Devilish Delights

Author: Aghori
Time to Read:28min
Views:416 (All Time)
Added Date:12/27/2021
Tags: Wizards Lair Batgirl 2014 Short Story ContestBatgirl

Vinnie “The Brute” Matthews smoked a Daggett brand cigarette during his third break of the day.

This new job was tops, The Brute thought, a great hook up from a fellow goon, Savage Muntz. Savage had looked out for Vinnie after he had gotten out of Blackgate prison. Although the current task assigned to him and the other cronies couldn’t be described as anything easy, The Brute couldn’t deny that it had been anything less than fun, either. Bizarre, of course, but Vinnie had expected that much when his fellow goon told him who his employer would be.

There were many people considered to be “super villains” in this town, neurotic and eccentric criminals that seemed otherworldly in comparison to the regular thieves, mobsters, and psychopathic types one encountered in Gotham. Vinnie had never imagined that he would work for one of those goofy costumed individuals in his lifetime, but he found serving as a henchman for one of Gotham’s most feared nuts to be enjoyable, and profitable. As his painstaking career had taught the hardened ex-convict, nothing made sense without the promise of money- real money. The current boss had what seemed like endless amounts to spare for the work he was doing, and he kept it coming.

Standing beside the steel door outside his place of employment, The Brute looked around. There was no need to make sure the coast was clear on his end, he knew that. All around the warehouse, hidden in windows and alleyways, hired guns of the boss were keeping the place surrounded and protected with AKs and whatever other arsenal they could get their hands on. The Brute had his own magnum resting peacefully in his holster, and he wasn’t too shy to use it. He had killed before, be it with guns or his bare hands. Survival was necessary, and from the Gotham streets to the prison yard, The Brute always made it out alive. Even though the boss promised this would be a clean job, The Brute’s wary nature never waned.

The Brute’s right hand remained at rest on the top of his magnum as his left hand held the cigarette. Each drag was heavenly, and the cancer stick was nearly burned to its end. Though short lived, the smoke would be enough to get the criminal through at least another hour or so. 11 P.M. and still early, The Brute noticed, but he had nearly an entire pack left.

Behind him, the steel door open. Carl “Savage” Muntz walked out, wiping his rugged hands together and looking to the sky. Just like The Brute, he hadn’t taken off the mask that The Boss had given him, either. The Brute wore the mask of a fox, the lower portion of the disguise open enough for the mouth and chin to show. Savage’s mask had the same opening, except he wore the mask of a jackal. He also was in casual wear similar to The Brute, wearing a black t-shirt and jeans.

Savage’s steel, cold blood eyes stared from the shadows of his mask. “Thought I might find ya out here, Brute. Wasn’t no need to check anywhere else.”

The two friends laughed as The Brute reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette for Savage.

“I bet you remember what it was like,” The Brute said as he rested his back against a wall. “In the prison yard, trading whatever you could find just to get one of these babies.”

“And now that you’re out, you’re like a kid in a candy store.” Savage lit his cigarette and took a long tug before pulling his head back, unleashing smoke like a fevered dragon. “What ya gonna do, Brute? Cigarettes... dames... guns. Ya head’ll explode from joy.”

Brute guffawed gruntly as he flicked away his finished cigarette. He leaned his back against the wall. “All the dames we can get, huh?”

“The boss is generous.” Savage smirked. “Just stay on his good side. He may not look rough, but these ‘super villainy’ types... the guy’s walking TNT.”

Best he stay on MY good side, The Brute thought proudly with a smirk of his own. No need to share that thought with Savage. Whether the guy had hooked him up with a job or not, The Brute didn’t know exactly how good of a relationship his friend had with the boss. Sure, underworld types knew that snitching and sharing secret information was a no-no, but there was no honor amongst thieves. The Brute didn’t even trust his own mother.

Savage’s drags were long and harsh. He was attempting to make his break as quick as possible. “We got another shipment coming in this afternoon. Gonna be another busy night here in downtown Gotham.”

“But the rewards in the late night will be sweet.”

“Right, brother. We just got to keep the merchandise nice and tight before they get the brain treatment.”

The Brute shook his head with a grin. “Just where does the boss get the money for all that high tech merchandise anyway?”

“He’s been at this mind control game for a long time. Science type, ya know? Think he started in college, studying and assembling hardware. He’s a genius at it. The money, well, you know the answer to that. Crime pays.”

If ya don’t get caught. Luckily, the boss hadn’t been caught yet. The Brute doubted he had ever spent a day in Blackwell, though he heard rumors that he had been a patient in Arkham. If the boss had truly been successful in avoiding prison time for his crimes, The Brute only hoped that the boss’s luck would rub off onto him.

Savage finally finished his cigarette and flicked the butt carelessly onto the asphalt. “We better get inside before they miss us.”

Brute chuckled as he followed his fellow goon into the warehouse. “Wouldn’t wanna leave the merc lonely, huh?”

The crime linked friends walked down a cold, dark corridor lined with wooden crates as dim blue florescent lights glowed overhead.

“The boss is kind of a weirdo, ain’t he?” Brute asked. He had wanted to talk more in depth to Savage about the boss’s... peculiarities since he landed the job, but he had held his tongue.

“Too smart for his own good,” Savage said in a low breathe.

“What you think it’s all about, huh? His obsessions with puzzles and stuff.”

“I don’t know. I heard it came from cheating.”


“Supposedly. When he was a kid. They say there was some contest his class had in elementary school or something. They had to assemble a puzzle, and the kid that could assemble it the fastest would win. The boss wanted to win the prize so bad that he snuck into the school after hours and found the printed answers for the puzzle. Day of the contest, boss puts the puzzle together faster than the other kids and wins.”

“Ha... crazy story.”

The goons walked into a huge room. Different machines from conveyor belts to computers seemed to be everywhere. In bulky, metal chairs were the living, breathing bodies of captured females in different attire. Some wore business clothes, some wore athletic gear, and others wore casual clothing, ranging from blouses and shirts with skirts and jeans. Just as the boss liked them, they were long and slender legged, their curves healthy and pronounced with long, silky hair pouring over their shoulders. They seemed as docile, and even as relaxed, as sheep, with big, bulky silver and steel helmets worn over their heads. Along the shell of the helmet lined with grooves and cuts were literally dozens of green, bold question marks.

Even with so many of those seats and brainwash helmets filled, there were many more chairs and devices awaiting the next shipment of captured beauties.

“Crazy, yeah,” Savage agreed, nodding his jackal head. “Honestly, I don’t believe it myself, but it’s a fun story. Almost as fun as the boss’s riddles he always asks, right before he riddles these dames. I don’t know what to really believe, but its the main story I’ve heard told throughout the underworld dives and haunts of Gotham City. I wouldn’t be surprised if his real story is more bizarre than that.”

“You’re wise to question the stories relayed to you, Savage Jackal!”

The Brute and Savage turned with wide eyes displayed from the eyeholes of their masks. The boss always entered as quietly as the surrounding ether, one of the many reasons Brute had always been hesitant to talk crap in his absence.

The boss needed no introduction. His expensive, question mark checkered green suit and derby hat proudly showcased who he was. From his purple domino mask, The Riddler eyed his many new captives, female merchandise from all over the grand city of Gotham and from many walks of life- debutantes, scholars, professionals and homeless damsels all peaked his interest. So many shades, from soft, milky ivory to bold, rich ebony filled the Riddler’s requested palette of flavors, for he was a lover of variety. “I assure you, the true story of my origins is far more strange than any rumor you’re familiar with. I have no means to cheat, nor have I ever. Even as a tike, I had always been the most cunning, the wisest, some would say ruthless...” The boss raised the question mark handle of his gold cane and pointed it towards The Brute and Savage, his gaze stern and face stolid. “That is why I have chosen you two as my right and left hand demons: to compliment and serve the devious thoughts of my own two malicious brain hemispheres. in my latest scheme, which reaches a level of depravity so sinister, even I am impressed that my witty mind would dare to dream of it. And now, the both of you are assisting in making it a reality- The Brutal Fox and the Savage Jackal.”

The Brute tried not to groan upon hearing the name appointed to him by the boss. He did hear from Savage that the boss mainly hired them because he liked their nicknames, along with their dark criminal resume. Still, The Brute didn’t necessarily like The Riddler changing or altering their nicknames. With courtesy and respect, he responded, “Boss, I’m glad to be working for you. I just... I don’t understand the masks. I mean, me and Savage, we ain’t never had to dress up for nothin’ before. We’re regular types. Now, don’t get me wrong, Mr. Riddler, your whole get up works for you but-”

“I must stop you there, my friend. You should be honored to wear these masks! And they necessary in our work and what we are invoking. They are your totem animals, chosen very carefully, and they represent your very nature as criminals. Nocturnal creatures, wild and cruel, vicious in your tactics. But most importantly of all, you’re cunning- and I only wish to work with smart criminals.”

“Ain’t no way we’re that smart, Riddler. We’re just cronies. We do whatever you want us to do.”

“Exactly, Fox. And under my guidance, how could you be anything other than smart?” The Riddler walked up towards a chairbound beauty sitting beside him. She was a beautiful woman with dark sierra skin, her hair long and slightly curly. Petite yet busty, her chest heaved up and down with her dark eyelashes closed peaceful, her mouth at rest. Fox teased her full, soft lips with the tip of his cane, inspecting her face. “Just think of how well you’ve overlooked my operation. How carelessly you disregard the fate of these women, or anyone that stands in my way, just to get what you want. Your gold, your cash, the stolen jewelry of many of these poor vixens along with their most... prized assets.” The Riddle trailed his cane down the front of the woman’s torso and between her legs, stroking softly. “This woman is a banker in uptown Gotham. Quite comfortable living in a suburbs nearby. In the morning, she will go to work as usual, come home, kiss her husband, no problem.”

“Her husband”

“Same old, same old. Lady got a prime time job to help bring in a larger check than the bank could afford.” The Riddler held up a new, forged card that looked very real. The woman’s face was in the identification picture. Tasha Banks, Conundrum Corp. it read. “Everything will be fine, no one will suspect a thing. Then, every night, she will report to her new line of work.”

“Heh. Another dame in Riddler’s prostitution ring.”

“Exactly, Fox. See, you are quite clever. Quite clever, indeed. It’s no accident that I’ve employed the both of you, or the other men that are helping us in our operation. From the bodyguards to the truck drivers, each of you fits in as a necessary square for my brilliantly designed rubix cube of crime.” The Riddler left the dark skinned madonna in her brainwashing chair, moving onto the pretty redhead seated beside her. “Fox, Jackal- relay my plans to me this evening.”

“Again, boss?” Jackal whined.

“Yes. Again.” The Riddler sighed. Did he have to point out he just liked to hear the plan recited?

“Okay. Well, the dames that’ll be missed, they’re being reprogrammed for whore gigs.”

“Courtesans,” Riddler correctly properly as he stroked the redhead’s cheek, examining her eyes decked in light purple eyeshadow, seeming to compliment his own domino mask. “Everyday women inducted to the secret lives of high priced service work. Their bland lives given a higher calling. They should thank me.”

“But thems only the dames with homes and families. The ladies with money and jobs, at least. The homeless dames we find... we just sell ‘em into slavery.”

The Riddler’s eyes widened in excitement at that harmonious word. “And their one time prices are the most expensive! Penguin already bought three to serve as workers in his Iceberg Lounge for thirty million!” His purple gloves fell over the breasts of the redhead before him.

Fox couldn’t help but chuckle. “Saw the bird on TV today. Lying about how he helped some homeless dames find jobs and took ‘em off the street.”

Riddler turned momentarily to grin at Fox. “There’s that unrelentless Fox cruelty I’m talking about.” The Riddler turned back to the redhead, idolizing the prize with one final glance before his hands left her nipples, moving onto another captured damsel. “What a philanthropist our friend The Penguin is, no? And the other titans of the underworld are just as generous. The prostitutes never sell for anything under a thousand a session... and this town has so many loaded scumbags and socialites with secret dark tastes that they’ll keep on coming.”

Sometimes, this guy scares me, Savage Jackal thought secretly. Sure, The Riddler wasn’t intimidating to look at, and he was bookish sounding, nerdy even. But the things he said and did was enough to make Savage even question if he was anywhere near as evil as his boss. Even the way Fox nonchalantly went along with the boss’s excited ramblings scared Jackal. But the things Riddler said were true- the money, and what he got from the brainwashed women that the boss allowed Savage and Brute to have, surely stayed on Savage’s mind. The welfare and fate of these damsels didn’t.

Riddler stared down at a blonde sitting before him as she wore one of his patented Riddle Helmets, her body in a deep sleep. “How many nights have we been in operation, Savage?”

“Eight, sir.”

“And guess how much money we’ve made total in those eight days.”

“I... I can’t even guess, sir. You’ve given me and The Bru- eh, Fox, a lot these past days.”

“Over a hundred million dollars, Jackal. And it’ll keep coming.”

“And what about when Batgirl comes?”

There was no question about if she would come. The boss had already made it clear that, sooner or later, even if Gotham P.D. never wisened up to what went along, Riddler intended the Batgirl would. The criminal had left her enough riddles to keep her busy over the past week, just to let her know he was back to his old tricks in Gotham. “Then let her come, my fellow demons of trickery. Afterwards, we’ll celebrate, with Batgirl as our prime party guest..”

The Fox and The Jackal looked at each other with confusion before staring back at the boss.

“Celebrate?” Jackal asked. “You really think Batgirl can be taken down so easy?”

“With my superior intellect, Jackal, there’s nothing to do with simply thinking. I know.” Riddler yawned as he looked at his gold watch. “Now, look at that. Lost in my mental ramblings again and time has run by us. So much to do. Prepare for the next shipment.” The Riddler left the room, allowing his cronies, The Fox and The Jackal, to overlook the merchandise.

The Riddler walked down a couple of blue lit corridors before he entered a hallway with red lights. Before him was a room filled with regular white-yellow lighting, and he could hear the counting of coins and paper money. The Riddler could feel himself salivating in his closed mouth.

As the villain entered the room, he looked to see two of his brainwashed vixens, now renamed Query and Echo, counting the cash. They were beautiful women, one with long strawberry blonde hair and the other an Asian woman with short, spiky black hair. They wore the question marked Riddler leotards, showcasing their goodies. They counted the money patiently, so many stacks accumulated and coins rolled as they kept track with Excel from nearby laptops. Many tables, some piled with money and some bare, surrounded them.

“My perplexities,” Riddler greeted. “Riddle me with your sums?”

“Thirty three million over here, Riddler baby,” Echo said with a sultry voice.

“Fifty seven mill here, Riddle Man,” Query said in a higher, angelic tone.

“And more to come,” Riddler promised himself aloud, hoping to keep his disappointment at bay.

The door opened. A beautiful black female walked into the room. Her hair was shorter than Echo’s, her lips painted in a soft pink and her body frame bubbly yet trim and slender. She wore a short black skirt with a red top and matching red high heels. Approaching the table, she reached into her purse and pulled out a large bundle of green notes, placing them on a table to the side.

“Hello, Beverly!” Riddler shouted, happy to see so many bills. He did go through the efforts of remembering the names of his many girls, at least. “Looks like you made a killing tonight.”

“All to serve you and your great purpose, Riddler,” Beverly said with a smile as she looked to her green suit master.

“I humbly thank you. Now, what will you do for the rest of your night?”

“I’ll go home, wash up, and go back to my job in the lab tomorrow. We’re researching and experimenting to find a cure for cancer.”

“Good luck with that,” Riddler teased coldly. I could find an answer for cancer in my sleep, if I cared to do so. I could find an answer for anything! “And what will you tell them about your night job?”

“What night job, Riddler?”

“Exactly. And keep that answer for Gotham’s Finest as well. Good night, Beverly.”

Beverly left the office just as another female entered the room. In her pumps, skimpy clothing, and mascara, there was no question as to what she had been doing tonight, or why her purse was so bulky.

Riddler grinned. How he loved this job.

Batgirl looked through her binoculars from an abandoned high rise nearby The Riddler’s hideout. At least, she hoped it was The Riddler’s hideout. If she misunderstood the last few series of riddles she had gotten over the week, it could mean the freedoms, and possibly the lives, of many Gotham women.

The first riddle came less than a week ago. On a routine scouting of the city, Batgirl heard an alarm. The heroine found a woman running from a bank with a brown sack over her shoulders. Batgirl knocked the woman down and apprehended her. When the cops arrived, they tried to question her. The bank robber had no identification, offered no answers as to why she robbed the bank, or even who she was. But all the woman could say was, “What do you call a poor baseball player when he can’t reach the final plate?”

Homeless, Batgirl figured less than an hour later, on a bike ride through the city. The woman was homeless. And that was why the woman didn’t have any identification. But why did she not give into questioning so easily? It was as if she couldn’t provide answers, as if she were mentally trained not to.

A riddle could only mean The Riddler was involved. Maybe he had put the woman up to committing a crime. For the rest of that day, Batgirl started to look through the notorious gathering spots of the homeless in Gotham- Crime Alley, the east side, beside the river. She tried to notice if there were any patterns, any kidnappings or mishandlings of homeless people that stood out.

Though nothing stood out to Batgirl on the day of the robbery, she was back to investigating the second day. If only Batman and Robin were around, they could help her, but they were out on another adventure in England, going after Lord Marmaduke Fogg. Batgirl would have to solve this strange crime alone, and hopefully, she could prove the innocence of the homeless woman to the police department.

In an alleyway, Batgirl saw a white van with a man in the driver’s side, obscured by dark tinted windows. Nearby, a pair of black clad goons with gas masks were grabbing a woman and spraying a strange purple fragrance in her face. The woman kicked with her nylon stockings as her white heels dropped to the ground.

Batgirl shouted at the goons. They started to run but Batgirl hit one of them with her Batarang. The other man grabbed the woman like a light doll and pulled her into the back of the van, allowing them to make a getaway.

Aiming her batarang at one of the wheels, Batgirl decided against throwing her weapon before it launched. The van could have careened, falling over and injuring the woman. Deciding such a predicament wasn’t worth it, Batgirl decided to check out the man she clunked earlier. She walked to the goon and inspected him, bending over and handcuffing him before tying his ankles.

When the man came to, he looked at Batgirl with shock in his eyes.

“What were you doing with that woman?” Batgirl shouted. “Answer me!”

“You know his game, Batgirl,” the goon said with a cruel grin. “He’s the only one that asks questions around here.”

Almost as instantly as he spoke, the man had dropped dead. Batgirl looked in shock at the man as she felt for his pulse, his heart rate. Nothing. She looked in his mouth. A capsule was broken and his tongue was coated with yellow. Some sort of poison. Maybe his boss had convinced him to kill himself if he were captured, to avoid imprisonment or interrogation. Either way, it was a cowardly way to go, and a death the police would have to riddle themselves with, not her.

She checked his pockets for identification. His I.D., Ray Valentino, truck driver for Wayne Enterprises, fell out with a less than modest picture showcasing his ugly mug, but along with the card came a colorful green sheet of paper.

Batgirl picked the paper up and read it carefully. Written in bold letters was an even bolder question in a horrible rhyme:

“Half a bat and half a date- perhaps you relate to their fate?”

Their fate? Was Batgirl’s suspicions confirmed? Was The Riddler truly capturing more than one female, and brainwashing them? Half a bat, half a date... Batgirl was privy to Riddler’s chauvinistic attitude. He was a misogynist that merely saw women as pieces for his criminal puzzles or messengers for his riddles. The self absorbed narcissist wasn’t above sending a woman to rob a bank just to pose a riddle for Batgirl. He had done similar things in the past for amusement. Just what was his game now?

“Whatever you’ve done to these women... or are doing to them... you plan for me, too, don’t you Riddler?”

Yes, that was it. Batgirl was going to be Riddler’s chance at nailing a ‘bat’, one of his greatest foes in Gotham City. On top of that, he would have a ‘date’, another woman to riddle in his secret horrific scheme. But what was it?

A clue, or what Batgirl hoped was a clue, came the next day when The Penguin appeared on television.

“Criminal? Waugh waugh waugh! Perhaps in the past, my bird brained naysayers... but as you can see here, in my upscale Iceberg Lounge, I have employed and assisted the less fortunate. I’ve given them work, fine jobs that help to pay for their school, their homes, their families. You say I’m low in moral fiber because I only hire beautiful women?”

“I believe no one has a problem with you hiring beautiful waitresses,” the interviewer objected. “I just think, due to your criminal past, many view your restaurant as a front for other crimes.”

“Nonsense! In fact- ladies! Come here.”

Out of her Batgirl garb and in the comfort of the Gotham library, Barbara Gordon watched her miniature TV in the comfort of her office. Three new women came to the screen. They were all quite beautiful with striking features and well groomed, not the kind to look as if they were down on their luck at all.

Penguin ushered his gloved hands towards the interviewer as he talked to the women. “Would you tell the kind man and those viewers out there in TV land where you were before you found a home in the Iceberg Lounge.”

“We were homeless,” one of the ladies said bluntly yet sweetly.

Home. Homeless. Barbara frowned.

“I see,” the interviewer responded. “So you’re happy now.”

“Quite happy,” another of the girls said.

“Why, the only thing that would make us any happier would be if Batgirl herself were to join us sometime.”

“Ah, yes,” one of the ladies said, “the prize lady of our fair city. That would be quite savory!”

“Savory!” another lady said. “Ha ha! Savory!”

The ladies repeated the word a few times amongst themselves as they giggled. Embarrassed, The Penguin fanned the women away, shooing them and ordering them to get back to work. When he turned back to the camera, his face had turned stark white as he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his brow. He laughed nervously. “I’m sorry about that, I don’t know what came over them, haha. Good girls, really, but I guess the camera excited them.”

Savory. Barbara couldn’t help but think it was one of The Riddler’s clues. Penguin hadn’t expected the ladies to behave in such a way. Perhaps-

Half a bat, half a date-


Perhaps you relate to their fate?




Dear god, Barbara thought. Were those ladies on TV slaves, and not “workers” as Penguin tried to fool the world into thinking? Did The Riddler intend for her to share the same fate?

Batgirl would have to get to work. She would scour the city for more kidnappings, more peculiarities that involved or seemed to involve The Riddler. Batgirl tried to phone Batman, hoping he might be able to tell her about a Mr. Valentino from Wayne Enterprises. Neither Batman nor Robin were available. Batgirl cursed her luck and studied Wayne Enterprises, hacked into their computers and tried to gain lists of all of their drivers. A Mr. Valentino had worked there, until he was recently discovered dead this week. His file now read “deceased”. It seemed that no one knew he was using one of the company vehicles to secretly kidnap women, and since his arrest, his van had been found abandoned downtown.

But did the van come directly from Wayne Enterprises?

Who knows how many vans or trucks these psychos could be using for this horrific plan of theirs, Batgirl thought. Selling women into slavery and whatever else.

Batgirl kept a watch over Penguin’s Iceberg Lounge, hoping to see something strange or peculiar, but nothing stood out.

It wasn’t until her sixth night of investigation that she had gotten her ultimate answer.

The Iceberg Lounge was left alone as Batgirl went around, looking for any signs of the question marked deviant. Then, she saw a woman running across the street, screaming. Some men were chasing her. Batgirl flew overhead, swinging from her batrope before she threw a smoke bomb at the men. The men coughed and wheezed, standing in place as Batgirl swooped down and picked up the woman, getting her to a safe roof.

The woman was hysterical, kicking and screaming before Batgirl let her go.

“Don’t worry, I'm here to help you!” Batgirl said. “What do those men want with you?”

The woman started to giggle.

Poor lady, Batgirl thought, she’s hysterical.

“Wayne... ha ha... Daggett... ha... Hill.... many powerful men.. in this city.”

Batgirl looked down. The men were already getting away in their vans. No matter... the woman’s more important.

“Ha ha ha. Such strong men... yet many poor, homeless... ha ha... women.”

Batgirl looked at the woman’s clothing. She did look poor, in tattered rags and ruined shoes. Her beauty gave Batgirl a good reason as to why those men had tried to capture her.

“But I keep asking myself... Batgirl... with the few... ha ha ha... with homes... and... ha... so many.. ha ha... homeless...-”

“Calm down,” Batgirl suggested caringly. “You’re recovering. You shouldn’t even talk right now-”

“Where can the abandoned find a home?” The woman looked at Barbara with wide, ecstatic eyes filled with craziness. “Hahaha! Where can the abandoned find a home, Batgirl?”

Batgirl shook her head. Fear showed on her masked face. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been infected with a damaging dose of Riddle Gas, Batgirl. And I can feel my sanity slipping, ha ha! But he just wanted me... to deliver... the damn riddle, hahaaha! Just brainwashed me.... enough... to loyally do that! Hahaha! And I’m fighting! I really am!”

They set this up, Batgirl thought. Riddler knew Batgirl’s routes, the spots she would hit. The goons and his selected pawn had probably been waiting for the moment she’d show up, just so the lady could pose his twisted riddle.

“He had a... a hint, damn it...but when I say the hint.... I’m supposed to go crazy... forever. I don’t wanna say it, Batgirl! I don’t!”

“Then don’t say it, damn it!” Batgirl shouted, hardly able to contain herself. “It’s not worth it. Don’t fucking say it.”

“I have to! The hint.. goes like..” Batgirl could see the woman struggling against herself. “It goes.... hint!... in a home abandoned by the wealthy! Documentary at 1 A.M. on the Gotham Public Education Channel! Hahahaha!” And with that, the Riddle Gas was doing it’s final tricks. The woman’s sanity drained out of her being, and before long, she was laying on the roof, shaking and cradling herself as her lips rambled, drooled and laughed, her eyes wide and distant.

There was no where Batgirl could take the woman other than the hospital. After that, there were no doubts in Batgirl’s mind that Riddler’s victim would end up in Arkham.

At one o’clock, Barbara watched a documentary in her apartment. The Gotham Public Education Channel was showing a documentary about socialites and businessmen in Gotham, their family histories and fights for power. For nearly an hour, Barbara fought against sleep and boredom to find a clue, a hint, anything that could highlight where she should go.

“.....the Wayne family,” the documentary continued, “has owned a variety of factories and storage buildings in this town, most notably this warehouse on the upper east side, which has been abandoned for nearly twenty years-”

That was it! It had to be it. Either way, Batgirl had no other clues.

Where else did the vans and trucks come from? Were the other drivers from Wayne Enterprises as well? It didn’t matter. Batgirl had her lead.

Where can the abandoned find a home?

In an abandoned warehouse. Of course. Where and ware. A pun game. Home, house. A house of wares. And what did Riddler see women as?


Abandoned. The homeless, seen as people abandoned by society.

“You really are a sick fuck, Riddler.” Batgirl could see The Riddler smiling proudly with that shit eating grin of his.

She was too tired now. Part of her was anxious to get out again, but no. She would keep him waiting, make him feel like he truly stumped her. Tomorrow, Batgirl said. It ends tomorrow night.

“Ugh!” said a gunman from a window as he was kicked unconscious, sent skidding to the wall, the gun sailing from his hands.

Batgirl landed perfectly inside of the warehouse. Her long red hair fell over her yellow cape as her blue eyes looked around carefully. She rubbed her yellowed gloved hands together, warming them up in case she would have to punch something. Then, she started her trek further into the warehouse.

The place was huge, and Batgirl had to move carefully. Every few rooms and corridors she moved through, she had to knock someone out, another sentinel serving vigil. She nearly got shot a few times, but her batarang and legs were always quicker. Big, musclebound men fell to the athletic, petite Batgirl. She moved even more carefully after each encounter, sure the shots that rang out might alert anyone else in the building. Looking over her shoulders, left, right, and back before turning round again, Batgirl chose to be wary around every corner she turned, every aisle she entered. Even the stairs she descended were untrustworthy.

When she walked down a corridor with blue lights, Batgirl could hear two men talking to each other. The both of them sounded as dumb as rocks.

“You shoulda seen how I had two of them brainwashed bimbos last night.”

“Wait- I was there last night, wasn’t I? I was handling those chicks, too.”

“Oh yeah.”

Batgirl peeked from the door of the corridor. What she saw shocked her. Women, seemingly from all walks of life, some with nice clothes, some with dirty clothes, all beautiful, were strapped to chairs and wearing those crude, bulky Riddle Helmets. Yet each one of them, in their metallic shackles, looked eerily peaceful and serene in their sleep.

“Wow,” a big, bulky man in a fox mask said as he strapped a woman down in one of the chairs. “That sleepy brand of the boss’s riddle gas really keeps them dames a’ slumber, don’t it?”

“Guess so.” A man in a jackal mask was strapping in another lady to her love seat before fitting the helmet over her head. “But once these helmets start doin’ boss’s brain teasers on their minds, they’re really put under.”

“Ha ha! Yeah... until the boss wakes ‘em up.”

“So you boys are joining the masked freaks of Gotham?”

Fox and Jackal turned around to face the high voiced intruder. Their lips and eyes looked more amused than frightened to see Batgirl.

“Let me get things straight, goons,” Batgirl said. “I’m head freak in this town.”

“No, you ain’t,” Fox contraired. “Batman is.”

“And so is Batgirl!” The woman ran forward as she flung a batarang at Fox. The tool hit him against his jaw and sent him backwards.

As Fox rubbed his jaw, Jackal ran forward, raining a series of jabs and lunged fists at Batgirl. Batgirl ducked and dived, moving to the side before punching Jackal in the stomach. The goon barfed before Batgirl kicked him square in the face, knocking him out.

Fox had recovered. Batgirl wasn’t intimidated as the goon ran towards her, and she was readying her fist for the next blow.

A sharp pain stabbed Batgirl’s neck.

Caught by surprise, Batgirl flew backwards after Fox punched her in the stomach. Batgirl coughed, finding her body suddenly numb as Fox walked towards her.

“Leave her be, Fox. She’s as riddled as she could ever be!”

Fox stopped in his tracks. Batgirl looked at the goon as her body quivered, numb and out for her control. The heavy tapping of expensive shoes and a golden cane sounded in her ears before she saw the man move out of the shadows. The Riddler’s grin was so noticeable even from his first few distances, and as he came proudly in that bold green ensemble, Batgirl felt defeat looming over her.

“We wouldn’t want to damage the merchandise,” Riddler reasoned.

Soundlessly, Batgirl passed out.

Hard smacks landed on Batgirl’s face.

Her eyes fluttered open, her mouth drooping as she looked around with blurred and fading vision. She saw those purple gloves... so close.

“She’s really out of it, boss! Oh look, there she is!”

“A mere liquid version of my Riddle Gas, Fox. Riddle Juice.”

Damn, Batgirl thought, the tranquilizer. She could still gather her thoughts, but, for how long.

She was stuck in something. She weakly attempted to move her body. The shackles were bulky, metallic, cold. All real strength had been zapped from her body. She had no chance of hope.

Something just as heavy, cold and bulky as the chair she was strapped in was placed over Batgirl’s head.

So cold. Almost her entire body from the neck up.

A third man’s mid torso rushed into Batgirl’s vision. “Sorry about that, boss. This broad did a number on me.”

“No need to apologize, my wise friend, Savage Jackal. Why, it is our cunning that is the reason why our new product, The Batgirl, is strapped down in that chair, while we remain victorious and free.”

“Thanks for showing the goods too, Riddler.” The goon Fox’s right hand reached and copped a feel on Batgirl’s exposed left tit. Those hands were so gritted and raw, disgustingly rough against her soft, round mound, that thick and juicy yet smooth, stretchy nipple. “But why ain’t the mask off?”

“Yeah,” Jackal joined in. “I bet she’s a pretty broad. Look at them lips and cheekbones. Ya gotta be kidding me to keep concealing a hot face like that.”

“All puzzles are soon revealed to The Riddler,” the boss said in a drab, bored voice, obviously disappointed in his goons lack of thinking. “There is no better time to unveil the identity of Batgirl, than at the site of her auction.”


Batgirl could hear Riddler press a button. The helmet on her head rumbled.

“Yes, my cunning criminal companions. Why, later this morning, I am meeting with my fellow underworld companions for the ultimate auction. We’re selling Batgirl- and she won’t sell for anything under two billion dollars.”

Two billion dollars? He’s crazy! Batgirl’s mind was racing, or tried to, as the strong electronic energy tapping her brain seemed to be pushing her conscious control further and further away from her.

“Gee, Riddler. You’d let us be there to see, wouldn’t ya?”

“Of course. A devil needs his minions to make sure all goes according to plan. As they will.” Riddler chuckled. “Penguin called earlier and complained about me using the savory riddle to get Batgirl’s attention. Hopefully this auction will calm his anger, and make many of my other criminal friends happy as well.”

You are mine now, Riddler’s pre-recorded voice said, traveling through every portion of Batgirl’s brain. You serve me, and whoever I chose to pass you on to. You do as I say, and no matter who I chose to be your master, I will ALWAYS be your ULTIMATE master.

“Can anyone tell me which button I just pressed?” Riddler asked with curiosity.

“Yeah, boss.” Batgirl couldn’t even tell the goons’ voices apart anymore. “Ya got two buttons- the whore button and the slave button. Ya pressed the slave one.”


Sleep, Riddler’s automated voice said. Batgirl obeyed immediately.

Riddler wanted to watch Batgirl in her transformation. Alone.

So, he sent Jackal and Fox on an errand to prepare the auction room. Meanwhile, Riddler watched Batgirl’s sweet, sexy nude body as she rested so peacefully, asleep in that metal chair.

Oh, pretty, loving Batgirl. Her hair was scarlet red as it rested on her shoulders. Her breasts heaved up and down with each delicate breath. Her strong, firm and toned legs had been spread to reveal that gaping cunt, so pearly and juicy. Her feet pressed lightly against the warehouse floor, her arms and ankles captured in bulky metallic shackles.

The Riddler pressed the end of his gold cane against Batgirl’s pussy.

The cane’s tip slid in far more easily than The Riddler had ever dreamed! It wasn’t too tight, not too loose. The dripping juices produced a powerful lubricant that instantly hardened the criminal in his green slacks, and as he explored the top of Batgirl’s abysmal hallway with his cane, he thought about getting just a taste, just a ride of that sweet, dripping, succulent fruit.

No, buddy, Riddler thought wisely, gaining a grip of his insatiable mind. A businessman mustn’t ruin the merchandise. Batgirl or not, she’s worth more than two billion. With that, sweaty, purple handkerchief to his forehead and tongue licking his lips, the horny villain pulled his cane away.

Batgirl slept peacefully. Riddler could feel all of those suggestions, all of those commands, just moving about her head and officially making the grandest dream come true. In only a few more minutes, Batgirl would officially be his.

“Do I hear a sixty-sixty five- eighty bill-eighty five bill-”

Cameras flashed, capturing Batgirl in what should have been a humiliating state, but she didn’t mind. Naked, wearing nothing but her mask, and ordered to pose with her buttocks flung in the air, Barbara felt oddly aroused and even comfortable in a room with some of the world’s worst villains.

This auction wasn’t just a Gotham affair. There was Batwoman, Mirror Master, The Pied Piper, The Joker, Falseface, Sinestro, Mr. Freeze...

Riddler waved his cane at the audience as his henchmen, Fox and Jackal, stood at ease to his left and his right. “Do I hear a ninety billion? Ninety-billion! Going once. Going twice. Sold to the bald gentleman over there with the black suit!”

Groans and jeers filled the crowd as the obnoxiously rich Lex Luthor rubbed his hands gleefully and walked up to the stage to claim his prize. His beloved assistant, Mercy, applauded behind him with a smile equally as wicked as her boss’s.

“She’s just as lovely as she is in the papers,” Lex said as he stroked Batgirl’s cheek.

“Batgirl,” Riddler said dryly as he moved his hands in the back of her hair, “you’re Mr. Luthor’s property now.”

“Yes, Riddler,” Batgirl said with a smile, not dreaming to protest.

Riddler looked to Luthor and nodded. “Mr. Luthor, if you would do the honors.”

Lex was anything more than pleased. His hands reached and pulled off the mask. People gasped to see the dark haired beauty under the red headed cowl.

“That’s Commissioner Gordon’s brat!” one of the villains shouted. “Barbara Gordon, the librarian!”

“Ha!” Luthor smiled with the wide jaws of an alligator. “Who would have thought? Batgirl was brat girl. I’ve not only bought Gotham’s greatest crime fighting female... I’ve also bought the commissioner’s daughter! Splendid!” Luthor slapped Riddler on the back. “Riddler, old pal... imagine. Your Riddle Helmets and Riddle Gas doing a humane service, not only in Gotham, but in the streets of Metropolis, Keystone City, heck, the world!”

Riddler grinned, his perverted eyes twinkling. “That would be quite marvellous, sir.”

“You work for LexCorp, and I guarantee, I’ll make it happen. Expand your.... new heights.”

“I would love to, Lex. But you see, I’m an independent businessman-”

“Nonsense! You wouldn’t work for me. We would be partners.”

Riddler grinned. “Let’s see what we can do.”

As the men shook hands, Riddler’s warped and malicious mind thought of the many ways Luthor could cross him. For every way, Riddler had a plan, and in any event, there was no doubt in his mind that The Riddler would be victorious.

The Riddler smiled.