No. 7
"I'm thinking of bringing the vigilantes together."
"What?" I'm rubbing distractedly at a small scuff on the back of my helmet from when I'd thrown it too forcefully against a man and it ricocheted onto a brick wall.
He seems purposeful. "Under one group – organized, controlled, and planned. The Watchmen."
"But how're you even going to get their… I don't know, addresses and contacts?"
He turns to me, grinning, and I'm in love with the childlike excitement in his eyes. "It'll be easy, trust me. Besides, a few of them are public or government. It can't be too hard."
In the darkness of night, we lean in. His lips brush against mine.
A scream jerks up four blocks away.
"Come on. Let's go."
In the end, it wasn't hard. Seven p.m. comes on one cold Saturday night and I'm sitting in a lavish drawing room, filled with nervous energy. One by one, suited vigilantes arrive. Archie lands in the yard outside and Dan waves at us through the window as he and Rorschach get out. I smile encouragingly at the second Silk Specter – Laurie Jupiter – as she comes in. Despite the fact that her suit is very…bold; shining yellow-and-black latex, she looks a little uncomfortable and wary of the others.
After a beat, I reach up and unlock the helmet from my head. My hair falls in tangled, messy waves from the interior and I self-consciously comb my fingers through it. The blackout on the front glass plate dissolves into voxels and then fades clear. The helmet makes a dull thunking noise as I set it down on the table.
Another man walks in – he's huge, broad-shouldered, looking like some kind of clichéd American mercenary; complete with black armor, chipped metal shoulder pads in red, white, and blue and a cigar in his mouth. This must be the Comedian.
"Move, little girl," he says to me. "Let an old man rest his legs, huh?" I roll my eyes but stand, crossing my arms as he plops himself down on the leather cushions, reaching past my helmet on the table to snag a newspaper.
Dan and Rorschach walk in next, Dan explaining something but stopping mid-sentence when he sees Laurie. I almost snort at the way he smiles shyly at her and cough loudly instead, looking down. One last person comes from a side room, and I look up as Adrian stops in front of the crucial display of the evening.
His voice has a simple tone of command, and heads turn to him. "Welcome. We'll be starting shortly. We're waiting for one more."
Rorschach stuffs his hands in his pockets, and I can all but imagine him thinking about how this is a waste of time. He mutters this complaint to his partner, and Dan elbows him petulantly, causing Laurie to giggle. A pink flush immediately appears on Dan's cheeks.
There's suddenly a blast of wind and bright blue light and we all turn to stare as a tall man with skin that glowed blue appeared at the center of the room, a middle-aged woman standing beside him. Dr. Manhattan, and, from the looks of it, Dr. Janey Slater.
He tilts his head down towards her, his voice a reassuring, if not amused whisper. "I told you you wouldn't be the only one dressed up." The woman beside him smiles, rolling her eyes.
"Welcome, Doctor. Now we can start. Thank you for coming today. I ask you –" Adrian gestures towards a display board, "acquaint yourselves with this map of high crime areas-
Someone laughs, interrupting him, and I watch as the Comedian folds his newspaper. His voice is muffled through the cigar between his teeth. "This s'all bullshit."
Adrian looks down at him. "You know, for a guy that calls himself the Comedian, I can never tell when you're joking."
"Watchmen. That's the real joke. Didn't work 15 years ago, sure as hell ain't gonna work now jus' because you wanna keep playing cowboys and Indians."
Dan spreads his arms. "Maybe we should agree on no drinking at meetings." The other man only laughs, and takes another swig from his flask. "Look, Rorschach and I have made real headway on the gang problem by working together –"
"But a group this size seems like a publicity stunt. I'm not in it for the ink." Rorschach growls out.
Adrian's voice is soft. "We can do so much more. We can save this world." When the Comedian snickers again, Adrian turns to him, his words pointed and tone cold. "With the right leadership."
The Comedian stands and I hear his knees crack. He exhales, walking over to Adrian. "And that'd be you, right, Ozy? You and your pretty little assistant?" He laughs as he points at me. The pet name is scornful, and my hands clench into fists. "I mean, you're the smartest man on the planet."
"Hey, back off, jerkface," I say, taking a step forward. He's standing close to Adrian, and I see a muscle in his jaw jump as the Comedian exhales, cigar smoke clouding the air before him. He raises his arms in a gesture of mock defeat, a smirk on his face as he backs away.
Adrian is still staring forward, his arms crossed. "It doesn't take a genius to see the world has problems."
"Yeah, but it takes a room full of morons to think they're small enough for you to handle. You people." He laughs again. "You hear Moloch's back in town 'n you get your panties all in a bunch. You think catching him matters?"
"Justice matters!" Rorschach says fiercely, pointing at him. Dan presses a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. I exhale sharply, realizing that I've been holding my breath, and Adrian's eyes dart to mine.
The Comedian chuckles, but when he speaks next, his tone is oddly sad. "Justice. Justice is coming to all of us. No matter what the fuck we do." A pause. "Y'know, mankind's been tryna kill each other off since the beginning of time." His slow strides circle Adrian, and he turns to the map.
"Now? We'll finally have the power to finish the job. Ain't nothing gonna matter once those nukes start flying - we'll all be dust."
A click, and the pale blue flame ignites from a lighter in his hand.
He draws it very slowly across the bottom edge of the map. "Then Ozymandias here'll be the smartest man on the cinder." With that, he walks away, heavy footfalls going past the door.
The other Watchmen are talking again, awkward introductions and words of reassurance, but I can't help but stare at the fire as it licks up the fraying, charred edges of the map straight from the center, splitting the United States into two. Smoke drifts over and my stomach twists. Adrian is dead silent, his face impassive yet strangely dark.
There is a gentle sifting crackle as one of the logs in the burning fireplace breaks over the grating.