Hide sat in the deepest corner of a dimly lit, high-backed private booth, his cold blue eyes fixed on the condensation sliding down his glass.
He didn't remember the walk here. After the Joker had vanished through the high factory window, leaving nothing behind but a synthetic patch of dark hair, Hide had walked straight out into the main thoroughfares of Area 17.
He had been in such a state of internal numbness that he completely neglected to pull his hood up or map his movement through the shadows.
That careless lapse in situational awareness had cost him dearly. Within minutes, a group of late-night pedestrians had spotted his distinct silver-white hair jacket. The live-streamed network boards had done their job too well; voices had immediately begun shouting across the concrete avenue, identifying him as the viral vigilante the people were calling "Black Justice."
