Thanks for all the positive reviews--I know that Rorschach seemed off last chapter but we were seeing him through Jon's eyes, who really never knew Walter Kovacs. There's not too much action in this chapter but it's very character heavy. I have to get into the swing of writing Walter / Rorschach--they are a tricky duo. Please let me know if it's confusing or silly. I generally don't like altering text, but it seemed the best way to be clear.
Time to say hello to Walter and Rorschach.
They landed on a rooftop in a flash of blue light, and Walter collapsed to his knees—overcome with nausea and memories again. Rorschach was saying something, but his mother's shouting was drowning him out. She and all the other restless dead threatened to consume him.
"Stupid fuckin' retard! I never should have given birth!"
He flinched and closed his eyes tightly, breathing raggedly.
"It's the whoreson! Get him!"
"That creep Kovacs tried to ask me out…ew…"
Get up Kovacs. Can't stay here.
He shook his head violently to try and clear it. Cracking his eyes back open, he finally recognized the building as the old Watchmen headquarters and knew where he was in the city. It was early in the day still—bright sky and very little cover. Better to stay on the roof until nightfall.
"Look at this runty little faggot…"
Kovacs! Get up!
"Laurie…he doesn't smell that bad…"
In an instant, Dr. Manhattan had broken every protective wall and dug Walter Kovacs back out of the grave he had willing lain in for so long. He had opened his eyes in Antarctica and seen only his past washing over him like a rotten wave. Now he felt flayed and exposed.
KOVACS! HAVE TO GO NOW!
Suddenly the body was no longer under his control and Kovacs was thrown back with a surprised "Ennk!" as Rorschach took over and started sprinting them across the rooftop. As they ran, Walter finally noticed that taller offices now surrounded the old building, and that far too many people were watching from their windows.
No doubt calling police—blue flashes can't be common.
He cursed himself for being so stupid—so weak and flawed. But the taste of bile had left his throat and Rorschach was guiding them expertly down the side of the building, twisting and dropping over the fire escape. His bare feet were getting torn up somewhat from dragging on the brick work, but Rorschach doesn't care and the pain only helped to focus Kovacs until he can finally push the memories back and close them away once more.
They land heavily in the alley and take a moment to observe all the details—there doesn't appear to be anything of use to them, not even a trashcan, let alone a dumpster—of all the alleys in this filthy city…
There's a scuff behind them. "Hey buddy!" Two police officers are blocking the exit of the alley. "Got reports of a guy appearing on the roof-seen anything?" They were laughing at each other—not taking the reports seriously; they would never suspect an attack.
Rorschach spotted a dumped length of pipe and tensed to jump for it, but Kovacs pulled him back and cleared his throat. "Haven't seen anything down here," he replied.
"Didn't think so," the younger of the two cops replied, "but 'leave no stone unturned' amIrite?"
He was grinning; Walter did not grin back. The older cop—a fat man in his fifties—frowned and tilted his head slightly as he looked Kovacs up and down. "You homeless?"
"Yes."
The older cop nodded as though he was a great detective, "Yeah I could tell. There's a shelter a couple blocks south—you can get some shoes there."
Police must not need intelligence in Veidt's utopia, Rorschach muttered darkly behind his eyes, but Kovacs muttered "Thanks," as he walked past the two men, and disappeared into the crowds, eyes scanning the pavement to avoid damaging his feet further.
Going to the shelter?
Yes, we need different clothes. We stand out like this.
Need my face.
I know. But information first. Should try and find Daniel…
Hurm…Sided with Veidt; sold his soul to protect the lies. Bad idea.
Probably. Let me know if you think of one better.
Rorschach fell silent, seemingly content to leave Kovacs to his own devices. By the time they reached the homeless shelter, Walter had found a fair amount of loose change. This particular shelter was run out of a church, which meant it was private and usually you traded prying questions for being bludgeoned with sanctimonious dogma. A volunteer took one look at his bare feet and outfit and waved him over to a clothing bin. In a rare lucky break, he found a good pair of battered, leather, work boots his size as well as a pair of jeans, black t-shirt, and a zippered hooded sweatshirt. He also dug up a pair of cheap gloves and a knit cap.
Once he'd changed there was nothing but a shock of orange hair to mark him apart from the other vagabonds and junkies, and not even that once he'd pulled the hat on.
Never thought utopia would need shelters.
Kovacs snorted in agreement as he got in line for a free meal. It was only practical—he had no idea when he'd be able to eat again. He took his tray and sat down where he could see a television playing the news.
Ten minutes later, he was bodily escorted out of the shelter for throwing his coffee mug through the television. "PRESIDENT?! That lying, mass-murdering, homosexual is PRESIDENT?!"
"Hey hey, easy—he's been President since '92, man. Where've you been?" Someone was trying to placate him, but that only made Rorschach see red. Lashing out like a trapped dog, he managed to land a few blows before being hurled bodily into another alley.
"Sheep! Brainwashed, liberal SHEEP!" he shouted at their retreating backs. Kovacs got them back to their feet while Rorschach fumed. This is utopia? A population of sheep? Blindly led to the slaughter house for Veidt's ego?
Kovacs grunted in response as they headed down the street. What happened to this country? No good, decent men left that Adrian Veidt is held up as a leader and only a shallow nation of whores and junkies to follow him? A few blocks more and he found a newsstand; walking over, he was hit with a brief memory of Bernie, the newsvendor who always held his paper. The other memories loomed like cloud of crows on a battlefield, but he pushed them back into their hole fiercely. No time for that, Rorschach muttered, Need more information; need my face.
"Need today's New Frontiersmen," he said to the grizzled newsman, pulling the change from his pocket.
The vendor looked confused, "That nut job rightwing paper? That closed in the 80's. Sheeyit, I ain't had no one ask for that in 20 years." He chuckled once, but it died off awkwardly at the stony look he received back.
Kovacs blinked once, "Gazette then." He paid for the paper, folded it under his arm, and kept walking the long blocks to Daniel's apartment. When the crowds thinned enough, he started reading through it, pausing to lean against the building when he found an article of use.
The dollar was strong. Poverty and unemployment where down. The country had finished converting to clean cold fusion from Pyramid Industries. It was all deceptively positive liberal spin. Kovacs froze at one story—one of the smallest.
"Director of the DMH, Daniel Dreiberg, Personally Congratulates the Brooklyn Dodger on Largest Drug Ring Bust in 7 Years."
Walter read the small article three times, his expression getting darker and darker. The Department of Masked Heroes it was called. Veidt had reversed the Keene Act and set up a bureaucracy in its place. And Daniel was at its head. The newspaper was crumpled in his hands, and Kovacs threw it in a garbage can in disgust.
Useless to continue to the apartment—even if Dreiberg kept it, he's one of Veidt's snakes now. Entire country has been infected with the sickness born in New York—plague seeping into the hearts and minds of fallen patriots. Need to burn away the diseased, rotten parts so wound can finally heal.
Walter nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. Even with Rorschach with him, he'd never been alone like this. Still, there would be no stopping—Veidt had to be punished. Daniel as well, for his betrayal. Where to begin though? It almost seemed too big.
Rorschach scoffed at him at his hesitation, Start with my face.
Yes, of course. Kovacs was always good at analyzing the trees, but Rorschach was best at burning down the forest.
We'll get your face.
They started the long walk to his old apartment.