Simple Unicycle

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

So who's character concept are you most excited to see explored?

And why is it Tawky and Detective Chimp?

@Sep

Other than the obvious Tawky and Chimp, I'm excited to see Byrd's Black Panther fleshed out and see how he'll go from down and dirty vigilante work in NYC to reclaiming his throne (if he even does). There are others obviously; your Thor, Doc's Iron Man, Hillan's Superman and Roman's Batman are all stories I'm excited to read. Of course this isn't to imply I'm not excited to read everyone's stories, but those five are at the top for me right now.

EDIT:

<Snipped quote by CameleonFox>

From outer space?

@Lord Wraith

Cake's version of the song is the best one don't @ me.

Also accidentally thanked the post you replied to. Damn you fat fingers.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

Didn't flake out, bitches.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

T H E Q U E S T I O N
T H E Q U E S T I O N

I S S U E # 1
I S S U E # 1

D E V O T I O N
D E V O T I O N

I should've realized something was wrong about four wrong turns ago, or perhaps when the paved road stopped and transitioned into dirt, but the man within me was too stubborn to come to the epiphany. As I step out of the woods and gaze upon the prairie before me, stretching out endlessly as far as the eye can see, it hits me that I am lost. I want to curse and shout at the realization, let off my steam on the rusted up tractor nearby maybe, but I take a moment to steady my breathing and remind myself that all things must pass. This misfortune, this anger at that misfortune, will pass too. And while the man may be stubborn and angry, the butterfly is content to make the best of this.

The track of dirt that one might call a road continues on for a few hundred feet ahead of me, ending at a white farmhouse that stands alone in the vast green sea. A coop sits in a fenced off area behind it, chickens and ducks milling about, pecking at the grass. As I approach the house, I notice a beat up Ford F-150, probably from the 70s or 80s, sitting parked out front. Up close now, I can see that the bumper is rusted and decorated with bumper stickers, all cracked and peeling away save for one in the center, pristine black on white: "John 3:16". I look away from the truck to the front porch which houses an old wooden swing bench and a wooden sign above the front door, proclaiming "As for this house, we will serve The Lord. - Joshua 24:15".

And underneath that sign stands an old man in a plaid shirt and faded blue jeans, toting a double barrel shotgun. Not aimed at me, not yet, but ready to be at a moment's notice.

The man sets his icy blue eyes on me, his gaze more suspicious than sinister. "You lookin' for somethin', son?" he asks.

"Just passing through, sir. Might be in need of directions," I say as I raise my hands in a placating manner.

He lowers the gun a bit and I lower my hands just a bit too. "That so? Where you from?"

"Hub City. Trying to find my way back."

He blinks in surprise at that, quirking an eyebrow at me. "You're far from home. What brought you out here so far?"

"Enlightenment."

The man snorts at that. "Ha. Guess you might find it better out here than in the Hub," he says, before trading his two handed grip on the scattergun for one hand on the barrel, resting the stock on the ground as the other hand extends outwards. I walk up the porch steps and shake the man's hand. "The name's George. What's yours, son?"

"Victor."

He smiles at that. "Victor? Had a friend named Victor once. From Hub City, too. Good friend."

"Had?"

"With the Lord now. Passed a few years back." The smile on George's face grows wistful as he remembers his friend, his gaze setting past me and onto the bright blue sky, no doubt going through memories like an old photobook for a moment before coming back to Earth. He sets his eyes back on me. "Just finished up lunch. Looking for a meal, Victor?"

"I'd appreciate it, sir."

"Come on in then," he says, opening the door. We step through and into the foyer, a quaint little hallway leading to a staircase at the end, with a doorway on both sides leading into other parts of the house. Framed photos hang on the wall, dotting the room with memories of years past. Most of the photos are of George and a man, going as far back as young adulthood. The last photo with the other man is of him and George sitting on the swing bench out front, the man smiling contently at the camera while George sneaks a look at the man, love in his eyes.

Love.

George sets the gun down next to the door, carefully. "Sorry 'bout the gun. Get some no good sons of a gun out here sometimes, love to cause a ruckus. Usually that scares 'em off."

"Not a problem. Gotta defend your home somehow," I say. George grins at that.

"Right you are, son." He moves forward, but I stand in place, still looking at the last photo. "You good there?"

"That Victor?" I ask, gesturing to the framed picture. George turns to it, then back to me.

"Yep. There he is."

"... How long were the two of you together?"

George's face goes a bit pale at that. He sputters a bit at my bluntness, letting out a cough, before regaining his composure. "... In the eyes of the law, two years. In the eyes of the Lord, forty-seven."

"He looks like he was a wonderful man."

George's smile returns at that. "The most wonderful man I could have asked for." He turns back to the doorway, continuing on through it. "C'mon now," he calls to me, "Food must be gettin' cold."

We take a seat at the dining table in the kitchen and eat, chatting about nothing in particular. We jump around from subject to subject. Our pasts, our presents, our plans for the immediate and far future. Neither George or I have much to say on the last subject. Both he and I share the same commitment to just living in the now.

The topic shifts to my need for directions. "I gotta swing by Highwood tomorrow to pick up some farming supplies," he says, referring to the town just 50 miles south of Hub City. "You can stay the night and come with me in the morning, try and find a ride into the Hub. I'd take you myself but it's been decades since I last set foot there and I ain't too keen on heading back."

I give a nod at that. "I understand. I appreciate it a lot, George. Thank you."

He waves a hand dismissively at that. "Don't mention it. You'd do the same for me, I'd hope."

I give him a smile. "Of course."

We finish up our lunch after that. I handle the dishes while George heads out back to tend to his poultry. Gazing out of the window overlooking the kitchen sink, I can see George scattering grains for the chicken and ducks as they crowd around him in excitement. A smile makes its way on my face as I gaze past the scene to examine the rest of the yard. About fifteen yards away from the scene I spot a large oak tree, casting a blobby shadow against the grass. Under it rests a grave. I can barely make out the inscription from this far away.

Victor B. Waltson
Loving Husband
Romans 12:10
1949 - 2016

The man in me can't tell if his mood is lifted or soured upon seeing that, caught between joy for George and Victor's love for each other and sorrow at George's loss. I never knew Victor, but from what George has told me, he loved the man above all else. And while the man in me is conflicted, the butterfly that is dreaming of him is glad that they loved, once and forever. Finding peace and solace in another person, especially in a time when that love was deemed worthy of scorn and hatred, is a beautiful thing.

I finish the dishes up and head outside to join George. He shows me the ropes, letting me scatter a bit of grain for the chickens and ducks, before moving on to showing me how to clean their coop while they're distracted by their meal. We spend a few more hours together before heading back inside for a quiet dinner of pot roast and mashed potatoes before George turns in for the night. He shows me to the guest room before heading to his own room.

As I lay in the bed, red cotton blanket wrapped around me and a grandfather clock in the hallway slowly ticking away, I stare at the ceiling and contemplate how much might have changed in Hub City in the year I had been absent. Fermin's term wouldn't be up for another two years, so I'd at least still have my hands full with him. But my mind continues being drawn towards other things, other people, people I cared for rather than crusaded against.

Tot. The last we spoke was in February, before Shiva escorted me to Richard Dragon's cabin in the woods. He seemed worried for me, at least in his own way, which meant snarky comments about how I "shouldn't try out any mushrooms the strange hippie in the woods might offer you." At the time, I laughed; now, I might actually advise him to rethink that statement. If Dragon offered me any mushrooms, I would've taken part.

Sam. My boss, owner, founder, and CEO of Starrstruck Media Inc.. Last we spoke, he was hounding me for another article like the one I did covering Council Chairman Floyd's ties to the Chicago Outfit. "Drove our traffic up by fifteen percent, Vic!" he told me, all excited about it, but I convinced him to give me an extension of a month for the article. I was about to get documented proof of Mayor Fermin's ties to the Sinners, Hub City's answer to the Outfit, when Shiva ended my life. Hopefully, he'll be willing to increase the extension he gave me by another month, if we weren't counting the twelve I wasn't there for of course.

Myra.

Myra...

The clock ticks away.

The last time I spoke to Myra was two years ago now, just after my article on her brother for the Gazette was released. She called me to meet at a cafe in Hupert Square, said we needed to talk. I knew what about. When I got there, she had a window table all to herself, waiting for me. She looked absolutely stunning, as she usually did. Her long strawberry blonde hair was pulled tightly into a bun, as it usually was when she was working. It was gorgeous when she let it down. I loved to play with it. The gaze of her striking green eyes was set on the park across the street, watching the children as they played and laughed, a small smile on her face as she spectated.

Her smile shifted to a scowl when I announced my presence.

"Myra," I said, sliding into the chair across from her. I smirked at her glare. "Not really digging the vibes here. Feels like I need a beanie and an oiled up beard to be able to fit in. Maybe they'll settle for me starting up a tech com-"

"Don't. I'm not in the mood for your smartass shit, Vic." She pulled out her phone and unlocked it, before sliding it across the table to me. I picked it up; lo and behold, my very own article, my claim to fame. My smirk widened into a grin as I looked over my work. "What the fuck is this?"

"My own Kentucky Derby. Something that will lay the groundwork for all pieces of political journalism to come," I said, sliding the phone back and leaning back in my chair.

She didn't seem amused. "What it is is you dragging my brother's name through the mud like he's just some, some-"

"Some crooked politician, just like all the other no good bastards in City Hall. Just because he's your brother doesn't mean he's a good man."

"Don't you dare say that about him. My brother has done more for this city in the two months he's been mayor than you ever have, or ever will!"

"Right, right, really doing a great job at pocketing city funds, taking bribes, getting his mobster friends out of jail while he lets men like Hugo Wernher rot behi-"

"Oh, Wernher, again? That man murdered a cop, Vic!"

"Because that cop would've shot him and his wife if he didn't!"

"It's a miracle he didn't get the death sentence. You know I was the one who lobbied for that, right? Everyone wanted him sent back to Indiana so he could be put on death row there but because you were so insistent on it I pulled some strings to make sure the case remained in Illinois, and I-" she pauses, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose as she groans in frustration. "... Vic. I love you, but I can't... I can't stay with a man who hates my brother the way you do."

"... Then don't," I said, before standing and walking away. In the reflection of the windowpane in the door, I saw her shocked expression, battling between surprise, anger, and sorrow at my response. Finally, she settled on a disgusted scowl, turning away. I walked out of the cafe and never looked back.

I never looked back.

The only woman I have ever loved. There had been others, before. I slept around a bit in college before I met her. A few women, a man here and there, but no one was like her. No one was able to keep me on my toes as much as she was. I threw that all away.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock...

The clock continues its countdown.

Tomorrow, I'll be returning to Hub City.

But tonight, I am content.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T H E Q U E S T I O N

---

^{_{V I C T O R S A G E ♦ J O U R N A L I S T ♦ H U B C I T Y , I L L I N O I S ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

<sup>"I think it is more likely you are the butterfly, dreaming you are the man."
- Richard Dragon</sup>

You know the gist of it.

Charles Victor Szasz was born into poverty, the son of a prostitute. His mother died; he was raised in a home for problem children and kicked out when he was old enough. Taken in by chemist-turned-university-professor Aristotle "Tot" Rodor, Charlie was cleaned up, given a second chance at life. Going by Victor Sage now, he went to college, fell in love with a woman named Myra Fermin, and became a journalist for the Hub City Gazette.

Myra's brother, Wesley, was a corrupt politician with mob ties who became Mayor of Hub City in a landslide (read: rigged) victory against any and all opposition. Victor used some favors to squeeze an article he had written onto the front page of the Gazette's website. "Mayor Wesley Fermin: Incompetent, Ignorant, Or Insidious" was the title of the article that nearly got the Gazette sued for all they were worth, ended Vic's relationship with Myra, and cost Vic his job.

Blacklisted from every major media outlet in Hub City, Vic found work as a freelance writer for Starrstruck, a website and monthly magazine covering the latest scandals in Hub City's political scene. But he was not content, and so along came Tot, who needed help. Tot and his old colleague, Arby Twain, created Pseudoderm back in the 80s; a skin-like bandage bonded to the skin by a binary gas. The gas, however, was poisonous when exposed to the bloodstream, and so the pair abandoned the project. Twain, however, was planning on selling it. That couldn't happen.

And so, Tot created a mask for Vic using Pseudoderm to take on Twain's operation. The rest, as they say, is history. After bringing Twain to justice, Vic became The Question, Hub City's protector, taking on everything from petty crooks to mob families to attempting to expose and unravel the web of corruption that plagued the city. But one night, The Question vanished. Vic Sage stopped coming into work. Life continued on in the Hub as it so often did.

Now, a year later, he makes his return because some questions remain unanswered.

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:

---

Personally, I've been reexamining myself over the last few months, what I want to do, what I believe in, etc., etc.. I won't bore people with stuff about myself but I feel that I'm finally reigniting that spark I haven't felt since Ultimate One Universe all those years back and I'm excited to show you all what I can do now that I have both that spark back in me and five more years of writing experience since the last time I was really into these kinds of roleplays. If I flake out again, then please kill me.

Victor has technically been active as The Question for two years. However, after the first year he was forcibly removed from Hub City and planted into the woods to train with Richard Dragon, only now finally returning to his hometown to take on the faceless visage of The Question again. During his time with Dragon, he was trained in the martial arts and opened his mind up to the man's Zen philosophy, though that isn't to say that he experienced an overnight transition from a violent and self-righteous vigilante to a wisened protector of the weak; it was a slow and gradual process, one he is still undergoing. He is not perfect, nor will he ever be, but over the course of his journey he hopes to become the best man that he can be and to alleviate the suffering that permeates Hub City and its inhabitants.

I'll be taking a bit more of a self-contained approach to this, reimagining and recontextualizing some of my favorite Question stories (as well as writing new ones) in this modern day shared universe that the RP has established. I'm open to crossovers, of course, but I would have to really hash it out with whoever I want to work with (or who wants to work with me), as what has killed the little motivation I had in past Hype style games has been my overeagerness to commit to a crossover with absolutely no idea what I want to do with it. Feel free to pitch something to me, and I will hope that if I pitch something to another player that they are open to my ideas.

I don't know how long this roleplay will last, whether it be a few weeks or a few months or even a few years, but I hope to be able to write some cool stories and get to know you all better (or, in many cases, reknow).

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

---

Taking all inspiration from Dennis O'Neil's seminal The Question comic run that ran from 1987 to 1990, forever shaping the character as we know him in the comics and inspiring my lifelong love for Buddhist Zen philosophy.

Supporting Cast

Aristotle "Tot" Rodor - Vic's father figure and mentor, a former chemist and retired university professor who designed Vic's mask and is responsible for finally correcting the mistake in the binary gas that made it toxic to open wounds. He is a constant pillar of support for Vic, both in and out of his guise as the Question, though the old man has a rather sardonic way of showing his love, usually found chiding the young man.
Myra Fermin - Vic's former lover and sister of his long time object of hatred Wesley Fermin, currently head of public relations on her brother's mayoral cabinet. She and Vic are estranged; though they once loved each other, Vic's unyielding antipathy towards her brother and the subsequent article he wrote for the Gazette drove them apart.
Samuel "Sam" Starr - Vic's boss and friend, owner of Starrstruck Media Inc., a small news outlet in Hub City that focuses on political scandals and gossip, namely in the Hub but also in other cities around the US such as New York, Metropolis, Gotham, and so on. Though he and Sam are friendly, Vic can't help but wonder if his boss truly cares for him or simply the traffic his articles seem to attract to their site.
Richard Dragon - Vic's mentor in the ways of Zen, once a world famous martial artist and adventurer who now lives isolated in the woods, hoping to attain enlightenment. Though Vic doesn't know if he will ever see the man again, he is grateful for all that Dragon passed onto him either way.
Lady Shiva - The woman who ended Vic's life and then saved it, a deadly assassin and mercenary who works for all manner of clientele. Vic can't seem to get a read on her, no matter how much he tries, and he isn't sure if he'll ever know why she saved his life.

Antagonists

Wesley Fermin - Vic's primary target, Hub City's corrupt mayor who is in bed with the Gospel of Sinners. Vic, prior to this point, had made it his life's mission to take Fermin and everything he built down; now, he simply hopes to bring answers to the people of Hub City by bringing him to justice.
Reverend Jeremiah Hatch - An evangelist with a podcast and web show, as well as the founder and head of the Gospel of Sinners, Hub City's resident mafia. Vic doesn't even know of his involvement with the Sinners, though he will soon find out.
Max "Banshee" Bine - A mobster with the Chicago Outfit and associate of the Sinners, being the primary link between the two criminal families. Supposedly a mutant capable of manipulating sound waves using his voice, earning him his nickname.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

... Like A Butterfly

I was six years old the first time I saw a man get killed.

My mother was taking me to an ice cream shop a few blocks away from our house in Gordon's Corner, a once promising residential district in Hub City that had devolved into a slum by the time I was born. People called it Lucifer's Corner. That was underselling it. We were leaving the shop, ice cream cones in hand, when a car wrapped itself around a streetlight in the blink of an eye. The driver was killed on impact while the passenger pulled himself out of the window and barely managed to get up on his feet, stumbling in our direction.

That was when another car pulled up. A young man in ripped jeans and a tattered hoodie hopped out of the passenger's seat with a gun in his hand and a glint of hatred in his eyes. He marched right towards the man that just survived the crash, grabbed him by the nape of his neck like a puppy, then shot him twice in the back of the head. No hesitation. No time for his victim to get a word out. Didn't even look at us before hopping into the car with his friends and driving off.

My mother was screaming but I couldn't hear her. Everything seemed far away, like I had just been fitted with a new pair of concrete boots and tossed into the ocean. She pulled me away while screaming, took off her jacket and used it to wipe my face. She pulled the now bloody coat away and it was only then that I realized my face was covered in blood and brain matter. I didn't cry. I didn't understand what I had just seen. But it never left me. That man breathed his last on November 29th, 2001.

People used to ask me if I had nightmares about it for weeks after the fact. I always told them yeah and left it at that. Truth is they never stopped. Matter of fact, I'm having a nightmare about it right now. My surroundings twist and morph, my mother's crying visage fading away as darkness consumes everything. All that's left is me, the man, and the void. His cold, dead eyes peer into my own. There's no emotion there, no life, no spark behind the pupils.

As I stare into his eyes, I notice his skin is crawling, almost bubbling up as it consumes his features. It swallows his mouth, then his nostrils, ending with his eyes.

His lifeless eyes.

And then, as the skin finishes swallowing his features and his blond hair slowly fades into black, I realize that I am looking at myself.

I was twenty-six years old when I died.

I went to the docks chasing after my latest lead on Wesley Fermin. More proof of his mob ties, some racketeering ring, all the good stuff. When I got there, they were waiting for me. Must have known I'd becoming. About half a dozen mobsters with guns and snarls, ready to blow me away. I broke one's arm. Another probably hasn't walked right since. I think the third man's cornea ruptured as I hit him right in the eye socket.

Then a woman stepped forward and they all backed off. She had black silk for hair and obsidian eyes that shined with a reflection of the pure white snow on the ground. A small smile on her face, dangerous, a look that could kill. She took another step forward and I readied my fists, a show of confidence more than an actual invitation to fight. I didn't like hitting girls; still don't. "Back off. I don't want to hurt you," I said, bravado dripping off my tone.

"Don't you?"

Before I even knew what was going on, I was on the ground. My body was broken, bruised, bloodied. Decimated by the woman with the obsidian eyes. The mobsters stepped forward, laughing, those that I didn't already beat to a pulp at least. One had a pellet gun. His specialty, "didn't need anything stronger", stupid gimmick. Shot me in the head. Threw me into the Hupert River. I breathed my last in the icy cold waters on November 29th, 2021.

And then I lived again.

She saved me. The woman who killed me. Lady Shiva. Legendary assassin, martial artist, mercenary. She saw in me a kindred spirit, a warrior's spirit, someone who could decimate his opponents the way she did to me. Just needed some guidance, a teacher, and she knew just the man for the job. She took me to Tot's, let him patch me up a bit, and when I was able to walk again she sent me on my way to Richard Dragon. Once, he was a world famous martial artist and adventurer. Now, a hermit with a log cabin, living in the wilderness, chopping wood, meditating. He didn't seem like much.

"Gonna be cold tonight," he said when I approached. He grinned. "There's an axe and some logs out back. Get to chopping."

I looked at him like he was crazy, then glanced down at the cast my arm was wrapped in. "You're nuts if you think I can chop wood like this. Is this a test or something?"

His grin grew. "You could say that. Are you so stubborn that you'll just freeze your ass off rather than try?" I blinked at that. Dragon didn't give me time to answer as he turned around and walked back into the log cabin.

I went out back and picked up the axe, trying to find a good way to hold it. Took a bit to figure out how to do it with one hand, but I got the hang of it quicker than I thought. The logs splintered against the axe's blade, growing smaller and smaller, nice chunks for loading up into a fireplace or furnace. It took a few hours, but when I was done, I had a few armfuls of firewood to take back and forth, enough to last a night.

"Good work," he said. He got to work on starting the fire as I took a seat at a kitchen table. A kettle and two tea cups sat on it. When he was done, Dragon settled into the chair across from me, grabbed the kettle, and filled the two cups. He grabbed a cup and began to take a sip from it. Hesitantly, I took the other and did the same.

As the cup left his lips, he spoke, "Do you want to hear a story?"

"Sure," I said. "Tell me a story."

He smiled at me. "Once, there was a man who dreamed that he was a butterfly. He fluttered around here and there, carefree, content. He had nothing on his mind but going from flower to flower. But as with all dreams, his came to an end. And when he awoke, he pondered something: was he a man dreaming he was a butterfly? Or a butterfly dreaming he was a man?"

I snorted. "Everyone's heard that one. It's just hokey pseudo-philosophical shit."

"But the question still stands. What was he?"

"A man dreaming he was a butterfly. Otherwise we wouldn't be talking about it."

"But what if life, as we know it, is all just part of that butterfly's dream?"

"Then I guess that butterfly's got a sick sense of humor."

It was Dragon's turn to chuckle. "That he does."

Weeks passed. Eventually, my arm was freed from the cast, and I was able to chop wood with two hands. Still no training in the martial arts from Dragon. I'd ask and he'd smile and say that it was coming. One night, we sat on the porch together, the cool breeze soothing my sweat soaked skin. Winter was winding down and giving way to spring. I didn't think Dragon would speak and I wasn't sure if I wanted to either. Eventually he broke the silence.

"Why do you think Shiva sent you to me?" he said. I turned to look at him, but saw his eyes were set on the stars rather than myself. I turned my gaze to the stars with him.

I didn't have an answer. Didn't want to say that, so I just repeated what she told me. "She thinks that I'm a kindred spirit to her. Some kind of warrior that just needs the training to unlock his potential... Or something like that."

I could hear the smile through his tone. "That is why she thinks she sent you to me. Why do you think she did?"

Guess I would have to think of something. "... Because without someone to hone my body and my mind, I would have wandered this Earth in search of answers for the rest of my life and never found what I was looking for."

"And will you find them now?"

"That's the question I keep asking myself. I won't find the answer from you. But maybe... You'll give me a hint."

I looked to Dragon and found him looking at me, still holding that content smile on his face. Then, he stood and walked past me and onto the grass. "Get up. I'm gonna show you some moves." I blinked at that, but got up and followed right after him. He showed me some breathing techniques, stances, a few punches and kicks. Practical tools and movements of the body, meant to aid my mind in its trials and tribulations... And to beat the hell out of bad guys with.

I stayed with Richard Dragon a few more months before my training came to an end. Everyday started with chopping wood, then stacking it, then studying Zen, working on martial arts, and ending each day with long talks under the night sky with my mentor. When it was time for me to leave, hike back to civilization with my newfound skillset and knowledge, he finally spoke on Shiva's assumption that I held the spirit of a warrior, for the first time since that night so many months prior.

"I disagree with her on that," he said. "You fight, yes, but it is not for the joy of fighting. You find no passion in the fight itself. What you find passion in, what you fight for, is the never ending hunt for truth." He paused, meeting my eyes. "In another life, long ago, Shiva would have been a great warrior, crushing armies, leading her flock to victory. You, my friend, would have been a philosopher."

"The man dreaming he was the butterfly?"

"I think it is more likely you are the butterfly, dreaming you are the man."

We said our farewells. He sat down on his porch, watching me go as I started the trek back to civilization. Fifty miles to the nearest town, another fifty after that to reach Hub City. Nothing but the long road ahead of me, barren, no cars or people for miles around. Long way to go with only the clothes on my back. A few years ago, I would have dreaded doing anything like this, like most people.

Now?

Now I don't care.

Butterflies don't sweat distance.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

"The Question" by Simple Unicycle

A R C # 1
A R C # 1

O D Y S S E Y
O D Y S S E Y

Issue #0: ... Like A Butterfly (See Above)
Issue #1: Devotion
Issue #2: ... Like A Bee
Issue #3: Self Care

A R C # 2
A R C # 2

Z E N A N D V I O L E N C E
Z E N A N D V I O L E N C E

Issue #4: TBA (Upcoming)

A R C # 3
A R C # 3

M A Y B E G O M O R R A H
M A Y B E G O M O R R A H

Issue #?: TBA (Upcoming)

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Simple Unicycle>



What? Nooo... wow. Out of left field.

@Byrd Man

I know. I think doing something I've never done before will really be the way to get back into the swing of things.

One Universe: Unlimited - A Marvel/DC Comics Roleplay

Long time no see.

Wrote most of this up in a daze last night, slept on whether I wanted to join, and after deciding I did, cleaned it up and now am posting it here.

Here We Go... Again

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

T H E Q U E S T I O N

---

^{_{V I C T O R S A G E ♦ J O U R N A L I S T ♦ H U B C I T Y , I L L I N O I S ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

---

<sup>"I think it is more likely you are the butterfly, dreaming you are the man."
- Richard Dragon</sup>

You know the gist of it.

Charles Victor Szasz was born into poverty, the son of a prostitute. His mother died; he was raised in a home for problem children and kicked out when he was old enough. Taken in by chemist-turned-university-professor Aristotle "Tot" Rodor, Charlie was cleaned up, given a second chance at life. Going by Victor Sage now, he went to college, fell in love with a woman named Myra Fermin, and became a journalist for the Hub City Gazette.

Myra's brother, Wesley, was a corrupt politician with mob ties who became Mayor of Hub City in a landslide (read: rigged) victory against any and all opposition. Victor used some favors to squeeze an article he had written onto the front page of the Gazette's website. "Mayor Wesley Fermin: Incompetent, Ignorant, Or Insidious" was the title of the article that nearly got the Gazette sued for all they were worth, ended Vic's relationship with Myra, and cost Vic his job.

Blacklisted from every major media outlet in Hub City, Vic found work as a freelance writer for Starrstruck, a website and monthly magazine covering the latest scandals in Hub City's political scene. But he was not content, and so along came Tot, who needed help. Tot and his old colleague, Arby Twain, created Pseudoderm back in the 80s; a skin-like bandage bonded to the skin by a binary gas. The gas, however, was poisonous when exposed to the bloodstream, and so the pair abandoned the project. Twain, however, was planning on selling it. That couldn't happen.

And so, Tot created a mask for Vic using Pseudoderm to take on Twain's operation. The rest, as they say, is history. After bringing Twain to justice, Vic became The Question, Hub City's protector, taking on everything from petty crooks to mob families to attempting to expose and unravel the web of corruption that plagued the city. But one night, The Question vanished. Vic Sage stopped coming into work. Life continued on in the Hub as it so often did.

Now, a year later, he makes his return because some questions remain unanswered.

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:

---

Personally, I've been reexamining myself over the last few months, what I want to do, what I believe in, etc., etc.. I won't bore people with stuff about myself but I feel that I'm finally reigniting that spark I haven't felt since Ultimate One Universe all those years back and I'm excited to show you all what I can do now that I have both that spark back in me and five more years of writing experience since the last time I was really into these kinds of roleplays. If I flake out again, then please kill me.

Victor has technically been active as The Question for two years. However, after the first year he was forcibly removed from Hub City and planted into the woods to train with Richard Dragon, only now finally returning to his hometown to take on the faceless visage of The Question again. During his time with Dragon, he was trained in the martial arts and opened his mind up to the man's Zen philosophy, though that isn't to say that he experienced an overnight transition from a violent and self-righteous vigilante to a wisened protector of the weak; it was a slow and gradual process, one he is still undergoing. He is not perfect, nor will he ever be, but over the course of his journey he hopes to become the best man that he can be and to alleviate the suffering that permeates Hub City and its inhabitants.

I'll be taking a bit more of a self-contained approach to this, reimagining and recontextualizing some of my favorite Question stories (as well as writing new ones) in this modern day shared universe that the RP has established. I'm open to crossovers, of course, but I would have to really hash it out with whoever I want to work with (or who wants to work with me), as what has killed the little motivation I had in past Hype style games has been my overeagerness to commit to a crossover with absolutely no idea what I want to do with it. Feel free to pitch something to me, and I will hope that if I pitch something to another player that they are open to my ideas.

I don't know how long this roleplay will last, whether it be a few weeks or a few months or even a few years, but I hope to be able to write some cool stories and get to know you all better (or, in many cases, reknow).

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Taking all inspiration from Dennis O'Neil's seminal The Question comic run that ran from 1987 to 1990, forever shaping the character as we know him in the comics and inspiring my lifelong love for Buddhist Zen philosophy.

Supporting cast is TBA.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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... Like A Butterfly

I was six years old the first time I saw a man get killed.

My mother was taking me to an ice cream shop a few blocks away from our house in Gordon's Corner, a once promising residential district in Hub City that had devolved into a slum by the time I was born. People called it Lucifer's Corner. That was underselling it. We were leaving the shop, ice cream cones in hand, when a car wrapped itself around a streetlight in the blink of an eye. The driver was killed on impact while the passenger pulled himself out of the window and barely managed to get up on his feet, stumbling in our direction.

That was when another car pulled up. A young man in ripped jeans and a tattered hoodie hopped out of the passenger's seat with a gun in his hand and a glint of hatred in his eyes. He marched right towards the man that just survived the crash, grabbed him by the nape of his neck like a puppy, then shot him twice in the back of the head. No hesitation. No time for his victim to get a word out. Didn't even look at us before hopping into the car with his friends and driving off.

My mother was screaming but I couldn't hear her. Everything seemed far away, like I had just been fitted with a new pair of concrete boots and tossed into the ocean. She pulled me away while screaming, took off her jacket and used it to wipe my face. She pulled the now bloody coat away and it was only then that I realized my face was covered in blood and brain matter. I didn't cry. I didn't understand what I had just seen. But it never left me. That man breathed his last on November 29th, 2001.

People used to ask me if I had nightmares about it for weeks after the fact. I always told them yeah and left it at that. Truth is they never stopped. Matter of fact, I'm having a nightmare about it right now. My surroundings twist and morph, my mother's crying visage fading away as darkness consumes everything. All that's left is me, the man, and the void. His cold, dead eyes peer into my own. There's no emotion there, no life, no spark behind the pupils.

As I stare into his eyes, I notice his skin is crawling, almost bubbling up as it consumes his features. It swallows his mouth, then his nostrils, ending with his eyes.

His lifeless eyes.

And then, as the skin finishes swallowing his features and his ginger hair slowly fades into black, I realize that I am looking at myself.

I was twenty-six years old when I died.

I went to the docks chasing after my latest lead on Wesley Fermin. More proof of his mob ties, some racketeering ring, all the good stuff. When I got there, they were waiting for me. Must have known I'd becoming. About half a dozen mobsters with guns and snarls, ready to blow me away. I broke one's arm. Another probably hasn't walked right since. I think the third man's cornea ruptured as I hit him right in the eye socket.

Then a woman stepped forward and they all backed off. She had black silk for hair and obsidian eyes that shined with a reflection of the pure white snow on the ground. A small smile on her face, dangerous, a look that could kill. She took another step forward and I readied my fists, a show of confidence more than an actual invitation to fight. I didn't like hitting girls; still don't. "Back off. I don't want to hurt you," I said, bravado dripping off my tone.

"Don't you?"

Before I even knew what was going on, I was on the ground. My body was broken, bruised, bloodied. Decimated by the woman with the obsidian eyes. The mobsters stepped forward, laughing, those that I didn't already beat to a pulp at least. One had a pellet gun. His specialty, "didn't need anything stronger", stupid gimmick. Shot me in the head. Threw me into the Hupert River. I breathed my last in the icy cold waters on November 29th, 2021.

And then I lived again.

She saved me. The woman who killed me. Lady Shiva. Legendary assassin, martial artist, mercenary. She saw in me a kindred spirit, a warrior's spirit, someone who could decimate his opponents the way she did to me. Just needed some guidance, a teacher, and she knew just the man for the job. She took me to Tot's, let him patch me up a bit, and when I was able to walk again she sent me on my way to Richard Dragon. Once, he was a world famous martial artist and adventurer. Now, a hermit with a log cabin, living in the wilderness, chopping wood, meditating. He didn't seem like much.

"Gonna be cold tonight," he said when I approached. He grinned. "There's an axe and some logs out back. Get to chopping."

I looked at him like he was crazy, then glanced down at the cast my arm was wrapped in. "You're nuts if you think I can chop wood like this. Is this a test or something?"

His grin grew. "You could say that. Are you so stubborn that you'll just freeze your ass off rather than try?" I blinked at that. Dragon didn't give me time to answer as he turned around and walked back into the log cabin.

I went out back and picked up the axe, trying to find a good way to hold it. Took a bit to figure out how to do it with one hand, but I got the hang of it quicker than I thought. The logs splintered against the axe's blade, growing smaller and smaller, nice chunks for loading up into a fireplace or furnace. It took a few hours, but when I was done, I had a few armfuls of firewood to take back and forth, enough to last a night.

"Good work," he said. He got to work on starting the fire as I took a seat at a kitchen table. A kettle and two tea cups sat on it. When he was done, Dragon settled into the chair across from me, grabbed the kettle, and filled the two cups. He grabbed a cup and began to take a sip from it. Hesitantly, I took the other and did the same.

As the cup left his lips, he spoke, "Do you want to hear a story?"

"Sure," I said. "Tell me a story."

He smiled at me. "Once, there was a man who dreamed that he was a butterfly. He fluttered around here and there, carefree, content. He had nothing on his mind but going from flower to flower. But as with all dreams, his came to an end. And when he awoke, he pondered something: was he a man dreaming he was a butterfly? Or a butterfly dreaming he was a man?"

I snorted. "Everyone's heard that one. It's just hokey pseudo-philosophical shit."

"But the question still stands. What was he?"

"A man dreaming he was a butterfly. Otherwise we wouldn't be talking about it."

"But what if life, as we know it, is all just part of that butterfly's dream?"

"Then I guess that butterfly's got a sick sense of humor."

It was Dragon's turn to chuckle. "That he does."

Weeks passed. Eventually, my arm was freed from the cast, and I was able to chop wood with two hands. Still no training in the martial arts from Dragon. I'd ask and he'd smile and say that it was coming. One night, we sat on the porch together, the cool breeze soothing my sweat soaked skin. Winter was winding down and giving way to spring. I didn't think Dragon would speak and I wasn't sure if I wanted to either. Eventually he broke the silence.

"Why do you think Shiva sent you to me?" he said. I turned to look at him, but saw his eyes were set on the stars rather than myself. I turned my gaze to the stars with him.

I didn't have an answer. Didn't want to say that, so I just repeated what she told me. "She thinks that I'm a kindred spirit to her. Some kind of warrior that just needs the training to unlock his potential... Or something like that."

I could hear the smile through his tone. "That is why she thinks she sent you to me. Why do you think she did?"

Guess I would have to think of something. "... Because without someone to hone my body and my mind, I would have wandered this Earth in search of answers for the rest of my life and never found what I was looking for."

"And will you find them now?"

"That's the question I keep asking myself. I won't find the answer from you. But maybe... You'll give me a hint."

I looked to Dragon and found him looking at me, still holding that content smile on his face. Then, he stood and walked past me and onto the grass. "Get up. I'm gonna show you some moves." I blinked at that, but got up and followed right after him. He showed me some breathing techniques, stances, a few punches and kicks. Practical tools and movements of the body, meant to aid my mind in its trials and tribulations... And to beat the hell out of bad guys with.

I stayed with Richard Dragon a few more months before my training came to an end. Everyday started with chopping wood, then stacking it, then studying Zen, working on martial arts, and ending each day with long talks under the night sky with my mentor. When it was time for me to leave, hike back to civilization with my newfound skillset and knowledge, he finally spoke on Shiva's assumption that I held the spirit of a warrior, for the first time since that night so many months prior.

"I disagree with her on that," he said. "You fight, yes, but it is not for the joy of fighting. You find no passion in the fight itself. What you find passion in, what you fight for, is the never ending hunt for truth." He paused, meeting my eyes. "In another life, long ago, Shiva would have been a great warrior, crushing armies, leading her flock to victory. You, my friend, would have been a philosopher."

"The man dreaming he was the butterfly?"

"I think it is more likely you are the butterfly, dreaming you are the man."

We said our farewells. He sat down on his porch, watching me go as I started the trek back to civilization. Fifty miles to the nearest town, another fifty after that to reach Hub City. Nothing but the long road ahead of me, barren, no cars or people for miles around. Long way to go with only the clothes on my back. A few years ago, I would have dreaded doing anything like this, like most people.

Now?

Now I don't care.

Butterflies don't sweat distance.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

---

Hopefully, this won't remain empty as it so often has.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

T H E Q U E S T I O N
T H E Q U E S T I O N

^{"My face? Oh, yeah, I tried to wax my own eyebrows at home."}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Victor Charles Sage (Charles Victor Szasz) _________________________________________________________ Caucasian | Private Investigator/Vigilante | Unaffiliated _________________________________________________________ Nomadic | United States Of America C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Victor is 32 years old, having been born on March 15th, 1989. He has been active as the Question since 2012, mostly operating covertly in Hub City. He left Hub City in early 2020 and has been on the road since, during which time he has garnered a bit of recognition among the rest of the United States, having been a rather obscure vigilante to those not from Hub City. ► His father figure and mentor Aristotle Rodor, the man who designed his mask, passed away in 2019 after a battle with pancreatic cancer. This was a large part of the reason Victor ended up leaving Hub City. - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Coming Soon(?) -

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ It took a lot of blood, sweat and tears to make Vic Sage realize that Hub City wasn't worth saving. For every drug ring or mob racket he took out there was always some other ambitious crook with a following to swoop in and fill the hole he had made. Save a man from getting robbed one day and you'd either find him dead in a gutter or robbing some other schmuck himself the next. Hub City wasn't dying; it died a long time ago and he was still doing chest compressions. What can one man do when he finds that his life's work has been for nothing? Most would call it quits. Vic Sage decided to dedicate himself to bettering places that could still be saved. He packed up what little he had in his car one night and left Hub City, never looking back. Since then, The Question has been spotted all over the United States, whether it be busting petty crooks or investigating whatever conspiracy he's stuck on this week. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Vic's primary goal in this new nomadic lifestyle is to try and stop the spread of corruption in as many places as he can, in the hopes of preventing more cities from deteriorating like his hometown did. He'll do just about anything and everything: street gangs, mob families, supervillains, corporate and government conspiracies, you name it. My primary goal in giving him this lifestyle is the hope that I can collaborate with anyone willing to give me a shot. I've grown to absolutely despise that whole "stick in your own corner and play with your own toys" mindset that I and many others fell into way too often in past games and I want to take steps to stop myself from falling into that trap this time around. I'm going into this with very little plans beyond "have fun". I guess you could call him a roaming character then, using the roles established by the GM team. I plan on doing one quick solo arc, maybe two or three posts maximum, to start out and prove that I won't just flake out after one post this time around. After that, I'm open to any and all crossover ideas; if you've got one, hit me with that shit. I'll also be making the rounds and hitting people up with any ideas I have.

---

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

"Victor is 32 years old, having been born on March 15th, 1989."



Also I'm sure Q will have a field day investigating President Superman

@John Table

"I'm just saying, but you never see Calvin Ellis and Superman in the same room. Obviously they're estranged twin brothers."

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

<Snipped quote by Simple Unicycle>

Generic Rorscach

@Enarr

Ouch.

Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]

Well, that was easier than I thought it'd be; gonna get this out before I head to work tonight. Not much but hopefully should provide a clear picture of what I want to do. I also notice that a Sample Post section wasn't included in either sheet despite being mentioned in the rules, is it safe to assume we don't need one?

Episode #248 of "SU Makes Bad Life Decisions"

T H E Q U E S T I O N
T H E Q U E S T I O N

^{"My face? Oh, yeah, I tried to wax my own eyebrows at home."}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Victor Charles Sage (Charles Victor Szasz) _________________________________________________________ Caucasian | Private Investigator/Vigilante | Unaffiliated _________________________________________________________ Nomadic | United States Of America C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Victor is 32 years old, having been born on March 15th, 1989. He has been active as the Question since 2012, mostly operating covertly in Hub City. He left Hub City in early 2020 and has been on the road since, during which time he has garnered a bit of recognition among the rest of the United States, having been a rather obscure vigilante to those not from Hub City. ► His father figure and mentor Aristotle Rodor, the man who designed his mask, passed away in 2019 after a battle with pancreatic cancer. This was a large part of the reason Victor ended up leaving Hub City. - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Coming Soon(?) -

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ It took a lot of blood, sweat and tears to make Vic Sage realize that Hub City wasn't worth saving. For every drug ring or mob racket he took out there was always some other ambitious crook with a following to swoop in and fill the hole he had made. Save a man from getting robbed one day and you'd either find him dead in a gutter or robbing some other schmuck himself the next. Hub City wasn't dying; it died a long time ago and he was still doing chest compressions. What can one man do when he finds that his life's work has been for nothing? Most would call it quits. Vic Sage decided to dedicate himself to bettering places that could still be saved. He packed up what little he had in his car one night and left Hub City, never looking back. Since then, The Question has been spotted all over the United States, whether it be busting petty crooks or investigating whatever conspiracy he's stuck on this week. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Vic's primary goal in this new nomadic lifestyle is to try and stop the spread of corruption in as many places as he can, in the hopes of preventing more cities from deteriorating like his hometown did. He'll do just about anything and everything: street gangs, mob families, supervillains, corporate and government conspiracies, you name it. My primary goal in giving him this lifestyle is the hope that I can collaborate with anyone willing to give me a shot. I've grown to absolutely despise that whole "stick in your own corner and play with your own toys" mindset that I and many others fell into way too often in past games and I want to take steps to stop myself from falling into that trap this time around. I'm going into this with very little plans beyond "have fun". I guess you could call him a roaming character then, using the roles established by the GM team. I plan on doing one quick solo arc, maybe two or three posts maximum, to start out and prove that I won't just flake out after one post this time around. After that, I'm open to any and all crossover ideas; if you've got one, hit me with that shit. I'll also be making the rounds and hitting people up with any ideas I have.

---