(trigger warning for language, some violence, and almost dying)

(i swear this was gonna be a drabble but it got way longer holy shit. i would put it somewhere else but there's nowhere else to put it so here it goes [update: i put it somewhere else])

Garbled words filled his ears. Dull ringing. Some audible words amongst the unintelligible.

"...Up... w..."

He shifted uncomfortably. He felt cold. Sweaty.

"W... waaaake uuuup..."

Gasping for breath, he sat up straight and opened his eyes.

"...In other news, Gotham's newest and most dastardly criminal has recently signed his nickname at a crime scene, giving Gothamites something to call him — the Riddler. He's caused expensive property damage, the deaths of many, and is notorious for leaving riddles on the sites of his crimes. More on this later, I'm Vicki Vale, and this is Gotham Daily."

District Attorney Harvey Dent caught his breath, turned off the TV, and rubbed his temples. He probably passed out on the couch, had a weird dream, and woke up with the TV still on.

That news story was the last thing he wanted to hear at the moment. He could practically hear Commissioner Gordon's ever-persistent voice barking at him to "bring back something useful on the bastard." Well, he was trying real hard, but he had nothing. He'd just have to hope that something would fall out of the sky.

And it sure seemed like something did when Harvey trudged tiredly into his bedroom and found a green envelope. With a furrowed brow, he opened the envelope and pulled out... a picture of himself.

Above his head was a green arrow. Anticipating a trap, he set the photo down and opened the drawer of his bedside table. Inside was a loaded pistol. He gripped it tightly in one hand as he pulled the arrow. Suddenly, a tongue unfurled and eyes bugged out from photo Harvey. Real Harvey nearly shot the photo as a reflex, but no toxin was emitted and no blade was drawn. The photo appeared to be harmless.

Noticing the cut-out letters on the red paper tongue, Harvey glanced down and read, "If you look at the numbers on my face, you won't find 13 anyplace."

Aloud, Harvey said, "A clock."

Suddenly, on cue, and out of nowhere, came the chiming of a clock. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. Five times. Six times. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. That meant it was midnight... but the odd thing was, Harvey didn't have any clocks that chimed like that for the hour.

There was a sound: the speaker clicking, like intercom in a school. "Well done, Mr. DA!" said an arrogant voice, scratchy as if it were coming from a speaker. It was no doubt the Riddler. "You've solved your first riddle!" Riddler gasped theatrically. "But! You mustn't get cocky! Though the first two are easy, I know you will be quickly stumped. Heh heh heh..." The speaker clicked once more, but the maniacal chuckling echoed through the room.

Harvey didn't know how Riddler installed a speaker into his home, but he must have done it while he was out.

Or maybe...

Harvey burst into the bathroom attached to his bedroom... except it wasn't a bathroom. It was a long, tiled hallway, disorienting and twisty.

Click. "Don't worry, District Attorney! No remodeling has been done to your house... I simply replicated your house far, far away, and added some rooms of my own design," the Riddler explained. "I hope you like my work." The speaker clicked again.

"Fuck you," muttered Harvey.

Click. "Gladly." Click.

Harvey, taken aback and slightly disgusted, crept warily down the hallway, pistol in hand. He became slightly dizzy from the tiles, going up the walls and to the ceiling in hypnotic patterns. He felt forced to stop, close his eyes for a moment, and breathe.

While this was happening, another green envelope dropped from a hatch in the ceiling. Harvey heard it plop down in front of him, popped his eyes open, and shot the envelope. He ducked when the bullet flew off of it and nearly hit him between the eyes.

Click. "Yes, I forgot to mention," Riddler innocently remarked, "my envelopes are bulletproof, fireproof, waterproof, and... any other kind of '-proof' you could imagine, really. I would refrain from... attacking them if I were you." Click.

Silence as Harvey stared in awe at the envelope. Click again. "Stop fucking gawking at it, we've both got things to be doing." Click.

Scrambling to get it open, Harvey tore the envelope open (but not literally, because it was brute-force-proof, too) and spilled out the contents. Surprise, surprise: it was another photo of him. This one had a red tab coming out of it and half a sentence. It said, "Tear one off and scratch my head..."

Harvey smirked confidently. "I know this one." He pulled the tab anyway.

The riddle continued, "...what once was red is black instead." The image of his face was now replaced with a skull. That was... disconcerting.

"Match," he answered easily.

Click. "There you go snubbing me." Riddler feigned sobbing, then quickly recovered. "You seem to be pretty overconfident already. Haha... but don't you worry! The next one is a real head-scratcher. I look forward to seeing your hopeless, dumbstruck, confused expression." Pause. "Especially when the flames come in."

"The fucking wh—"

A single lit match flew into the hallway. Fire ignited and spread into walls around Harvey, growing rapidly and closing in. Embers licked him as heat made him woozy. It was suffocating, terrifying... instilling panic... what else do you want me to say? It was fucking fire. A sudden threat to Harvey's life.

Over all this chaos and through the smoke came a hologram of Riddler, cheekily smiling at Harvey. However, Harvey's vision had become so blurry that he could barely distinguish the holographic figure in the flames.

"You're going to need to answer this riddle quickly to escape the hallway," Riddler said. "Here goes: 'The eight of us go forth not back, to protect our king from a foe's attack.'"

Harvey collapsed to his knees, face red and with beads of perspiration rolling down his cheeks.

"Eight of us..." Harvey repeated, whispered. "King... foe's attack..."

Tunnel vision. Black spots in the corners of his eyes. Riddler frowned.

"Protect... protect..."

His vision was nearly blacked-out completely.

Fire crackled triumphantly around Harvey. He had given up and gone to a never-ending sleep.

"CHESS!" He yelled suddenly. "CHESS PAWNS! CHESS PAWNS!"

Clouds of soft foam gushed into the burnt and broken hallway, extinguishing the flames. The holograph shut off and the intercom clicked back on.

"Good job, DA! Good job!" Riddler exclaimed. "That was a rollercoaster to watch! Truly awe-inspiring! Hahaha! Now, I've just got one more riddle for you, Harv, and then you will be free to go!" Click.

Harvey doubted that greatly.

Harvey scanned the room for his next riddle before noticing a peaking green object in the dissolving foam. He slid it out and took the paper inside. This time, it was a pop-up card with a... drumroll, please... photo of him... this time, on a tennis ball being hit back and forth by two racquets.

"We're five little items of an everyday sort. You'll find us all on a tennis court," read the paper.

Harvey blew out a breath he'd been holding in frustration. Why was it mind games with this Riddler guy? He was the politician! He was supposed to be the mind-gamey one!

Click. "You may want to leave the house for this one." Click.

Harvey, clutching a green envelope and gun, suit charred from the fire, skin grungy from the sweat, walked out of the destroyed, scorched hallway. The tiles appeared to be made out of some kind of powder that kept shape as the ceiling, walls, and floors, but easily caught fire. Harvey wondered if that was a conscious decision on Riddler's part.

He reopened the door at the end of the hallway which lead to his room. He went down his usual hallway, through the living room and kitchen to the front door. The windows were curtained, so he pushed them apart. Nothing. It looked like a void of black outside.

Uncertainly, he unlocked and opened the creaking door. His door at his real house didn't creak half as loud.

Outside the house was a classroom. It was decorated in a minimalistic manner, mostly blacks, whites, and reds. There was a framed poster of comma rules, famous literature quotes, and of the alphabet with the vowels highlighted. There were probably twenty desks with the chairs attached with a metal bar. In the front of the room was a white board. All it said was "a tennis court." Helpful.

Harvey climbed onto one of the desks and sat down, staring at the posters around the room. None of them seemed to help. There were no commas, quotes, or vowels in tennis.

How about in the riddle itself, though? No commas... no quotes... but there were vowels.

"A... tennis... that has 'e' and 'i'... court... 'o' and 'u.' All in order," Harvey muttered. "'A tennis court' has five vowels."

The fluorescent lights in the room powered down, but of course, the annoying fucking intercom was still on.

Click. "Good boy," Riddler patronized, "but that's not the end of the riddle. Where are the rest of your envelopes?" Click.

Harvey's eyes widened as he clambered towards the door. He yanked on the handle... nothing. It had been locked from the inside. He growled and tugged at his hair stressfully.

Click. "Poor, poor Harv!" Riddler exclaimed. "But don't worry. I remember the riddles. I'll give you a reminder: clock, match, chess pawns, vowels. Tick tock." Click. The lights went back on.

Harvey ran to the whiteboard and grabbed a marker. Erasing 'a tennis court' with his palm, he quickly wrote the answers to all the riddles before he forgot them.

Clock.

Match.

Chess pawns.

Vowels.

The first three were all tangible items. All four were manmade and, as the fourth of the riddles stated, everyday. That didn't lead to anything.

There are five vowels. That doesn't have anything in common with a clock, match, or vowels. A clock has twelve hours.

A forbidden thirteenth hour was mentioned in the riddle. That makes two numbers: five and twelve slash thirteen. Harvey wasn't sure yet. He wasn't sure about anything. The chess pawns riddle — it had eight pawns. Twelve slash thirteen, one match, eight, and five. Harvey tried twelve first. That made the answer to all of the riddles 'twelve, one, eight, and five.' That... meant nothing.

What if it was an alphabet code? Twenty-six letters in the alphabet... one for each letter. That would make the matches riddle 'A.' Twelve would be 'N,' eight would be 'H,' five would be 'E.'

In order, 'N-A-H-E.' Which also means nothing.

How about thirteen? That would make it 'M-A-H-E.' Still nothing coherent.

There was a one and an eight next to each other on the whiteboard. That could be make eighteen. That would make the answer...

'M-R-E.' Funny. It's like Mr. E... which sounds like 'mystery.' Hilarious.

"Great! It's 'mystery.' Can I go home now?" Harvey shouted to the air.

Click. "For someone I know to be intelligent, you sure do act as if you have shit for brains," Riddler said. "Think about who that could be."

Mr. E. Whose name was Mr. E...?

"Would you like to hear a riddle?" someone asked from behind.

"Jesus," Gordon mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Harvey turned around to look at the guy anyway. "Please don't mind him. This is just our new profiler, Mr.—"

"E. Nygma," the man introduced, sticking out his hand for Harvey to shake. The other one clutched a clipboard and a riddle book stacked upon each other. "But please, call me Ed."

"Edward?" Harvey called out uncertainly.

Silence. No intercom for a good thirty seconds.

Then confetti flew into his face and jazzy music played on the speakers. It sounded like the ending credits of a game show. The classroom went dark again.

Click. "Congratulations, Harvey Dent! You've just learned the true identity of yours truly, the Riddler!" Riddler rolled the first 'r' in his name.

The walls of the classroom opened and dispersed, taking pieces of floor and furniture with them til nothing was left but purple screens. The entire room was made of sparkling purple screens.

Green smoke fizzed out of a machine, and down shining green steps that appeared a millisecond before being stepped on came Edward Nygma. The Riddler.

He wore a green trench coat, black leather gloves with holes for the fingers, a green and black catsuit with question marks all over, and large black work boots. He didn't wear his trademark mask this time, and his hair wasn't unnaturally red. Just brown-orange.

One small voice in Harvey's head said he was kinda hot. The other one said to shut the fuck up and apprehend him. His body went into a defensive stance, so obviously they were listening to voice numero dos.

"Why so stiff, Harvey?" Riddler guffawed. The question mark on his staff popped off the top and a taser was underneath. He swung it around a few times, as if to get the hang of it. "Looking for a fight?"

(and then i don't know how to do battle scenes nor do i feel like it so i'm gonna stop here)