Riddles are your compulsion. Your addiction.

[Edward groans blearily and rubs his eyes, having fallen asleep in a squashy armchair in the corner of his new bedroom. He looks around, briefly. His eyes slowly go wide as he's bombarded with thoughts. This isn't my office. He looks down at himself. These aren't my clothes. He glances up at his desk, which feature pictures of a group of young children, a young woman, and... himself?! That can't be me. He pushes himself up, heading over towards the window. One peek outside and his eyes go wider. This certainly isn't Gotham!

He darts out of his bedroom and starts searching the house for a computer, a phone, an exit, something. He moves quickly, unsure if he's been abducted by anyone. Finally, he comes across an old rotary phone. Compulsively, he reaches for the phone, dials a number, and speaks into it with an urgent, hushed whisper.]

Gotham City Police Department? This is Edward Nigma, get Commissioner Gordon on the line! This is incredibly urgent.