Riddler moves a bit, taking a step back, examining the shadows from other angles, carefully touching a lily leaf, tensing and ducking slightly when thing launches. He can't say it's unimpressive, even if his focus is less than he would like.

Internally, he's trying to calm down, get out of the emotional haze that's still shifting rides in a rather wide radius.

And that makes it worse, thinking about it--he hates what his power does without his wanting, showing off his inability to control it, to control himself. Disgusting, pathetic, he doesn't want it anymore. And this--this has less limitations, he doesn't need to be near the lights or the computers for this. And even if they lied, even if they took his powers and gave him nothing he still has his wits and he won't have his mistakes shown off to anyone walking by.

"A trade." His needs to know a little more, but a part of him already knows his answer. He doesn't want his weakness to control him, even though it's technically fueling his decisions now. There's a sense of real desperation in his chest that he struggles to keep from his voice. "What would you get out of it?"