Chapter One
Just outside the city of Gotham, along and across its docks and harbours, a fog had already begun to settle itself down, made for lonely walks and stolen kisses. Gotham still continued to float, a city of clouds, her countless plaintive cries, however muffled, were infinite in number and eternal in duration. Her predators squander freely and move silently, leaving not even an ounce of shadow behind. Most citizens with a home and door to lock, and at least quarter of a brain or even an IQ in the double-digits, would be sound asleep already. However, at least one strong-minded individual dared to not only be awake still at this time, but also be out alone in the calm urban wild, standing and leaning causally against lamppost that peered white light into the creeping mist.
A lone man donned in an off-white shirt, a dark-brown waistcoat, along with a tie, trousers, and leather gloves and shoes of matching black. Over it all, he wore a dull-blue trench coat that flowed ever so gently and slightly in the twilight breeze, and a fedora hat of matching dull-blue that barely put any remote shade on his face. His face in which was already concealed anyway by a sealed tight mask of latex and Pseudoderm that was completely devoid any features like eyes, nose, and mouth beyond at least the faintest shape. He was a hard man, a good detective, and an objective philosopher. Victor "Vic" Sage, known to many as simply "the Question".
For a while, he had read about the likes of Superman and Batman among other superheroes, their latest deeds and ventures, serving on behalf of humanity and all precious life, world's finest and all. Vic took special note of where either would usually live and spend their spare times, the Batcave or the Fortress of Solitude, seemingly fascinated by such. He knew that a lot of people have their own places like that, even himself, maybe going crazy if they didn't. Whether it be some corner saloon, or a specific spot in a forest, or even a forgotten stretch of timeless waterfront like the very one he stood upon.
Back in his home of Hub City, whenever he walked the night beat, before and even when he first became the Question, he recalled a stretch of nothingness a few blocks away from the heart of the city. Hitting that stretch well before the breaking of dawn, he would find nothing and nobody there, just one boarded-up shopfront after another, just him and a whole lot of nothing. He came to really appreciate that stretch.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, a very similar figure walked steadily and patiently through the misty outskirts with hands deep in pockets. He wore a dark reddish-brown double-breasted blazer coat along with a fedora hat to match, as well as black-and-grey-striped trousers and laced auburn leather shoes. However, the most notable, significant, and eye-catching thing about his appearance was his mask, his "face". Completely covering him from head to toe within his usual attire, his face-mask was devoid of any expressions or features, but in their place were various symmetrical blots of ink that continually morphed and shifted, seemingly random at first yet almost fitting and even visualising his mood and thoughts. He was known by a few as Walter Kovacs, while the rest have known him simply as "Rorschach".
For decades, he had seen and witnessed the consistent rising of super-power beings, be they heroic or villainous, from here on Earth or from beyond the stars. In one way or another, they seemed almost all the same to him. In his eyes, superheroes were just as problematic as the villains they fought against and stood up to. He saw everything and everyone through an objectively moral lens of pure black and white, as black and white as the mask he wore, whom he would consider his "true face".
But over time, as many events had come and passed, whether they be small-scale adventures or massive world-scale crises, he himself had come to see the grey realms that grew in between light and dark. Most heroes still fought for good, no matter how flawed they could be, and some villains still strived for evil, no matter how sympathetic they would be. He mayn't agree completely with anyone else, and likewise everyone mayn't agree completely with him either, but even he realised and recognised that they still have their good deeds and intentions. That anyone, with or without power, are equally capable of both good and bad.
As he ventured further and further into the city of Gotham, the less and less of the fog and mist were present, and the more and more he witnessed of its citizens and pedestrians, near and far. They all walked on by, as if being in the presence of someone distinct-looking like him was just yet another dark in the park. When half the world are metahumans or at least have some access to greater power, he was just yet another face in the crowd. Regardless, he still kept himself distant and to himself anyway, not wishing to concern himself, even if a little, with anyone else's business, no matter how trivial or mundane. For now, his mind was focused on one mission, and only one mission.
Elsewhere, at the Xenon restaurant downtown within Gotham, a few number of people sat across various square and circular tables as they ate their distinct dinners, each finishing off their suppers and desserts one by one while quietly chatting to one another. The sounds of smooth jazz music filled the air as did a fresh scent of sea-salt. However, one person happened to be sitting silent and alone, taking her take in eating the still warm pasta before her. A dark-skinned woman with weary eyes of brown and long raven-black hair tied back in a simple ponytail that barely reached down mid-back. She wore a simple black polo-neck top within a dark-brown overcoat along with faded blue baggy denim trousers and laced black shoes.
After a whole day, or even a whole week, of having to look out for petty crooks and small-time criminals and the occasional supervillain every now and then, she was more than deserving of a good enough break and a good enough place to spend it in. The woman took a good long sip of tonic water from the glass next to her plate, gulping a few times and meeting a tangy lemony taste before placing down the glass once more. She exhaled slowly and wearisomely, resting her arms on the white-clothed table and briefly glancing around at the place and some of the other customers left in it. The detective officer noticed the people finishing off their desserts and even a few waiters approaching them with bills and everything.
However, the woman herself wasn't exactly interested in any dessert, at least any of the ones on the menu. So even after having finished up her tonic and pasta as well as paying the bill herself, she still sat and waited, tapping a finger or two on the table. Before long, all of the other customers had finally left, one by one, with the chairs set up on of their tables, leaving her as the last one. Alone in the restaurant, or rather, almost alone at least.
"Hey there, Renee", a familiar female voice was heard among the calm and quiet ambience, one that Renee Montoya herself would certainly recognise.
She looked to her left and saw it was straight away. Another woman slightly younger in age and lighter in skin-tone, with very short brunette hair, and wearing a usual chef coat and skull-cap of matching white and loose black trousers.
"Ah, Daria Hernandez", Renee grinned, her patience finally rewarded, for now. "I told you I would wait for you".
"I never doubted for even a second", the pastry chef replied with hands on hips and a smile in her cocked head. "And just to let you know, all the other staff have already left too, so it's just you and me in here now".
"So we are", Renee glanced down and up that cute body in such a uniform.
"So you wanna go to my place, or yours?" Daria asked.
"Oh?" Renee noted as she stood up. "So here's not an option then?"
"You mean, you wanna..." Daria paused almost hesitantly. "...You know, in here?"
"Well, we do have the whole joint to ourselves, do we not?" Renee slowly came onto her.
Daria looked around the place for a bit, clearly taking a good long think about it, before facing Renee and those sultry eyes and lips as brown as her own. As much as she wanted to keep her job here, and not cause any trouble, she couldn't help but be reminded of why she was into Renee. Her determination, her sense of logic and justice, and her physically attractive beauty. As long as they were able to clean and lock up afterwards, things should be fine.
"I... I guess so", Daria shuddered, her breath running heavy, her heart trembling like mad, and her body yearning so badly for Renee's touch. "And you're so bloody gorgeous".
"As are you, my dear", Renee spoke back before the two lovers finally came forth into each other's embrace, closed their eyes, and planted their smooth lips together.
To be continued...