SUMMARY: The story of the lost Minuteman. Set before the Comedian's death, Rorschach investigates the grisly murder of four criminals at a Catholic school that leads him to one of his "old" comrades. This story incorporates a whole new character and another sub-plot into the story while still following the most of the original plot.
WARNINGS: graphic violence, language, drug use, schoolgirl crushes on classmates and an older man and woman. (Sorry, I couldn't help it.) And psychedelic flashbacks with gratuitous use of old songs.
DISCLAIMER: Watchmen is property of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons.
NAME: Gabriel Ironside, Jr.
KNOWN ALIASES: Aeon James; Hellion
BIRTHDATE: 1965
SKILLS: Fluent in the following languages: Mandarin, Japanese, Russian, German, Spanish and French, Proficient in aircraft piloting, personal combat, demolitions, computer hacking, infiltration and reconnaissance
EARLY HISTORY: Unknown
CURRENT LOCATION: Unknown
CHAPTER ONE
March 22, 1985; 8:13 AM
Today was a pleasant day. Pleasant defined as overcast skies and windy breezes blowing through the halls of the School of St. Flora of Cordoba. Yeah, abandoned children. She sighed to herself looking out the window before a paper airplane hit her temple and fell into her hands. She opened it and found a short message in it. Hi. It read, in thick, fat, curly letters.
She turned her head immediately, looking for the one who had thrown the paper projectile at her and found her eyes met by a pretty blonde across the room.
"Hi," she mouthed coyly looking at Gabriel until Sister Caldwell smacked her switch onto the teacher's desk, calling her attention.
"Aeon James, please tell us about Judas' betrayal of our Lord." she shrilled.
There are still many people debating if Judas was a villain for betraying our Lord or a hero for helping him fulfill the Messianic prophecy. Some believe that Judas' betrayal of Jesus was a necessary evil to ensure our salvation; I understand that thirty silver shekels was a terrible con. But if Judas had not betrayed Jesus, how else would the Messianic prophecy have been fulfilled?
"I'm sorry, Sister, I don't know." Swallowing the acid that threatened to spill from her mouth.
A girl ran into the room carrying a note to the nun who raised her eyebrow at the note before announcing: "Miss James, you are to report to the Guidance Office immediately."
She stood up faster than she should've and slung her bag over her shoulder, careful not to let the gun holstered to her back fall from her waistband. She walked quickly, not minding the bandage slipping down her right leg. She caught the blonde's eye again before walking out the door, seeing her mouth, "Bye," winking suggestively.
"Aeon!" she heard someone shrill, startling the living shit out of her. It was Miss Cherry, the guidance counselor.
"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you! Where've you been?" she gushed. Gabriel mentally facepalmed herself, stifling her exasperation. If there was anything more annoying than Sister Cold Well, it was Miss Cherry Pop.
"In class?" she said, an obvious look on her face.
"Well, whatever, anyway, there're some people who want to talk to you, so come with me, kay? You know, you must be really famous now because they had all kinds of notes about you…" the shrink prattled on, putting her arm around Gabriel's shoulders, dragging, the student barely able to keep up.
"They should be here soon, so just wait in here, AJ," Miss Cherry said pointing both index fingers with a wink, exiting the meeting room. Moments later, four men walked into the room, one of them sitting opposite her and the others standing around. Two white boys, a carrot top and a black man.
The man who was sitting across from her smelled like cheap booze and stale cigarettes. He also needed a shave and a haircut.
"Been a while, Hellion," he rasped, placing his mud-caked boots on the table.
"What the hell is this?" She retorted angrily, keeping her "cool." Slob Man pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his moth-eaten jacket pocket and lit up.
"We know all about ya, kiddy. We been to almost every school in the district showing your picture. Turns out seven is the lucky number." The men with him looked just as sorry as he did, reaching into their jackets.
"And you'd be surprised how hefty your price tag is." He puffed. "Dead or alive."
It happened very fast. The lights blacked out and the men behind Slob Man pulled guns from their jackets. Lights flashed from their gun barrels as they emptied their magazines into the wall.
Slob Man shot up from his chair and pulled a gun around to have his arm twisted and his bullets emptied into one of his cronies. The black man pulled out a knife and slashed it for her throat; she grabbed his collar and knife-hand, slamming him onto the steel desk, the knife embedding itself into his throat, blood gushing onto the floor, denting the steel table. Only Slob Man and Carrot Top left. Carrot Top swung his fists at her, she ducked one punch but the other blow hit her square in the ribs, knocking the breath out of her. She lashed her leg out, skinning his shin with her shoe, getting back to her feet. She pulled the gun from her back and shot Carrot Top in the mouth, his brains painting the room.
Three dead. One more. The floor was slippery and everything smelt of iron and brunt cloth.
She walked toward Slob Man who was down on all fours and kicked him across the face; teeth, blood and spit flying from his rotten trap.
"Who sent you?" she snarled, pulling his head up by his hair.
"Wait! Please don't kill me," he begged, turning over. He held a blinking red light to his chest, a detonator. She kicked his face again and stomped on his chest, her heel digging deep into his chest cavity, hitting his heart. He choked on the blood oozing from his mouth, more of it bubbling around her heel. She pulled her foot from his chest quickly which made red blood spray everywhere. The horror-sprinkler dying down after 7 minutes. She cocked her head to one side and surveyed the bloody carcass, pinching the bridge of her nose when she saw it was the lit cigarette. (Not a detonator.)
She walked over to the door, switched the lights back on and saw the room was completely painted in blood. She turned over the bodies and took their wallets, guns and whatever else that might be useful. She was about to walk out the door before turning back and taking the cigarettes from the dead Slob Man's jacket.
Cuban. Impressive, she thought.
A shriek interrupted her thoughts and Miss Cherry was standing in the doorway, her eyes and mouth wide.
"AJ- you," she spluttered. "They're- oh my-" the redheaded ditz fell to the ground in a heap. Gabriel stared at the whole scene for four seconds before the bell rang.
Gabriel ran into the nearest utility closet, locking the door and sliding to the ground against it. She wiped the cold sweat forming on her forehead and emptied her bag onto the floor. Bullet shells, bloody bandages, notebooks, an empty-ish bottle of Nostalgia, a med kit and those classic flat lollipops wrapped in square plastic fell to the floor. She pulled the gun holstered at the small of her back and reached for the med kit. The bandages around her thigh were pulled off, showing a bullet graze on the side of her right thigh, the bleeding refusing to stop.
"God I hate this part". She muttered to herself, biting down onto her belt and reaching for the hot gun barrel.
March 22, 1985; 4:51 PM
"Dear God," Detective Fine muttered to himself, examining the body that had apparently died from a stab to the heart.
"In all my years in the force, I have never seen a blood bath like this. In a school no less," Detective Bourquin said to his partner, face pasty from all the blood and guts all over the room.
"Who do you think did this detective?" asked an officer.
"I don't know, son. But whoever it was, we don't want them out on the loose for long," said Fine.
"Come on, Steve. Let's go get some coffee," said Bourquin, all too ready to escape the grisly scene.
"What kind of kid could cause that much carnage?" Fine asked, clutching a cup of coffee.
"What makes you think a kid did that? Did you see those guys? Completely obliterated, for Chrissake," Bourquin shivered. It was raining hard outside, as predicted on the AM Newscast.
Past the rain, there was a man standing in front of the school, which was roped off with yellow police tape. He was in an old coat with a sign in his hand. The End Is Near it read.