But Batman had never fought it. Because in this timeline, Edward had never triggered it.
“Computer,” Edward whispered, his glasses catching the sickly green glow of a dozen monitors. “Load profile: ‘Batman.arkhamsave.’ ”
“You didn’t just edit a game,” Batman said. “You edited reality’s save file. And reality auto-saves every millisecond.”
Edward Nygma, the Riddler, leaned back in his makeshift chair—stolen from a GCPD evidence locker—and smiled. For weeks, Batman had been dismantling his elaborate death traps, freeing his hostages, and collecting his trophies. One by one. The Dark Knight was methodical, brilliant, and utterly predictable.
Behind him, Edward Nashton screamed not in pain, but in perfect, crystalline understanding: he had solved the final riddle. And the answer was a cage of his own making.
Batman stepped closer. “You wanted to be the one who outsmarted me. So you cheated. And in doing so, you wrote yourself into a prison you’ve never actually entered.”
Batman turned away. “Game complete.”
And now, he was one trophy away.