-/AN: I should be working on the second chapter of my Flash fic. I really should be. But the faceless wonder demanded attention, and I had to provide.

A bit of a crap pun title (another fic I'm in the process of writing about Vic is titled "Question and Answer"), but at least this fic will only be one chapter, right? I heart Vic. The man deserves more credit than he gets.

Written in memory of Charles Victor Szasz himself, who died in a recent issue of 52. This is based in cartoon-verse, so I don't have to admit it./-

--No Further Questions--

Vic Sage had always been a bit of an enigma. His methods were unusual and unorthodox, and even Batman admitted he was "wound a bit too tight." But no one could fault his enthusiasm or his skill, and that was why the Question had remained the League's primary data guy.

There were those in the League who were firm believers that Vic Sage was little more than a nutjob. A crackpot whose strange theories hurt his reputation as a skilled detective. It didn't help that unlike other members of the League, all but a slight handful of which wore regular masks to hide their identities, the Question wore none. No, instead, he wore no face.

People he interrogated, of course, never once stopped to think that the faceless guise in itself was a mask made of a pliable material called pseudoderm. Humans with no faces wouldn't live without being able to breathe, but the thought of facing a strange man who spoke to them in an eerie, halting, musical voice and yet had no visible mouth or nose to speak of tended to scare them into easy submission.

That, he guessed, was probably why he was in the predicament he was in now. It had been a simple round of information gathering... until his target had pulled a gun. Panicked by the Question's simple appearance, he was shaking, the gun aimed at the head of his attacker.

The faceless man had held up his hands, slowly. "Easy." The hammer clicked. "I'm not going to harm you." A sweaty finger on a ready trigger. "I just want some information."

The shot should've killed him, if not for quick thinking. Vic had trained with a man who had taught the Batman himself, and a sweep of the hand and a hard crack to the wrist kept him from having a hole in his head. Instead, the Question was left in an alley, nursing a gunshot wound in the right side of his chest, unable to move much more than that. The pain was severe, and he was sorely aware that he had no real way of getting help without abandoning his operation. He was the only acting League operative in Hub City... how was he going to get word to assistance without giving away his plot?

He noticed the distinct chill in the air before the shadow so many dreaded fell over him, and slowly, the Question laughed. "What has the lowly Question done to earn the presence of the Batman?"

The caped figure standing over him simply narrowed his eyes behind his cowl. "Not funny, Vic. You're injured."

"Nothing serious. Just a gunshot wound. It'll heal," the Question lied. "What are you doing in Hub City?"

Batman shook his head, but only slightly. "I'd heard you were investigating a series of murders that may be related to the Cadmus project being reborn. Any truth to that?"

After a moment's thought, the Question shrugged. "I haven't gotten enough information."

"You're lucky you're not dead."

"I don't believe in luck." The faceless hero paused, tilting his head. "I could, however, use your help."

The Batman placed a quiet hand on the Question's shoulder, even as the man shuddered from the pain his body was experiencing. "What do you need?"

And Vic Sage leaned his head back, his breathing becoming raspy. "Just one thing..."

The atmosphere on the bridge of the Watchtower was solemn. A number of heroes had unmasked, and they were standing at attention, facing Superman, who stood with his brow creased and his hands curled on the edge of the terminal. "Friends," he began, "we've all gathered here today under... unusual circumstances. We all hate to be in this position... but we have lost one of our own. Three days ago, our head data gatherer, the Question, was reported missing." He paused, voice thick with grief. "It was Batman... who found the body. Everyone, I am... terribly stricken to inform you that... the Question was killed."

No one moved. They had all been briefed. Really, this was a formality. They were gathered to grieve... not to be informed of the death of a friend. They were all feeling the brunt of the loss. Near the front, Huntress, her whole frame trembling as she fought the tears that were welling in her dark brown eyes. She loved Vic Sage desperately. Now, he was dead.

As the impromptu ceremony continued, no one noticed her slip out. No one but J'onn J'onzz, whose eyes discreetly followed the exit of the Italian woman into the corridors beyond.

"Huntress." The bridge had cleared out, the mourners - even those that had been unnerved by Vic Sage's unusual habits - leaving to sort out the blow of losing one of their own in their own way. Huntress, however, had returned... something was bothering her. "May I help you?"

"I know I was only recently reinstated, J'onn, but... I'd like to let you know that I'm resigning from the League as of today." The woman held up her hands. "Before you say anything, I know you're aware I only agreed to come back because of Vic. I wanted to be able to help him. Now that he's gone..."

J'onn gave a slow nod. "I understand. This is unfortunate, Huntress. You had done well in your return. However, I can tell you this... we are doing everything possible to find the one responsible for the Question's murder. Once he or she is located, they will be immediately taken to the proper authorities to pay for their crimes accordingly." He paused. "Are you certain you don't wish to help?"

The Italian woman gave a wry, saddened smile in response. "J'onn, you know me better than that. That's why I'm leaving." Quietly, she stepped onto the teleporter pad. "I'll be helping in my own way. But when I find who killed my baby, the only place they'll be taken is the city morgue."

"Well, the trap is laid. By tomorrow morning, there won't be a criminal alive who doesn't believe the infamous Question is dead."

Batman was mostly quiet as he regarded the red-haired man who sat in his cave, shirt off to reveal a thick white bandage that covered the gunshot wound. He was a completely different man sitting there, with his hair messy and his pale green eyes focused on the figure of the infamous urban legend... the Dark Knight of Gotham City. But Vic Sage was neither intimidated nor amused. For this ruse to work, he had to hurt people close to him. He'd come to be uneasy friends with Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow, and then there was the issue of his lover, Helena Bertinelli... Huntress.

"All the better, if I'm to uncover this situation with Cadmus," Sage replied, nodding slightly as his free hand rubbed at the stiff bandaging. "Your butler is an excellent hand at stitching wounds."

Batman's brow raised behind his cowl. "He should be, for all the times he's had to patch me up." He paused. "You shouldn't be pursuing this so soon after your injury, Vic. Besides that, you need to let news of your death sink in. Your presence will be less likely to raise suspicion."

Sage just gave a quiet chuckle. "Please, Batman, you belittle me. The Question has no face. Victor Sage is simply a mild-mannered radio news reporter from Hub City... who scrapes past on minimum, by commission salary and staggers through life appearing both kowed by life and completely dazed."

"Victor Sage isn't even who he says he is, is he, Charles Victor Szasz?"

"Even that's just another alias. You know as well as I do that I've no idea who I was before the orphanage. Just an infant with no name... a faceless cog in the machine."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I returned to Hub City seven years ago looking for the answer to that very question. Considering I found no evidence of natural parents that even wanted to believe the son they left on the doorstep of a church could have possibly survived, I've got every reason in the world to believe that."

"Did you really tell a nun to go to hell?"

"In front of the priest, no less." There was a pause before Sage lifted his head, watching the Batman in silence. "I can't wait, Batman. If I wait, they'll hide away the information and I'll have to go through all of this over again... and they won't be as likely to believe that the Question has died again if he tries it again."

For a moment, Vic Sage regarded the Batman and the expression on the Dark Knight detective's face. He was standing in shadow as usual, but his expression was strangely focused. It had been Batman that had first befriended Sage, meeting him in a remote master's home in his alter ego: multi-billionaire playboy and philanthropist Bruce Wayne. It had taken a great deal of creative digging to find that tidbit of information, but Vic Sage wasn't above creative digging. Besides, Bruce Wayne was not like the Batman. He was a playboy and a scamp and hopelessly dense, with a classy smile and a habit of running Ferraris into flower pots. Women liked Bruce Wayne. Men hated Bruce Wayne. Vic Sage didn't trust Bruce Wayne, because much like himself, Bruce Wayne was the mask. Not the person.

But it was Bruce Wayne that Sage had learned he had to trust. And Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne's butler. The butler was a funny sort of guy. Alfred, he supposed, couldn't really technically be called a butler. He was a different sort of man, trained a different sort of way, with skills that certainly wouldn't fall in what Sage considered butlerly duties. But that was a speculation for another day, and right now Vic Sage's attentions were not with determining what was or wasn't proper behavior for a butler.

Right now, there was a very serious and very severe mystery to be solved. That mystery was Cadmus. And if solving the mystery of the ruined corporation meant having the Batman help him fake an elaborate, painful death... well, so-be-it.

The people Sage would be dealing with were by no means fools. They were sharp-witted and dilligent, and they were very close with their information. There was the obvious amount of celebration after one of their men had reported. Their man had killed the Question. Possibly the third greatest detective after the legendary Batman and the unusually named Enlongated Man. he was a skilled fighter despite all appearances, and it was impossible to determine his identity. The Question was a tall man, an inch or two over six feet plain, but he could appear much shorter. He was broad of shoulder and chest with a strong jaw, but when he spoke, his voice was soft and unassuming. He had black hair, inky and neatly smoothed back, but that could've easily been a wig or coloring. So who was the Question? What was the Question?

No one knew.

They only knew the man had been found dead, and one of their boys had done it. That was a small blow, but they knew the League would reel from one of their own being killed... even one so painfully pointless as the Question.

But even in the wake of the death of a member of the Justice League, the men guarding the information couldn't afford to be lax. They had heard of connections, and especially of how defensive the non-powered members of the League got over the others like them. Which made things all the more difficult for Sage.

He could not use his faceless mask, but using a bandana would make people mistake him for Vigilante (how, he wasn't sure... Vigilante had black hair and he had red). So he opted for keeping his trenchcoat closed and the collar popped, hiding his face below the eyes. It may not strike the fear his lack of face did as Question, but it was better than being found out.

Not that anyone knew what meek, mild-mannered, whimpy Vic Sage looked like. A few people did, but those people didn't matter because they wouldn't be the ones seeing him.

He thought of Helena as he descended towards the building below, with her full curves and liquid brown eyes. There was no denying his feelings for her... Helena Bertinelli was a beautiful, smart, sassy woman who managed to keep up with him in more ways than one. She kept him fed when he forgot to eat and dragged him to the shower when he neglected that. She put up with the muttering he did in his sleep and even when he was awake, and she always thought having him put that mask on before they crawled into bed together was "intriguing."

So their relationship was a bit more kinky than most, but she was the woman who had kissed the faceless man, and that was proof enough that the girl didn't entirely strive on outside appearances.

He hated having to hurt her like he had. Surely his reported death would hit her hard. Helena would touch the face of the synthetic body that lay in that frozen room; she would weep. Batman had spared no expense in making him truly dead. The Question was no longer on the radar. He had been removed from the registry of members. He could not even feel that distant, dormant presence that the telepathic psi-net shared among members of the League thanks to J'onn caused in the back of his mind.

The Question was, for now, truly dead. He could return later. For now, only Victor Sage remained.

But even Vic Sage wouldn't do. And so, as he approached the guardpost, he gave an amiable smile even though it couldn't be seen, holding out his hand. "Evening, sir," he greeted pleasantly, making sure to raise his voice half an octave and rasp just a little. "Charles Victor Szasz. Sorry for the intrusion."

The guard barely gave Sage half a glance. "C'n I help you?"

"Just lookin' for a job, sir," answered the man with the mess of straw-like red hair. "Know where I should go?"

In a disinterested sort of fashion, the guard flicked his hand, indicating a direction behind him. Vic was surprised, but he made no indication, just slipping off down the hall towards the direction he was motioned.

The guard along the back of the building never saw what hit him. What hit him was a solid strike to the back of his neck, knocking him cleanly unconscious. She was a sleek, beautiful wraith, black hair flying with her cape behind her, crossbow cocked and at the ready.

This was where she would start. This was how she would begin. She would run into this building, find the first bit of information Vic was looking for. She would find this first, and then find the one who had killed her baby.

She would find him... and she would put a crossbow bolt through his head, just like the bullet they'd put through her Vic.

Huntress was, notably, furious. She loved Vic Sage and the bastards running this facility had taken him from her. She would make them pay. She would make them suffer for that. Once before, circumstances had taken away her chances at revenge, then for the murder of her parents. This time, they would not be so lucky.

Moving through the shadows was much easier with the building only being half-used, and therefore half-lit. She did not have the skills or know-how of Vic, but she would succeed in getting what he'd failed to attain. She was a patient woman, after all. She would succeed.

An empty computer was not difficult to find in this building, Sage noticed. These people were high on security but low on staff, and in the end, that suited his purpose. He slid into the room, unnoticed... a wraith. He sat and started the machine, trying a number of different passwords until, finally, it succeeded.

He wasn't called the League's data guy for nothing.

Smiling a little, he looked over the screen... and his eyes widened. No.

Why would she...? She had broken off when Cadmus had disbanded!

But no... the name was impossible to mistake.

Amanda Waller was back with Cadmus.

When Huntress found the office, she was surprised to find the computer running. She heard its hum, just outside the door... and really, she felt this was as good as any. She was no hacker, and maybe she could get whoever was inside to cough up the information.

Quietly, she picked the lock, a bead of sweat rolling down her cheek. This much closer. Whoever was inside this office, initials "A.W." upon the door, would tell her whatever it was she wanted to know.

The lock gave, and the Huntress opened the door to find the room empty... the computer had been left on, but the chair was spinning slightly. Whoever had been in here had fled, but how? She'd been right outside the door!

The ventilation shaft above was open... but she couldn't waste time pursuing now. She had to get the information so she could find the man who'd shot Vic.

Sliding into the computer chair, she wrinkled her nose as hot tears stung her eyes. God, doing things like this reminded h er so much of Vic... she could almost smell that stupid cologne he wore sometimes when he had no missions.

Clenching her jaw, she set to work getting the information, tears sliding from her eyes. They would pay for what they did. Vic would have vengence, and she would serve as his harbringer of death.

So Amanda Waller was once again dealing with Cadmus. This did not bode well. In a small hotel room, one he had stayed in on his first return to Hub City, Sage worked through his facts. He couldn't figure out exactly why Waller would do such a thing... it would be stupid, and deadly.

So why? Why risk her life over something like this? It was pointless, it was irrational, it...

Didn't have to be Waller... now, did it?

Pieces slowly started to fall into place. Of course it didn't have to be Waller! Whoever was now controlling Cadmus could easily try to frame Waller if it was discovered... but why bring it back in the first place?

There had to be a connection somewhere. He just had to find it. He had a horrible feeling that time was running out...

The Watchtower was mostly silent. By one of the hall windows, staring at the small blue marble of Earth floating against the starry backdrop below, Oliver Queen stood leaning, wearing workout clothes as opposed to his normal uniform. He heard the small, soft footsteps of Black Canary as she approached - she was always so dainty - but didn't turn. He felt her hand on his arm, slightly damp from the shower, but didn't turn.

"Ollie. We can't fix everything. I know you'd started to put a lot of trust in him, but..."

Ollie's fists clenched. "He didn't deserve to die, Dinah. He was a damn good man, for all his weirdness."

The pale-haired woman furrowed her brow, wrapping her arms around his and pressing her fingers into his biceps. "You were just on a mission, you've been in the training room, you haven't spoken to me in three days..." She paused, then spoke softly. "...and you haven't slept. You look exhausted."

"If you think I look tired, you should see Clark. J'onn ordered him off duty, but before he could get to the teleporter pad, he just... dropped. It was weird... I've never seen the big guy really even break a sweat, and yesterday, he collapsed, sick as a dog."

Black Canary paled. "Superman collapsed?! But how...?!"

Ollie shook his head a bit. "Batman suspected kryptonite poisoning, but no one's sure where the hell it would've come from. They tested him for the damn stuff, though... not a trace of it. They don't have a clue."

"That just doesn't make any sense..." Dinah's brow furrowed and she leaned against Ollie's arm again. "I hope he turns out okay..."

The air in the infirmary ward was heavy with concern. Medtechs hovered around the inert form of the Last Son of Krypton, and nearby, Batman stood with narrowed eyes, shoulder-to-shoulder with J'onn. "He is weak, and growing weaker," the Martian was saying. "I cannot determine what the problem is. He has a fever, yet he complains of a dire chill. He sweats though his skin is cold and clammy to the touch. It is not dissimilar to the human cold, or flu. However, it affects him like no human cold or flu would its victims. Superman is dying."

Batman tensed, lifting his head. "Clark won't die that easily, J'onn. Keep him alive as long as you can. I have someone to talk to about this."

As the Dark Knight turned to slip from the room, J'onn turned. "Batman. Who is this someone?"

"A friend who's into this kind of thing. I'll call you."

Sage's head shot up when the room seemed to darken beyond what it already was. His eyes narrowed, and after a moment, he took in a breath. "Batman. What do you want? I'm busy."

"Not too busy to hear that Superman is dying. He's been infected with a disease that doesn't seem to affect metahumans or humans, but we're keeping Kara away from him to be sure. I think this may have something to do with your research into Cadmus."

Sage lifted his chin. "That's just it, Batman. Cadmus hasn't resurfaced... it never did."

At that, the Batman lifted his brow. "What are you talking about?"

"While searching the information off a computer that claimed to belong to Amanda Waller, I discovered that Cadmus' rebirth was nothing more than a cover. Several rogue operatives from the operation previously known as "Cadmus" have started their own affair... and are using Waller's name as a buffer, so that should anything be discovered, they can shove the blame on her and be done with it." He held out a sheet of paper. "Here's more. After the failure of the Galatea project and the Ultamen, they determined that perhaps cloning a Kryptonian, or anyone from a sister planet in the same system, or any metahuman for that matter, was a foolish endeavor. The project they are currently working on involves creating a virus using kryptonite-enhanced bacteria... as a means to destroy Superman's body from within. To slow him down should he ever go rogue again. There was no intent to kill him... but the plan went haywire, and now the virus is ravaging his systems. They have a cure... but they are terrified of retribution. So much so that they won't release the antitoxin to the Justice League."

Batman immediately tensed. "Then I'll--..."

"No. I have the information I wanted. I will see this through to the end." The red-haired man lifted a hand to his face, smoothing the soft pseudoderm over his features before pressing a small button on his belt, releasing a strange gas into the air. As it touched his head, the mask formed to his face and hid his features, sealing comfortably, and his hair changed from red to black. Quietly, he reached for his fedora. The Question was back on the case. "Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

There was a pause. "Just one thing. Huntress is going to try to kill the man she thinks murdered you."

The Question stood up straight. "What?!"

He didn't wait for Batman to answer. He simply ran out of the hotel room. He knew where she would be.

The original target of the Question had been an unassuming man. He was quiet and meek... a simple scientist. He was willing, of course, to carry a firearm to defend himself, and that was how he had succeeded in defeating the faceless man.

Tonight, however, would be different. Tonight, he would pay for his crimes.

He felt a chill in the air... saw the sweep of leg and heard the rustle of the cape.

And then, he felt the tip of a crossbow bolt, pressed into the soft at the base of his skull.

"You prick." The voice of the woman who spoke was thick with emotion... and somehow, he knew she was crying. "How did it feel? Putting a bullet through a man? That man was my lover. You took him from me. He was the sweetest man I have ever known." Choking, she pressed the bolt a bit tighter against his head. "How did it feel, you sorry son of a bitch?! How did it feel when you killed Question?!"

The scientist swallowed, trembling. "Killing me won't bring him back to life."

Huntress lifted her head slightly, a quivering smile crossing her lips. "You're right... it won't. But it'll sure as hell make me feel better."

And slowly, her finger squeezed the trigger.

Before she could hear that satisfying click, however, a hand fell tight on her shoulder. "Don't do it, Huntress. Please."

Her whole frame tensed. No...! Dropping the crossbow, the woman spun, finding herself staring up at... the Question. He was watching her - or at least it looked like he was - through his mask. "...is that really you, baby...?"

Slowly, he nodded, then moved her out of the way to strike the scientist once, swiftly, on the back of the neck to knock him out. "I'm sorry, Helena. I didn't mean to--..."

Though the kiss didn't really stop his words, the sheer ferocity of it did. And it was followed by the crack of her palm across his cheek. "You bastard! Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

Rubbing his cheek slightly, Question inclined his head. "I'm sorry... but if you'd known I had lived, no one would have truly believed I had died." Stroking a hand back through her hair, he stood straight. "We'll have a full reunion later. Right now, Superman is dying and we need to find the antidote they have hidden somewhere in this facility. If we don't, I doubt he'll last till morning."

"His vital signs are growing weaker, sir." The young medtech facing J'onn had his head down. "I don't think he'll survive the night at this rate."

The Martian, frowning slightly, lifted his head, glancing at the Man of Steel laying upon the medical examination table. His torso and arms were bare, various devices beeping all around him, and his skin was paled. He clenched his fists. "We should inform his lady friend, Miss Lane. She has a right to know."

The medtech nodded before getting back to his work as J'onn, sighing, made his way to the bridge. He did not want to make this call. To tell someone their lover was dying was difficult. Telling Huntress with the entire League had been the only way he could think to inform her of Question's death, besides... and how did one do that with Lois Lane?

One thing was certain as he approached the communications console, however... this would be one of the most difficult calls he would ever have to make.

Room after room, empty test tubes and people more frightened than helpful. They were running out of time. "Q, this is ridiculous! We're not finding a damn thing!"

The Question frowned, lifting his chin slightly as he searched through a refrigerated cabinet. "There are several kinds of Kryptonite," he began. "Green Kryptonite is, as you know, lethal to Superman. Red Kryptonite causes any number of odd effects. White Kryptonite kills plantlife, and X-Kryptonite is magnetic to all things Kryptonian. What we are searching for is a synthetic Kryptonite... Kryptonite X, or Kryptonium. If they created a disease using bacteria infused with Green Kryptonite radiation..."

"The antivirus would be some sort of dead version of the bacteria infused with Kryptonite X!" Huntress finished. "We've searched almost every room, though, Q, and nothing. How can we be sure they made an antivirus at all?"

At that, the Question turned to regard her. "Because this was never intended to kill him. It was intended to slow him down until he could be brought around. They would need an antivirus, because otherwise, the world would hate them for the death of Superman."

He went back to his searching, then, moving continually, quietly digging through cabinets until his gloved fingers closed around a vial. "Got it!"

Once he said that, Huntress turned to the scientists tied in the center of the room. "We'll call the authorities on our way out," she growled. "Make sure you tell them the whole story. It's either that or I let Q here rat you out, and he's more believable than any scientist who's been tinkering with the effects of Kryptonite."

With that, she nodded, stepping over beside her lover and resting her hand on his arm before raising her other hand to her ear. "J'onn, two for pickup."

"Two?" the voice came. "Huntress, what...?"

"It's a long story, J'onn. I'll explain when we get there."

And they were gone.

"I see. That is understandable, Question. You did give us all quite a scare." Huntress was amused at how calmly J'onn was taking all this, but then, very few things ever really seemed to phase him. "I will see to it that you both are fully reinstated. This has... certainly been interesting. Might I suggest breaking news of your return from the grave to the others a bit more subtly?"

The Question nodded. "Of course. That only makes sense." He paused. "So long as Superman survives this. I'm only glad we got the antidote here in time. Whatever I had to do to achieve that... that was feathers on the wind."

As soon as he finished talking, he felt hands on his arm and turned his head. Huntress was grinning at him. Glancing at J'onn, she spoke up. "I'm afraid I'll have to steal Vic from you for a while," she told him. "Superman'll live?"

"He simply needs time to recover. As soon as he begins to improve, he will be sent to the apartment he shares with Miss Lane."

The woman smiled, wrapping her arms around the Question's. "Good."

With that, she gave a tug, dragging the man towards the corridors beyond.

Vic Sage stared at the ceiling of Helena's sparse quarters - they'd have never found the bed in his, vaguely aware of the rush of warm breath across his chest, whispering against the thick white bandage as Helena slept, curled up with her legs tangled against his. She had wasted no time reasserting that he was alive in any way she possibly could... not that he was complaining. He absently tangled his fingers in her hair, mind a cacaphony of random thoughts. What if he hadn't played dead? What if they'd known he was alive?

They would have moved their operation, he knew. Out of Hub City and he would have to track them down all over again. Superman would not have lived.

The pros and cons wavered in his mind. He'd wasted a chance he could've potentially used another time, but it was worth it. He had saved Superman, and it was Superman the world truly needed. Just like Superman needed the help of a man no one knew to keep the checks and balances straight.

A slight smile played across his lips and he felt Helena move, gently rubbing the area over the stitched gunshot wound with her left hand. "Vicky, go to sleep," she mumbled, pressing her face against his chest. "You can't tell me you're not exhausted after all that."

At her words, Vic Sage smiled, drawing her up so she could rest her head by his. "Of course, Helena."

As he drifted off, he thought again.

He was not useless. He was not unknown. He was the Question.

Now no one would forget.

--End--