Watchmen II: Restoration
Chapter Six
By Nan00k
ARGHHHH. Sorry again guys. Here's the new chapter six. It's ungodly short compared to the other chapters, but hey, it's got Rorschach, so it's all good, right?
In which Rorschach learns not to corner two females on a street corner in broad daylight. Prepare for lolz.
Warnings & Disclaimers
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"During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act."
-George Orwell
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It was October 31st. This world had the same pointless holidays his had had. People now dressed their children in costume and paraded them around the streets as if there were no threats hiding in the shadowed alleys. Crime was lower than usual, he had to admit, but by the time midnight came around, he had already stopped two muggings.
Slow night. Hhn.
There were only small subtleties that hinted that Veidt's empire of peace had descended onto New York's filth infested streets. The people didn't seem afraid to walk around when the sun went down. But this was a special night. Extra patrolmen and women were scattered thickly around every neighborhood.
But Rorschach had seen the streets on regular nights, where only the occasional cop drove by. Other than that, nothing. Crime had found its niche in this new world perfectly. While the sun was out, the cops ruled the streets. Lights out, the cops left, and the thugs patrolled around like swarming flies. Perhaps the cops were in on it, bought out by blood money. Maybe the cops were just as ignorant as the ordinary citizens. Maybe they all just turned a blind eye to this, for their own comfort.
That's what was wrong with this place, he knew. No one seemed to care. Why? It was so obvious. All the people in the city had to do was just open their own windows. Look out below. Get a glimpse at their perfect city at its worst hours. But they didn't. There were almost no crime reports in the papers. Just global fluff, nothing concrete or permanent. New satellites to be sent into space. Veidt had his own corner usually. Afghanistan was still causing trouble. They didn't trust Veidt or his plans; they never did. That was what the problem was now. Ironic; foreigners were smarter about trusting Veidt than Veidt's own people were. Made his stomach turn.
It was disgusting, how much Veidt had influenced the world. Lies had corrupted an entire generation. If anything, Veidt's cover up had worked. No one knew, except for those who had witnessed his only confession.
Except for the person who had taken that journal.
Rorschach had searched. Everywhere. He had exhausted whatever leads he had managed to come up with. Two witnesses had seen a dark haired Asian using the subway entrance by the library. But that had led to no where. Millions used the subway. One face was easy to forget. The librarian never got her name. She had left nothing in the library useful for identification. She was not some famous face around that neighborhood; probably not even from Manhattan. She was no criminal, as far as he could tell. She was just a person, one of millions.
He was sent to the streets now, trying to come up with answers as he defended New York from its own blissful state of know-nothingness. There, Rorschach passed yet another family on its way home from taking candy from the doorsteps of utter strangers. What a bizarre and dangerous holiday, he mused. Foolish parents.
"Mommy, look at that guy's costume!" said one of the smaller boys from the group, looking up at him as they passed.
The mother glanced over at him and then looked back down quickly, nervous. She hurried her children along and Rorschach ignored the group. People in masks—albeit normal people in masks—was strangely…familiar. Reminded him of better days. Better years. A few thoughts of Daniel, and the team they had once made.
But these people were legally walking the streets in costume, and only he was breaking the law, though no one noticed. This new generation had never known his infamous mask and the older wouldn't remember, not out in the dark. He had become just like everyone else during the day; just a face in the crowd, or a mask, in this case. No one cast him odd looks for the fact he was in costume. Most were just curious about how old he was. Rorschach had no qualms about this holiday. It celebrated the warding off of evil by wearing masks. The holiday was also amusing to him, just slightly, as he walked past large crowds, earning no more than a glance of recognition from them. He fit in with the world best when all the city's occupants were dressed up like monsters.
How ironic.
But as he walked the streets, Rorschach didn't feel any comfort in handling the few problems that did come up. Even when the family crowds started to die down, and the drug dealers came out from their dens, and the police vanished from sight, Rorschach did not take comfort in stopping crime. No criminal's shout, nor blood, nor snapping of bones made him feel any better. His mind was a darker place than he remembered lately. Too many nightmares already, no sleep. Something else was on his mind that night.
In two day's time, it would be November 2nd. Twenty years to the date since he left Antarctica to be transported here. This world. This world that forgot the true meaning of the attacks and hailed the real transgressor as its hero. There would be a parade, a celebration. New York loved this memorial holiday.
It made his skin tingle and his blood boil. Rorschach could not fathom why he was becoming so agitated. It was not for personal vengeance that he sought for Veidt's actions to be brought to light. His death—or what he had expected to be his death—was acceptable because he stepped toward it on his own terms, for the right thing. He was not into petty vendettas, so there was no need to become angry. This was for the world's sake. For justice's.
Thus, the only suitable answer for that was that Veidt needed to be brought to justice. Crimes must be punished, no matter what. The world had peace, but Veidt had tricked everyone. That had to be exposed.
Veidt would not be coming to the city for 11/2, or so he had heard from various newsstands. He was too busy acting as a peacekeeper in the Middle East. He would eventually be returning another day, but that could be weeks away. Rorschach thought about the idea of being so close to Veidt. It would be so tempting to plan an assault then. Get him in the open while everyone was watching in awe…
Maybe. It was a maybe in the back of his mind. He had to be content with breaking the bones of scum all night long. He had priorities. Find the journal, find the witnesses, and then confront Veidt. There was no other way to do it.
And so, the search went on.
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The next day was just as uneventful, at least in the beginning. Rorschach slept in empty apartments and condemned factories most nights, but he was still having trouble sleeping. This was no time to rest. Crime was still present, and even more so, Veidt could be looking for him.
And, of course, his journal was still out there.
Morning heeded no more leads than the night before. For the first time in his career as a mask, Rorschach was beginning to feel helpless. He was an investigator. A good one. He could find anyone; that's what made him so terrifying to crooks who thought the shadows and sewers would keep them safe.
But that was the problem. She wasn't a criminal. She was just a girl. Her name, her face…worthless unless rendered infamous by some heinous deed. Ironic, again. It would be easier to handle the matter if she had been a criminal.
He had hunted civilians before, but he had always had another lead. A name, a place. He only had a face and general description. Nothing concrete to ask people. There were plenty of Asian-Americans in New York. Plenty of teenage girls with dark hair. Physical descriptions had no weight in this case.
The only thing left was to continue searching on foot on the streets, hoping to run across something. Someone, specifically. There was little chance he would be able to find the girl by chance, but it was literally all he had open to him currently.
The sensible side of him told him that it was pointless. The journal was lost and the girl would not be found. He was wasting energy by trying. Daniel and Laurie could have been anywhere. It wouldn't hurt to try to discover their old aliases and start a new search. But that was just as bad as trying to find the girl. Daniel had a twenty year head start, after all. The chances of finding the two seemed bleak.
But what was he to do, if not those two things? He could continue to fight crime. That was always a necessity. He was needed there. The streets needed to be cleaned, after being neglected for two solid decades. But what then? Rorschach's only idea was to just reveal himself. The living dead would be ample proof that something was up. Veidt would try to shut him out, but if he played his cards right, he might be able to get his message out to the public before it was silenced.
Rorschach contemplated the idea. It seemed promising. It was more so than the other two now-dead options. It was all he had now.
It was around twelve when he had gotten up that day. He had not fallen asleep until early morning and he berated himself for it. He had wasted valuable daylight hours that he could have used for searching. Rorschach left the empty apartment he had broken into the previous night and stuck to the back street which it emptied out onto. It was light out, decent weather, but he kept his mask on. He had made the decision to duck into the sewers to reach the other side of town for a new search and he didn't want to take off his face too soon. He walked down the deserted alley and no one seemed to be using that path to start with.
But at the end of the alley, he could see that people were moving around everywhere and the streets hummed with excitement. Something was happening. Rorschach tried to remember what day it was.
November 1st.
It was All Souls Day, a real holy day. But no one celebrated that anymore. They were too busy getting ready for a parade to commemorate a tragedy turned celebration. Rorschach tried not to think about the last time he experienced a November 1st. He was still in prison at this time. He would soon be out, and then finding out the truth about Veidt. Off to the south pole. Off to his death.
Rorschach stood in the alleyway and watched the people go by, ignoring him, even with his mask on. He didn't know why he was there, or why Manhattan had spared him. What had Manhattan done? What was to come of this? Rorschach felt anger twist and turn in his gut. Was his ultimate destiny to just stand there, watching the world cannibalize itself as it lived its golden lie? He was one of the last gatekeepers of the world's greatest secret, and yet Manhattan had placed him in a position that held no benefits. No clear way to reveal the secret, no way to find his old allies and no way to confront Veidt openly.
What was his purpose now?
The sound of two females laughing broke into his thoughts and Rorschach felt a wave of anger wash over him. The youth of today seemed to have grown more obnoxious since the last time he had walked the earth, over twenty-years ago. Girls in particular were noisier than he remembered.
But out of instinct, Rorschach turned and looked out of the alley's entrance for the source of the laughter. He could see two females crossing the street almost diagonal from his position. One was dark skinned and the other seemed Asian from this distance. It was unimportant, but something about them struck his interest. The Asian one in particular.
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They made their move on Friday at noon, one day after Halloween. It was All Saint's Day and Audrey's school had off. It was also the day before November 2nd. The citizens of New York were already getting ready for the parade and news coverage for the next day's celebration. 11/2 Day was one of the biggest national holidays next to July 4th. Of course, New York had to make a big fuss about it.
Audrey couldn't disagree with the message. They should all remember that day, when so many died. But she didn't want to think about that day. Not now. Not when everything she thought she knew about…might be a lie.
Even if the city was alive with movement and preparations, she and Tamila set their plans. Tamila had volunteered to go with her, and Audrey felt safe enough with just the two of them. They'd go to Riverside, dump the book, and go home. Sweet and simple.
For that entire week, the journal had been tucked in between Audrey's mattresses. She had been kept up at night by the prospect of Federal agents bursting through her door. The others mentioned the same thing. She and Jimmy had been even more detached in school than usual and the group had kept their exchanges short, only hanging out at Cesar's place for a bit on Halloween night for a mock-party. Audrey feared the police and after a week of nothing suspicious happening, they all felt well enough to interact with one another a bit more. But she still had troubles at night. Underneath her, she could feel the faint outline of the journal and that was always enough to make what little sleep she did get worthless—nightmares and visions of masked-faced gods replaced her dreams and made sleep impossible to tolerate.
That only prompted her further to hurry to return the book to its anonymous grave. She met Tamila on the train and they continued with great haste to Manhattan. They tried not to act too suspicious, but Audrey was paranoid. They all were. The threat of attracting the Happiness Inquisition wasn't at all impossible. The sooner they got rid of the book the better. That didn't stop any of them from glancing over their shoulders, double locking their doors at night, and keeping phone conversations quick and cryptic.
"Hey, let's go shopping Friday," said Audrey when she called Tamila mid-week.
"Where to?" asked Tamila, pretending to be casually interested; she knew the code words and routines down pat.
"I was thinking over in Manhattan. Labyrinth is having a sale on hard-back fiction. I was thinking about getting that new vampire romance thing. Remember how much Valerie was talking about it?"
"Yeah," Tamila lied smoothly, interest falsely perked. "Sounds good. Meet you at Grand Army Plaza?"
"See you then."
So, while out and about, they pretended to just be normal friends, headed uptown for a shopping trip. Tamila never mentioned or looked down at Audrey's jacket, or commented on how Audrey kept adjusting it, securing the hidden parcel underneath.
As they moved from train to train and eventually out into Manhattan, Audrey tried not to think about the journal that burned against her stomach. It felt like molten lead—heavy, on fire. The feeling wouldn't fade from her mind even after she returned the book, and she knew it. It would take months to get rid of the weight. The burning.
The plan was simple and easy enough for Tamila to understand and ad-lib her responses to. They'd shop a bit and then Audrey would suggest going to the library for a quick look-see. They'd slip the book back and then go home empty handed. Maybe get something for appearance-sake. Audrey only hoped the same librarian wouldn't be there. That was a minor issue, compared to everything else.
"Think its safe?" asked Tamila as they crossed at an intersection with a herd of people, all ignorant to anything but their own concerns.
Audrey hummed. They could have been followed, but maybe not. She eventually nodded. "I think they would have picked up on something by now," she eventually admitted. "Be careful not to say anything implicative."
"Gotcha." Tamila smirked down at her friend as they walked by a street vendor. "You are the most paranoid bitch I've ever met."
"Survival instincts," replied Audrey calmly. She did laugh and patted Tamila's arm affectionately. "Thanks for coming."
"Well, the others were busy doin' their own things and I wasn't about to leave you to do it by yourself again," said Tamila, as if holding back a sigh. "The sooner this trip is done, the sooner we can all take a deep breath."
Audrey nodded, knowing that was only half-true. They would still think about it. An ad came on the TV the other night about how Adiran Veidt was unable to come for the 11/2 parade, but he would be appearing in December for a visit. Audrey stared at his face for a long time. Later, when Jimmy called her, the two had little to talk about. It was unsafe to talk about anything concerning Veidt, but their silence was enough for Audrey to realize this would be a long-standing issue amongst them.
"I hope we're doing the right thing," Audrey whispered.
Tamila glanced down at her, but she didn't elaborate. It wasn't that hard for Tamila to understand what she meant, though. She meant returning the book. Shutting out the Veidt-conspiracy. Dressing up in costume. Bringing back the masks. There were so many things they were doing that could be wrong…and yet so very, very right.
Her head spun, but she kept walking. Walking like the normal people, like the people she had to pretend to be.
"I was wondering about something last night," began Tamila suddenly.
Audrey looked up at her, surprised. "Wondering about what?"
Grinning, Tamila cocked her head to the side. "I have wonder what exactly is running through those guys' minds when a hero showed up in costume, you know?" she asked, chuckling already. "Imagine, selling dope one minute, and then suddenly, you're getting your ass handed to you by some dude in a cape and mask. Like, who the fuck expects that?"
It wasn't funny in reality, but Audrey burst out laughing. The image was hilarious. Both girls kept laughing, even as they started across another, larger intersection.
"Oh, wow," exclaimed Audrey, giggling. "I never thought about it like that." Not that she would ever feel sorry about surprising a drug dealer or rapist. If anything, a little surprise was nothing compared to what they truly deserved.
…She was tempted to bring along a camera now, though.
"We should totally make a Wall of What the Fuck? faces, you know?" added Tamila, making Audrey crack up again. "The best reactions we come across!"
"Oh, yes," laughed Audrey.
"Jimmy could totally rig up some hidden camera we can hide somewhere, like, on Markus' shoulders maybe," continued Tamila, grinning, looking back at her. "Hell, maybe we can even use a video camera and then send it into some TV…station…"
Slowly, Tamila stopped walking. Audrey slowed, confused. They were barely across the street. Several cars honked their horns, the light threatening to turn green. Audrey looked up at Tamila, about to ask her what was wrong, but something—a cold feeling sweeping through her body—stopped her from speaking.
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Dark hair, only slight squinty eyes—definitely a mixed background—with the makeup and hairstyle of a whore. Short skirt rolled up too much, part of an unidentified school's uniform. Loud laugh, honest smile. Walks with confidence despite wardrobe, as if unafraid of the scum that might take her for prey. A mostly empty school bag and a quick gait.
"Sorry," said the girl, hurrying along in his memories. Too short of a conversation to pinpoint an accurate match of the two voices together now.
But her face. Her face fit it.
Without pausing or doubting his choice of target, Rorschach moved from shadows of the alley, and into the afternoon sun-lit streets. The nighttime reassurance of anonymity he had had the night before was gone, but he didn't care. He paid no attention to any passerby who might have seen his real face. He didn't care if he was found out prematurely. He didn't care for the police, the media, the people—
That girl had his journal.
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Tamila was staring behind them, as if she was suddenly detached from everything else. A look of shock and…fear…filled her eyes.
"Holy shit," whispered Tamila. Audrey immediately tensed in surprise at the sound of her friend's voice. "Do…are you seeing this?"
"What—?"
Tamila grabbed her shoulder and yanked her around. Audrey allowed this and stared out in the direction she was facing now. Across the street, where they had just been, a man was walking through the crowds, walking purposefully toward them. It could have been a man, or a woman, but she knew it was a man. She knew this man. She knew him because he didn't have a face, not a normal one.
He was wearing a black and white mask, one that had recently begun to haunt her.
He was walking toward them fearlessly and without hesitation. Audrey took a step back, her eyes wide.
"Run," she whispered, without thinking at all, her entire mind and body growing numb.
"What?" asked Tamila, also shocked.
"Run!"
Instinct won over everything else. She kept her eyes pinned on that fearful man's mask, watching it turn multitudes of shapes as he moved closer and closer. Haunted words drifted by her mind's ears and visions of a dead-man with a white and black face flashed into her mind. But this time, unlike her nightmares, the masked man lying in the snow didn't disappear. He was alive. He was right there in front of her. He was heading right toward her.
Without another word, she was off, Tamila right at her side. She didn't pay attention to if he was following. She just kept running, knocking people out of the way and jumping over trash bags sitting on the curb. She ducked down another street, yanking on Tamila's arm unnecessarily. Every exercise, every drill that she herself had put together and made the others take just vanished. She didn't want a fight. She didn't want to even acknowledge this man's existence. She didn't want anything to do with this, not anymore.
They kept running and didn't care who they bumped into or who shouted after them in piqued concern or anger. They kept running across intersections, dodged cars, and only stopped when a elongated bus came tearing by in front of them. All Audrey could hear was her own thrumming heart and her and Tamila's harsh breathing.
Then, behind her, she heard something else amidst the din of the typical New York street. Something familiar.
Footsteps. Running.
Audrey turned and saw yards behind them someone running at a break-neck speed. They moved fluidly through the crowds, never touching anyone. A man dressed in a brown trench coat who she knew was twenty-years dead. A ghost amongst the living.
"Oh, God," she whispered hoarsely, unable to tear her eyes away from his non-existent face.
Tamila grabbed her arm and yanked her across the street. They picked up their own running pace again, trying to forget about their hunter, only thinking of running, running, running like no tomorrow. But they were getting sloppy as they went, running out of steam and the ability to make tight turns. They stumbled and slowed.
But the man behind them never slowed, nor stopped, nor seemed willing to compromise or give up. The crowds go thinner and he sped up. He never seemed out of breath, or tired. Audrey felt fear—intense fear. Her mind was on fire with so many different things. Why, why was he alive? Was it the same man? How? How?! Veidt—the journal—the Event—everything else…what the hell was going on?!
She prayed this was just another nightmare. Just another bad dream that she would wake up from screaming and crying and looking around for masked boogey men in dark corners. But this wasn't a dream. Tamila's tight grip on her arm and the sweat dripping down her back was enough to prove that.
There wasn't any waking up from this.
They made another tight corner and Audrey had to skid several feet before she could turn properly. Her chest hurt, her head swam—she tried to focus on the end of this new block. If she could just get there, just get a few more steps farther from this menace, maybe they could—
Without saying anything, Tamila yanked Audrey from her side of the sidewalk and threw her forward. Audrey stumbled, bewildered, into the entrance of a rather empty alley. She looked up at Tamila, shocked. They couldn't stop, they couldn't just wait here to be found—
"What—?" she tried to ask.
"Shut up and get behind the dumpster. Get ready," snapped Tamila, breathless, but in command. Audrey stared at her, but moved back quickly behind the dumpster.
Crouching, Audrey could still see Tamila poised at the mouth of the alleyway, the afternoon sun hitting her body, encompassing her body with light. Audrey swallowed hard and focused. This was another battle, just one played in the daylight. They could do this. Follow the plans, survive the night.
She ducked low and let her mind take control of her trembling body, becoming Gestalt, and letting her fears fall behind her, along with her war-drumming heart…
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They gave good chase. He had not been expecting two young women their ages to be able to run so fast and far. They had definitely been prepared adequately for long distance marathons…or were just used to being chased. It was highly suspect. And only provoked him further to hunt them down through the crowds of stinking swine and ignorant denizens.
He ignored everything else. His focus was entirely on the back of the Asian's skull. Reach her, grab the book, hide in the sewers until night. He didn't think of Veidt or how much publicity this would get him.
He only wanted that book.
Rorschach ran and forgot his own limitations. There were none, not now. That was the benefit he faced. Veidt was twenty-years older now. Rorschach was not. He had not been a young man when he last lived in New York, but he had an edge still over the aging Golden Boy.
The two moved fast, but he could see their movements slow after several long minutes of non-stop running. They grew sloppy, slower. Rorschach kept his pace steady, his heart beating faster at the idea of getting his journal rather than exertion. It was so close.
He had no idea who these people were. He doubted they were Veidt's people; that made no sense. Perhaps just thrill-seekers. Maybe spies from the government. Tricky Dick was dead, finally. But the Keene Act was still in place. The government could have still been keeping tabs on the book. But why steal it from themselves? Third party was highly possible.
The answers would be given to him, Rorschach rationalized, once he caught up to the women. They would be no threat to him, no matter what affiliations they had. Once he had the journal, he could rest easier at night, perhaps. He could focus on finding Daniel, wherever he was now. Rorschach turned a corner, almost right on the two women, his emotions beginning to stir once more. He could simply take the book, and vanish back into the city's—
Before Rorschach could even think of ducking, a fist collided with his jaw. He felt the pain a moment later and he was sent flying backwards. It was a hard hit, one like Daniel used to have. Or at least Nite Owl. That thought burned him more than the strike.
Habit forced him to roll away, to stand again, but the fists kept coming. Not disorganized, haphazard fists, like the ones normal crooks would use. These were trained, deliberate fists, moving in a refined way that reminded him more of Ozymandias than anything else. Not Daniel, never Daniel—
He ducked and rolled towards the edge of the sidewalk, eyes locking onto his attack finally. It was a black woman—no. Rorschach immediately recognized her as the companion of his real target, the Asian. This dark skinned woman gave him no room to look for her friend; she grabbed at his leg. He kicked out, nailing her in the chest, flinging her away. But as he did so, the sun was blotted out above—
Two feet collided with his own chest and he was sent sprawling onto the pavement. Not heavy, small size—a woman's feet. He only got one look in at the person standing above him—dark hair, light skin, uniform, the Asian—before her feet lashed out again and kicked him in the jaw. His vision clouded just briefly, but his hand whipped out and grabbed onto her ankles, meaning to yank her to the ground. He got one solid grip on her right ankle when someone metal and hard slammed him across the forehead. The girl on top of him jumped out of the way, her body moving too fluidly and precisely for a mere self-defense trainee. These were trained fighters.
He rolled to the side, to avoid the metal weapon again, which crashed loudly onto the sidewalk. A trashcan lid. The black one had thrown it had him, twice. It rolled swiftly into the side of a parked car. Its alarm went off. Rorschach growled loudly, backing up to try to get into a better position. The women backed up in a similar manner, eyeing him like one would a wild dog.
They moved in some kind of trained pattern. Working in unison. Good form. But they were young. He could hear the fear in their breathing, the roughness, the uncertainty in their movements. They feared him. Not trained assassins, then.
"Give me the book!" he snarled, trying to get to his feet. That's all he wanted. He didn't care if they were just women, just children looking for something they didn't understand.
The Asain stopped, just for a moment. She gave him the strangest look—fear, confusion, surprise—and for a moment, Rorschach knew she wanted to say something to him in reply. Her friend looked hesitant, but clearly on the ready for his next move.
Then, the Asian opened her mouth.
"FIRE!" she screamed, loud enough for Rorschach's ringing ears to hurt and to be heard over the car alarm. "FIRE! SOMEONE HELP US!"
Rorschach hesitated, the first time in a long while. He stared at the woman as she screamed, her friend now joining in. They were not wearing looks of fear. They were staring—glaring at him—ready for a fight. But they were calling for help. To end a fight they could easily have fought for so much longer.
They could have their end; he didn't care. His eyes went down and he saw a bulge under the girl's jacket that formed the outline of a book. There was no time, no more waiting. Rorschach struck out like an uncoiling snake, ready to grab what he knew it was—his book, his journal. It was right there, right there…!
"Ho shit, back the fuck off, man!"
Rorschach looked up and dodged just in time as a large black man came flying at him. He jumped back enough to see the two women run, past a new group of people that had formed around them. He had never noticed them, not with his attention focused solely on the book. Rorschach, for a moment, stared at them in confusion, but was forced to dodge the man again. People were shouting, sirens—the police—were blaring over head, getting closer.
He couldn't be caught now. Not now, not when he was so close to the journal! He looked around, feeling his control slipping. He couldn't see the women anymore. Something black lay just a few feet away. All he could hear were sirens and people—too many people—
Rorschach slammed the man down again, the would-be rescuer. He looked down and saw the black square object—a woman's wallet. Too obvious. A calling card, or a taunt. Rorschach reached down and grabbed the wallet, and then, took off down the alley. He had no time now. He had to lay low, until the police were not hunting for him. He knew their faces now, those women. There was more than one. A group…a group was easy to find compared to a single person.
Those women. Vicious, but couth. They had strength and knew it. Used it. But why? In this world, why would such fighters exist?
And the wallet. It would hold pertinent information on at least one of them. It was too obvious a drop. If they were skilled fighters, they obviously could make plans.
So, he was to be expected.
He ran on, until he reached another street. Two city workers, just about to cover a manhole. Rorschach's suddenly appearance shocked them and he took this moment to jump down. He latched onto the ladder and descended into the darkness of the city's bowels, a place he had grown comfortable knowing only…decades ago.
When dark touched the city's streets, he'd set out again. He would hunt for his journal, now armed with more information. He would find it, and maybe, find out the reason for their theft of the book.
Crimes must be punished, after all.
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Annnd after this most fail fight scene ever, we'll be moving into the slightly less-fail fight scene, AKA, where Rorschach gets his revenge. Big time.
A/Ns:
-"Labyrinth" is a bookstore in uptown Manhattan, now known as Book Culture.
- "Grand Army Plaza" is the Grand Army Plaza Station, a NYC train station in Brooklyn, NY.
-Lol, Audrey. (Come on, wouldn't you think about doing that?) She's lucky there were concerned citizens. New York is actually a pretty friendly place. I got lost there once and all the cops were very nice. XD I'm going back tomorrow, so let's see if that's still true…
-Tsk tsk, what are you up to ladies?
Reviews would be lovely.
