Edward Nygma was stuffing his life into cardboard boxes. He'd been in that cramped little basent office for years, complaining endlessly about Pearl's "secret investnts" but never actually eting the man. Now that he was leaving, there was an odd shadow in his expression—a touch of lancholy in among the relief.
"Don't get sentintal about a broom closet," Adam said from the doorway, leaning casually against the fra. "You're moving to a bigger stage. What's the point of letting that brain of yours rot down here under flickering fluorescents?"
Nygma sighed, managing a half-smile. "It's not that. I'm just not used to working in the sunlight. Down here, I've been like a mouse—comfortable under the hum of bulbs and the sll of old paper."
Adam didn't bother pointing out the lie. He just stepped forward, clapped a hand on Nygma's shoulder, and motioned for the movers to take the boxes.
Nygma hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Adam… I should tell you—maybe I'm not as much of a prodigy as I've let you think. I never went to Harvard or MIT. I did a community college degree. My job before this wasn't in any research lab… I was a postman. When the police departnt was recruiting, I took the test and got in. Maybe over drinks I bragged a little about my genius. Truth is—I might not be as sharp as I act."
For soone as proud as the Riddler, that was a naked confession. To drop the mask like this ant he actually saw Adam as a friend—soone he didn't want to fool.
Adam's smirk softened. "Doesn't matter. Back where I'm from, there's a saying—a hero isn't judged by where he starts. Galileo, Newton, Einstein… none of them had a diploma handed to them by the gods."
Nygma coughed lightly. "To be fair, Einstein did attend the Zurich Polytechnic. Poor branding on the na, but still—"
Adam shook his head, amused at how Nygma still couldn't resist showing off. So habits were tattooed into a man's personality.
This ti, Adam was bringing Nygma fully under his wing. First, as a fixer for the mountains of paperwork choking the precinct. Later, as his go‑to advisor. Let the man get used to sunlight and politics at the sa ti.
They were halfway out of the building when Adam heard a commotion upstairs. Officers were sprinting in every direction, eyes wide, muttering under their breath.
"What's the rush? President coming by?" Adam joked, catching a harried uniform by the arm.
The cop barked back, eyes bulging. "President? Forget that—Gordon's been kidnapped! The entire place is in chaos. Don't slow down—Loeb's already losing it!"
Adam stopped short.
Gordon?! Kidnapped?! That wasn't in the script.
Nygma blinked. "Jas Gordon? The grump who everyone avoids in the break room? Sobody actually snatched him? I bet there's a betting pool on whether they keep him alive."
The officer just glared at him and tore away.
Adam's mind was already running the tiline. Gordon had been grabbed plenty of tis in Gotham's comics, but the infamous one—the "Killing Joke" kidnapping—happens much later, when Barbara's already Batgirl and the first Robin's been around for years. That wasn't now.
Which ant this? This was off-book. And if history wasn't watching, maybe there was an angle in it.
By the ti Adam reached Loeb's office, the chief was pacing like a caged dog. For all his constant irritation with Gordon's stubborn sense of justice, Loeb had relied on him. Gordon was the guy you handed unsolvable headaches to—trusting he'd swallow the bla if it went bad and make the departnt look good if it didn't.
Now the "reliable fool" was gone and the man who cleaned up after half their sses.
Loeb slamd a palm onto his desk. "Doesn't this departnt have anyone*who's useful? You think you'll laugh when Gordon's gone? He's been taking hits for you!Are you expecting to find another idiot that loyal just growing on a tree?"
No one t his eyes. The room was silent except for the hum of the lights. Eventually, a detective cleared his throat.
"Sir… this isn't like the usual cases. It's… delicate. Even a small misstep could blow up into sothing bigger. Gordon was the only one dumb… I an… brave enough to wade into certain sses. Now, he's stuck in one himself."
Adam listened from the doorway, quietly taking stock. Gordon wouldn't die here. He knew that much. Which ant there was room to maneuver—and maybe, if he played it right, room to take a little more of Gordon's credit for himself.
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