Sunlight barely filtered through the grime-caked windows of the abandoned Turtle Mill at Orleans Cove. The creaking old structure stood like a skeleton, silent and watchful above the Gotham sewer system. Inside, rusted conveyor belts hung limp, and stacks of decaying crates leaned like crooked teeth. The scent of mildew mixed with machine oil and something metallic. In the middle of the floor, beneath a broken skylight, Robin struggled against leather straps that bound him to a steel surgical table.
His wrists were red and raw from the effort. "You won't get away with this," he growled.
From behind a stack of crates, the Riddler emerged, resplendent in his emerald-green suit covered in black question marks. His grin curled with theatrical glee.
"Oh, but I already have, Boy Wonder." He twirled his cane. "You're the cherry on top of my puzzle pie. I've outwitted Gotham's top detective and snared his partner. Now all that's left is the grand finale."
Robin strained to look around. His eyes darted to a nearby telephone mounted crudely on the wall.
"Ah-ah!" the Riddler said, following his gaze. "You think I left that there by mistake? I want him to come. I want him to solve the riddle... and fail."
He snatched up the receiver, dialing Gotham Police Headquarters. After a few clicks and redirects, the red Batline buzzed in the Batcave.
Batman answered. "Robin?"
"No, old chum," came the Riddler's voice. "But he's here with me. Want a clue? What kind of pins are used in soup?"
Batman's expression darkened. "Terrapins."
"And Joan of Arc was...?"
"The Maid of Orleans."
"Terrapins... Orleans... Turtle Mill. Tick-tock, Dark Knight. Come quickly—or not at all."
The line went dead.
Batman was already pulling on his gloves. "Orleans Cove. The old Turtle Mill."
"Shall I warm the car?" Alfred asked, stepping forward.
"I won't need long," Batman replied.
Back at the mill, the Riddler danced down a set of stairs toward Robin.
"You're part of history now, Boy Wonder. A real headline: 'Sidekick's Last Stand!'"
"Why do this?" Robin asked. "You've always played games, not murder."
"This isn't murder," Riddler said with mock offense. "This is theatrical irony. And besides, you're bait. Nothing more."
A figure loomed in the doorway above. Molly, dressed in a purple catsuit and green scarf, descended slowly.
Robin looked at her. "You don't have to do this."
Molly avoided his eyes. "He promised no one would get hurt."
"I promise the opposite," the Riddler interrupted. "Now, Molly, check the restraints. I want our guest snug before Batman arrives."
She hesitated.
"Molly," the Riddler said sharply.
Reluctantly, she approached Robin, checking his bindings. As she leaned down, Robin whispered, "Help me. You know this is wrong."
She paused. Then turned away.
The Batmobile tore through the industrial district, its engine a growl of purpose. Batman's eyes were locked on the road. The onboard computer blinked.
"Homing beacon active," he muttered. "Robin turned it on."
Suddenly, the car jolted.
"Bat-rays—short-circuited ignition," Batman noted. "Manual override."
He leapt from the car and sprinted through alleyways toward the mill.
Inside, the Riddler stood above Robin, arms raised. "Let the games begin!"
Batman burst through the mill's main doors, cape billowing.
"Hold it, Riddler!"
The villain smirked. "Right on cue."
Batman moved fast. He leapt toward Robin, freeing one wrist just as the Riddler triggered a gas trap. Purple mist hissed from vents.
Molly stepped forward, gun in hand.
"Don't move!" she cried.
Batman stood tall. "You don't want this on your conscience."
She hesitated.
"You already made your mistake," Batman said. "The breathing mask you gave Robin was sabotaged. I knew this was a trap the moment he went missing."
Her hands trembled. "He said no one would get hurt."
"You're not a killer, Molly."
Tears welled in her eyes.
The Riddler snarled. "Too late for second thoughts!"
He lunged for a lever on the wall.
Molly turned—slipped—
And tumbled backward off the catwalk. Her scream echoed.
Batman dove—but was too late. Her body struck the concrete below.
"Molly..." he whispered.
Robin, dazed but alert now, sat up. "Batman?"
"Easy, chum. I'm here."
Back at Gotham PD, Commissioner Gordon, Chief O'Hara, and Batman reviewed the phone trace.
"No match," Gordon said grimly.
"Listen," Batman said. "That low rumbling... those are subway trains."
He fed the audio into the Batcomputer.
"Coolidge Square Station," it blinked.
"Then we act fast," Batman said. "He's going after the Pavilion."
The Gotham World's Fair bustled that night. The Moldavian Pavilion shone with lights, packed with diplomats and collectors. At its center stood the legendary Mammoth of Moldavia—an ancient, taxidermy beast rumored to hide lost treasures in its hollow belly.
On a makeshift stage, the Riddler appeared, disguised as a carnival emcee.
"Ladies and gentlemen! For your entertainment... the Riddle Revue!"
Laughter followed as he spouted puns and jokes.
"What president wore the biggest hat?" he asked.
"The one with the biggest head!" shouted a voice.
A laugh track played. Then, without warning—gas spewed from the vents.
Screams.
The Riddler ripped off his disguise.
"Grab the mammoth!" he shouted to his crew. "Into the pit!"
Goon squads wheeled in cranes, attaching cables to the giant beast.
Just as it began to rise—
A batarang sliced the nearest cable.
Batman and Robin emerged from the shadows.
"You were expecting the National Bank?" Batman growled.
Robin flipped over a railing, striking two goons with precision kicks.
The Riddler shrieked. "Stop them!"
But it was too late. Sirens wailed. Police surrounded the building.
Batman cornered the Riddler, who threw down a smoke pellet and vanished into the chaos.
Back in the quiet aftermath, Batman examined the mammoth.
"Jewels in the eyes," he murmured, "but inside—valuable diplomatic items. Enough to fund or destroy a small nation."
Commissioner Gordon nodded. "You stopped an international incident."
"But the Riddler escaped," Robin added.
At Wayne Manor the next morning, Bruce sipped coffee. The news played in the background.
"Case against Batman dropped as key witness disappears."
Alfred entered with a file. "Molly's body... never recovered. The pit she fell into connected to Gotham's oldest sewer lines."
"She may still be alive," Bruce said. "Or she may be gone forever."
Dick stared out the window. "Do you think he'll come back?"
Bruce nodded. "Oh, he'll be back. The Riddler always plays the long game."
"I just wish she'd turned around sooner."
Bruce looked solemn. "Some people only glimpse the light for a moment before being pulled back into shadow."
The Batphone rang.
Bruce stood.
Dick smiled faintly. "No algebra today?"
Bruce smirked. "Not unless it involves solving for X... in a hostage situation."
They turned, the shadows of the Batcave waiting.
To Be Continued...