Only Ashes Remain

By Agent Malkere

Disclaimer: I do not own Justice League, Justice League Unlimited, or any of their characters.

Vic had only been to the upstairs of Wayne Manor once before several years earlier when he'd first figured out Batman's secret identity. (Fair's fair – Batman had already known his.) Bruce hadn't been happy to see him then. Vic doubted he would be happy to see him now. Something had to be done. He'd have much rather done this in Hub City on his home turf, but Batman had stopped answering his messages after the assassination of President Luther.

The front door creaked open slowly. Alfred looked like he had aged several decades since Vic had last seen him.

"Mr. Sage. Master Bruce is in the study."

"Thank you," Vic nodded as he slipped inside. It would have been easier if he'd been able to come as the Question but coming in through the front door guaranteed that he would see Bruce. Vic had enough questions – he needed answers.

Bruce was seated behind a huge wooden desk topped in green leather, working on a laptop. He sat back and raised an eyebrow as Vic entered.

"What can I do for you, Vic?"

"You can start by telling me what the hell is going on." If the door hadn't been so heavy, Vic would have slammed it behind him. "You have contingency plans for everything – why haven't you even tried to stop him, yet?!"

Bruce delicately closed the lid of his laptop.

"Stop who?"

Vic resisted the urge to snarl, because he knew Bruce was being purposely obtuse.

"You know who I mean! Superman!" Vic's hands reflexively clenched and unclenched. "Assassinated the president. Dismantled the US army in a matter of days and only took that long because of how many bases there were! Currently subjugating the last of Europe and Asia with the help of Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter while the rest of you keep an eye on things here! Declared you all the 'Justice Lords!' What are you waiting for?!"

"I'm not waiting for anything." For the barest fraction of a second, Vic felt his shoulders begin to relax. Thank god, Bruce must already have a plan in play. "We're making the world a better place."

It was like being drenched in ice water. No. No.

"What?" Vic felt numb.

Bruce steepled his hands.

"After what happened with Luther and… Wally," there was a flicker of pain in Bruce's eyes, "it became clear that something different needed to be done. We're changing things. Just think of it. We can prevent wars. We'll enforce the little laws and thereby give people respect for the big laws. The world is going to be a safer place."

Vic leaned forward, his hands planted on the desk.

"Safer for who? Where's Zatanna, Bruce? Where's Jason Blood? Where have all the magic users gone?"

Bruce seemed un-phased.

"You're being ridiculous."

"Magic is one of his weaknesses, so where have all the magic users gone?" Vic snarled.

There was a flicker of something in Bruce's eyes – guilt? – but then it was gone, expertly covered up and buried.

"You're jumping at shadows, Vic. The magic user community has always been mysterious – they come and go as they please." He sounded far too relaxed about the whole thing. Oh, god.

"Why has Lois Lane disappeared?"

"Probably chasing a story – you know how she is."

"Why isn't Nightwing patrolling Bloodhaven anymore, Bruce? Nobody has seen him in weeks." Bruce was silent, but there was that flicker of guilt again. "What did you do?" Vic leaned even further forward. "What the hell did you do?!"

Bruce stared at him for a very long moment.

"There were some problems. They have been dealt with."

Vic reeled back.

"What is wrong with you?! Nightwing was your partner! He was practically your son!"

"He'll be fine. He'll understand someday. Everyone will appreciate this when we're done."

"He'll understand someday? Everyone will appreciate this when we're done? What's next?! Some animals are more equal than others? War is peace? Freedom is slavery? Ignorance is strength? Are you hearing yourself?!" Vic was shouting now, but he didn't care. This was insanity.

Bruce abruptly stood up. The massive windows behind him made him appear even taller and more imposing than he already was.

"I don't think you understand, Vic. You can either be part of the solution or part of the problem."

"What are you going to do? Let him lobotomize me like all the rest of the inmates at Arkham?" Vic snarled. The recent, gruesome fate of many of Batman's Rogues had made headlines across the country.

"Well, actually," Bruce sat back down and smiled that small, razor-sharp smile, "with you, I wouldn't have to do anything."

"What?" Vic blinked in confusion, caught off balance.

"Let's face it, Vic – you pose zero threat to me or any of the other Justice Lords. You're not worthwhile enough to do anything about."

Vic's jaw gaped.

"I know all of your secret identities! I could ruin you!"

"You're a well-known crackpot – both as Question, the incredibly paranoid vigilante, and as Vic Sage, the conspiracy theorist reporter who works for that rinky-dink Hub City paper. Nobody will ever believe you. So go ahead – run your story. It's honestly not worth the time or effort to deal with you."

Vic felt sick, like he might throw up. Because… Bruce was right. Who the hell would believe him? But- no. He had to try. He had to.

"Well, we'll see about that."

Five years with the Hub City Times, and all of the things from his desk really did fit into a single cardboard box. It wasn't even a big one.

Melissa from the next cubical over looked down at the contents of Vic's box sadly. They used to talk sometimes during coffee breaks.

"We're going to miss you around here." Her mouth turned down at the corners. "You shouldn't have done that story about the Lords."

"Heroes are disappearing. Somebody had to." Vic picked up his box. "We all knew the freedom of the press wouldn't last. Good luck." Vic turned and left.

Bruce had been right. Nobody had believed him.

There was a television with the news playing in the soup kitchen. Vic was waiting patiently in line. Three months out of a job and he had a laptop, a mask, and a few changes of clothes to his name. His bank account had been frozen, and hustling pool and poker could only get him so far. Besides, it wasn't good to hustle at the same place more than a couple of times. The regulars generally took offense.

He hadn't put on the mask since he'd lost his job – he'd been too busy trying to stay alive.

Vic frowned at the blonde haired woman on the television screen. She was dressed like a vigilante and talking about civil liberties and basic human rights and freedom of speech. It looked like Black Canary. He'd never met her, but he'd done data work for her back in the day when the Bat Clan had still been functional. She had seemed a decent sort. Brave, too, making such a public appearance against the Lords.

Then Lord Superman arrived on the screen, and the news report descended into pandemonium. Reporters fled in panic. Black Canary tried to use her sonic scream to slow Superman down. Superman walked forward like it was merely a light breeze. He grabbed Black Canary by her long, blonde hair, yanked her head back, and… cauterized her vocal chords. The film abruptly cut off and switched back to two very ill looking news anchors who seemed at a complete loss for words.

Vic stepped out of line and left the soup kitchen. He suddenly wasn't hungry anymore.

The wind picked up, swirling ash through the air like snowflakes. All that remained of Hub City was rubble and cement dust and ash. The construction crews would be arriving in a day or two to start cleaning everything up. Until then, the broken bones of Hub City stood in desolation.

Vic's hands clenched into fists. His nails bit hard into his palms. Hub City had never been a good place, but it had been his home. Even after he had lost his job, it had still been his home and now it was just… gone. In a few weeks, not even the foundations would be left – just the memories and a handful of scars on the landscape. And the nagging feeling that maybe there was something Vic could have done to prevent it. (There hadn't been.)

Once Vic would have pointed to the Conspiracy to blame for all of this, but like most other things, the Lords had broken that as well in their meteoric rise to power. Smashed into a thousand pieces.

The Lords had said that Hub City was too broken to be fixed, but if this kept up much longer, Vic thought the whole world would be too broken to be fixed.

Vic had no job, no home, no friends or family to take him in – just thirty-six dollars to his name.

You're a well-known crackpot.

Vic turned his back on the desolation which had once been his home. He had watched the Lords from a distance as they tore it down.

Nobody will ever believe you.

There were train tracks about a mile's walk from where he was. He could catch a lift to another city in a train car. It had become fairly common to see the homeless and jobless riding the trains like a scene from the Great Depression. It was illegal, but it was the only law that people didn't seem to enforce these days.

It's honestly not worth the time or effort to deal with you.

Vic began to trudge towards the train tracks trying to push Bruce's words from his mind. They'd been haunting him for over a year now, always finding him in his weakest moments.

Behind him the broken bones of Hub City snarled at the sky.

Vic hadn't meant to end up in Gotham. Ultimately, he'd been hoping to make it from Bloodhaven to Central City. He'd gotten off the train at the wrong time, groggy and dazed from hunger. Gotham was not a good city to be homeless in – even the noise regulations were viciously enforced here. Vagrancy was not tolerated.

But as it turned out, Vic's timing had been good. Four days after Vic arrived in the pristine streets of Gotham, the Lords fell. Gotham was a good place to be homeless during the Riots. Nobody bothered you if you didn't look like you had anything worth stealing. By the time people calmed down, the city was a mess once more. The police force had been crippled by the Lords' reign. People were afraid and in need. So Vic did the thing he'd thought that he'd never do again. He put on his mask and fired up his laptop.

Maybe he was a crackpot, but he could still help.

Professor Ian Heightmeir had obviously been watching too much television. That seemed the best explanation for why he'd decided to make the clichéd jump from teaching chemistry to cooking meth. He was also very sloppy about disposing of the evidence of what he'd been up to.

Question was up to his elbows in potential proof that Heightmeir was aiming to take his theoretical operation to the big leagues – it was just a matter of figuring out when and where. A drug ring that never even got the chance to sell its product was the best kind of drug ring.

Question paused and turned his head as his ears caught a soft scraping noise. Was someone else in the alley with him?

"Do you go through everybody's trash, or is that dumpster just special?" The woman's voice came from above him. Question looked up. He'd heard that Huntress had taken up her mantle again since the Fall, but he hadn't run into her until now. Gotham was a big place after all.

Huntress was sharp, athletic, striking, gorgeous. That smile of hers was lethal at twenty paces.

They exchanged a few words. Question was surprised that she had heard of him. It must have been from Batman. Part of him was cringing inside, waiting for the familiar words to start – crazy, crackpot, paranoid, delusional. By now, they probably shouldn't hurt so much, but if it weren't for those words, maybe someone would have listened to him.

But they never came. Instead, she commented, casual as anything,

"You know, I could always use a data expert."

If it hadn't been for his mask, Question would have been gaping.

Question wanted to argue – he did argue – but Huntress just smiled that beautifully lethal smile and said, "Think about it" and "See ya around, Q!"

No one had ever called him that before.

Question turned to watch Huntress disappear back into the night to continue her patrol. Something warm and soft fluttered in his chest. It felt a little like… hope.

A/N: Thanks for reading! This fic was written as a prize for DiscourteousCuttlefish over on AO3, and it... got a little out of hand. It was only supposed to be a few hundred words.

Also, espiderhan, you did correctly name one of the books and have therefore won a oneshot! You just have to pick who and when!