Clear skies at night. Moonlight cast down on the bay. Two murdered teens - and three murdered Neo-Nazis. The city was sick. Filled with endless violence between gangs and ineffective heroes. The team here had a hero who used nothing but guns. Stupid. Heroes did not use guns. Heroes rescued cats from trees and stopped natural disasters. This wasn't right. Villains should be brought in, not beheaded. Pointless edge. Pointless bloodshed. It wasn't right. This was not supposed to HAPPEN.

Clark realized his fingers had ripped through the edges of his newspaper. He let out a long breath. An attempt to reach a calm he did not feel. The paper had it all. Articles on the slow death of the shipping industry. Attacks by monsters almost beyond comprehension that destroyed cities. The assassination of some Belgian politician, carried out by faceless horrors. The world was dying. Everyone knew it, and tried to ignore it. Islands sunk beneath the sea, an exponentially-increasing number of quarantined population centers. He could hear every single part of it. The evacuation siren in South Africa, as some villain named Ash Beast incinerated all in it's path. The sobs of a mother as her daughter died of radiation poisoning in the ruins of Moscow. A mugging in San Francisco. An elderly man slipped in his shower in Indonesia, his head cracked against the floor. The horrified screams of a small midwestern town, as some itinerant villain group created monstrosities, melding livestock and human alike. Whispers, so many secret whispers from those who thought no one could hear. Begging from those who wished someone could hear. A pleas for help that went unanswered. A cry that someone, somewhere, could hear them. That someone could do something.

Clark sat on his bench and did nothing. He could do nothing. He heard every single one of them and sat on a bench and held his stupid newspaper. He had spent too much time in the sun today. Sunlight made his senses sharper. A private, personal hell.

The night ticked on. He could not help. He could only observe. He kept his eyes shut and pointed down at the earth itself. If he had wished, Clark knew he could see clean through to the other side of the globe. It had happened by accident this afternoon, a darkness-filled ocean of squid and octopi.

He had looked it up that day. An average of four deaths occured globally every second. Clark heard every single one.

Instead of hiding from the sun, Clark had spent the afternoon in search of someone, anyone, who could help him help that stupid white mutt in the park. Veterinarians asked for money he did not have, and the kennel wouldn't let him in, something about increased security. The pet shelter had been destroyed by one of the other Nazi's, Hookwolf, a month ago and still hadn't been rebuilt.

Nearly a full day in sunlight. It had super-charged his powers. He could hear it all, and do nothing about it.

Light, artificial light, illuminated the street in a bright flash. If Clark did not have his enhanced vision, he would have found it impossible to see for a few moments. As it was, he immediately tilted his head up to see the source.

Purity.

A confirmation of his theory, at least. Another tie between Medhall and the Empire. A glance towards the building showed that Max Anders waited inside. Clark hadn't overheard any conversation between the two, distracted by the sounds of a whole world. A link, but not a strong one. Medhall had too many connections to the Empire to be coincidence, no matter what Anders said on TV.

Clark scratched at his mask. He wore a simple black hood, fashioned out of an old shirt that Tevye had almost thrown away. It completely obscured his face, tied back so that his features had but a bare showing through it. The cloth in front of his eyes mattered little to him, and the full-face covering would help him hide his identity. After Lung had pressed him into service, Clark had sworn to keep himself better hidden. He hoped the cloth would help, but he'd probably need more than just a trench coat and a hat for a good costume.

With a sigh, Clark folded up his newspaper and rose from the bench. He left the paper in a trash can - this city's recycling left much to be desired - and began to trudge away. Lung had not asked for any identities or information yet. Clark had seen news footage of the night before - the clash with the Protectorate and Empire had left him with some wounds he still had to regenerate. Oni Lee had several serious falls, and Clark had seen the bruises on the ninja in person. From what Clark had overheard in conversations between low-level grunts in the ABB, Lung planned a major recruitment push this week to recoup losses. Several Empire goons had discussed the possibility of an attempt to break out Krieg from PRT custody, now that he was to be transported to a more secure facility out of town. It made sense, an attempt by the Empire to regain some of it's lost force. Down four capes and with no recent recruits, the Empire's image of the strongest gang in the bay had taken a hit. They'd try to gather their forces as well. Perhaps the city would know peace for a few days. Perhaps even a week. Clark snorted. Perhaps the moon was made of cheese. Hopeful thoughts had no place in his mind. That emotion lay shunted into the deep recesses of his missing memories, bound around some concept that his mind refused to face.

His journey through the streets was interrupted when he walked into a wall. He stumbled back, confused. Had he just been that lost in his thoughts? It had not hurt too bad, but he had been moving slowly. Clark raised his head to look at the obstruction before him. A red field of energy. His eyes widened under his facemask, and he whirled about. Another field behind him. He was trapped. Trapped. He began to hyperventilate. His chest began to ache, the scars beneath his shirt feeling like they bled all over again. He placed a hand on a wall, falling to his knees. Memories. Too many memories. He couldn't sort through them all, they blended together in flash of fear and pain and blood and rage.

Rage.

He'd been here before.

Imprisoned with red all around.

"I've been in worse places than this," he whispered. Anger began to fill him, even as hot tears soaked into the fabric of his mask. All he could remember was the emotions he had felt. No faces, no actions, just emotions.

Just as quickly as the light around him had formed, it disappeared. He heard an impact nearby. He felt weak, on his hands and knees. A hand touched his shoulder and he recoiled violently, rolling to the side. Clark stumbled to his feet, hands forming into fists.

A tall woman floated before him. Blonde that swept over one eye. White costume. Clark's vision narrowed. He remembered. He remembered someone who-

"Dude, are you okay?" The frankness of the powerful girl's question startled him. "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like that. Seriously, I am really sorry about that, you just weren't responding when I called out to you, and I wanted to get your attention, and…"

She trailed off. Clark just stood there, unmoving.

"And it's my fault if I triggered a bad memory or something. I didn't mean to, but I know that that doesn't excuse it. Really, are you alright? Do I need to get you some help? I can do that. I can get some help if you want. I could talk to my cousin or something if you want, but she doesn't work with brain trauma. Please. Please just say something so I know I didn't mess you up, I am really sorry about this."

Clark blinked. The rage had started to fade. The cape before him looked familiar, yes, but that was only because he had seen her the night before. Laserdream, member of New Wave. That must have been where he had remembered her from, right?

"I'm fine." His voice came out deeper than he intended.

"Okay, good." Laserdream let out a sigh of relief. "Thank fucking God."

She stuck out her hand. "Can we start over? I'm Laserdream, AKA Crystal. You are…?"

The sounds of a dying world filled his ears. He blinked beneath his mask, trying to parse the girl's words, but having a hard time filtering it through the noise.

"Do you need me to repeat the question?" She asked. She looked worried, her hand still outstretched.

"The question…" Clark repeated. The words turned over and over in his mind. Strange memories accessed, memories of comic book pages and nights spent in a basement. Memories of mysteries upon mysteries. Of a faceless figure that knew more than he should. Clark could not remember much more beyond those vague concepts, but he knew the right name for a faceless trench coat detective to have.

"The Question," he said again. "I am the Question."

"That's... That's your name? Can't say it's what I would have picked for you, but if that's your name, that's your name."

They stood for a few moments longer, as Clark wrestled with his abilities in an attempt to bring them under control. Laserdream still had her hand extended, but lowered it when Clark did not respond.

"Right, um, Mr. Question. I have some stuff to ask you, if that's alright. Do you want to do it here, in this alleyway? There's a diner that's open not too far away, if you'd prefer?"

"Alley's fine."

"Right, the whole, um, mask thing. Right." She took a deep breath. "Do you know that the rest of New Wave is out looking for you right now?"

"No," Clark said. "Why?"

"I'll answer that if you answer something for me."

He considered it for a few seconds, before he gave a nod. With his permission, Laserdream asked her question.

"AreyouamemberoftheABB?" She blurted it out, with no room for air between each word. She looked a little angry at it as well.

Clark considered the question. Lung had ordered him to answer any questions he asked, but the draconic gang boss had done little more, aside from his unfunny joke. So, after a few moments, Clark shook his head. To further put the cape's mind at ease, he raised a hand and peeled back the glove that covered it. He pointed to the pale back of his hand.

"No. White."

For some reason, Laserdream's eyes narrowed.

"The ends do not justify the means. Revenge shouldn't mean just creating further bloodshed." She ran a hand through her hair, revealing her other blue eye. "I know this it sounds weak, coming from me, someone who can shoot lasers and fly. But you cannot just kill to try and save this city, Cl-Question."

She blushed a little at her slip-up.

Clark did not move. She knew. Of course she knew. She had seen him in this exact coat with this exact hat the night before. Some stupid tied shirt around his face would not have thrown her off. She knew his identity, and he could not even threaten hers in response. All members of New Wave kept their identity's public.

"I… I did not mean for it to happen."

"Didn't mean? Question, I don't know how you did it, but you gave the personal addresses of a rival gang's capes to an assassin. What did you think would happen? Why didn't you go to the PRT, or to us? Hell, I gave your family my personal phone number? Why didn't you just call me?"

His rage. His anger. Clark knew the answer, and he did not like it. A dark heart of red rage beat within his chest, a desire to lash out in violence to all who did not fight for a better world. All who would see this Earth dragged into the darkness that lies within them all. A desire to kill all who- He forced that thought to end.

Heroes did not kill.

What did that make him?

"You're right," he finally said. "And in a just world, I would have. Laserdream, I appreciate the help you gave last night. But you're living in a dream world if you think that I have as much choice. You heroes barely do anything heroic. Some of us have to trust others for protection. Some of us cannot afford the nice houses by the docks, or places on your regular patrol routes. The Empire has killed, beaten, tortured and extorted thousands in this city. We need protection, protection you can't always be there to give. So we turn to other options."

He began to walk past the cape, on towards Tevye's place. That area of the city had lost power last night, something about a stray blast from Purity frying a transformer. The dark patch it created made it easy for Clark to orient himself. He spared a look towards the Shuster apartment, and caught sight of a startled woman in a costume on the street below. She glanced about, seemingly confused. Clark furrowed his brow, and turned back to Laserdream.

"I am not as familiar with capes as I should be. Which hero wears a black coat and heels?" While he waited for her to respond, Clark turned to look at the costumed woman once more. She had moved a considerable distance from her original spot, but seemed confused again. A teleporter, perhaps? Maybe someone the PRT called in to deal with Oni Lee?

"Any emblem?" Laserdream asked.

"No."

Clark felt a gust of air as Laserdream rushed to stand next to him. "Question. This is important. Why are you asking this? Have you seen this cape?"

"In a way, yes."

"Question, that's Night. One of the Empire's enforcers. Where is she? Are you planning on giving up her identity to the ABB? I can't let you do that."

Clark watched in slow horror as the costumed woman began to approach the apartment building Tevye lived in. She seemed curious, still looking about. Searching. Did she know? She shouldn't have, but Laserdream had tracked him down. Perhaps he had not covered his tracks as well as he thought.

"Is she a teleporter, like Oni Lee?"

"Why are you asking me this now, Question? We weren't done here." When Clark failed to respond, Laserdream sighed once more. "Her power is to turn herself into some gross monster when nobody can see her, or something like that. Victoria would know better. Seriously, if you are going to try to be a cape around here, you need to be better informed on this sort of thing."

Clark focused his gaze on the woman. He did not dare to blink, despite knowing that he could see through his eyelids if he needed to.

"Laserdream, I need to ask you a favor."

"If you plan on sowing more death tonight, I will have to stop you." The blonde folded her arms.

"If you give me this one favor, you'll prevent a whole lot more death." Clark said, his eyes still on Night. "Please. Help me."