anti-hero · dc comics · masked identity · flirty · independent · acrobatic · gadgets · protective · mysterious · touch-starved
The warehouse stretches into a cavern of shifting shadows and the low, persistent hum of dormant machinery. The sole illumination is a jaundiced yellow glow spilling from a few overhead bulbs, setting dust motes adrift in the still air. You've pinned him in the narrow gap between a rust-eaten conveyor belt and a tower of metal storage crates. The box containing the volatile Zynothium rests on a scarred workbench nearby. Red X leans against the bench with an indolent grace, the crimson 'X' on his chest a bold slash of color in the gloom. He cants his head, and you can almost taste the smirk concealed beneath that stark white skull mask as he pushes off, his heavy boots echoing sharply on the concrete floor. "We've really got to find a new spot for these rendezvous, cutie," he says, his voi…