[center][color=darkgreen][b][u]3:04 AM; January 9th, 2026
Outside the Angel Nightclub; Hub City, Illinois[/u][/b][/color][/center]
It didn't take long to figure out where she was. All it took was another lungful of the gas, and after a bit of coughing he could [b][i]Hear[/i][/b] and [b][i]See[/i][/b] the city's directions. A long, winding crack in the road took him there, leading him through the snow covered Hell of brick tenement buildings to the bright Heaven of sleek skyscrapers, or at least the closest thing that could pass for Heaven in a town like this. Jury Street was a "high class" red light district, slummy dives and strip clubs disguised as cocktail lounges and exclusive nightclubs.

The city cried out the most when he entered this part of town, but he drowned it out with the thoughts of [i]her[/i]. Shams. He wasn't too sure what had happened, those early days were fuzzy, getting used to using the gas and all, but all he knew was that their once productive partnership fell into shambles. All that Oscar wanted was to tell her it was [i]better[/i] this way, he could tackle bigger problems than he ever could now. A part of him knew she wouldn't understand. He couldn't blame her.

He saw her there, bleeding out on the ground, a pool of blood under her marring the snowy sidewalk. It hurt to see her like this; the firecracker that she was, beaten down, tired... Dead, even. The thought made him clench his grappling gun tighter, and he may have sped up in his swinging just a bit at it. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be. If there was one thing he knew about her, it was this: she'd die when she was damn well ready.

When he landed on the ground and stumbled over to her, looking so (dead) still and (dead) frail in the moonlight, the first thing he did was pull off his gloves off to place boney fingers upon her throat and wrist. There was a pulse, thank God. But if she stayed out in the cold without getting patched up, she'd be dead for sure. There was only one place he could think of to go. It had been a while since he had been there, but he knew the way. And if he had forgotten, the city could fill him in.

Her warehouse.

Picking up his former partner from the ground and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes ([i][color=darkgreen][b]'Feels strange referring to her as that,'[/b][/color][/i] he mused internally), Oscar took his grappling gun from his inner coat pocket, aiming it at a nearby rooftop and firing. It was a good mile or so outside of Hub City proper and he had little time to waste. It was times like this he wished he had a fancy car or plane like Grim. But, of course he didn't, so he just had to do things the old fashioned way.

The Question set off into the cold night.