Member
DocTachyon
xVampire3go
Antlers
Lugubrious
Lord Wraith
Eddie Brock
Memoria
Anciek
Sep
Supermaxx
11:32 PM, March 27th
The Wedge; Hub City, Illinois
'Question's journal, March 27th 2020; Entry #4
The city. It screams for deliverance from its pain. Salvation I cannot provide. I am just man. These metas, GODS, can. Without them, Hub would still be in chaos. Its screams would shatter my ear drums. Now, they are faint whispers. Near silent, but there.
The GODS may take care of the larger problems. But the residual mess left over? I shall handle.'
A yelp for help nearby. He answers it. The man wields a switchblade. His arm shakes. First robbery. His arm snaps as easily as a wet cookie crumbles. Tears and snot stream down his face as he cries for his mother. Pathetic. "No one can save you now."
The woman runs, screaming louder. He makes his leave.
He hasn't slept for five days. Hasn't gone to work for two. Too busy patrolling. His clothing is stained from garbage, blood (most of it not his), and sweat. The only thing keeping him running are the sugar cubes in his pocket, of which there are now just four.
Roll up mask. Unwrap cube. Put in mouth. Chew. Pull mask down. Drop wrapping. Three left.
He continues his crusade.
---
Bruce had been watching the faceless man work for some time now, noting his rough technique as he broke the arm of what was surely the latest in a long line of desperate criminals. A rough technique, yes that seemed to sum up the man nicely.
The Question didn't seem to notice even as Bruce stalked him from nearby, whether from a rooftop or a shadowed corner. Truthfully, Bruce's skills with ninjutsu likely deserved less credit than the simple matter of the vigilante's exhaustion. He was driving himself past human limits, lost in his work and likely to slip.
That sheer resolve was part of what had brought the Question to Bruce's attention, but it might also destroy the man before he had time to realize his potential.
Well, it was time to find out which would come first.
Bruce stepped out of hiding just as The Question finished beating some poor fool into submission, studying his body language to try and gauge him for reactions without being able to see his face.
"So, this is what passes for a hero in Hub City these days? I'm not exactly disappointed but you've got a lot to learn."
---
Gang member. Can tell by the way he walks, the necktie around his ankle ('Fashion statements are weird'), and of course the sagging pants containing a Glock. It was easy enough to drop from his perch on the fire escape and land on him, before beating him to a bloody pulp.
He was just about to leave, after another sugar cube of course, when a man stepped out of the shadows and spoke. The Question tensed as the man spoke of how he wasn't disappointed and that the vigilante had a 'lot to learn'.
He gave the man a once over, also searching the surroundings for any weapons ('The gun, the trashcan lid, the pipe.'). He responded tersely, "Not hero. Just man trying to do good. Want hero, look for Arcana, our resident God."
Bruce arched an eyebrow at both the quickness of the physical response and the humility of the verbal one. This was going to be interesting.
"The world needs heroes among men as well as Gods. A man trying to do good seems like a good place to start. All the old heroes started that way, you know."
"A problem that the Actor Activists had: one of their own wasn't happy being a man. He desired to be a God. That's why they were outlawed in the first place, hm?"
Bruce's mouth twisted like he tasted something bitter for a moment, then smoothed over again. "That hasn't stopped you from doing what's right, and it won't stop others from doing the same. You see wrongness in the world and you try to correct it, because you can't sit by while the world spins wildly out of balance. I'm interested in helping you to do that without killing yourself in the process."
"Truly, we've forgetten everything that makes us more than house pets. We've devolved into fighting and killing one another, both in the streets and on battlefields. There is no reason, no truth, no justice in this world." Question pauses, fumbling to take out another sugar cube. As he chews on it, he feels like he can continue on once more. "... So you'll help me? How, exactly?"
"I can give you training, skills that put you above the common thug on the street in a fight and let you do more before you have to resort to keeping yourself standing with sugar and grit. I've seen you fight and you're not bad. But you can be much more. I can make your body a weapon for your mind to wield as you see fit. With enough work, I can teach you to walk through a crowd howling for your blood without taking a scratch or stand equal with some of the most dangerous killers on the planet. I can also offer you some perspective, if you need it. Of course, how much you actually learn depends on you."
The offer was tempting. Though the man used some rather interesting words for it, Question understood the core: 'I'll teach you to fight'. He didn't know what the man was talking about with perspective, but still. Maybe the perspective was understanding what he was talking about when he said perspective?
... Damn he needed to sleep. But first, this. "... I accept your offer." As his hand fumbled for his pocket and the sugary treats inside, his vision darkened, and finally he fell into unconsciousness. 'Damn... My... Insomnia.'
The Wedge; Hub City, Illinois
'Question's journal, March 27th 2020; Entry #4
The city. It screams for deliverance from its pain. Salvation I cannot provide. I am just man. These metas, GODS, can. Without them, Hub would still be in chaos. Its screams would shatter my ear drums. Now, they are faint whispers. Near silent, but there.
The GODS may take care of the larger problems. But the residual mess left over? I shall handle.'
A yelp for help nearby. He answers it. The man wields a switchblade. His arm shakes. First robbery. His arm snaps as easily as a wet cookie crumbles. Tears and snot stream down his face as he cries for his mother. Pathetic. "No one can save you now."
The woman runs, screaming louder. He makes his leave.
He hasn't slept for five days. Hasn't gone to work for two. Too busy patrolling. His clothing is stained from garbage, blood (most of it not his), and sweat. The only thing keeping him running are the sugar cubes in his pocket, of which there are now just four.
Roll up mask. Unwrap cube. Put in mouth. Chew. Pull mask down. Drop wrapping. Three left.
He continues his crusade.
---
Bruce had been watching the faceless man work for some time now, noting his rough technique as he broke the arm of what was surely the latest in a long line of desperate criminals. A rough technique, yes that seemed to sum up the man nicely.
The Question didn't seem to notice even as Bruce stalked him from nearby, whether from a rooftop or a shadowed corner. Truthfully, Bruce's skills with ninjutsu likely deserved less credit than the simple matter of the vigilante's exhaustion. He was driving himself past human limits, lost in his work and likely to slip.
That sheer resolve was part of what had brought the Question to Bruce's attention, but it might also destroy the man before he had time to realize his potential.
Well, it was time to find out which would come first.
Bruce stepped out of hiding just as The Question finished beating some poor fool into submission, studying his body language to try and gauge him for reactions without being able to see his face.
"So, this is what passes for a hero in Hub City these days? I'm not exactly disappointed but you've got a lot to learn."
---
Gang member. Can tell by the way he walks, the necktie around his ankle ('Fashion statements are weird'), and of course the sagging pants containing a Glock. It was easy enough to drop from his perch on the fire escape and land on him, before beating him to a bloody pulp.
He was just about to leave, after another sugar cube of course, when a man stepped out of the shadows and spoke. The Question tensed as the man spoke of how he wasn't disappointed and that the vigilante had a 'lot to learn'.
He gave the man a once over, also searching the surroundings for any weapons ('The gun, the trashcan lid, the pipe.'). He responded tersely, "Not hero. Just man trying to do good. Want hero, look for Arcana, our resident God."
Bruce arched an eyebrow at both the quickness of the physical response and the humility of the verbal one. This was going to be interesting.
"The world needs heroes among men as well as Gods. A man trying to do good seems like a good place to start. All the old heroes started that way, you know."
"A problem that the Actor Activists had: one of their own wasn't happy being a man. He desired to be a God. That's why they were outlawed in the first place, hm?"
Bruce's mouth twisted like he tasted something bitter for a moment, then smoothed over again. "That hasn't stopped you from doing what's right, and it won't stop others from doing the same. You see wrongness in the world and you try to correct it, because you can't sit by while the world spins wildly out of balance. I'm interested in helping you to do that without killing yourself in the process."
"Truly, we've forgetten everything that makes us more than house pets. We've devolved into fighting and killing one another, both in the streets and on battlefields. There is no reason, no truth, no justice in this world." Question pauses, fumbling to take out another sugar cube. As he chews on it, he feels like he can continue on once more. "... So you'll help me? How, exactly?"
"I can give you training, skills that put you above the common thug on the street in a fight and let you do more before you have to resort to keeping yourself standing with sugar and grit. I've seen you fight and you're not bad. But you can be much more. I can make your body a weapon for your mind to wield as you see fit. With enough work, I can teach you to walk through a crowd howling for your blood without taking a scratch or stand equal with some of the most dangerous killers on the planet. I can also offer you some perspective, if you need it. Of course, how much you actually learn depends on you."
The offer was tempting. Though the man used some rather interesting words for it, Question understood the core: 'I'll teach you to fight'. He didn't know what the man was talking about with perspective, but still. Maybe the perspective was understanding what he was talking about when he said perspective?
... Damn he needed to sleep. But first, this. "... I accept your offer." As his hand fumbled for his pocket and the sugary treats inside, his vision darkened, and finally he fell into unconsciousness. 'Damn... My... Insomnia.'
