The Riddler Speaks - Casefile #0128 (Patreon)

EDWARD: artists-asylum asked: What is it like to kill? Your fellow rogues seem to range from cold detachment to actively enjoying it. So how do you feel about it? Furthermore, if it won’t get you into trouble, who was your first?

You catch me in a rare bout of good temper, artists-asylum; this seems the right diversion for today. 

Murder, like so many criminal activities, is a matter of power distribution. Others may call it the ultimate power play, but I beg to differ. What power is there in the destruction of a powerless, defeated opponent? To be more blunt, how can one gloat over a corpse? How could I prove that I am the best when there is no active participant to suffer their humiliating defeat? It is true that some of my more reckless, perhaps unhinged, compatriots kill for the sake of killing – and give all outward appearance of enjoying the act. As for myself, I prefer to describe murder as a means to an end. The end of a life, I grant you – but there must be a point to it. Not “he stepped on my new Gucci loafers, let’s blow his brain away” - no, my dears, we operate on a different level around here. You should all recall my recent escapades with LexCorp, yes? A simplistic viewpoint would place my actions squarely in the camp of revenge; a base reaction. Alas, I cannot claim to as infallible as I may appear – occasionally one must cede to one’s weaker faculties.  However, by way of mitigation,  I could relabel my actions as those of self-defense. Now does that not sound prettier than murder? Such things were a means to an end besides, and not pointless bursts of senseless violence. I fear I have dwelt here too long. Shall we move on?

To answer your first question at last, I derive no feelings from the act of killing itself. I experience a due amount of satisfaction from an intricate plan well executed, so let us assume that I enjoy the bigger picture over the singular moment.

The first killing I performed myself – that is cause for me to ponder. I used to be a petty thief, you understand, before one was truly shot into the big time. A hobby of mine, one that I maintain to this day, is the acquisition of information; when I get bored, I utilise it to prick oversized bubbles. I used to supplement my allowance as a petty thief by dabbling in a rather amusing game of blackmail with politicians and heads of crime syndicates. No matter how often you wash your sheets, dear listeners, someone will eventually see your dirty laundry. I must admit that more than one unfortunate soul took their own life under my persuasion.  Such a thing amused me greatly at the time, and still does – let us see the Batman find my fingerprints on a gun that I never touched. I do believe my first, recorded, deliberate loss of life were among that number. As for their name, I must confess to not taking note of their name as they soon got lost in the crowd; I feel rather the cad. How delightful.