Fic: Cracked Reflection (Watchmen/DCU)
Title: Cracked Reflection
Characters: Rorschach and Nightwing; Ted Kord and Batman are discussed.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Wherein what happened in Antarctica was more than it seemed, Rorschach makes some unpleasant discoveries, and Nightwing really doesn't need to be dealing with any of this right now.
(A/N: thanks to chrryblssmninja and flight_exodus for betaing! Any remaining mistakes are mine alone. Set shortly after Final Crisis.)
Rorschach’s Journal, Date ?
Woke up in alley. Immediately obvious that I am not in Antarctica. Not what I expected Manhattan to do. Hat missing. Regrettable. Fortunately mask is still in hand; feel better once wearing my proper face. Journal is also missing, but that is expected. Must compose this entry in head until able to secure another.
Two steps are all that's necessary to know this is not New York. Not just because it is still standing --- there is no part of city that is secret from me, but this alley is unknown. I feel a strange sense of loss. Perhaps as long as she is familiar, even the most diseased prostitute can seem dear when one is faced with the unknown. Must find out where Manhattan has sent me and expose the plot concocted with Veidt.
Found a newstand. Fat owner sleeping next to it, pornography stuffed behind chair. Made note to keep watch for any further exhibits of deviancy. At first believe myself the victim of elaborate joke --- date on all reads 2009. Could Manhattan have sent me to the future, where it would be too late to expose him? Had never considered him having that level of power.
Newspapers confirm suspicion: I am no longer in New York. Standards all read Gotham; while this could be what New York is named in Veidt’s future a map on the side of the newsstand tells me that this city seems to be in New Jersey. Papers themselves are all wrong; there is no New Frontiersman, not even socialist Gazette Daniel reads. Everything is wrong.
Perhaps not everything. A scream pierces the night like a promise. Take a moment to marvel at how even in a strange city, the night still knows exactly what I need.
Will put investigation aside for now. I have been summoned. I must not be late.
***
Nightwing’s Journal:
I never know what to write in this thing. It just feels silly, sitting here and just waiting for...I don't know, something to flow. And even with the cipher we were all taught to use, I always feel a little paranoid, like someone's going to escape from Arkham, find this and use it against me --- although if you did manage to break Bruce's cipher and are reading this right now, good for you, I guess. Bruce always told us that journaling was a good way to get our thoughts in order, and God knows my thoughts could use a little ordering right now.
I still can't believe he's gone. It's like a part of me is still trapped back in that moment when I found out, a part that'll always be waiting to hear that this is all part of a plan. Having Jason around isn't helping matters; there's no way to not look at him and start going, “See, he can still come back.”
I don't think Gotham can believe he's gone, either. I go out on patrol and it feels like the whole city's holding its breath; everyone's watching each other, trying to figure out if they're being tricked. Half the villains think Batman is waiting behind every garbage can. As soon as that first guy realizes that Batman's really gone Gotham's going to make the last days of Blüdhaven look like a retirement home.
And on top of that, last night still brought the usual Gotham strangeness.
I'd just started patrol when I heard a scream. By the time I got there the perp had fled; the woman he'd mugged had some cuts but wasn't hurt too badly, but when she described the mugger I knew exactly who it was.
Jimmy Glass is strictly small-time and a walking anti-meth ad; in three years he's gone from graffiti to assault and battery, and every time I bring him in he swears he'll go to rehab and I'll never see him again.
He hadn't gotten too far from the scene of the crime when I caught up with him. He was in a scuffle with someone else, a smaller guy in a trenchcoat, and I thought he'd decided to try two muggings in one night before he turned and saw me. “Nightwing! Thank God, man!” He scrambled toward me and tried to hide behind my legs; his nose was broken and his teeth knocked out. “This guy's tryin' to kill me! I thought you guys didn't do that!”
That's when the guy in the coat looked up. My stomach turned to ice when I saw he was wearing a mask, that thought of, “It's already starting”. The first of God knows how many punks who think they can be Batman. “I don't know who you are,” I said, trying to defuse things, “but that's not how we do things here.”
He cocked his head to the side, and the black on his mask moved around --- I tell you, as soon as you think you've seen every mask possible, they always comes up with something new. “Mugged woman,” he said, gesturing towards Jimmy. “Cut her face. Made lewd proposition.”
I glanced over to Jimmy, who just hung his head. “I'm not saying he's innocent, I'm just saying he's ready to surrender.”
The ink blots shifted again, and I got the real bad feeling that was this guy's version of smiling. “Give to me. Decide if ready.”
The big problem with meth is that it makes you incredibly unpredictable; I don't think even Jimmy knows why he chose that moment to pull a knife. He rushed the guy, who in one smooth, casual motion both took the knife and broke Jimmy's arm. When Jimmy collapsed to the ground and it was obvious the guy planned to keep going I stepped in and grabbed his arm. “I said, that's enough!”
That's when the fight started. Despite what I'd thought at the beginning, it took about five seconds to realize there was no way this was his first night on the job. I'm good. Hell, I was trained by Batman and all I could do was keep up, and I had at least six inches on him. Fast, quick strikes and opportunistic on top of that; anything he could get his hands on was a weapon. Good tactics. Smart fighters are always a much bigger pain in the ass than the muscle heads. “You fight soft,” he said during a break in the fight, and all I could counter with was “Who the heck are you?”
That was when we both realized Jimmy had made a run for it. Like I said: meth. Unpredictable. I managed to disentangle myself from the fight and went after him. “You!” I said, pointing at my new masked friend. “Stay there. This isn't over!”
But of course by the time I got back he was gone.
***
Rorschach’s Journal, ?
Fight with boy left me with a strange feeling. Scum called him Nightwing. His look the same as Daniel's the first time he saw me not hold back in a fight. Brought back bad memories.
The mugger said he “thought you guys didn't do that.” This implies a group of costumed adventurers active in the city, possibly all aligned. May be a hierarchy to negotiate. Must investigate further.
Nightwing fought well. Likely had gymnastic training at a young age. Hard to knock off balance but too concerned with hurting me to be truly effective. Could have won the fight if not so preoccupied.
I follow as he catches the mugger and drags him to the police station. Scene at there unsettles me: Nightwing is clearly known to them. Even see some hints of affection. A Mask in bed with a force as corrupt and bloated as the police raises questions as to his independence.
Several more scuffles over the course of the night, but regrettably nothing serious. Continue my surveillance. Nightwing completes what I take to be a nightly patrol --- at one point stops to speak with masked woman wearing tight leather. Carries a crossbow. Clear that this is not their first meeting. Too far away to make out their conversation. He gestures at his face; presume he is telling her to look out for me.
Beginning to rain. Miss my hat.
Nightwing finishes his conversation with the woman and turns away; can tell he believes his work to be done for the day. I follow him as closely as is safe. I need information: he is not only well-established in this city but soft-hearted enough that he would not want me to get information in my usual manner.
Track him to lair, hidden beneath a mansion on outskirts of city. Slip inside just as he closes outer defenses.
He is very good. Very careful. Well-trained. But he is very young.
I am better.
***
Nightwing's Journal:
So just as I put the Batcave to bed I heard a scuff on the upper level. Before I could even turn around I hear this low rasp of a voice come out of the darkness, and I know it's not Alfred. “Hello, Nightwing.”
I'll be honest, my heart stopped for a second. Some Arkham loony figuring out a way into the Batcave has been my recurring nightmare since I was ten. Recognizing the voice as belonging to the crazy inkblot guy didn’t help me relax. “How did you get in here?”
“Followed you.” He dropped down and walked towards me. “Need information.”
I was still stuck on the “followed you” part. “What do you mean, you followed me? Nobody followed me. I made sure of that.”
“Didn't say it was easy.”
I just kind of sighed then; however he got there, he definitely was there. “Look, you have to leave. You can't be here.”
“Told you. Need information. One minute I'm somewhere else, the next woke up here. Need to know where 'here' is.”
Alfred chose that moment to make his entrance. “Master Dick, I thought I heard you come in. Perhaps you would like some....” That's when he noticed that I wasn't alone. “Ah. I see you have a guest,” he said, in that perfect cold tone they teach in butler school that is both excruciatingly polite and at the same time asks Shall I contact every masked acquaintance we know and have them attack en masse?
Bruce told me once that Alfred was the only man he'd ever been really afraid of.
“Ah, no Alfred, it's okay. This is...a friend. He's new in town. I have it under control.”
Alfred just arched one eyebrow. “As you say, sir. Shall I bring you and your...friend...any refreshment?”
“What? No! No, he's...not going to be here long.”
Another eyebrow arch. “As you wish, sir.”
When I heard Alfred close the door --- although I knew he was probably listening anyway, somehow --- I turned back to my “friend.” “You have to leave. Now.”
“Still need information.” He cocked his head to the side. “Have other ways to get it, if you refuse.”
I knew that wasn't a threat --- or at least that he wasn't threatening me. He meant getting information in a way that ended with Commissioner Gordon asking me why so many drunks were in the emergency room with broken bones. That's when I gave up and leaned against the computer bank. Besides, he reminded me of someone, someone I couldn't place, and it was starting to bug me. “All right, fine. Let's say I overlook the trespassing for the moment and give you the benefit of the doubt. What information do you want?”
“America and the Soviets. Did war start?”
It took me a second to figure out what he was getting at. “Soviets? Wait, do you meant the Soviet Union?” He nodded. “There hasn't even been a Soviet Union in twenty years. It fell.”
The inkblots shifted patterns as he tried to process this. “Fell? We won?”
“I mean...yeah, I guess so. Russia's our ally now.”
“We’re allied with communists?”
“That's what I'm trying to say, they're not communist anymore. Well, not officially.” It was the first time I'd ever heard someone spit out the word communist like in an old propaganda movie. “Where are you from that you think we'd be at war with communists?”
His voice sounded forlorn. “1985.”
“Wow. You are new in town.” I looked up at the computer bank and got an idea. “Hey, give me a second.” I opened up the operating system on Bruce's computer and set up some tight filters, shielding the confidential files where Bruce kept things like real names and weaknesses. “There. This should make it easier on both of us. This way you can just type whatever you need to know into the computer. The information's probably more accurate that way, anyway. But,” I interrupted as he took a step closer, “here's the deal. If I let you use this, you leave Gotham. This city's got enough problems right now, and I don't need anyone new to keep track of. And if you try to access anything I've flagged off limits, I'm bringing you in and you can get all the information you want from Gotham Central.”
He stared at the computer for a good long time. “Have friend who likes computers. Never cared for them.” He paused. “Perhaps open-mindedness is necessary.” He looked at me. “Accept deal.”
I moved aside to let him join the rest of the twenty-first century. “Hey, what do they call you, anyway?”
“Rorschach.”
“Of course they do.”
It took him a few minutes to get the hang of things, but Bruce programmed his systems to be intuitive. I just sat back and kept an eye on him and tried to tell myself I was doing the right thing; a part of me thought I should be dragging this guy to Arkham, not letting him poke around, but that wouldn’t solve my main problem. Whoever this Rorschach guy is, he found his way into the Batcave. That’s not something I can go back and undo unless I want to bring Zatanna in on things, and there’s no way I’m willing to go down that road. Anyone who can do what he did --- and be casual about it --- is dangerous. I’d rather keep the dangerous on my side, if I can.
His head picked up when he stumbled on specs for Ted Kord’s Bug; about a minute later he found the profile Bruce had written on Beetle. “Daniel,” he said, sounding like what I would guess passed for happy. “Knew you would be here somewhere.”
“Do you mean Dan Garrett? You knew him? That’s the first Blue Beetle, this one is the second, Ted Kord. There's actually a third one now, picked it up when Ted retired for a while. Good kid. Anyway, let me show you Garrett.”
He took one look at Dan Garrett’s profile, then turned and looked at me like I was the dumbest human being on the face of the planet --- and by the way, if someone has cracked the cipher and is reading this decades after my death, being able to tell that someone is looking at you like you’re a complete moron despite said guy wearing a full face mask is sign #1 that you’ve been at this too long. He clicked back over to Ted Kord. “Known Daniel Dreiberg almost twenty years.”
“I’m telling you, that guy’s name is....”
“Name unimportant. Could not fail to recognize.” He looked back at me and shrugged his shoulders---again, when you can tell someone in a full mask is rolling their eyes at you, you've been doing this too long. “Father made fortune in business. Left all to him, despite tension. Used it to become masked vigilante. Took name from boyhood hero. Builds gadgets.” He paused for a second. “Likes birds. ”
When he put it like that. “Okay, that does sound like Ted. Well, I’m not sure about the birds part, but….” That’s when it hit me what had to be going on here, and who this guy reminded me so much of. “Hey, you know....”
The pattern on the mask changed and I saw his hands fall away from the console. When I looked up at the screen I saw why --- he’d gotten to the end of the profile, and the big, red DECEASED on the status line. “How?” He sounded like he was being strangled.
“Look, maybe we should....”
“HOW?”
“He was murdered. A couple of years ago.”
The patterns on the mask kept shifting around. “Show me.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to....”
The system’s probably too intuitive; before I could do anything Rorschach had managed to access the files on the murder. The first thing up was the analysis Bruce did on Beetle’s goggles, close-ups of the spots of blood and brain he’d scraped off. “No. Faked. Must be.”
“Nothing there is faked. Believe me, that's the first thing B...the first thing ruled out.” Booster may not have thought Bruce cared, but I knew how hard Beetle’s death had hit him and he’d wrung every clue he could out of those goggles. He had diagrams charting the angle of entry, even guesses on the caliber of the bullet. Some of those diagrams were almost as good as photographs.
"Point blank. Saw it coming. Saw it coming."
When I got up close I could see he was shaking, and then I did something really stupid --- I said, “Hey, you okay?” and tried to touch his shoulder.
I don’t know. I just felt bad, I guess, still not thinking straight after Bruce. If I had been, I would have known that in his position, my reaction would have been to take a swing at whoever came near me. So I don’t hold it against him that the second I touched him he spun around and tried to put my head through the floor.
He was screaming through the mask, no words, and I knew he wasn’t really seeing me. I went into a defensive posture and hoped he’d snap out of it before he either hurt me or I had to hurt him. Like I said, after the past few weeks I understand what it’s like to need to hit someone.
The spell passed as quick as it’d started; he looked at me for a second like he didn’t know where he was, then rolled off. “Could have killed you. Should be careful.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s had to tell me that.”
I doubted he heard me; he was locked back on the bloody goggles. “Who did this?”
“Guy by the name of Maxwell Lord,” I said, approaching the screen. “One of the wealthiest men on the planet, had mind control powers. Dangerous son of a bitch.”
“No one watched him?”
I shook my head. “We thought he was one of us. Hell, he bankrolled one of the teams. No one thought he would turn like that.”
“Always too trusting. Warned him. Never listened to me, never....” He broke off and turned away from the screen. His hands balled into fists. “Maxwell Lord. Tell me where he is.”
“You’re a little late.” I approached him again --- carefully this time --- and touched the display. The news coverage of Lord lying broken at Wonder Woman’s feet still makes me sick to my stomach, after all this time. “Beetle had figured out that something bad was brewing, but no one took him seriously --- or if they did, pretended they didn’t to try and persuade him not to follow up.” Bruce never let himself off the hook, and I knew he wouldn't appreciate me doing it for him.
“Followed up alone.”
I nodded.
“Shouldn’t have. Should have been here. Would have believed him.”
“You know he's not really who you think he is, right?” I needed to calm him down; if I let him back on the street in that state he was liable to attack the first person who looked at him the wrong way. “Your friend --- Daniel, you said, right?” He dragged his attention away from the screen and looked at me. “Ted Kord's not the same person. Not really. Your friend's still back wherever you came from. He's still fine.”
“Can't know that.”
“Okay, probably still fine.”
“Not there. Should be there, but I'm not. Like I should have been here, but wasn't.” He switched back over to the profile. “So much the same. Know this ship. Same ship. Same...." I could see him swallow. "Same face.”
Yeah. If I jumped to another world and found out someone with Bruce's face had been murdered I doubted I'd be able to let it go either.
“You want me to tell you what I think is going on? Why you think it’s 1985 and think you’re friends with a guy you never met?” The patterns on the mask changed again; I didn’t know if that was a yes, no, or just him getting upset that it sounded like I thought he was crazy. “People talk about ‘the universe’ but that’s not really accurate. There’s really fifty-two Earths out there, all in parallel universes --- well, fifty-one now, after Prime...you know, that’s not important. I think you’re from one of those Earths. I think Ted Kord is our world’s version of your friend. Somehow you must have gotten shunted here from wherever you’re supposed to be. You want to see who I think our you is?” He didn't answer; I clicked over to Vic Sage’s profile and took a step back. “He called himself the Question. Street-level detective, no powers. Worked out of Hub City, most of the time. The mask is different, but with a hat the two of you....”
“Had one. Like that one. Lost it.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“Antarctica.”
“Oh. Damn. You're having one hell of a day.” Bruce had a hat like that in his disguise supplies, part of his organized crime infiltration. The last time she'd seen him like that Barbara had wondered if all the gangsters in Gotham really tried that hard to be Humphrey Bogart or if it was just Bruce.
I took the moment to find it; the box already had a thin layer of dust on the outside. “Hey, Rorschach.” When he turned I held it out. “Take it. It belonged to a...friend of mine. Consider it a welcome to the 21st century gift, if you want.”
He took a long moment before accepting it, looking at the hat like he was seriously weighing the possibility I'd poisoned it. When he put it on it shadowed his face for a second and he looked so much like the Question it was like Vic came back to life. Then the moment passed. “I was serious about you leaving Gotham.”
“Remember terms of deal.”
“And you can't tell anyone how you got in here.”
He nodded once. “Never told Daniel's secrets. Will treat this place the same.” There was a strangely formal tone to the way he said it that let me believe it. “Should go now. Have much to do.”
That wasn't as reassuring. “I only want to say this once: I ever hear your name connected with things I don't like, I'll take you down myself. Got it?”
He was already half lost in shadow. “Good luck.”
I counted off five minutes and changed all of the entry codes and passwords in the cave. I decided to pay Renee a visit, just in case her mentor's alternate earth doppelganger felt the need to drop in on the way out of town. Then I activated the tracking device I'd planted on his coat, just so I'd know if he decided to stick around town after all.
So yeah, Bruce, if you're reading this that's where that hat went. Just come back and I'll get you a dozen just like it.
***
Rorschach's Journal, November 1st, 2009
The streets of Gotham are festering with lust and depravity. Reminds me of New York. Wonder if all 21st century cities carry this disgusting reek.
Suspect that the boy is tracking me somehow. Would be foolish not to, considering what he knows of me, and I do not believe he is as trusting as he pretended. Most likely he is depending on some electronic device: sensible assumption, considering the technology he used. Will allow it until I cross city limits, to demonstrate good faith.
Cannot steady my hands. I seek out a dark and dangerous place and am quickly rewarded: a man with a swastika tattooed on his head pointing a gun at a woman on her knees. He looks up when I enter the alley and she runs past me, leaving us alone. I work quickly and quietly to attract no attention. Afterward my hands have become still and my mind clear.
Blood on pavement brings first sight of Daniel's broken goggles back to mind. Reacted poorly. Lost myself. Had not happened for many years. Keep picturing the scene: Daniel standing in front of his killer, with time to understand he was going to die. There was a night long ago, when we were still working through Big Figure's operation. Had a lieutenant smarter than we gave credit for, smart enough to play dead. Young then. Fell for it. Got up when our guards were down, snuck behind Daniel with gun drawn. Saw it too late to warn him. Daniel turned around and he fired the gun one foot from his face.
Gun jammed. Lucky break. Didn't get another shot: never woke up from the coma I put him in. Last time that trick worked on me. Could never forget the look on Daniel's face when he knew he was about to die. Shook for hours.
This time there was no misfire. Was that same look on this Daniel's face, before the bullet hit? Can picture it so clearly. Should have been there. Was the timing of my arrival deliberate? Is this Manhattan's vengeance for opposing him, to not only prevent me from exposing their fraud but to make sure I was too late to prevent this? Would not have credited him with such cruelty.
I am too late even for revenge. The boy told me the murderer's name. Maxwell Lord. Another false friend, rich and decadent and insane. Another Veidt. This is what happens in a world with no Rorschach: good men die, alone and betrayed. Now Lord is dead too, neck snapped by a woman dressed like a whore on Flag Day. Not how I would have done it. Too quick.
I will find her first. Must investigate whether she was part of the conspiracy and killed Lord to cover her tracks. If not, she may know others who were. I will hunt them. They will pay with my hands around their throats.
Nightwing said there was a new Blue Beetle. Daniel would like that. Names living on, legacies, those sorts of things are important to him. It's why he took Hollis Mason's name, he told me once: so it would live on.
Daniel Dreiberg offered me friendship once. No one had ever done that before. Never rescinded it, even with provocation. Never thanked him. Hoped he understood.
I will make amends for that now. I shall go to the new Beetle and make the same offer. If I could not protect this world's Dreiberg, I will make sure I do not fail his successor.
Nightwing's explanation of alternate Earths reminds me of Moloch telling me of the Comedian's visit: impossible but probably true. Saw Daniel's face in the man he called Ted Kord, Hollis Mason's in the man he called Dan Garrett. If there is a version of Dr. Manhattan here, there may be a way to send me back. Must find out for sure.
Felt no connection to the man he claimed was me. Dead, anyway. Whoever he was, I am here and he is not. Must strive to be productive with my time.
Felt an odd kinship with the words “Hub City.” Perhaps there is something to Nightwing’s theory that I was this Question. Remember that profile said he was prone to “flights of paranoia.” Similar criticisms have been made of me by those who do not understand the world around them. Wonder which of us was the superior version.
Hub City. Files said the city mostly unprotected since Question's death. Woman he chose as successor prefers to operate in Gotham. Poor choice on Question's part. Not one I would have made.
After I have completed my errands I believe I will pay a visit to the Question's city. I may be trapped in this world for some time, and it would be as good a place to base my investigations as any.
Perhaps it is time for a new city to be afraid of me.
Characters: Rorschach and Nightwing; Ted Kord and Batman are discussed.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Wherein what happened in Antarctica was more than it seemed, Rorschach makes some unpleasant discoveries, and Nightwing really doesn't need to be dealing with any of this right now.
(A/N: thanks to chrryblssmninja and flight_exodus for betaing! Any remaining mistakes are mine alone. Set shortly after Final Crisis.)
Rorschach’s Journal, Date ?
Woke up in alley. Immediately obvious that I am not in Antarctica. Not what I expected Manhattan to do. Hat missing. Regrettable. Fortunately mask is still in hand; feel better once wearing my proper face. Journal is also missing, but that is expected. Must compose this entry in head until able to secure another.
Two steps are all that's necessary to know this is not New York. Not just because it is still standing --- there is no part of city that is secret from me, but this alley is unknown. I feel a strange sense of loss. Perhaps as long as she is familiar, even the most diseased prostitute can seem dear when one is faced with the unknown. Must find out where Manhattan has sent me and expose the plot concocted with Veidt.
Found a newstand. Fat owner sleeping next to it, pornography stuffed behind chair. Made note to keep watch for any further exhibits of deviancy. At first believe myself the victim of elaborate joke --- date on all reads 2009. Could Manhattan have sent me to the future, where it would be too late to expose him? Had never considered him having that level of power.
Newspapers confirm suspicion: I am no longer in New York. Standards all read Gotham; while this could be what New York is named in Veidt’s future a map on the side of the newsstand tells me that this city seems to be in New Jersey. Papers themselves are all wrong; there is no New Frontiersman, not even socialist Gazette Daniel reads. Everything is wrong.
Perhaps not everything. A scream pierces the night like a promise. Take a moment to marvel at how even in a strange city, the night still knows exactly what I need.
Will put investigation aside for now. I have been summoned. I must not be late.
***
Nightwing’s Journal:
I never know what to write in this thing. It just feels silly, sitting here and just waiting for...I don't know, something to flow. And even with the cipher we were all taught to use, I always feel a little paranoid, like someone's going to escape from Arkham, find this and use it against me --- although if you did manage to break Bruce's cipher and are reading this right now, good for you, I guess. Bruce always told us that journaling was a good way to get our thoughts in order, and God knows my thoughts could use a little ordering right now.
I still can't believe he's gone. It's like a part of me is still trapped back in that moment when I found out, a part that'll always be waiting to hear that this is all part of a plan. Having Jason around isn't helping matters; there's no way to not look at him and start going, “See, he can still come back.”
I don't think Gotham can believe he's gone, either. I go out on patrol and it feels like the whole city's holding its breath; everyone's watching each other, trying to figure out if they're being tricked. Half the villains think Batman is waiting behind every garbage can. As soon as that first guy realizes that Batman's really gone Gotham's going to make the last days of Blüdhaven look like a retirement home.
And on top of that, last night still brought the usual Gotham strangeness.
I'd just started patrol when I heard a scream. By the time I got there the perp had fled; the woman he'd mugged had some cuts but wasn't hurt too badly, but when she described the mugger I knew exactly who it was.
Jimmy Glass is strictly small-time and a walking anti-meth ad; in three years he's gone from graffiti to assault and battery, and every time I bring him in he swears he'll go to rehab and I'll never see him again.
He hadn't gotten too far from the scene of the crime when I caught up with him. He was in a scuffle with someone else, a smaller guy in a trenchcoat, and I thought he'd decided to try two muggings in one night before he turned and saw me. “Nightwing! Thank God, man!” He scrambled toward me and tried to hide behind my legs; his nose was broken and his teeth knocked out. “This guy's tryin' to kill me! I thought you guys didn't do that!”
That's when the guy in the coat looked up. My stomach turned to ice when I saw he was wearing a mask, that thought of, “It's already starting”. The first of God knows how many punks who think they can be Batman. “I don't know who you are,” I said, trying to defuse things, “but that's not how we do things here.”
He cocked his head to the side, and the black on his mask moved around --- I tell you, as soon as you think you've seen every mask possible, they always comes up with something new. “Mugged woman,” he said, gesturing towards Jimmy. “Cut her face. Made lewd proposition.”
I glanced over to Jimmy, who just hung his head. “I'm not saying he's innocent, I'm just saying he's ready to surrender.”
The ink blots shifted again, and I got the real bad feeling that was this guy's version of smiling. “Give to me. Decide if ready.”
The big problem with meth is that it makes you incredibly unpredictable; I don't think even Jimmy knows why he chose that moment to pull a knife. He rushed the guy, who in one smooth, casual motion both took the knife and broke Jimmy's arm. When Jimmy collapsed to the ground and it was obvious the guy planned to keep going I stepped in and grabbed his arm. “I said, that's enough!”
That's when the fight started. Despite what I'd thought at the beginning, it took about five seconds to realize there was no way this was his first night on the job. I'm good. Hell, I was trained by Batman and all I could do was keep up, and I had at least six inches on him. Fast, quick strikes and opportunistic on top of that; anything he could get his hands on was a weapon. Good tactics. Smart fighters are always a much bigger pain in the ass than the muscle heads. “You fight soft,” he said during a break in the fight, and all I could counter with was “Who the heck are you?”
That was when we both realized Jimmy had made a run for it. Like I said: meth. Unpredictable. I managed to disentangle myself from the fight and went after him. “You!” I said, pointing at my new masked friend. “Stay there. This isn't over!”
But of course by the time I got back he was gone.
***
Rorschach’s Journal, ?
Fight with boy left me with a strange feeling. Scum called him Nightwing. His look the same as Daniel's the first time he saw me not hold back in a fight. Brought back bad memories.
The mugger said he “thought you guys didn't do that.” This implies a group of costumed adventurers active in the city, possibly all aligned. May be a hierarchy to negotiate. Must investigate further.
Nightwing fought well. Likely had gymnastic training at a young age. Hard to knock off balance but too concerned with hurting me to be truly effective. Could have won the fight if not so preoccupied.
I follow as he catches the mugger and drags him to the police station. Scene at there unsettles me: Nightwing is clearly known to them. Even see some hints of affection. A Mask in bed with a force as corrupt and bloated as the police raises questions as to his independence.
Several more scuffles over the course of the night, but regrettably nothing serious. Continue my surveillance. Nightwing completes what I take to be a nightly patrol --- at one point stops to speak with masked woman wearing tight leather. Carries a crossbow. Clear that this is not their first meeting. Too far away to make out their conversation. He gestures at his face; presume he is telling her to look out for me.
Beginning to rain. Miss my hat.
Nightwing finishes his conversation with the woman and turns away; can tell he believes his work to be done for the day. I follow him as closely as is safe. I need information: he is not only well-established in this city but soft-hearted enough that he would not want me to get information in my usual manner.
Track him to lair, hidden beneath a mansion on outskirts of city. Slip inside just as he closes outer defenses.
He is very good. Very careful. Well-trained. But he is very young.
I am better.
***
Nightwing's Journal:
So just as I put the Batcave to bed I heard a scuff on the upper level. Before I could even turn around I hear this low rasp of a voice come out of the darkness, and I know it's not Alfred. “Hello, Nightwing.”
I'll be honest, my heart stopped for a second. Some Arkham loony figuring out a way into the Batcave has been my recurring nightmare since I was ten. Recognizing the voice as belonging to the crazy inkblot guy didn’t help me relax. “How did you get in here?”
“Followed you.” He dropped down and walked towards me. “Need information.”
I was still stuck on the “followed you” part. “What do you mean, you followed me? Nobody followed me. I made sure of that.”
“Didn't say it was easy.”
I just kind of sighed then; however he got there, he definitely was there. “Look, you have to leave. You can't be here.”
“Told you. Need information. One minute I'm somewhere else, the next woke up here. Need to know where 'here' is.”
Alfred chose that moment to make his entrance. “Master Dick, I thought I heard you come in. Perhaps you would like some....” That's when he noticed that I wasn't alone. “Ah. I see you have a guest,” he said, in that perfect cold tone they teach in butler school that is both excruciatingly polite and at the same time asks Shall I contact every masked acquaintance we know and have them attack en masse?
Bruce told me once that Alfred was the only man he'd ever been really afraid of.
“Ah, no Alfred, it's okay. This is...a friend. He's new in town. I have it under control.”
Alfred just arched one eyebrow. “As you say, sir. Shall I bring you and your...friend...any refreshment?”
“What? No! No, he's...not going to be here long.”
Another eyebrow arch. “As you wish, sir.”
When I heard Alfred close the door --- although I knew he was probably listening anyway, somehow --- I turned back to my “friend.” “You have to leave. Now.”
“Still need information.” He cocked his head to the side. “Have other ways to get it, if you refuse.”
I knew that wasn't a threat --- or at least that he wasn't threatening me. He meant getting information in a way that ended with Commissioner Gordon asking me why so many drunks were in the emergency room with broken bones. That's when I gave up and leaned against the computer bank. Besides, he reminded me of someone, someone I couldn't place, and it was starting to bug me. “All right, fine. Let's say I overlook the trespassing for the moment and give you the benefit of the doubt. What information do you want?”
“America and the Soviets. Did war start?”
It took me a second to figure out what he was getting at. “Soviets? Wait, do you meant the Soviet Union?” He nodded. “There hasn't even been a Soviet Union in twenty years. It fell.”
The inkblots shifted patterns as he tried to process this. “Fell? We won?”
“I mean...yeah, I guess so. Russia's our ally now.”
“We’re allied with communists?”
“That's what I'm trying to say, they're not communist anymore. Well, not officially.” It was the first time I'd ever heard someone spit out the word communist like in an old propaganda movie. “Where are you from that you think we'd be at war with communists?”
His voice sounded forlorn. “1985.”
“Wow. You are new in town.” I looked up at the computer bank and got an idea. “Hey, give me a second.” I opened up the operating system on Bruce's computer and set up some tight filters, shielding the confidential files where Bruce kept things like real names and weaknesses. “There. This should make it easier on both of us. This way you can just type whatever you need to know into the computer. The information's probably more accurate that way, anyway. But,” I interrupted as he took a step closer, “here's the deal. If I let you use this, you leave Gotham. This city's got enough problems right now, and I don't need anyone new to keep track of. And if you try to access anything I've flagged off limits, I'm bringing you in and you can get all the information you want from Gotham Central.”
He stared at the computer for a good long time. “Have friend who likes computers. Never cared for them.” He paused. “Perhaps open-mindedness is necessary.” He looked at me. “Accept deal.”
I moved aside to let him join the rest of the twenty-first century. “Hey, what do they call you, anyway?”
“Rorschach.”
“Of course they do.”
It took him a few minutes to get the hang of things, but Bruce programmed his systems to be intuitive. I just sat back and kept an eye on him and tried to tell myself I was doing the right thing; a part of me thought I should be dragging this guy to Arkham, not letting him poke around, but that wouldn’t solve my main problem. Whoever this Rorschach guy is, he found his way into the Batcave. That’s not something I can go back and undo unless I want to bring Zatanna in on things, and there’s no way I’m willing to go down that road. Anyone who can do what he did --- and be casual about it --- is dangerous. I’d rather keep the dangerous on my side, if I can.
His head picked up when he stumbled on specs for Ted Kord’s Bug; about a minute later he found the profile Bruce had written on Beetle. “Daniel,” he said, sounding like what I would guess passed for happy. “Knew you would be here somewhere.”
“Do you mean Dan Garrett? You knew him? That’s the first Blue Beetle, this one is the second, Ted Kord. There's actually a third one now, picked it up when Ted retired for a while. Good kid. Anyway, let me show you Garrett.”
He took one look at Dan Garrett’s profile, then turned and looked at me like I was the dumbest human being on the face of the planet --- and by the way, if someone has cracked the cipher and is reading this decades after my death, being able to tell that someone is looking at you like you’re a complete moron despite said guy wearing a full face mask is sign #1 that you’ve been at this too long. He clicked back over to Ted Kord. “Known Daniel Dreiberg almost twenty years.”
“I’m telling you, that guy’s name is....”
“Name unimportant. Could not fail to recognize.” He looked back at me and shrugged his shoulders---again, when you can tell someone in a full mask is rolling their eyes at you, you've been doing this too long. “Father made fortune in business. Left all to him, despite tension. Used it to become masked vigilante. Took name from boyhood hero. Builds gadgets.” He paused for a second. “Likes birds. ”
When he put it like that. “Okay, that does sound like Ted. Well, I’m not sure about the birds part, but….” That’s when it hit me what had to be going on here, and who this guy reminded me so much of. “Hey, you know....”
The pattern on the mask changed and I saw his hands fall away from the console. When I looked up at the screen I saw why --- he’d gotten to the end of the profile, and the big, red DECEASED on the status line. “How?” He sounded like he was being strangled.
“Look, maybe we should....”
“HOW?”
“He was murdered. A couple of years ago.”
The patterns on the mask kept shifting around. “Show me.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to....”
The system’s probably too intuitive; before I could do anything Rorschach had managed to access the files on the murder. The first thing up was the analysis Bruce did on Beetle’s goggles, close-ups of the spots of blood and brain he’d scraped off. “No. Faked. Must be.”
“Nothing there is faked. Believe me, that's the first thing B...the first thing ruled out.” Booster may not have thought Bruce cared, but I knew how hard Beetle’s death had hit him and he’d wrung every clue he could out of those goggles. He had diagrams charting the angle of entry, even guesses on the caliber of the bullet. Some of those diagrams were almost as good as photographs.
"Point blank. Saw it coming. Saw it coming."
When I got up close I could see he was shaking, and then I did something really stupid --- I said, “Hey, you okay?” and tried to touch his shoulder.
I don’t know. I just felt bad, I guess, still not thinking straight after Bruce. If I had been, I would have known that in his position, my reaction would have been to take a swing at whoever came near me. So I don’t hold it against him that the second I touched him he spun around and tried to put my head through the floor.
He was screaming through the mask, no words, and I knew he wasn’t really seeing me. I went into a defensive posture and hoped he’d snap out of it before he either hurt me or I had to hurt him. Like I said, after the past few weeks I understand what it’s like to need to hit someone.
The spell passed as quick as it’d started; he looked at me for a second like he didn’t know where he was, then rolled off. “Could have killed you. Should be careful.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s had to tell me that.”
I doubted he heard me; he was locked back on the bloody goggles. “Who did this?”
“Guy by the name of Maxwell Lord,” I said, approaching the screen. “One of the wealthiest men on the planet, had mind control powers. Dangerous son of a bitch.”
“No one watched him?”
I shook my head. “We thought he was one of us. Hell, he bankrolled one of the teams. No one thought he would turn like that.”
“Always too trusting. Warned him. Never listened to me, never....” He broke off and turned away from the screen. His hands balled into fists. “Maxwell Lord. Tell me where he is.”
“You’re a little late.” I approached him again --- carefully this time --- and touched the display. The news coverage of Lord lying broken at Wonder Woman’s feet still makes me sick to my stomach, after all this time. “Beetle had figured out that something bad was brewing, but no one took him seriously --- or if they did, pretended they didn’t to try and persuade him not to follow up.” Bruce never let himself off the hook, and I knew he wouldn't appreciate me doing it for him.
“Followed up alone.”
I nodded.
“Shouldn’t have. Should have been here. Would have believed him.”
“You know he's not really who you think he is, right?” I needed to calm him down; if I let him back on the street in that state he was liable to attack the first person who looked at him the wrong way. “Your friend --- Daniel, you said, right?” He dragged his attention away from the screen and looked at me. “Ted Kord's not the same person. Not really. Your friend's still back wherever you came from. He's still fine.”
“Can't know that.”
“Okay, probably still fine.”
“Not there. Should be there, but I'm not. Like I should have been here, but wasn't.” He switched back over to the profile. “So much the same. Know this ship. Same ship. Same...." I could see him swallow. "Same face.”
Yeah. If I jumped to another world and found out someone with Bruce's face had been murdered I doubted I'd be able to let it go either.
“You want me to tell you what I think is going on? Why you think it’s 1985 and think you’re friends with a guy you never met?” The patterns on the mask changed again; I didn’t know if that was a yes, no, or just him getting upset that it sounded like I thought he was crazy. “People talk about ‘the universe’ but that’s not really accurate. There’s really fifty-two Earths out there, all in parallel universes --- well, fifty-one now, after Prime...you know, that’s not important. I think you’re from one of those Earths. I think Ted Kord is our world’s version of your friend. Somehow you must have gotten shunted here from wherever you’re supposed to be. You want to see who I think our you is?” He didn't answer; I clicked over to Vic Sage’s profile and took a step back. “He called himself the Question. Street-level detective, no powers. Worked out of Hub City, most of the time. The mask is different, but with a hat the two of you....”
“Had one. Like that one. Lost it.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“Antarctica.”
“Oh. Damn. You're having one hell of a day.” Bruce had a hat like that in his disguise supplies, part of his organized crime infiltration. The last time she'd seen him like that Barbara had wondered if all the gangsters in Gotham really tried that hard to be Humphrey Bogart or if it was just Bruce.
I took the moment to find it; the box already had a thin layer of dust on the outside. “Hey, Rorschach.” When he turned I held it out. “Take it. It belonged to a...friend of mine. Consider it a welcome to the 21st century gift, if you want.”
He took a long moment before accepting it, looking at the hat like he was seriously weighing the possibility I'd poisoned it. When he put it on it shadowed his face for a second and he looked so much like the Question it was like Vic came back to life. Then the moment passed. “I was serious about you leaving Gotham.”
“Remember terms of deal.”
“And you can't tell anyone how you got in here.”
He nodded once. “Never told Daniel's secrets. Will treat this place the same.” There was a strangely formal tone to the way he said it that let me believe it. “Should go now. Have much to do.”
That wasn't as reassuring. “I only want to say this once: I ever hear your name connected with things I don't like, I'll take you down myself. Got it?”
He was already half lost in shadow. “Good luck.”
I counted off five minutes and changed all of the entry codes and passwords in the cave. I decided to pay Renee a visit, just in case her mentor's alternate earth doppelganger felt the need to drop in on the way out of town. Then I activated the tracking device I'd planted on his coat, just so I'd know if he decided to stick around town after all.
So yeah, Bruce, if you're reading this that's where that hat went. Just come back and I'll get you a dozen just like it.
***
Rorschach's Journal, November 1st, 2009
The streets of Gotham are festering with lust and depravity. Reminds me of New York. Wonder if all 21st century cities carry this disgusting reek.
Suspect that the boy is tracking me somehow. Would be foolish not to, considering what he knows of me, and I do not believe he is as trusting as he pretended. Most likely he is depending on some electronic device: sensible assumption, considering the technology he used. Will allow it until I cross city limits, to demonstrate good faith.
Cannot steady my hands. I seek out a dark and dangerous place and am quickly rewarded: a man with a swastika tattooed on his head pointing a gun at a woman on her knees. He looks up when I enter the alley and she runs past me, leaving us alone. I work quickly and quietly to attract no attention. Afterward my hands have become still and my mind clear.
Blood on pavement brings first sight of Daniel's broken goggles back to mind. Reacted poorly. Lost myself. Had not happened for many years. Keep picturing the scene: Daniel standing in front of his killer, with time to understand he was going to die. There was a night long ago, when we were still working through Big Figure's operation. Had a lieutenant smarter than we gave credit for, smart enough to play dead. Young then. Fell for it. Got up when our guards were down, snuck behind Daniel with gun drawn. Saw it too late to warn him. Daniel turned around and he fired the gun one foot from his face.
Gun jammed. Lucky break. Didn't get another shot: never woke up from the coma I put him in. Last time that trick worked on me. Could never forget the look on Daniel's face when he knew he was about to die. Shook for hours.
This time there was no misfire. Was that same look on this Daniel's face, before the bullet hit? Can picture it so clearly. Should have been there. Was the timing of my arrival deliberate? Is this Manhattan's vengeance for opposing him, to not only prevent me from exposing their fraud but to make sure I was too late to prevent this? Would not have credited him with such cruelty.
I am too late even for revenge. The boy told me the murderer's name. Maxwell Lord. Another false friend, rich and decadent and insane. Another Veidt. This is what happens in a world with no Rorschach: good men die, alone and betrayed. Now Lord is dead too, neck snapped by a woman dressed like a whore on Flag Day. Not how I would have done it. Too quick.
I will find her first. Must investigate whether she was part of the conspiracy and killed Lord to cover her tracks. If not, she may know others who were. I will hunt them. They will pay with my hands around their throats.
Nightwing said there was a new Blue Beetle. Daniel would like that. Names living on, legacies, those sorts of things are important to him. It's why he took Hollis Mason's name, he told me once: so it would live on.
Daniel Dreiberg offered me friendship once. No one had ever done that before. Never rescinded it, even with provocation. Never thanked him. Hoped he understood.
I will make amends for that now. I shall go to the new Beetle and make the same offer. If I could not protect this world's Dreiberg, I will make sure I do not fail his successor.
Nightwing's explanation of alternate Earths reminds me of Moloch telling me of the Comedian's visit: impossible but probably true. Saw Daniel's face in the man he called Ted Kord, Hollis Mason's in the man he called Dan Garrett. If there is a version of Dr. Manhattan here, there may be a way to send me back. Must find out for sure.
Felt no connection to the man he claimed was me. Dead, anyway. Whoever he was, I am here and he is not. Must strive to be productive with my time.
Felt an odd kinship with the words “Hub City.” Perhaps there is something to Nightwing’s theory that I was this Question. Remember that profile said he was prone to “flights of paranoia.” Similar criticisms have been made of me by those who do not understand the world around them. Wonder which of us was the superior version.
Hub City. Files said the city mostly unprotected since Question's death. Woman he chose as successor prefers to operate in Gotham. Poor choice on Question's part. Not one I would have made.
After I have completed my errands I believe I will pay a visit to the Question's city. I may be trapped in this world for some time, and it would be as good a place to base my investigations as any.
Perhaps it is time for a new city to be afraid of me.