Mr. Twelve

On either end of the table, Mister Midnight sat.
One was a man in a cloak with a silver hourglass.
The other wore a zoot guit, tapping a silver cane.
Neither worked with The League Of Heroes, so they weren’t on the registry that prevents these situations.
Their lawyers drafted up an agreement, trying to avoid a embarrassing superhero fight.
“What if neither of you were Mister Midnight?” they suggested. “You be The Dark Hourglass, and you’re After Hours.”
The heroes thought, smiled, and shook hands.
The lawyers got the papers signed and returned to The League of Evil headquarters.