Hey gay lords. It's ya boi Uni, back at it again with that faceless guy.

[s]In case this isn't obvious yes I'm dropping Blade as I said in the Discord.[/s]

[hider=Going Through Everyone's Trash Since 1967]
[CENTER][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][B]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T   P R O P O S A L[/b][/color]

[img]https://i.postimg.cc/BQDcW7GM/qlogo.png[/img][hr]
[url=http://artyomtopilin.tumblr.com/post/140559553720/would-love-to-draw-40-60s-entourage-question][img]https://i.postimg.cc/BQVX8y8R/I_ll_take_my_leave.jpg[/img][/url][h3][sup][sub][color=slateblue]V I C T O R  C H A R L E S  S A G E   [color=darkslateblue]♦[/color]   B L O G G E R / V I G I L A N T E   [color=darkslateblue]♦[/color]   H U B  C I T Y   [color=darkslateblue]♦[/color]   I N D E P E N D E N T[/color][/sub][/sup][/h3]
[/CENTER][COLOR=SlateBlue][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR]
[CENTER][sup][color=SlateBlue][b]"Superhero? I'm no superhero. I'm just a man in a ratty trenchcoat with a habit of sticking my nose where it doesn't belong."[/b][/color][/sup][/CENTER]
[INDENT][INDENT][i]Most would say that Vic Sage was a nut. He would say that they were still in their shells.

The man's life from birth to age five are a mystery to him. He was an orphan, his mother dead and father long gone, and as far back as he could remember he lived at Charlton Boys Home. The staff there called him a problem child, frequently locking him away in a closet for the night without dinner. Nothing but a pile of newspapers for a bed and the faint voices from beyond the door to keep him company. And Victor, stubborn little brat he was, decided he'd show them a problem child. He began to pick fights with the boys in the home and around the neighborhood, vandalize local attractions, shoplift, even leave restaurants without paying for his food first. He did all he could to make their lives a living hell. Ashamed as he is to admit it now, he enjoyed it.

It wasn't until he was removed from the boys home at 18 and rendered homeless that he realized that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't have been so spiteful. It was only through a stroke of luck that he managed to meet Aristotle "Tot" Rodor, a local inventor and man of the sciences, who took pity on the boy and brought him under his wing. Tot was an old man, well past his prime, and all he asked was Victor get a job and he'd be allowed to keep living with him.

A few months into Vic's stay with Tot, him having found a job flipping burgers at the local Big Belly Burger, something happened that would change Vic's life forever. He came home from work to find Tot panicking, and after calming the old man down listened to his story. In his younger days, Tot worked in a lab alongside a man named Arby Twain. Together, they led a project and made a substance known as pseudoderm, which was a skinlike bandage. The only problem was that the only means of applying it was through a bonding gas, which was toxic when exposed to open wounds, thus defeating the point of the bandage. Tot and Twain agreed to shut the project down and parted ways... Until Tot discovered that recently Twain had been selling the substance despite knowing of its toxicity.

The police wouldn't listen to Rodor and no one would have stopped Twain otherwise, so Vic had an idea: he could use a mask made of pseudoderm to hide his face and take down Twain's operation. With nowhere else to turn, Tot agreed, whipping up a mask for Victor and sending him on his way to foil Twain's plans. Needless to say, Vic succeeded, leaving Twain wrapped up in pseudoderm outside the local police station alongside an audio recording of his confession.

For a few months, Vic didn't pick up the mask again, but eventually he used it once more to take down a few street toughs pushing drugs onto the neighborhood teens. Then he did again a month later, to beat up some creep that was stalking a girl he knew from work. Then a week later he did it again to foil a mugging, and soon he was doing it nightly. It was entirely an accident that Vic became a vigilante, and the news dubbed him "the Question", because the biggest question was just who the hell he was supposed to be.

He's been going out like this for years now, having officially adopted the name of the Question. He's since moved on from Tot's house into an apartment of his own, still visiting his old friend when he has the time. In his downtime, he began to run a blog under his vigilante alias, and uses his ad revenue from it to keep himself housed and fed. On it, he does everything from review the latest games to leaking corporate emails to sharing his wacky conspiracies with the world.

Against all odds, despite his rocky upbringing and the constant threat of death hanging over him every time he leaves for the night, Vic is content with his place in the world.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=SlateBlue][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   M O T I V A T I O N S   &   G O A L S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i]Y'all know me. I love me some faceless boi. That should be enough.

In all seriousness, I love the Question and find him to be a very intriguing character. I've done enough versions of the character in various roleplays that I've kind of gotten sick of using the exact same rendition each and every time, and while writing this sheet I decided to switch some things up. Nothing too radical, but different enough from what I'm used to writing that it will provide me with an interesting challenge.

Overall, in terms of the character's story, I'm looking to tell some standard detective stories with the occasional conventional baddie Vic just has to punch. Something like a case/baddie of the week type format. There won't be any straight up long-term story arcs, as I'm just trying to have fun without worrying about telling an epic tale. Besides, I like to think that I have a solid enough characterization for Vic that I'm confident I can carry my posts through that alone.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=SlateBlue][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   N O T E S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i]None that I can think of right now. Might expand later with a supporting character list.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=SlateBlue][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]S A M P L E   P O S T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][center][color=slateblue][b][u]Unknown Location
Hub City, Illinois[/u][/b][/color][/center]
I woke up unable to recall my own name.

The room was cold and damp, with no decorations to speak of. A small window behind me, a ray of pale moonlight seeping through the glass and onto the brick walls. I tried to push myself up but found my hands and feet bound by rope, unable to move too much without chafing my wrists and ankles. How long had I been here, passed out and tied up?

I needed to think... What can I remember?

[hr]
[i]It was raining, the sky above me the color of a television tuned to a dead channel. An informant of mine, an old drunkard named Roscoe, had provided me with a tip. He said that there were shady things going on at this address, something a man of my talents would be able to bust no problem. The address led to an old shack, tucked cozily into a back alley in The Wedge. I waited outside, pressed up against the wall of the shack and peeking in through the window at a group of men playing poker.

[b]"Yo Johnny, you got any sixes?"[/b] one man asked, looking intently at another man, Johnny.

[b]"Go fish,"[/b] Johnny replied, and the other man grumbled and pulled another card from the deck.

Well never mind, then. They were playing Go Fish. I suppose poker would have been too stereotypical.

I watched on as they played, getting bored and cold and wet. The seconds ticked by into minutes, then an hour. Part of me thought that Roscoe was pulling my leg sending me here. So far it seemed I was just spying on a group of thugs having game night. Hell, maybe the old wineo was going senile, misheard something. I wouldn't put it beneath him.

It was two hours into my stakeout that it finally started to show promise. The men started making small talk while playing, having stayed silent most of the time, and one of them asked the question I was waiting to hear.

[b]"Ain't boss gonna be coming tonight?"[/b]

[b]"Yeah, he's on his way. Got in a bit of a jam, had to clean up a mess. Should be here soon."[/b]

Interesting... Maybe this is what Roscoe was talking about.[/i]

TO BE CONTINUED[/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=SlateBlue][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]P O S T   C A T L O G:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i]Coming Soon![/i][/indent][/indent]
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