VIP Shoutout: Massive thanks to Mohamed Abdulla and Silver for joining the Inner Circle!
_____
Linking the author of Death of a Salesman, Arthur Miller, to Miller Port, and then connecting three tilted intersections to Roman numerals were, in truth, two completely unrelated lines of reasoning.
With ordinary logic, someone could probably think about it for three days and three nights and still never reach the right answer.
Even Tim had only managed to piece everything together by sheer, ridiculous coincidence.
Even so, the logic behind this interpretation felt like such a leap of faith that Tim himself wasn't entirely convinced. His stomach twisted with the familiar dread of being wrong — of wasting precious hours while Janice's clock kept ticking.
But right or wrong, as long as there was even a single chance of being correct, Tim would not let it go.
Besides, judging by the Riddler's past habits, the more far-fetched an interpretation seemed, the more likely it was to be the right one. That was practically the man's signature.
The moment the realization hit, Tim turned on his heel and left the school grounds without a second glance back. The half-finished coffee cup was left forgotten on a windowsill.
"Oracle, I need you to hack into Miller Port's surveillance system. Focus on the area around Cargo Zone 35."
After ducking into a shadowed alcove to change back into the Robin suit, Tim contacted Oracle while already moving at a brisk jog toward the nearest rooftop route that would take him east.
"No problem. Have you already figured out the answer to the Riddler's riddle?" Oracle's voice came through crisp and immediate.
"Yeah. I suspect the hostage's current location is at Miller Port."
At the Clock Tower, Oracle's fingers flew across multiple screens. Within moments she had the port's live feeds pulled up.
After reviewing the footage for less than two minutes, she frowned.
"Robin, I just checked. There are nearly twice as many stevedores in Cargo Zone 35 at Miller Port today compared to other areas, but the amount of cargo moved there is actually below average. And…"
She paused, zooming in on several feeds.
"Several cameras between Zone 35 and Zone 36 are damaged. I can't get any footage from those angles at all."
Hearing that, Robin's certainty hardened into something almost cold.
"If nothing unexpected happens, those stevedores are probably thugs hired by the Riddler. The cameras were most likely sabotaged on purpose. There's a very high chance the hostage is hidden in that area."
He picked up his pace, cape snapping behind him as he launched across another gap between buildings. The sun had fully risen now, turning the hazy Gotham sky a pale, washed-out gold.
...
Meanwhile, back in the classroom—
A thin beam of sunlight slipped through the half-closed blinds and struck Darren Greer directly in the eyes.
He raised a hand to block it.
"It's already this late…"
His gaze drifted to the conspicuously empty seat beside him.
Tim's seat.
"Tim is late. That shouldn't be possible."
Darren thought to himself, lips pressing into a thin line.
It looks like he's already solved that riddle. He must have rushed to Miller Port without a second thought.
If everything goes smoothly, the girl the Riddler kidnapped should be rescued soon, and I won't need to act at midnight tonight.
Tim… I just hope you haven't fallen into one of the Riddler's traps…
He turned his gaze out the window, staring into the distance where the faint silhouette of the port cranes could just be made out against the horizon.
Just then, an elderly voice interrupted.
"Hello, Mr. Greer."
Darren turned. It was their homeroom teacher.
"Don't stare out the window during class. And do you know where Tim Drake is? He's never been absent before. I called Mr. Drake, and he said Tim stayed at your house last night."
The teacher first gave the standard reminder, then asked about Tim with a hint of concern.
Darren's brow twitched. Since when had Tim stayed at my place? Couldn't this guy come up with a better excuse?
"Oh. Tim isn't feeling very well and couldn't make it to school today. I forgot to help him ask for sick leave earlier."
After only a heartbeat of hesitation, Darren decided to cover for him.
"Is that so? So he's sick." The teacher exhaled, visibly relieved. "I was almost about to call the police. It's a relief that Tim isn't in any danger."
Under normal circumstances, a student missing a morning class wouldn't trigger that level of alarm. But after the Riddler kidnapped a teenage girl on live video, the entire city had grown brittle with paranoia. Everyone feared they — or someone they knew — might be next.
"Alright, then we can start the lesson now."
...
A few hours later, Miller Port.
Robin lay prone atop a towering stack of shipping containers, cowl lenses zoomed in on the activity below.
"One… two… three… Fifty workers packed into such a small area. No matter how you look at it, that's not normal."
"They're dressed like dockworkers, but their movements are clumsy. I'm certain most of them are doing this for the first time."
Robin made his judgment in silence, cataloguing every awkward lift, every hesitant step.
"Even if the port hired a batch of new workers, it makes no sense to put all of them in the same container zone. If someone made a mistake and caused an accident, it would be a disaster. The proper approach would be to spread the newcomers out and have veterans guide them, not throw a group of inexperienced people together and let them figure things out on their own."
In short, the concentration of "port workers" in this area was definitely suspicious.
"It's certain. The Riddler must have hidden the hostage here."
"The only question is…"
Robin's gaze swept across the endless rows of multicolored steel boxes stretching in every direction.
"Which container is she in?"
"Let's start by looking for one numbered thirty-five."
Having made up his mind, Robin dropped silently to the ground and began moving through the labyrinth of containers.
Just after he left his original vantage point, a faint glint flashed on an iron frame not far behind him — almost impossible to notice unless you were looking for it. A lens. A camera. Watching.
After several careful minutes of searching, Robin located a solitary red container whose code ended in 35. It sat alone in a relatively open area, as though deliberately placed on display.
The trap was obvious.
He wasn't afraid.
Robin drew a small pry tool from his belt, worked the lock mechanism in seconds, and slid the heavy door open just enough to slip inside.
Empty.
No hostage. No cargo. Just dust and the smell of old metal.
Ring ring~~
The instant he stepped fully inside, a shrill alarm shattered the silence.
Right after that, the rapid thud of dozens of boots echoed from every direction. No need to guess — every "worker" in the zone was already converging on his position.
"Tch. I knew it wouldn't be that simple."
Robin shook his head, almost amused, as if he'd expected nothing less.
He extended his bo staff with a quiet snap and stepped back out into the open.
Dozens of men now surrounded him in a loose semicircle, eyes hard and hungry.
They were still wearing the orange hi-vis vests and hard hats of dockworkers, but their hands now gripped weapons no ordinary laborer should possess: steel pipes, baseball bats, switchblades… and several handguns glinting in the midday light.
"I liked the way you looked earlier better," Robin said calmly, voice carrying across the sudden stillness. "You weren't very good at the job, but at least it was honest work."
He tightened his grip on the staff and settled into a low fighting stance, cape draped behind him like a dark wing.
One against fifty.
Anyone could see the math was terrible.
Even the world's greatest fighter would only dream of winning head-on against fifty armed men in the open.
Yet there was not a hint of fear on Robin's face.
Only focus.
Can he win a fight against fifty people alone?
____
12 Advance chapters:
Patreon.com/serioza