Who: The Question What: The Question does research on one of his team mates to determine her worth. He comes up with more questions than answers but decides she's worth trusting. Where: Gotham City, NJ - Gotham Heights HS, Bertinelli Residence, various places. When: Saturday, August 11th - 5 AM. (Forward dated) Rating: PG-13
It had been a long night. Longer than usual. The entirety had been spent doing research. Research for The Question was often a pleasurable experience. It fed his curiosity and allowed him to do what came so naturally. But instead of finding answers this night, question upon question piled up with each new locale.
The first stop had been to the scene of a triple homicide. Though the damage to the walls from bullets and blood had been removed years ago, it was easy to picture it. The smell of cordite and lead in the air, obscuring the aroma of a late dinner. The screams of women and children echoed down the hall. Sobbing from somewhere nearby tickled his ears and try as he might, he couldn't find the source. Thick ropes of blood smeared the walls and pooled at his feet. There was something else in the air. Something he couldn't place. Three people had been gunned down where he stood and their ghosts were haunting him. This was what some might call hallowed ground. To The Question, it was more than that. It was insight into a persons soul. How could someone have pulled themselves up from this hellish place? Movement upstairs caused unseen eyes to narrow and the hallucinations vanished. The Question was left standing in a sparsely decorated hallway while someone upstairs relieved themselves in the restroom. The faceless man slipped out the back door, taking his duct tape with him.
The next stop had been to a school. As a child, schools had always seemed like prisons. Or maybe that was just what the orphanage instilled in him. Bars on the windows of each classroom. A metal detector loomed at the entrance hallway. This institution certainly had the look and feel of a government building. Unfortunately for their security measures, Q had quite the repertoire of skills. "So c-come on. You got it wrong. To prove I'm right I put it in a so-o-ong." He sang as he went to work on the motion sensors used to monitor the hallways. Child's play, really. "I don't know why, You're being shy. And turn away when I look into your ey-e-es."
With the motion sensors shut down, he was free to peruse the halls. The main office had been his first stop at Gotham Heights. "You don't know oh oh. You don't know you're..." He had been scanning the mail cubbies and when he found the one he was looking for the song died in his throat. Grasping the large stack that was stuffed here, he began flipping through its contents. Newsletters, pay stubs, reminders for staff meetings. Didn't she ever pick up her mail? The mail was folded neatly and tucked into his overcoat pocket. The school's computer system was of no help either. Substitutes weren't that well tracked. She didn't even have a particular room from which she operated. The perfect cover. But why a school?
The office chair spun lazily behind him as Question slipped out into the hallway once more. He stalked the corridors and mulled over that thought. Violent. Angry. Vengeance never far from her thoughts. Why a school? Why children? How could someone with such a short temper stand being in a place like this? Whispers danced about in the air around him. Laughter floated by as ghostly images of children ran back and forth. He could make out the steady chant of prayers. The scolding of the nuns for getting in another fight. Phantom pain raced along his knuckles from repeated slaps. The images and sounds drifted away as he took his leave of Gotham Heights.
As he settled into the driver's seat of his beetle, he knew there was only one place left to go.
For the third time this night the masked man found himself breaking and entering. And once again disappointment flashed through him. No real security here. A death wish. That had to be the answer. Anger followed swiftly on the heels of disappointment. Brash. Foolish. She wanted everyone to know who she was and what she did. There was no hiding. Worse yet she planted herself in such a public place. With children between her and them. Sage was a little more forceful than he needed to be and a few scratches dotted the handle of the front door. He tucked the lock picks into his pocket and let the door shut behind him.
A gloved hand stroked his chin as he let his senses extend out into the apartment. No hint of breathing. No creak of wood settling. There was no one here. No doubt she was out venting her aggression on the populace of Cosa Nostra this night. With a frown Question slipped further into the apartment of Helena Bertinelli.
He took his time looking over every inch of the apartment. He was wary for any traps or security devices. None readily presented themselves to him though during his investigation. There was nothing here to answer any of the questions gnawing at his insides. She had one set goal in life and it was to kill those who had taken her family. And to hell with any that stood in the way of her revenge. She was too dangerous to allow to stay in the group.
Question removed the school mail from his pocket and set it neatly on the kitchen table. He'd already organized it by date and laid it out. That was when his eyes drifted over to another stack of papers. Easing into a chair, Question flipped through the pile of notebook paper. They were reports. Children's homework. Each had been graded by Bertinelli and each bore words of encouragement and praise. The criticism here was constructive and did not mesh with the sneer he had seen her wear countless times. Inconsistent. She wasn't all cocky bravado and unleashed rage. It was as if she actually cared about her job. Or more importantly the children. "Hurm." He muttered to himself, scanning over the words she had scribbled in red ink again. Graphology, once lauded, had now fallen into disuse. But Question knew the truth behind the scientific study of handwriting. More importantly, he knew of its accuracy and insight into the mind of a person. It was one of the reasons he did all of his notes on a typewriter or computer.
She cared for these children. Given her own past, it was understandable. She had lost a childhood. Was she protecting theirs? Now that was a revelation. It didn't make up for the lives she had taken. It didn't mean redemption. But it did mean something else.
There was hope for her.
Question's hand found the red pen she had used to grade these papers on the table's surface. He uncapped it and made a correction to the top reports grammar. A single question mark had been needed. Vic set the stack back down in the same spot he'd found them and placed the pen on top. With that discovery made, he took his leave of the apartment. When he hit the street, he pulled the brim of his hat lower and headed for the beetle.
The Huntress was on a dangerous path but she wasn't too far gone. Maybe, just maybe, he could help her and break her of that anger. So he held onto that hope.