Riddles are your compulsion. Your addiction.

[Edward sounds just as melodramatic as ever on the phone, but something's... different about him today.]

Harley. I...

[A brief intake of breath before continuing:]

I need to speak with you. Are you available?

[If you happen to be out and about today, Mayfield, you'll find a familiar-looking ten-year-old boy with glasses, green suspenders, and an incredibly dorky haircut, wandering around while tugging a backpack that's way too big for him and mumbling to himself.]

...stupid dad, never picks me up on time...

...which way was home again?

[He looks ridiculously lost.]

[Edward comes downstairs on Christmas Morning, wading through the sea of cats that had seemingly filled up the house. Coming across a bunch of presents beneath the tree in green wrapping paper, he smirks. He takes a look at the note, tossing it backwards and tearing into his presents like a little kid. He pulls out his cane. A new revolver. A Rubiks' Cube. And... Batman's utility belt? And a working bat credit-card with the name "Bruce Wayne" on it. He chuckles, sliding it into his pocket and pulling the belt on. But as soon as he snaps the belt around his waist, he feels... strange. Different. He remembers...

Bang! His father keeling over in the alleyway. His mother screams.

BANG! His mother tumbling down, pearls flying everywhere. Rain falling down. Masking Edward's tears on that fateful night.

He looks at the gun beneath the tree once again and his eyes widen in fear. This is the kind of weapon that took his parents away from him... With a sudden, vehement motion, he hurtles it out the window into the snow. He then stands straight. Resolute. A stern look on his face. Eddie knows what must be done. He strides back upstairs. Puts on his best green suit. Black sunglasses he's picked up in town. His trademark bowler hat. He marches back downstairs and out the door, examining his new Riddler-Mobile in the driveway. It's elaborate. Tricked out. It'll get the job done. He climbs in, fastens his seatbelt, and tears off down Anderson Lane.

He takes note that there is a phone installed within the car's console, and he picks it up, speaking with a much gruffer, throatier voice than usual.]

Enjoying your Christmas, Mayfield? Some of us aren't. Some of us have had innocent people taken away. Forever. By whom, you might ask? Nothing more than a common criminal. A miserable, unrelenting, unforgiving coward with a gun, who thinks he has something to prove. Who thinks he can strike fear into the hearts of innocents. Well. Now it's my turn. To all you criminal scum of Mayfield. Your days are numbered. And to those hardworking innocents, trapped and frightened? Your new guardian has arrived. 

[He is vengeance. He is the night. He is Edward Nigma, the Goddamn Riddler. He'll be patrolling around the town in his new Riddler-Mobile, and will be looking, just looking for people to punish. You can also speak to him via the carphone.]

[Edward just stares at his letter, still blown away, before picking up the phone.]

[Filtered from Grady/Drones/Etc.]

Well, it appears I've finally been given a job once again. To anyone who's had the pleasure of being one of my students, I'm sorry to say I will not be returning to my teaching position.

However, I, Edward Nigma, will be serving... under this town's police force. An unexpected choice for a new vocation, to be sure. Though considering my status as a private investigator back home, not entirely unsurprising. Hopefully, this will serve to aid my ongoing investigation of this town's secrets.

[Filter to Harley/Joker]

...well. This certainly changes up our plans.

[You might hear the sounds of an attack turkey banging against a door. Edward's managed to trap it in his bedroom closet... for now.]

H-H-Harley?! Do you still have that mallet? I may need some help with---

[There's a sound like wood splintering. And breaking. Edward shrieks, accordingly.

Happy Thanksgiving, Mayfield.]

[It's been a busy week for Eddie. Between trying to co-ordinate something between his fellow Gothamites and being convinced that he's a supercriminal thanks to the gas... Things haven't been going so well. First, a note to the public.]

Edward Nigma here. Apologies to anyone who may have had the misfortune of running into me and my friend last week. We... were not in our proper state of mind. Needless to say, I don't plan on leading any more heists or daring criminal escapades here in Mayfield, I can guarantee you that.

[Still... it felt unexpectedly natural for Edward to take up the wicked mantle of the Riddler once again. Doing his best to ignore his own conflicting emotions...]

Ahem. I assume you've all received the same invitations in the mail. It doesn't take much of a detective to figure that this house party will be yet another trap. Still, like the late, great Harold Houdini, I plan to throw myself into this lion's den and make it out unscathed. I suppose I should hope that if any of you others plan to attend, you'll take the proper precautions to ensure your own survival.

...I was told to look for an Ema Skye. Are you listening in, Ms. Skye?

[Filter to Harley, Pammy, and Joker.]

I may require your assistance as well. Do any of you plan to attend?

Well, well, fellow Gothamites. Edward Nigma here. I think we're long overdue for a little chat, don't you? What say we all convene at my house? There's much for us to discuss. I know some of us may be on opposite sides of the fence, but it may be in your best interests to come over. I'll be waiting at 1335 Benny Road. And please. Don't delay.

...Harley. Are you at home right now? I... I need to talk to someone.

[Ed's not sounding so good.]

[It being several days after Eddie first landed here, he's getting more used to the phones.]

Hopefully I've filtered this properly.

Question: When isn't it a good idea to accept gifts from a post office in a strange town? Answer: When it costs you an arm and a leg.

...perhaps that was in bad taste. Let me start over.

Good evening, Mayfield. Although I doubt many of you are enjoying the weekend. Considering this little... exchange at the post office that I've been hearing about, anyway. Still, I suppose that's why it helps to trust your instincts and look before you leap. ...though I suppose my cane would've been nice.

Ahem. Anyway, I believe I'm starting to understand just what everyone means when they say that strange things happen here. Naturally, I intend to get to the bottom of this. They can't honestly expect to get away with this grotesque crime.

Should anyone require my assistance, then there's no question who you should call. For I, Edward Nigma, am on the case!

[Ed didn't touch the box tops for a few reasons: A) He didn't trust them, and B) He's pretty much flat broke anyway)]