NOTE: The two songs for this chapter are Time is Running Out by Muse and Sweet Dreams by Emily Browning (which, by the way, is in the Sucker Punch soundtrack which has AMAZING music on it you HAVE TO LISTEN! :D )
They Say Quitters Never Win (But We Walk the Plank on a Sinking Ship)
Rorschach
I keep having the same dream. The one where I'm standing on the ship with Cadence. Except in these dreams I don't take her hand. Cadence fades away and the people drown. And everytime I wake up their screams still echo in my head, begging me to help them.
I'll help them. But I'll do it on my own.
I still haven't found a computer. The ones they offer in the library are all traced; if I get onto sites like Infowars on those computers the government will trace it. I don't need them knowing about me right now.
I buy newspapers everyday. I sit in fastfood restaraunts that have TVs to catch up on the news. But they're not telling the whole truth, and I know this. I have to find the truth but the truth is hidden. I could look for the truth in books, but I would risk seeing Cadence and I can't have that. I could look for the truth in gang truthers, but I can't have too many people knowing I'm alive. Manhattan hasn't told me it's okay to reveal myself yet, so I've been using extra procaution when I'm Rorschach.
It's the first week of March. The winter is drawing to a close; I can feel the first subtle hints of warmth in the air. And I can feel the time slipping past me, faster and faster with each day. Time is running out.
Adrian
"Time's running out, Mr. Veidt."
"Yes, I know that, my dear. Have patience."
"Don't give me that 'my dear' bullshit, Veidt, we want results!"
I turn to Janet and fix her with a firm stare. "And you'll get results. But this must be perfected. It's too dangerous to rush into," I tell her. When she still looks unconvinced I sigh and try to steady myself. My own patience has been wearing thin these days. "Don't worry, Janet. I'm working on it."
"Work faster," she growls and there is something in her voice that instantly alarms me.
I blink at her. "Something's going to happen, isn't it?" She looks at me, guiltily now and my jaw drops. "You're planning something, aren't you?"
"Adrian, please."
"If you're planning something, I should know about it. I'm working on your goddamn pills, for Christ's sake!" I shout, fuming. How dare they keep something from me? And how could I miss it? a tiny voice asks but I shove it away.
"Adrian, calm down. It's not set in stone yet. We weren't going to do it until later, but...something's accelerated our plans." Janet's eyes cloud over darkly and I blink, reading the meaning behind her words.
"Are you talking about the Watchmen? Yes, I read about them. But they shouldn't pose any real threat-"
"It's not just them. Word is spreading and more and more people are going to that Alex Jones's website."
"You mean Infowars?"
"Yes. It seems that someone- don't ask me who- is spreading messages."
I narrow my eyes. "What kind of messages?"
"Whoever it is seems to be putting slips of paper into books, and these slips of paper seem to contain information- on us, on our plans... And they ask people to go to Infowars and Prisonplanet." Janet's lip curls just slightly and I can see the glittering, rotten hatred she has for the people in opposition to our plan. For a moment, I am uneasy- someone with that kind of contempt for humanity can't be trusted.
But I've got this under control. I set this into motion. Without me, they wouldn't be nearly as close as they are now, I reassure myself confidently. I'm the smartest man in the world. I have everything under control.
"Well, where are these messages stemming from originally?" I ask, confident now. Nothing can touch me.
"We're not sure yet, but wherever they come from they've spread as far as L.A. and Washington and even here, in New York. People have been finding these notes and then writing their own," she replies.
"Hm." I think for a moment and then shrug. "Well, whoever it is, they're determined, I'll give them that," I chuckle. "But really, Janet, this isn't a problem. They'll realize that they don't have any power to stop us and they'll soon cease their antics. Soon they'll see that this is all for the best."
Janet nods, but looks uneasy. I blink, confused, and am about to ask her why she seems so concerned when Jennifer knocks on the door. "Mr. Veidt? We just received news of Egypt's revolution. Mubarak resigned sixty-seven minutes ago," she says, her eyes shining with undisguised joy.
I can't help smiling at her innocence. She is a fool, I think affectionately. A beautiful little fool.
"That's great news, Jennifer, thank you," I reply.
"I really should be going. They'll want to discuss this and I should be there," Janet says briskly, striding past Jennifer, who holds the door open for her.
I narrow my eyes, reminded of her news. Something is going to happen. And she didn't tell me what.
But she was right, I think with a sigh, suddenly unimagineably tired as I sink into my chair. Time is running out.
Rylie
"Rylie. Are you listening to me?"
I turn to my mom with my best detached, bored expression and say, "No."
Anger and hurt flashes across her face and I feel bad but not enough to apologize. "I don't even know how to talk to you anymore," she says indignantly.
"That's easy, just don't," I mutter, turning away to look out the window. We don't speak after that. She drops me off at school and I go about my day like usual.
It's getting warmer, and with the growing warmth comes a growing sense of urgency. I can't help feeling as though I'm under the watch, as though all of my actions are being timed. As if I'm in a race but I have no footing.
Walter knocked my legs out from under me, I think bitterly, readjusting the strap of my backpack on my shoulder as it cuts into my neck. Ever since our fight, I haven't been able to function quite as well, knowing he hates me, knowing he thinks I'm a whore.
I guess it shouldn't matter. I shouldn't be so concerned with what everybody thinks of me, but...I am. I hate it when somebody doesn't like me, especially when that someone used to be my friend.
It cuts deep and I don't know how to shoulder it.
The day drags on sluggishly, the seconds ticking by shamelessly slow. And yet it feels as though time is passing quickly, too quickly to perceive. My stomach twists itself into knots everytime I glance at the clock and see how much time has passed, see how much time hasn't passed...
No matter how slow the day seems, it always ends and time passes. And it is passing quickly.
When the final bell rings, I hurry outside. I don't want to talk to anybody. Slipping on my headphones, I start walking. I tune everything out and enter my own world, the world where things are perfect and everything makes sense.
But when I get to the stoplight and look up to watch for my turn to cross, I see the police car and the other car that's been pulled over. I see a crowd gathering as the woman in the car steps out, shouting at the officer. Quickly I cross the street, ignoring the cars that honk at me, and hurry over to the scene. It is near the alley where Walter slammed me into the wall, and I can't help thinking of this as I march over.
Oh, shut up! Stop thinking of him! I shout silently to myself and push through the crowd to get a good view.
"...and you think you can pull me over for that? Shit, you gotta be kiddin' me!" the woman is shouting.
"Calm down!" But the officer is shouting, too. He's not calm and he's asking her to calm down?
It all happens very fast, and yet at the same time I see everything with perfect clarity. I see him lash out at her with his fist as if it's happening in slow motion. It catches her on the chin and sends her careening backwards into her car. People gasp around me, their eyes opening wide and filling with shock. I see the cop raise his fist, ready to deliver another blow, his face filled with disgust and a horrible kind of wildness. There is blood on his knuckles, speckling his white skin like bright red freckles.
The sound of the next punch sears through me and I flinch. Someone screams out in protest and I realize after a moment that it's me. The cop doesn't seem to hear, but instead falls on his victim, tearing into her like some kind of mindless animal. I back away until the view is obstructed by other witnesses.
My mouth is hanging open with shock. I close it numbly. Something is happening to me. I've read about police brutality but seeing it firsthand... Suddenly my problems seem insignificant. This is no longer just about me. It never was, I realize and a cold calm spreads through me. I feel stronger in that moment than ever before, knowing that I was never meant to live my life simply for me.
He comes up from behind me and stands at my side. We don't look at each other, still watching the scene in front of us. "There's nothing we could have done," I say quietly, still not looking at him.
"Not here. Not right now," he agrees.
"But there's still something we can do," I continue.
"Yes," he agrees.
I know he feels it, too. The sudden epiphany, that what we are working for is so much greater than either of us. Greater than our differences or our quarrels or our feelings.
"We have to stop this."
He nods. "We will."
Rorschach
That afternoon, after seeing the woman beaten by the police officer and coming to terms with Cadence, I am ready for some nice, head-clearing brutality on patrol. In some ways I am glad that Cadence and I have come to an agreement. Not that we are anything more than allies now, but that's also for the best. Better that emotions and friendship don't get in the way. This is bigger than either of us. We must deal with that.
But when I reach into the cubby hole for my mask, I feel something else beneath my fingertips. Surprised, I pull it out and examine it. It looks like a gun, but instead of a regular muzzle there is a hook on the end.
Blinking, I am overcome by memory. I am standing in a large underground tunnel, lit by flickering lights and filled with the sounds of dripping water. A man is handing me the gun, smiling at me, his brown eyes clear and friendly and familiar. They feel like home.
A second later, the memory ends, but I am still reeling from the aftereffects. "Daniel," I gasp, suddenly remembering my partner. My friend.
Attached to the grappling hook gun is a paper. I rip it off and read what's written there.
Things are going to start accelerating rapidly. You must be prepared. You will need this gun in your arsenal of weapons soon, but guns are not the only things you will need. Be prepared not only to teach but to be taught. Good luck.
~ Jon
I stand there for a long time, staring down at the letter in my hand, seeing the the words written there but no longer caring about their meaning. Gripping the letter in my fist, I look out the window at the night sky descending.
"Daniel..."
Adrian
No! Please...don't come closer!
But it does.
Don't come for me! You can't have me!
The world I'd tried to save was lost beyond recall. I was a horror; amongst horrors must I dwell.
Please. Get away!
Its dark and lurching mass filled all my vision. I saw the heads nailed to its prow, heard drunken laughter, encouragements barked from the decks above...
No...no!
Closer it came...closer...
Sitting up in bed, gasping for air, I grope frantically for the lamp on my bedside table.
"Mr. Veidt!" Hands grab my shoulders, try to calm me down. Nearly hissing with panic, I grab their hands and throw them away from me. They let out a little shriek of surprise as they hit the wall.
Half-blind with terror and confusion, I finally touch the switch on the lamp and tug. Light floods the room, illuminating myself tangled in my bedsheets, and Jennifer lying against the wall, staring at me in horror.
Immediately, shame and guilt washes over me and I feel heat rise to my face. "Oh, Jennifer. I'm so sorry," I exclaim, getting out of bed and extending a hand to help her up. After a moment of hesitation, she takes it and allows me to pull her to her feet.
"Are you okay, Adrian?" she asks quietly, and I can tell that she's genuinely concerned because she hardly ever calls me by my first name.
I feel a softening in my chest and I force a smile for her. "Yes, Jennifer. Just a nightmare," I reassure her.
She nods, smiling, relieved now. "We all have them," she replies. She is so easily convinced, so ready to swallow the lie. That's why I keep her around.
"So what is it, Jennifer?" I ask, knowing she wouldn't have woken me up for nothing. Over the years since the formation of my utopian society, I have started sleeping in my office (when I can sleep, that is), so I've kept a bed here. When I sleep here, Jennifer knows not to wake me unless it's very important.
"Oh, right. Well, I just received a call from Ms. Napolitano. She said that they've just received notice of a code blue in Lawrence, Kansas," she tells me, looking puzzled but not asking questions.
I grow still, my heartbeat speeding up. Code blue means that we've picked up Jon's signature on radar. Irrationally, I am reminded of my nightmare, of the hideous ship bearing down on me, encouraging me to swim to it, to grab hold of the rope and climb aboard...
The old familiar panic fills me. I've had the dream ever since the first time I killed a man, when I had first started going about my plan. It's been growing more potent, more terrible, lately.
"Mr. Veidt?" Jennifer lays a hand on my shoulder, looking at me, concerned again.
I am just barely able to control my terror. "Call Ms. Napolitano back and tell her to send in eyes and ears. Now. We must get this under control now before it gets any worse." And maybe then I can get some sleep, I think selfishly. I won't have to see the ship's terrible hull, the skulls, the torn, sea-blackened flesh reaching out to me...
My eyes flash open, trying to banish the image. "They must be stopped!" I gasp, and though I have no idea what my words mean, I know that somehow they make sense. My intuition knows more of my dreams than my mind.
"O-okay," Jennifer says, nodding, and stumbles away from me, out the door into the main office.
Holding my head in my hands, I try to calm my beating heart. Outside, it starts to rain, thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. A storm is coming. God forbid we aren't ready for it.
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so if you've read the graphic novel (and if you haven't you HAVE TO!) you'll probably recognize that some parts of Adrian's dream are excerpts from "The Black Freighter" which I do not own. Also, (and just because I am majorly obsessed with the soundtrack right now) I'm going to encourage you again to check out Emily Browning's version of Sweet Dreams because it is INTENSE. I don't like the original, but I love her version. So, yeah. That's my little rant for the day. Please review :)