Woo chapter 4-- A lot of you have mention how very separate Walter and Rorschach are. I'm glad you seem to be enjoying it--it's an interesting dynamic that I'm certainly having fun with--as you'll see in today's chapter.

Please to enjoy!

It had taken Walter several hours to convince Rorschach to even consider that what they needed was, in fact, attention. The city revolved around press—it always had and always would. One cleverly written story and twist of staged photos and New York would spread her legs for you. That's how Veidt had always operated, even before he'd revealed his identity, standing proudly in the limelight. That self-aggrandizing, egotistical, liberal, glory hound had stood for everything that Rorschach despised, and that had been before he had killed millions. Now Kovacs was telling him that they should do the same. Disgusting.

It was even worse that he seemed to have been shoved into the public eye posthumously. That woman had recognized his face instantly when he pulled it from its hiding place, then she had declared that it belonged in a museum! Rorschach wondered if Veidt had made him a saint in his new religion as a sick joke, or to soothe a guilty conscious. Kovacs wondered briefly if Daniel had anything to do with it.

Tucking his personal effects into the bag again as the sun rose, Walter took them back down to street level. Rorschach had gone silent—utterly uninterested in the mundane, human, acts of living. Kovacs hardly minded though, he could no longer ignore his hunger and it was easier to think without the other part of him growling for action. It didn't take long to find shelter serving food, and a recent newspaper—there was also a television in the common room that seemed to be dedicated to the news. Walter got his meal, found a pen, and stationed himself in a quiet corner, listening and taking notes across the paper.

Once the sun began to set, he got one last small meal before leaving the shelter, paper tucked into his bag. He headed back into the old neighborhoods to verify his target was still there, and then ducked down an alley to change and hide the bag of street clothes.

Rorschach stepped out into the night and rolled his shoulders savoring, for a moment, the feeling of his face, his scarf, his coat and his spotless gloves. Flexing his fingers, he crossed the quiet street and slammed the heel of his hand into the bar door, throwing it open with a bang. An elderly man behind the bar jumped in violent surprise then his jaw dropped as the vigilante walked in. "Happy Harry. Long time no see."

Happy Harry's expression was somewhere between horror, shock, and something almost like relief. He ran a leathery hand over his silver hair and gave a low whistle, "You crazy bastard…never thought I'd see you walk back in here."

Rorschach tilted his head slightly and stalked over to the counter—there were only a few professional drinkers in the bar and they all fell silent and watched. "Sorry to disappoint."

Harry suddenly broke into a grin and reached out to clap him on the shoulder, making him flinch slightly. "Disappoint? You're exactly what this goddamn rat hole needs!"

"Could be a copycat."

"The hell you are!" The old man looked Rorschach up and down and then shook his head. "Christ you haven't changed at all," his voice got quiet and heavy with time, "they all said you died trying to stop what happened. I didn't believe it you know, a lot of the neighborhood didn't." Harry made a sweeping gesture with his hands, "Not Rorschach—that sumbitch was tougher'n nails. You was our hero—cops didn't care an' there's no glory for the new generation of masks to come down here. But you? You was down here ev'ry night."

"Hurm," Rorschach tilted his head again and started to tap his fingers impatiently on the counter, "Gotten senile Harry? Neighborhood never thanked me."

A wizened hand slammed down on the scarred counter with surprising force, "We should've! We damn well should've—You an' that Nite Owl kid. After you disappeared…after the attacks. It got so bad…the city screamed for a hero." He seemed to shrink a bit and then shook his head to clear it. "Still does. Some of these bastards…" Harry blinked and waved his hands as if to clean the air, "But listen to this old man…what d'you need?"

Now Rorschach was interested, "Who's the worst?"

"Leonard Reed!" A voice called from the back. Both Rorschach and Happy Harry turned to look. "That spoiled bastard likes to beat the shit outta the girls down here—killed a few too." The rest of the bar patrons nodded and continued drinking solemnly.

Harry pointed a finger at the speaker. "You're goddamn right! That punk thinks he's untouchable with his big money an' big lawyers. Cops won't do shit and the heroes all have these damn super villains popping up all the time."

"Where can I find him?"

"Just keep an eye on the Black Cat Club," the patron yelled out again, "he'll be around."

Happy Harry nodded again and then pointed to the vigilante. "He'll always be in a three piece suit, the slick fuck. Trench coat too." Rorschach gave a sharp nod and turned to leave. "Break a few fingers for me!" Harry called as he disappeared.

An hour later, Rorschach had staked out an elevated position where he could watch the area around the club. City's almost unrecognizable—but still bleeds the same bile. All the familiar vices…same old tricks with new gloss and shine. Good citizens still shrouded in apathy. Small devices in their ears like bloated glistening ticks. Pay no attention to the reeking filth the monsters leave behind. The City remembers though… Happy Harry and the other old alcoholics drunk on nostalgia; calling out to me to save them. Seems masks registered with the government now—just as useless and corrupt as the police.

'There he is.'

Rorschach bristled slightly when Kovacs stirred behind his eyes. Not going to beg for his life? He watched the slick, evil-eyed businessman follow a girl down the alley; and then slithered easily down into the shadows to follow.

'No. He's a rabid dog—only one way to deal with dogs.'

Thought you'd gone soft—wanted us to leave scum for police.

'Only the young ones—the ones that can change. There's no changing filth like him. Police and masks are bound by red tape; won't do what needs to be done.'

Rorschach said nothing as he crept up behind his prey. Reed lived up to his name—he was over six foot tall and very slender. He pulled one hand out of his pocket and the light reflected off of a coil of wire in his gloved hand. 'We gain nothing with surprise here,' Kovacs whispered to him, 'make sure the street walker sees us and she'll tell a hundred more.'

Rorschach growled in distaste but stepped out of the shadows. "Reed!" Both the streetwalker and Reed spun around—the whore took in the situation and ran. The businessman looked over his shoulder as she disappeared, then turned back with a sneer. He never expected the gut shot. Reed groaned and fell to his hands and knees, clutching his stomach.

"You fucking wannabe," he gasped looking up at him. "You can't do this." Rorschach kicked him in the head—not hard enough to knock him out, but enough that Reed howled and curled up against the brick wall. Now he held his nose, blood streaming down over his mouth. "You're fucking finished!" Reed shouted, brandishing a finger at him, "I'll have your goddamn license for this!" Rorschach reached out and broke his finger easily—the taller man screamed and fell to his knees, clawing at the gloved hand that held him.

He tilted his head as he looked at the sniveling, bleeding man. "Don't have a license."

Reed's expression began to shift with dawning horror. "But…but you have to have one…"

Rorschach broke another finger, "Don't need license to dispose of trash." The screaming stopped soon after.

---

The next day, Walter watched the police cut down Reed from where he hung suspended by his tie off of the corner of a fire escape. Locals gathered around and several began to clap and cheer when the body fell. "Sonuvabitch had it coming!" a man yelled—he recognized the voice from the bar.

One of the police officers pulled Rorschach's calling card off of the body and looked at his partner grimly. They begin speaking into their radios; and, as Kovacs walked away, hands shoved into his pockets, a black sedan passed him, two feds in the front seat.

Veidt's puppets will go running back with news.

'Not yet…this will be written off as copycat, but they will wonder, and when they find more, they will start to fear.'

Rorschach made a frustrated noise softly and Kovacs could hear leather gloves creaking from somewhere in the shadows. Should go to Washington and face him—cowardly to hide behind the bodies of rapists and junkies.

'Suicide mission. We'll gain nothing. Need to do more research—can't face Veidt unprepared again.'

There was a rushing growl in his ears that might have been Rorschach, or his own blood pounding. WASTING TIME! Kovacs had to close his eyes tightly against the rage and ducked down an alley, clutching his throbbing head. Weak Kovacs--gone soft! City's been allowed to rot and fester for years! Now you want to waste more time with your head buried in sand! Veidt MUST be punished!

Walter couldn't stop a small, strangled noise as he curled further into himself. He was sick and tired of feeling like he was drowning in this monstrous doppelganger of his city, of feeling like he was being pushed around, or ignored, or humored –the other masks had always just humored him in the seventies, all except Daniel. He had to have Rorschach on his side…he had to. Kovacs couldn't stand the thought of being so alone in a world of enemies.

'Twenty-five years,' he shouted back inwardly, 'we know nothing! Nothing about the government, the people, the criminals, the new buildings—Even the subway is different! We have no allies, no partners, and our only contact is an old drunk! There is no way we could get within 5 miles of the PRESIDENT doing it your way! You have to trust me or we'll both fail again!'

He was panting lightly in the shadows of the alley, leaning forward on his elbows against the brick wall; his fingers were clawed into the knit cap as he hid his between his arms. Rorschach was silent for such a long time that Walter was irrationally afraid that he'd left somehow.

Hurm…it was exhaled in a heavy breath and Kovacs was ashamed of how very relieved he was to hear that voice again. How do we proceed then?

'Just like we planned—clean out the gutters and rat holes by night. I want to search that woman's apartment more thoroughly; she's connected to Dreiberg. Just have to learn her patterns first.'

---

By the end of the next week, there had been twelve more men left for the police with the same signature. Only 4 were dead when found. Patrols at night were doubled and the black sedan became a constant sight.