Post by Edward Nygma on Jan 29, 2012 22:55:18 GMT -5
Edward Nygma had been at Arkham Asylum for about a year and two months, now. He had been voluntarily captured by Batman after he realized there was no real reason for him to be out and about on the streets of Gotham. After his Harvey Dent killed himself... His best friend... and Joker was taken to Arkham and had been gone for months... Penguin had retired... Catwoman was more or less a hero then-a-days... there was no one to team up with, no partnerships to make... no other villians to compete with... He had given up and given in to his feelings of uselessness. He knew he was not right. He was told so often by Batman and others that he began to realize he really was wrong in the head. He *knew* he was wrong in the head, yet he refused to believe logic. He couldn't face the truth... That he wasn't perfect. He wasn't what he wanted himself to be. He tried to not leave riddles and clues before his crimes, but he found that he couldn't do it. He made subliminal messages he didn't even know he was placing. He was obsessed. So, as a final act of desperation, he planned a very obvious crime, which Batman foiled. Normally, he would have escaped, but this time, he didn't even want to. He surrendered to Batman without a struggle. Batman took him to Arkham, where he was put into Solitary without even a chance at maximum, let alone minimum. He had nothing to do to pass the days, so he played solitaire. Without cards. In his mind. He also played chess. He randomized the cards in his head, trying to achieve true randomness. He moved for his invisible opponent in his games of mental chess. He played cards and chess with himself in solitary for over a year. A year and three months, give or take a couple weeks. He could hear the screaming of some other poor inmate who had been here since before he was. He could barely hear the sounds of the poor screaming man. They grew fainter over time, and eventually they stopped. He heard guards come into his cell and mumbling. Apparently, the man had died. Riddler's cell was not physical, but mental. Since coming to Arkahm, his food ration was so tiny, he had lost at least thirty pounds, making him about a weak 130lbs. He faced the aspect of his insanity daily. The death of his best friend, Harvey, daily. The fact that he wasn't perfect, daily. He knew all this worrying about the same things day in and day out was the true definition of insanity, and that it probably wasn't helping any. He hadn't seen a psychologist since coming here. He hadn't seen the sun, either. He had only heard the shrieks and screams of his neighbor... Who was now dead. Now there was only silence. But not in his mind. In his mind, he was screaming. Panicking. Hating himself, hating everyone, wanting to die, wanting to escape, wanting to live, wanting ot die, wanting to be perfect, wanting to be cured, wanting to be free, wanting ot stay. So much contradiction. It was driving him more insane day after day after day after long, lonely day. He wondered if he would ever see another human face again before he faded away. Not died, just simply faded from the earth, from people's memories, from Gotham's memory. He would not be remembered by many, and the few who would remember him wouldn't for long. He stopped playing solitaire with himself. There was no point in silly games. He stopped coming up with new riddles. There was no point in such silly things. He stopped hoping. Wondering. Wishing. There was no point in such silly things. When RIddler was taken to Arkham, they took away all of the things he had with him when he was brought in, including Harvey's final letter. The bastards took everything from him, including his best friend. Riddler thought of this as he sat in his cell, knowing that Gotham wouldn't remember him when he faded, not playing solitaire (for there was no point in silly games), and feeling pathetic. It didn't make him sad, anymore, it made him furious. And there was no one to lash out on but himself. He scratched at the cold, rocky walls of the solitary room until his fingers bled. He clawed at the walls until a chunk of rock big enough to do damage came off. He knew he wasn't perfect, so what could he possibly do to damage himself that hadn't already been done? He sliced his skin open with this rock he found and drew question marks, by feel, on his skin, on the walls, on the floor, on his clothes... any availible surface became a sketchboard for this much worse off Riddler.
Harvey Dent and Two-Face were getting into more power struggles than usual. Harvey was being better at maintaining control, but, conversely, Two-Face was getting better at taking it. They would fight in Harvey's mind until he felt like his head was going to pop. He would yell and scream and curse at himself, out loud and in his mind. Sometimes, Two-Face would take over Harvey's mind while he was sleeping and take him places and do horrible things while Harvey was asleep. Two-Face was getting stronger as Harvey got weaker. He was Two-Face more and more often. Two-Face was getting harder to contain. It was like when his personality first split and he was Two-Face all the time, until Harvey finally burst through the tough armor in his mind and took control for a while. He let Two-Face out voluntarily, then. But now, Harvey had to fight constantly to stay in control of his mind. Simple tasks like making breakfast were nearly impossible because of the amount of focus he had to keep on his mind so Two-Face wouldn't come out. He couldn't focus on anything else except for the containment of his parasitic twin. It was getting harder and harder. He knew, that eventually, one would have to kill the other... which was absurd! They shared the same body! And neither wanted to kill himself... So the struggle continued. two weeks after coming to the realization that he would have to kill himself to rid himself and the world of Two-Face, he decided he had to. He got out a pen and pad and began writing a brief note to his best friend, Edward Nygma. Two-Face took over three times as he was writing, once attempting to rip the paper in half, but the other two times were just to make Harvey stop writing so he wouldn't die. The final result was a sorry note with a large tear that was taped over, two different sets of mismatched handwriting and a sloppy but recognizable signature. He taped it to the front door of his house, knowing Riddler would be by within a couple of days anyway. He went into his bedroom and sat on the bed. He took out both of his faithful guns, which he always had on him, and put them to opposite sides of his head. "One bullet for you, and one for me," He whispered as he pulled both triggers simultaneously.
Riddler went to call on his friend Two-Face. He had been struggling with himself and had become a bit of a recluse. He got to the front door and froze when he saw the messy, confusing note taped to the door. It may have been confusing, but there was no denying it was a suicide note. "I'm sorry, Eddie, that I must do this." it read. Then the handwriting changed. "No, he's not, don't believe him, Riddler. He's just selfish, taking his life like this. Cowardly, Patheth-" The handwriting changed again. "There is no point in trying to contain him anymore, I can't do it. I give up. I'm sorry I won't be there for you anymore. I'm going to-" he had to read over a large tear, presumably made by Two-Face. "miss you, Edward." The writing changed one last time. "He's not sorry, he never cared for you at all. He's a liar. Coward. Failu--" The writing again became Harvey's for the last couple of lines. "Please, don't think badly of me because of what We've done... together and separately. Goodbye, Edward." and the signature was clearly Harvey's. Riddler was in tears. He could never, and would never, think badly of his dearest and closest friend. He softly folded the note and put it in his jacket pocket for safekeeping. He burst through the door and went to the bedroom where he found Harvey, dead on the bed with two guns and two bullet wounds. "You killed him and yourself, didn't you Harv?" He whispered. He buried Harvey in the backyard and set the house on fire, burning it to the ground.
Harvey Dent and Two-Face were getting into more power struggles than usual. Harvey was being better at maintaining control, but, conversely, Two-Face was getting better at taking it. They would fight in Harvey's mind until he felt like his head was going to pop. He would yell and scream and curse at himself, out loud and in his mind. Sometimes, Two-Face would take over Harvey's mind while he was sleeping and take him places and do horrible things while Harvey was asleep. Two-Face was getting stronger as Harvey got weaker. He was Two-Face more and more often. Two-Face was getting harder to contain. It was like when his personality first split and he was Two-Face all the time, until Harvey finally burst through the tough armor in his mind and took control for a while. He let Two-Face out voluntarily, then. But now, Harvey had to fight constantly to stay in control of his mind. Simple tasks like making breakfast were nearly impossible because of the amount of focus he had to keep on his mind so Two-Face wouldn't come out. He couldn't focus on anything else except for the containment of his parasitic twin. It was getting harder and harder. He knew, that eventually, one would have to kill the other... which was absurd! They shared the same body! And neither wanted to kill himself... So the struggle continued. two weeks after coming to the realization that he would have to kill himself to rid himself and the world of Two-Face, he decided he had to. He got out a pen and pad and began writing a brief note to his best friend, Edward Nygma. Two-Face took over three times as he was writing, once attempting to rip the paper in half, but the other two times were just to make Harvey stop writing so he wouldn't die. The final result was a sorry note with a large tear that was taped over, two different sets of mismatched handwriting and a sloppy but recognizable signature. He taped it to the front door of his house, knowing Riddler would be by within a couple of days anyway. He went into his bedroom and sat on the bed. He took out both of his faithful guns, which he always had on him, and put them to opposite sides of his head. "One bullet for you, and one for me," He whispered as he pulled both triggers simultaneously.
Riddler went to call on his friend Two-Face. He had been struggling with himself and had become a bit of a recluse. He got to the front door and froze when he saw the messy, confusing note taped to the door. It may have been confusing, but there was no denying it was a suicide note. "I'm sorry, Eddie, that I must do this." it read. Then the handwriting changed. "No, he's not, don't believe him, Riddler. He's just selfish, taking his life like this. Cowardly, Patheth-" The handwriting changed again. "There is no point in trying to contain him anymore, I can't do it. I give up. I'm sorry I won't be there for you anymore. I'm going to-" he had to read over a large tear, presumably made by Two-Face. "miss you, Edward." The writing changed one last time. "He's not sorry, he never cared for you at all. He's a liar. Coward. Failu--" The writing again became Harvey's for the last couple of lines. "Please, don't think badly of me because of what We've done... together and separately. Goodbye, Edward." and the signature was clearly Harvey's. Riddler was in tears. He could never, and would never, think badly of his dearest and closest friend. He softly folded the note and put it in his jacket pocket for safekeeping. He burst through the door and went to the bedroom where he found Harvey, dead on the bed with two guns and two bullet wounds. "You killed him and yourself, didn't you Harv?" He whispered. He buried Harvey in the backyard and set the house on fire, burning it to the ground.