Night had settled over Gotham, and for once the city was almost quiet.
Not actually quiet—there were still Riddler patrols on the streets, boots on asphalt, the occasional distant sound of something that wasn't a car backfiring. But compared to the weeks when every Gotham night came with a full percussion section of gunshots and explosions and structural fires, tonight felt almost peaceful. The air carried moisture from the river, enough to cut through the lingering summer heat. Neon signs bled color across wet pavement. The evening smelled like rain that hadn't arrived yet.
Jude rode slowly, letting the bicycle find its own pace through the empty streets, his black robe catching the colored lights as he passed beneath them.
"The flowers on the mountain are blooming, that's why I came to the mountain~"
"So you also went up the mountain to see the flowers blooming~"
"I have no idea what you're singing," the Scarecrow said from the back seat. "More importantly—do we have to do this at cycling speed?"
"I can go faster," Jude said. "It's just been a while since I've wandered around at night like this. It reminds me of home. Night markets, street food, that kind of thing." He sighed. "Gotham really drops the ball on late-night eating options."
"The Riddler sent us into Joker territory for reconnaissance," the Scarecrow said, his voice carrying the particular irritation of a man who has been listening to something for fifteen minutes and has reached his limit. "I've been sitting on the back of your bicycle for fifteen minutes and we haven't even cleared the East Side." A thin tube crept out of his sleeve—one of his fear gas delivery mechanisms, angled suggestively toward Jude's shoulder. "Upper West Side. Thirty minutes. Or I go back alone and file my report."
Jude glanced at the tube.
"Alright, alright."
The bicycle surged forward. The Scarecrow grabbed the back of the seat with both hands, abandoning his principles about physical contact with Jude in favor of not becoming a streak on the road.
This is my fault, he thought, as the neon blurred past. He'd known, going in. The man's record was not ambiguous: first field operation, an entire patrol plus Kite Man gone. Second, Deathstroke captured. Third, a dinner party that ended with a knife in the Riddler shoulder. The Riddler hadn't used a knife and fork for several days after returning home, and he'd been in bandages that morning.
Impressive upbringing, genuinely. Terrifying operational track record.
The other super-criminals had actually developed a grudging respect for the Riddler's restraint. The fact that he hadn't simply shot Thor yet was evidence of the rational self-discipline that had allowed him to recruit this many dangerous people in the first place. It didn't mean the missions were going to start going well.
Just before they cleared the East Side, Jude braked and steered them off the street and into the shadows of a building entrance in one smooth motion. Three seconds, no announcement, no explanation.
"Do you have any idea what—"
"Scarecrow." Jude's voice was quiet. "Someone's coming."
The Scarecrow stopped. Looked.
Three figures on the street ahead—one thin, two very much not. The thin one's red costume was visible even at this distance. "The Clue Master," Jude said quietly. "The other two I don't recognize."
The Scarecrow looked at the two large figures, and a slow, eerie smile spread across the burlap sacking he wore as a face. "Oh, those are the Joker's new men. Minor operators—nothing famous, nothing significant." He patted Jude on the shoulder with what seemed to be genuine delight. "You're lucky tonight, Thor. Even unlucky men get good fortune sometimes."
"You know them?"
"Tweedledee and Tweedledum." The Scarecrow said it with the satisfaction of a man delivering a punchline. "Brothers. They fancy themselves fairy-tale villains. Not much beyond that—you need the intellectual capacity to match the actual freaks in this city, and those two are somewhat short of the requirement."
"Like the Tweedledee and Tweedledum from Alice in Wonderland? The Mad Hatter would probably love them."
On the street, the three figures were drawing closer, their voices carrying in the quiet night.
"So which one's the older brother?" the Clue Master was asking. He was wearing a yellow half-mask that covered the lower half of his face, which gave his voice a slightly muffled quality. "Which is the younger?"
"I'm the older." The bald one took a bite of a sandwich. He was wearing a loose white vest, black-striped pants, and red sneakers—the whole ensemble suggesting a man who had dressed in the dark and arrived at something accidentally festive.
"I'm the younger." The one in the green bowler hat took the sandwich directly from his brother's hand. Same build, same face, same voice—both of them easily over four hundred pounds and entirely at peace with this. The hat and green overalls gave him a faint resemblance to a character from a British children's comic, though probably not intentionally.
"Right, right—so the older one is Tweedledee and the younger is Tweedledum." The Clue Master made an okay gesture. "I completely understand. Not to talk too much—this is my first time being sent into the East District. I was a little nervous, so I'm genuinely glad you're both here."
When the brothers spoke, they did it in relay—one would take half a sentence, and the other would pick up the second half, the way twins sometimes develop a shared timing that only makes sense to them.
"Don't worry, reconnaissance is actually pretty safe."
"The worst-case scenario is Batman."
"Batman, we've dealt with Batman before."
"Batman punched me in the face."
"Did that hurt?"
"Even if everything goes wrong—"
"Who else does the Riddler have?"
"Can any of his people hit harder than Batman?"
In the shadows, Jude quietly pulled out the communicator from inside his robe and looked at it.
The call to Batman had already gone through. Thirty seconds ago, while the Scarecrow was distracted by his own editorial on the Tweedle brothers. The signal was sent.
He tucked the communicator away with the expression of a man who has set something in motion and is choosing to think about it later.
They said they've dealt with Batman before, he thought. So they know what they're getting into. Probably.
He hoped they'd stay calm.
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