Chapter 10
"I am not what I am."
— William Shakespeare
Matthew stood in silence, staring at the map of Gotham City pinned across the entire wall. Strings of thread and markings outlined streets, names, paths. Everything meticulously drawn by a mind that refused to forget. Tonight, the threads converged.
He had studied his new target for over a week.
He knew the routines. The patterns. The obsession.
And now—he was ready to kill.
Matthew slipped on his black clothes. Tight, tactical. Silent. He slid a black pipe under the back of his hoodie, wedging it perfectly between the folds of cloth. In his pocket, he tucked his mask—homemade, featureless, horrifying in its simplicity.
No words. No war cry.
He stepped into the dark.
---
The building stood alone like a forgotten cathedral. Brick and metal, veins of rust creeping down its bones. No guards. No traps. Just stillness. But not silence.
Inside, the place echoed like the mind of its owner.
Matthew walked softly through the front door. No need to sneak. Not for this one.
The man he was hunting didn't hide. He didn't run.
He welcomed it.
And there he was.
The Riddler.
He stood in the center of the room, surrounded by computers, notes, giant green question marks painted across the walls. His outfit was sharp—a deep emerald green suit adorned with small black question marks, matching gloves, and a purple tie. His bowler hat sat slightly crooked atop his head, and his cane glinted faintly in the pale light.
"Finally," the Riddler said, voice bright with glee. "You came. I've seen you lurking, watching me from rooftops, from alleys, from shadows. I was beginning to think you were shy."
Matthew didn't speak.
He stepped forward.
"Begin."
The Riddler's eyes gleamed. His hands trembled, not with fear, but with delight. For once, an enemy didn't punch first. For once, someone respected the game.
"Marvelous," the Riddler whispered. "Let's dance then."
He twirled his cane and spoke with flair:
"I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with the wind. What am I?"
A simple one. Matthew didn't answer.
The Riddler laughed.
"Too easy. That was a warm-up."
Then he leaned forward, voice low.
"Here's one you won't break. I crafted it myself. A month in the making."
He began:
"I can blind the wise, and lead the strong astray. I grow with the ticking of time, but I never age. I am not fear, yet I bring dread. I walk with kings and crawl with beggars. I build empires and destroy cities. What am I?"
Silence.
Matthew didn't flinch.
One minute passed. Two.
The Riddler waited, eyes wide.
Three minutes.
Matthew finally spoke.
"Pride."
The Riddler froze.
His cane tapped the floor once.
"No," he whispered. "No, that's not..."
His voice trailed off.
It was correct.
It was absolutely correct.
He stepped back slowly.
Matthew walked toward him.
No mask. No pipe. No rush.
Just words.
"My turn."
The Riddler stiffened. He straightened his jacket and forced a smile.
"Let's see what you have, smart boy."
Matthew pulled the pipe from his back.
Held it in front of the Riddler's eyes.
Close.
So close it blocked the world.
Then came the voice.
Soft. Deceptively calm.
"What is the difference between life... and life?"
The Riddler blinked.
"What?" he snapped. "That's not even—that's nonsense. There is no difference, you idiot!"
Matthew sighed.
Then shoved the sharp end of the pipe into the Riddler's chest.
The Riddler gasped.
Blood spilled.
Matthew leaned close, his voice now a whisper.
"One... you live it."
The Riddler trembled.
"The other... you die without ever realizing you were already dead."
The Riddler collapsed, cane falling from his hand.
Matthew watched in silence.
Then turned and walked away.
As the building swallowed his figure into the shadows, a new thread was drawn on the map.
A question mark crossed out in blood.
---
You can contact me through my official page on the following Accounts:
telegram:
miraclenarrator
tiktok:
miracle_narrator
instagram:
miracle_narrator