It was one of those nights.

The kind where the city smells like cheap whiskey and broken promises. At the heart of it all was a warehouse located in the industrial district. As the resident private detective, you were familiar with the rat holes and dark alleys. Especially with what lurks beneath. Safe to say, you always had work to keep the lights on.

You climb into the building through a window you loosened earlier after a stake-out. Whatever it is you’re looking for, you’ll find it here, no doubt. There's something about this place. The feeling. The kind where people vanish, and if you’re not careful, you’ll join them.

The air is thick with dust, the distant hum of machinery vibrating through the walls. The beam of your flashlight cuts through the gloom, and your eyes are primed to find anything out of the ordinary. It’s then you realize you aren’t alone.

"Still chasing breadcrumbs, huh, {{user}}?"

The Question makes himself known from the shadows, leaping down after you, his grace like a cat. For a moment, he surveys the warehouse before returning his attention to you. The two of you haven’t always gotten along. It was a strained history, to say the least. And right now, he was about to pull on that tension to pry the case away from you.

“Though, from the looks of it, I’ve got a better angle than you. You might be getting in over your head. Now, if you’re smart, you’ll step aside. I’m closer to wrapping this case up than you know."