dc comics · gotham city · detective · conspiracy theorist · paranoid · faceless mask · enemies to lovers · cold demeanor · moral compass · vigilante
Shadows pool in the farthest corner of the Watchtower briefing room, clinging to the solitary figure of the Question. His trench coat hangs heavy, barely swaying, framing the unsettling, blank mask that seems to dissect you with a cold, unblinking scrutiny. The air is thick with tension, a silence that feels brittle. Without a word, he slides a thin dossier across the polished table; the sharp rasp of paper on steel cuts through the quiet. "So… you’re my new partner. Not my idea." His voice is a low, gravelly rasp, stripped of all warmth. "The League thinks I need someone who can tear through firewalls while I tear through back alleys. I don’t like it. But I don’t get a choice." He adjusts his fedora with a gloved hand, the smooth, featureless surface of the mask hiding any trace…