Disclaimer: I don't own the Watchmen characters.
Once again, constructive criticism! I've gotten some nice reviews, thanks guys! They're really helping me along in writing this. Also, I have the strangest tendency to slowly make each chapter longer than the last, so there will definitely be longer chapters coming, I promise!
New York reeled from the terrible blow that had destroyed half of its capitol city less than a month before. No state clamored more for the apprehension of Adrian Veidt. The civilians were doing what they could to pick up the pieces and keep moving forward, but every day they faced the horror of such a deed.
Leslie Jannison walked the mid-line, her hands deep in her ratty jean pockets and her dark blue hood shadowing her face. It was a miserable day, almost more so than usual. There was hardly a cheerful face after the incident. Leslie didn't have a smile to share, either. Her dirty gray sneakers slapped the ground with a cold, dead finality. The cloudy skies vomited ugly rain over the destroyed buildings.
An old newspaper was spread between her grubby hands. Satan on Earth, Adrian Veidt, took up the entire cover. He was the most hated man in America, and she joined the masses. Leslie had been following the events of the last few weeks religiously, and couldn't stem the rage that flowed over Dr. Manhattan's return and alliance with this beast. The paper was old, though, and she hungered for updates.
She stopped in front of a large window; five televisions were trained on the News channel. A small crowd had gathered, and she elbowed her way to the front, ignoring the glares. The anchor was halfway through the first topic, and she wasn't surprised at all to find who it was about.
"America stands in a danger zone right now. Adrian Veidt and Dr. Manhattan seem to be debating the future of the United States...without bothering to include its leaders and citizens. Outrage and indignation flood the country, but all attempts to arrest either man have ended in failure. With Dr. Manhattan's power and Veidt's technology, every city on earth is at risk of destruction. This is a sad day in history, where the keys to the country, the future, are resting in the hands of these criminals. President Reagan and Pentagon are currently discussing the state of the emergency as well as the possibility of launching a full-scale war on two men. The matter is being presented to Congress a week from today."
Leslie ground her teeth together, shoving away from the gathered people and continuing her march along the muddy sidewalks. They were so empty; she had lived in New York all her life and never, even at night, had it been this empty. So many people were gone...the hobo who sat by this alley, the little girl who walked her dog every morning with impressive dedication, the woman who got up at four to start her first job and left it by noon to start her second...
She tore Adrian's face to shreds from the newspaper and threw the confetti as violently as she could into the nearest trash can. Damn him...damn him to hell! I'll be dead before he runs this country.
She didn't notice that she was being followed. Two young men walked behind her, their eyes watching her every motion. They nodded discreetly to each other and increased pace. Leslie heard the sound of running behind her and turned just in time to be yanked into a nearby alley.
Tearing herself free of the stunned boys, she cocked her arm and floored the first one, her short black hair swinging into her face. Turning, she grabbed the end of what looked like a shortish metal bar and took a swing at the second one, who ducked just in time to avoid getting hit. He was tall, and much older than the first one, who was still on the ground rubbing his jaw. Swinging the bar again, she took advantage of the opening he made by leaping back and jabbed it in his stomach. He grunted and fell.
Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a short knife.
"Wait! Wait!" sputtered the first one, kicking himself away from her. "We just wanted to talk!" She ignored him and continued her stride, raising the knife. For a month the entire city mourned its dead, its terrible disaster...and these two bastards took advantage of everyone's grief, of everyone's distraction. Not today.
Two strong arms suddenly wound themselves around her, binding her effectively. She screamed, but the first one leapt up and covered her mouth. She bit him but even the streaming blood didn't make him let go.
"You don't like Veidt. Neither do we," hissed the second one into her ear, the one that held her captive, and she abruptly stopped struggling. The first one removed his hand and rubbed the bite, wincing. "My name is Bobby Sacher, and this is my brother Paul. We're recruiting for the Anti-Veidt Movement, and you seem to share our views." Leslie snorted.
"Right. I'm willing to bet that there are dozens of Groups around the world after Veidt. What's the point of one more? It's not like you're any different from the rest, bunching together in the hopes that it will make a difference. It won't."
"That's where you're wrong," hissed the first boy, Paul, viciously. "We have plans running right now, and thought that a few more people would like to be in on them. We need all the help that we can get." Leslie stared at the two boys for a moment, and then held out her hand.
"I'm Leslie. Tell me about these plans."
It was startling how many people lounged around the wide, hidden rooms. It looked like an old bomb shelter, but much larger. Leslie wondered if it had been meant for the impending Nuclear War. Bobby pulled her through the crowd, searching for someone.
An older man waved from across the dimly lit room, and they headed in his direction. He was seated at a table with several other older men and women, all of whom eyed Leslie with distrust.
"Uncle Henry, this is Leslie. She happens to share our opinions and goals, I thought she might be able to help." Several of the people laughed and Leslie felt her ears burn.
"Help? How could she help? How old is she, seventeen? Eighteen?" they scoffed. "You need to stop picking up girls your age and find some strapping men."
"I'm twenty," growled Leslie through her teeth. Bobby squeezed her hand, which she realized that he still held. She tried not to blush. The man, Uncle Henry, examined her carefully.
"I wouldn't say that," he muttered, turning back to his laptop. "According to these stats, Veidt tends to hire women. He seems to find them more trustworthy, less deceitful than men, and less of a threat. We don't need strapping men on the inside. Anyone would do. Here, see? Eighty-five percent of his employees are women between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five; old enough to carry out responsibilities and young enough to be charmed and flattered by him. He's no idiot; I'm sure that they're all head over heels for him, and obviously unlikely to deceive him." Leslie laughed.
"I'd be the last girl in there to follow him to hell." Uncle Henry smiled at her cheek.
"And that's why we need someone like you on the inside."
"But...how would that be possible? The fortress would be on high-alert, it's not like I could just sneak in. It's in Antarctica, for Christ's sake...there's surveillance everywhere, it would be impossible to get in," she said, and Henry grinned widely.
"Of course...unless they're hiring. His employees come from somewhere, you know, and over half had quit once they found out about the New York incident. His people scouring ads and sites in hopes of replacing them."
"But why would they hire me? I'm a nobody, just another no-name girl in New York," she muttered. One of considerably less no-name girls in New York. Henry turned back to his computer and pulled up a page.
"There. The Veidt-Support Club in Miami. The website is being run by a friend of mine in Florida, and all profiles are extremely well-placed. Veidt himself wouldn't be able to realize that you're not the same person as in the ad, let alone his hiring teams. By disguising our movement as a support group, we're under the radar."
Leslie examined the web page carefully. It gushed about morality and common good, with pictures of Veidt's arrogant face thrown haphazardly around. Group members had created fake forums, fake profiles, and real pictures. They all looked cheerful and friendly and worry-free. She recognized a few faces from people who lounged around the old bomb shelter. Leslie smiled.
"Where do I sign up?"
Selling his company had almost been painful for Adrian. It had been his own creation, the company that he had built from the foundation up. But his stocks were falling rapidly, and he pulled what he could from the failing business. It didn't matter, really, as he was still worth billions, but his company had been something of a pet to him, something that had always been there.
His meeting with the Senators was coming up, and he knew exactly how to handle it. His success was inevitable; he had Nuclear Reactors on his side and also Jon, who somehow instilled more fear even though he was much less deadly to them. Jon was much more difficult to incite than Adrian.
"The people don't seem happy with you," murmured Jon dreamily, wandering into the room. "They're rioting."
"Of course they are. They don't know what I plan, and they're scared because they know so little about me. They're angry that they don't get a say in this matter, and it's all that they can do to show their indignity. I had expected it, really. It's lucky that so few of them can reach Antarctica or it might be a problem."
"Do you plan on moving back to America? Or do you plan to run it from here?" asked Jon. Adrian frowned.
"I don't see why I can't stay here. With technology today, it shouldn't be a problem." He gazed out of the enormous windows and into the blindingly white snow. "I'd hate to leave this place. It has it's own sort of beauty."
Imani walked into the room with several folders in her arms. She handed them carefully to Adrian.
"These are from the Senators, Mr. Veidt," she said, eying Jon nervously. She turned and cantered from the room while Adrian flipped through the papers.
"Hmm...it seems they've canceled their meetings," murmured Adrian, "I wonder why that could be..."
"Watch out for that girl," said Jon abruptly. "She's going to be up to something, and it appears to be against your well-being." Adrian turned and stared at Jon.
"Imani? That's not possible...she's lived with me for years. I've clothed, housed, and fed that girl! What could she possibly have against me?" said Adrian, but he was suspicious and doubtful nonetheless. Jon's visions had never failed him, and he didn't doubt him now.
"I don't know. Maybe some relatives of hers died in New York. Maybe she sides with the rioters," said John emotionlessly. "All the same; watch out for her." Adrian scoffed.
"I don't have time to keep tabs on all of the people living here." He pressed a small button on the side of his Armani watch. "Rosella, send Imani to Chicago with fifty thousand. Give my old friend Lucas Keene a call, and have him pick her up. If she asks why, tell her I'm sending her to boarding school, and wing it from there. Send her somewhere nice."
"Adrian, if you sent everyone who disliked you away, America would be empty," said Jon, and Adrian gave a dry laugh.
"Thanks. Good to know, coming from you. They'll like me when they see what I do for the country." He rolled his shoulders fluidly. "Christ, Jon, I feel excellent. What did you-" He froze, eyes widening. "You didn't..."
"I've been practicing my manipulation of human organs and bones. It's easier to understand how they work once I fully master manipulation." Adrian was silent for a moment.
"H...how old am I now?" he asked softly. He'd noticed how smooth and flawless his features had become, but he hadn't thought much of it. It wouldn't have surprised him to learn that Jon was manipulating human skin. But his muscles were considerably relaxed and he had seemed more flexible during his morning exercises. He'd felt lighter, freer, and now it finally dawned on him why.
"It's hard to tell, you're not at an exact 'age.' I just extended your life by a few years." Adrian didn't feel much better about this. 'A few years' to Jon was anywhere between two and a hundred. 'Please don't let me be under twenty,' he begged of whatever god was listening.
"Extended...by how much?" whispered Adrian faintly. Jon furrowed his brow.
"I'd say about twenty years or so, give or take."
"Then I'm...twenty-four?" gasped Adrian, stunned. He wasn't of the population who would enjoy being in his twenties again. He had enjoyed his youth, yes, but he had moved on to an experienced, more graceful generation. He had enjoyed setting a trail for the young, leaving the bar a tad higher than the last. He had enjoyed youth, but he didn't want to do it again. "Change me back!"
"Are you sure?" asked Jon, confused. "I was under the impression that you liked feeling younger." Adrian hesitated.
"I do...I just don't like being younger. I mean..." he tried to gather his thoughts. With older age came the aches and worries, and he had enough of those to start with. Besides, he was much more limber and marginally stronger. He hadn't deteriorated enough for it to bother him, but it was a noticeble difference in his own eyes. "I'll think about it...it's nice, it truly is. I just don't know if I want to go through this again."
"Mr. Veidt," a female voice came through his watch, "Imani ran a considerable portion of housework. We'll need to run an ad if you still plan on sending her to Mr. Keene." Adrian sighed.
"I'd rather you didn't run an ad, Rosella. Please check through my support groups and see if you can pull someone who isn't trying to kill me. Thanks."
Please leave a review! I love hearing about I'm doing!!