-chance of someone deducing the identities of Batman and Robin. He practiced several variations to see which one was better, the most natural. Shock? Confusion? Anger? Ignorance? He knew logically that Bruce had gone this long without the secret slipping and it was quite unlikely he’d be letting it slip in the future. But now Jason was in on it and he refused to be the one that brought it all crashing down.

So, his first reaction to Riddler’s implication was to act like he didn’t know what the hell the psycho was talking about. It was one of several old instincts still rattling away in his subconscious. Rationally, he shouldn’t give a s**t about it. And he didn’t, not like he used to before, anyhow. It was purely out of self-interest that he didn’t go proclaiming it to the masses. Not like anyone would believe him, anyway.

Nigma probably thought he was manipulating Jason. What he was really doing was pushing his damn luck. Stepping into Jason’s personal space was strike number one. An instinct born from experience on the streets had led to Jason closely guarding the space around him. The need had lessened after some time at the manor, but was back with a vengeance after his resurrection. With Riddler standing so close there were needles prickling at Jason’s skin and the dull after taste of the Lazarus pit on his tongue, it took more control than Jason would’ve previously needed to not viciously shove the Riddler out of his space.

His words were strike number two. All that rage Riddler was trying to bring boiling to the surface of Jason? Jason would need a target for that and he was definitely not against punching Nigma until his face caved in and his brain was splattered-

He put conscious effort in making his muscles still as a statue, holding his breath. He blinked several times behind his domino mask, attempting to clear away the vaguely green tint his vision had taken. Riddler stepped back and Jason released his breath quietly. The folder Riddler had been carrying hit his chest and he caught it instinctually. His gaze remained cautiously on the rogue for a few more moments before turning to the contents of the folder. He didn’t bother looking long at the picture of kid Bruce with Elliott, flipping past them almost instantly. The rest were medical papers and records. He skimmed them, aware he couldn’t delve deeply into them right now, but wondered what the hell they had to do with anything. He caught the names on the records. It was apparently some operation Bruce dad had done for a woman he could only assume was Elliott’s mom. Didn’t fit with the vengeful former friend Riddler was painting Hush to be. There were also copies of checks made out to a couple of villains and Jason realized this plan of Riddler’s reached a lot further than he originally anticipated.

He had a few options here. He could take Riddler and his goons down right now. Wouldn’t be that big of a hassle. He was pretty sure he was a quicker draw than a guy who relied more heavily on his brain than brawn. He could tell Riddler to f**k off and leave him to his fruitless plan that would probably end with Bruce on top like it always seemed to. He could go and tell Bruce everything. That was a funny thought.

Here was another thing Riddler didn’t know: Jason didn’t want to take down Bruce. He’d had the perfect opportunity, could’ve wiped Bruce off the map for good. He’d had a change of mind—or heart—and a more levelheaded need had come to Jason. And with it, a plan.

Jason saw a check made out to Clayface and a sudden clarity in his role in this big plan came to him. With it, an opportunity he didn’t know he wanted until this very moment.

“Give me the specifics” he demanded, as if he wasn’t already starting to piece it together himself.