Edward Nygma was stuffing his life into cardboard boxes. He'd been in that cramped little basement office for years, complaining endlessly about Pearl's "secret investments" but never actually meeting the man. Now that he was leaving, there was an odd shadow in his expression—a touch of melancholy in among the relief.
"Don't get sentimental about a broom closet," Adam said from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. "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 smell 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 department 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 someone as proud as the Riddler, that was a naked confession. To drop the mask like this meant he actually saw Adam as a friend—someone 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 name, but still—"
Adam shook his head, amused at how Nygma still couldn't resist showing off. Some habits were tattooed into a man's personality.
This time, 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 same time.
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 me down—Loeb's already losing it!"
Adam stopped short.
Gordon?! Kidnapped?! That wasn't in the script.
Nygma blinked. "James Gordon? The grump who everyone avoids in the break room? Somebody 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 timeline. Gordon had been grabbed plenty of times 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 meant this? This was off-book. And if history wasn't watching, maybe there was an angle in it.
By the time 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 blame if it went bad and make the department look good if it didn't.
Now the "reliable fool" was gone and the man who cleaned up after half their messes.
Loeb slammed a palm onto his desk. "Doesn't this department 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 met 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 something bigger. Gordon was the only one dumb… I mean… brave enough to wade into certain messes. 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 meant there was room to maneuver—and maybe, if he played it right, room to take a little more of Gordon's credit for himself.