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Oh, how the ghost of you clings... Nostalgia...
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Coming up on the Benny Anger show,
crime and punishment in America
since the Keene Act banned masked vigilantes,
but first, we ask the average citizen,
"Is our society now safer without those so-called superheroes?"
I don't miss the masks.
They stirred up more trouble than they were worth.
The only good ones were the Minutemen back in the '40s.
The blue guy, Manhattan, he scares me,
but, but then he scares the Reds too, so I ain't complainin'.
Meh, America never really took to superheroes.
Took to superheroes, took to superheroes.
Rorschach's Journal.
October 12th, 1985.
Dog carcass in alley this morning,
tire tread on burst stomach.
This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.
The streets are extended gutters,
and the gutters are full of blood,
and when the drains finally scab over,
all the vermin will drown.
Hey! What are ya, blind?
You're walkin' through blood here!
The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder
will foam up about their waists
and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout,
save us!
And I'll look down and whisper, no.
They had a choice.
They could have followed in the footsteps of good men.
Decent men who believed in a day's work for a day's pay.
Instead, they followed the droppings of lechers and communists.
Now the whole world stands on the brink,
staring down into bloody hell,
all those intellectuals and smooth talkers...
And all of a sudden nobody can think of anything to say.
Hmm, that's quite a drop.
So what do you think happened here?
Door chain was fastened on the inside.
Busting it down would take two guys.
Or one guy on serious drugs.
I saw the body.
This Blake guy looked beefy enough to protect himself.
Muscles like a weight lifter.
He would've put up some kind of fight.
Maybe it was a couple of Knot-Tops and they just overpowered him.
Background report said he's been doing overseas diplomatic work for years...
Lotta classy expense account living.
Maybe he just got soft.
He don't look too soft in this photo.
Wonder how he got that scar.
Oh, he's shaking hands with Vice President Ford here.
I think we can rule him out as a suspect.
Oh, ha ha.
That'd be funny if we had any better leads to go on.
I mean, what is this?
A little money stolen,
but no way is this a straight burglary.
Ah, somebody really had it in for this guy.
How else did he go outta the window?
Maybe he tripped against it.
That's strong glass, man.
You'd have to be thrown.
Ground floor comin' up.
Y'know, this could be just a simple burglary.
Crazy things happen in a city this size.
They don't all need motives.
So you're saying...
Let's not raise too much dust over this one.
We don't need any masked avengers cutting in.
Oy! Here we go!
You take this vigilante stuff too seriously.
Ever since the Keene Act passed in '77,
only the government sponsored weirdos are active. They don't interfere.
Rorschach never retired!
Even after him and his buddies fell outta grace.
He's still out there somewhere.
He's crazier than a snake's armpit
and wanted on two counts murder one.
We've got a cozy little homicide here.
If Rorschach gets involved,
we'll be up to our butts in corpses.
Huh.
Hmm.
So there I was in the supermarket
buying dog food for old Phantom here...
I turn the corner and WHAM!
I bump into the Screaming Skull.
You remember him?
I heard you mention him...
Put him away a dozen times.
He'd reformed and turned to Jesus.
Married, two kids.
We traded addresses. Nice guy.
Oh, Hollis, almost midnight. I outta go.
Oh, sure, Dan, lost track of the time there,
talking about all that old stuff.
You must be bored as hell.
You know better than that.
These Saturday night beer sessions are what keep me going.
You know, it was a cryin' shame
they put you youngsters out to grass in '77.
You were a better Nite Owl than I ever was.
Hollis, we both know that's bullshit. But thank you anyway.
Hey, watch the language!
This is the left hook that floored Captain Axis, remember?
Goodnight! Don't forget to lock up and take care of yourself.
You too, Danny. God bless.
Hmm.
Where you goin' pig?
- The party's right here! - Oh yeah!
Hit us with more of those Katie's, Derf!
Yeah, I'm comin' down already, man.
You never could keep it up.
Hey, let's go break some shit, huh!
- I wanna get crazy! - Aw, yeah!
Call up your boys, Derf!
Fire it up!
Hello, Daniel.
- Rorschach? - Got hungry waiting.
Helped myself to some beans.
Hope you don't mind.
No, no of course I don't mind.
You want me to heat those up for you?
No need. Fine like this.
So... long time no see.
How've you been keeping?
Out of prison, so far. Take a look at this.
This stain... is that bean juice or--
Yeah... human bean juice.
Badge belonged to the Comedian.
Blood too. He's dead.
Wait. The Comedian?
Investigated a routine homicide.
Victim named Edward Blake.
Found the costume in Blake's wardrobe.
Seems he was the Comedian.
Somebody threw him out of a window.
Um, maybe we should talk about this down in my workshop.
Right down this way.
You haven't been down here in a while.
Neither have you. Lots of dust.
Oh!
Uh, listen... about the Comedian,
might it have been just an ordinary burglary or something?
Maybe the killer didn't even know who Blake was.
An ordinary burglar? Kill the Comedian?
Ridiculous.
Well, I hear he'd been working for the government since '77,
knocking over Marxist republics in South America.
- Maybe this was a political killing. - Maybe.
Or maybe someone's picking off costumed heroes.
Don't you think that's maybe a little paranoid?
That what they're saying about me now? That I'm paranoid?
The Comedian was active for 40 years.
Men make a lot of enemies in that time.
How's your friend Hollis Mason these days?
Hollis? What does he--
They were both Minutemen, when Blake was 16
and Hollis was the first Nite Owl.
Hollis said some bad things about the Comedian in that book he wrote.
I don't like what you're implying.
Hollis is an old man, and he's my friend.
If you're thinking of going over there and scaring him--
Implying nothing, only an observation.
I just wanted to let you know,
in case someone's gunning for masks.
Better go now.
Things to do.
The tunnel will bring you out to a warehouse two blocks north--
I remember.
Used to come here often back when we were partners.
Those were great times, Rorschach.
- Whatever happened to them? - You quit.
We want cops! No more costumes!
Listen, you little punks! You better get back in your rat holes!
I got riot gas, I got rubber bullets--
- There's no need for this! - Fuck you, Owl!
The police strike is being negotiated right now!
You vigilantes belong in jail!
My son's a police officer, you freaks!
Call yourself a Comedian?
More like pig and rapist!
Okay, that does it!
Oh my God, he just shot him!
God, look, I'm sorry. You haven't left us any choice.
This stuff is dangerous. Please clear the streets!
Look at 'em!
Run, you suckers!
This is a nightmare!
The whole country's erupting like this.
How long can we keep this up?
My contacts say Senator Keene's act is gonna shut us all down.
Until then, we're society's only protection.
Protection? From who?
From themselves.
What-- What happened to the American dream?
It came true. You're looking at it.
Now let's really put these jokers through some changes.
Rorschach's Journal. October 13th, 1985.
Slept all day. Awakened by landlady complaining about the smell.
She has five children by five different fathers.
I'm sure she cheats on welfare.
Soon it will be dark.
On Friday night, a Comedian died in New York.
Somebody knows why. Somebody knows.
Get lost, you creep!
I believe I shall take my exercise.
Huh, Rorschach! Hey, how you doin', fella?
I'm fine, Happy Harry. Yourself?
I'm fine! I'm fine! Just fine and... uh...
Oh, God, please don't kill anybody.
Guy went sidewalk diving Friday night.
I don't think he was alone when it happened.
His name was Edward Blake. Friend of mine.
You hear that?
He's got friends.
Must've changed his deodorant!
I... I didn't mean anything, I--
I've just broken this gentleman's little finger.
Who killed Edward Blake?
And his index finger.
- Who killed Edward Blake? - We don't know.
Please, God, leave him alone! We don't know!
No. No, no, no, no, no, no!
Nobody knew anything. Feeling slightly depressed.
I leave the human cockroaches to discuss their heroin and child pornography.
I have business with a better class of person.
The Comedian is dead? Why?
You're supposed to be the world's smartest man, Veidt. You tell me.
I never claimed to be anybody special, Rorschach.
I just have some over-enthusiastic P.R. men.
Perhaps it was a political killing.
- Maybe the Soviets... - Dreiberg said the same.
America has Dr. Manhattan.
Reds would never dare antagonize us.
I think we've got a mask-killer.
The Comedian had plenty of other political enemies,
even discounting the Russians.
The man was practically a Nazi.
He stood up for his country. Never let anyone retire him.
Never cashed in on his reputation.
Never set up a company selling posters and diet books
and toy soldiers based on himself.
Never became a prostitute.
If that makes him a Nazi, you might as well call me a Nazi too.
Rorschach...
I know we were never friends,
but even so you're being unfair.
Nobody retired me.
I chose to quit adventuring and go public
two years before the police strike made the Keene Act necessary.
Yes. Good timing.
I came here to warn you about the mask-killer
so you don't end up the smartest man in the morgue.
But I guess there's worse things to end up as.
Be seeing you.
Sure.
Have a nice day.
Now, I want to thank everyone for coming to the first meeting of the Crimebusters.
For those who know me only as Captain Metropolis,
the name's Nelson Gardner.
Call me Nelson.
As you know, this country hasn't had an organization
of masked adventurers in over 20 years,
since the Minutemen were disbanded.
Specialized law enforcement is standing still.
Crime isn't.
New social evils emerge every day:
promiscuity, drugs, campus subversion, you name it.
But, by banding together as Crimebusters,
- we can make a-- - Bullshit.
We're all livin' in 1966
while you're still stuck in '49.
This is all about you getting old
but still wanting to play cowboys and Indians.
Th--That's-- That is not true.
Uh, no reason to just throw the idea away.
Me and Rorschach have made great headway into the gang problem
by pooling our efforts.
But a group this size seems more like a publicity exercise.
Too big and unwieldy.
That's just an organizational problem.
With the right person coordinating the group--
Oh, and who would that be? Any ideas, Ozzy?
I mean, you are the smartest man in the world, right?
It doesn't take a genius to see that America has problems
that need tackling.
And it takes a moron to think they're small enough
for clowns like you guys to handle.
None of the world's problems are insurmountable.
What's going down in this world, you got no idea!
Believe me.
You people hear Moloch's back in town and you think,
"Oh, boy! Let's gang up and bust him!"
Like that matters.
It doesn't mean squat!
In 30 years the nukes are gonna be flying like maybugs...
My map!
And Ozzy here is gonna be the smartest man on the cinder.
Jon, I'd like to go home now.
- Please. - Listen, Nelson,
maybe this isn't the best idea...
No, wait, don't leave.
Somebody has to do it...
Somebody has to save the world!
Meeting with Veidt left bad taste in mouth.
He is pampered and decadent,
betraying even his own shallow, liberal affectations.
Dreiberg just as bad.
A flabby failure whimpering in his basement.
Why are there so few of the Minutemen left active,
healthy and without personality disorders?
The first Nite Owl runs an auto repair shop.
Captain Metropolis was decapitated in a car crash.
The first Silk Specter is a bloated, aging whore...
Dying in a California rest resort.
Mothman's in an asylum up in Maine.
The Silhouette retired in disgrace.
Murdered six weeks later by a minor adversary seeking revenge.
Dollar Bill got shot.
Hooded Justice went missing.
The Comedian is dead.
And now I must tell the indestructible man
that someone plans to murder him.
Good evening, Rorschach.
Good evening, Dr. Manhattan.
What're you doing here, Rorschach?
Aren't you still wanted by the police?
Good evening, Miss Jupiter.
That's Juspeczyk.
Jupiter was my mother's publicity name.
Apologies.
Came to warn you both and bring bad news.
The Comedian is dead.
Yes. He and I are the only two extranormal operatives
employed by the government, so I was informed at once.
You don't seem too concerned about Blake's death.
A live body and a dead body contain the same number of particles.
Structurally there's no discernible difference.
Life and death are unquantifiable abstracts.
Why should I be concerned?
Besides, Blake was a monster.
You know he tried to rape my mother when they were both Minutemen?
I'm not here to speculate on the moral lapses
of men who died in their country's service. I came to warn--
Moral lapses? He broke her ribs! He--
Jon, get this creep out of here.
You seem to be upsetting Laurie.
I think you ought to go.
With respect, Dr. Manhattan,
I believe someone is eliminating masks.
I warned Veidt and Dreiberg and I intend--
I said I think you ought to go.
Not before I've had my--
Say.
Hmm.
He's gone. Are you still upset?
Jon?
Hey, I was thinking,
I must be really on edge to let a maggot like Rorschach get to me like that.
Maybe we--
Maybe I could use a night out.
Rorschach mentioned Dan Dreiberg.
Haven't seen him in years.
Maybe I'll call him up, ask him to dinner.
If you don't mind, that is.
Of course not.
It is October, 1985.
I am close to locating a gluino,
which would completely validate super symmetrical theory.
It is May, 1971.
Having been asked to intervene in Vietnam by President Nixon,
I am deployed alongside Edward Blake, the Comedian.
I have never met anyone so deliberately amoral.
What Vietnam implies about the human condition,
few humans will permit themselves to understand.
But Blake is different.
He understands perfectly.
And he doesn't care.
The average Vietnamese doesn't give a damn who won this war.
But it means plenty to the US of A.
If we'd lost, I think it might've driven the country a little crazy.
Thanks to you, we didn't.
Yet you sound so bitter.
You have some strange attitudes toward life and war.
Strange?
Once you figure out everything's a joke,
being a Comedian is the only thing that makes sense.
The charred villages,
the boys with necklaces of human ears...
these are part of the joke?
Never said it was a good joke.
I'm just playing along with the gag. Same as him.
First press helicopter into Saigon since the cease fire.
Oh, he's got the next election in the bag.
Me, I'm taking the first chopper out.
I hate this place.
The temperature, the smell, this rotten, cheap bourbon--
- Mr. Eddie? - Oh, God.
Now war is over, I must talk to you.
Nothing to talk about. I'm leaving.
And... and what of me?
I cannot just walk away from what grow in my belly.
- I cannot forget! - Too bad,
because that's what I intend to do.
Forget you,
your cruddy little country, all of it.
I do not think so.
I think you remember me and my country.
You remember as long as you live.
My face!
Filthy, stinking,
- worthless... - Blake, don't--
Medic. Gotta find a goddamn medic.
She was pregnant.
- You gunned her down. - That's right.
And you know what?
You watched me.
You coulda turned the gun into steam,
the bullets into mercury or the bottle into snowflakes!
You coulda teleported her to goddamn Australia,
but you didn't lift a finger.
You let it happen.
I've watched you.
You don't really give a damn about human beings.
You never cared about Janey Slater
even before you ditched her.
Soon you won't be interested in Sally Jupiter's little gal, either.
You're drifting outta touch, Doc.
God help us all.
- Hello? - H-hello?
- Dan? Uh, this is-- - Laurie?
Laurie Juspeczyk!
Hey, it's been awhile. How-- How are you?
Rorschach's Journal. 11:30 p.m.
Yesterday a Comedian died in New York.
Nobody cares but me.
Are they right? Is it futile?
Soon there will be war.
Millions will perish and burn in sickness and misery.
Why does one death matter against so many?
Because there is good, and there is evil,
and evil must be punished.
Even in the face of Armageddon I shall not compromise on this.
But there are so many deserving of retribution,
and so little time.
Oh wow, look at the time. It's getting pretty late.
Oh, I'm in no hurry to get back.
The government only keeps me around
so Jon stays relaxed and happy.
Is, uh, everything okay with you two?
Fine. Couldn't be better.
It's just, I'm 35, Dan,
and all I can think is... what have I done with my life?
I've spent eight years semi-retired,
preceded by 10 years running around in a stupid costume
because my stupid mother wanted me to.
Short skirt, neckline going all the way down to my navel...
- so dreadful. - Oh, yeah... dreadful.
The Keene Act was the best thing that ever happened to us.
Yeah, you're probably right.
Hey, remember that guy
who used to pretend to be a super-villain
so he could get beaten up?
Oh, um... Captain Carnage!
Yes!
Ya know, I caught him running out of a jewelers.
I didn't know what his racket was,
so I start hitting him and I'm thinking,
"Jeez, he's breathing awfully hard."
"Maybe he has asthma."
He tried that with me too,
but I'd heard about him, so I walked away.
He followed me down the street saying "Punish me!"
I'm saying, "No, get lost!"
What ever happened to him?
He-- he pulled that on Rorschach
and Rorschach dropped him down an elevator shaft.
Oh, God, that's not funny.
No, no, I guess not...
That felt good.
Not a lot of laughs around these days.
Well, what do you expect?
The Comedian is dead.
Oh, look at her,
pretty as a picture and still keeping her figure.
So what brings you to the city of the dead?
Being lazy isn't a terminal condition, mother,
so spare me the city of the dead crap.
Brought you some flowers.
Oh, big spender!
So where's Jon?
He had to go to some official funeral.
Made him put on pants and everything.
I didn't feel like going so he transported me here to California.
Teleporting always makes me sick.
It's Eddie Blake's funeral, isn't it?
I saw in the paper. He got murdered.
Poor Eddie.
How can you say "Poor Eddie" after he almost--
What happened was 40 years ago.
It's history.
Gettin' old, you get a different perspective.
The big stuff looks smaller somehow.
Ya know, that makes just three of us Minutemen left now.
Me, Hollis and poor Byron at the asylum in Maine.
Eddie was the youngest.
The Comedian.
Always jokin' that he'd bury us all.
Always thought he'd get the last...
laugh.
You and Jon oughta move out here for the weather.
Lots of sunshine!
What the hell is this?
What are you doing with this creepy pervert art?
Oh, just some old memorabilia.
Being reminded that people used to slobber over me
- is kind of flattering. - Flattering?
Laurie, I'm 65.
Every day the future looks a little bit darker.
But the past...
even the grimy parts of it,
keep getting brighter all the time.
Okay, that's it! Nice picture, folks!
Finally, I can scratch my armpit.
Got spots in my eyes.
Here lemme take a look,
maybe I can fish 'em out for you.
Oh, Eddie, give me a break.
Okay everybody, we're good.
So let's meet in the lobby in five.
We'll go back to the Owl's Nest for a beer.
You go on ahead, I gotta change.
- Hi. - Eddie,
what are you doing here?
You knew I was changing...
Sure did. You announced it loud enough.
C'mon, baby. I know what you need...
know why you wear an outfit like that.
Eddie, no--
Spelled Y-E-S.
Spelled N-O!
Eddie...
What... what's happening?
Eddie, what are you doing?
You sick little bastard!
I'm going to break your neck!
This is what you like, isn't it?
This is what gets you hot.
Get out.
Oh, sure. Sure, I'm going.
But I got your number...
And one of these days,
the joke's gonna be on you.
Thou hast set our misdeeds before thee,
and our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.
As much as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy
to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed.
We therefore commit his body to the ground,
earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those that trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
Amen.
Edgar William Jacobi. Also known as Moloch.
I don't know what you're talking about,
you've got the wrong person,
I'm a retired businessman.
Lying. Do it again, broken arm.
Oh, God, I spent the '70s in jail.
I'm not Moloch anymore.
I just want to be left alone.
You attended funeral today. Why?
I... just felt I should.
I've been thinking about the Comedian a lot--
How do you know Edward Blake was the Comedian?
He broke in to see me two weeks ago!
His mask was off!
Enemies for 40 years! Why should he visit you?
I don't know!
I just woke up and he was there!
I thought he was going to kill me.
He was drunk, not making sense--
It's a joke.
It's all a joke.
I thought I knew how the world was,
but then I found out about this gag,
this joke...
You're part of it, Moloch, old pal, you know that?
I saw your name on the list, you and Janey Slater.
If I thought you were in on this, I'd kill you, understand?
I mean, you fought that big blue geek.
You know what his head's like.
Who knows which way he'll jump if anyone messes with him?
I never shoulda looked out that airship window.
Never seen that island.
Never got involved.
See, on that island,
they got writers and artists and scientists,
and what they're doing is just...
I've done some bad things.
Did bad things to women.
Shot kids in 'Nam...
but I never did anything like... like...
Oh, mother.
Forgive me.
Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me...
It's a joke.
But I don't get it!
What's so goddamned funny!
Somebody explain it to me!
Somebody please explain it to me.
And then he left.
I don't know what the hell it was about.
Hmm.
Funny story.
Sounds unbelievable.
Probably true.
So that's it?
- I'm clean? - No.
Searched house before you got back.
Found phony medication.
Outlawed years ago.
Well, when you're desperate, you'll try anything.
I... I have cancer.
Cancer? What kind?
You know the kind of cancer you eventually get better from?
This ain't it.
Wrote down name of company. Will report them later.
You're off the hook for now.
Stay out of trouble.
Rorschach's Journal. October 16th, 1985.
Thought about Moloch's story on the way to cemetery.
Could be all lies, part of a revenge scheme.
But if true, then what?
References to an island, to Dr. Manhattan...
might he be at risk?
Edward Morgan Blake. 45 years, a Comedian.
Buried in the rain.
Is this what happens to us?
A life of conflict with no time for friends,
so that when it's done, only our enemies leave roses?
Blake saw the cracks in society,
saw the little men in masks trying to hold it together,
and treated it like a joke.
Saw the true face of the 20th century
and became a reflection of it, a parody.
No one else saw the joke.
That's why he was lonely.
Heard joke once.
Man goes to doctor, says he's depressed.
Life seems harsh and cruel.
Says he feels all alone in a threatening world.
Doctor says, "Treatment is simple."
"Great clown Pagliacci is in town. Go see him."
"That will pick you up."
Man bursts into tears.
Says, "But doctor...
I am Pagliacci."
Good joke.
Delirious,
I saw that hell-bound ship's black sails
against the yellow Indies sky,
and knew again the stench of powder,
and men's brains, and war.
The severed heads nailed to its prow liplessly mouthed,
"No use! All's lost!"
We outta nuke Russia and let God sort it out.
The freighter's hideous crew called out,
"More blood! More blood!"
Nuke 'em till they glow.
That's my opinion, for what it's worth, ya know?
Inna final analysis.
Man, I'm tryin' to read here.
It's tar-streaked hull rolled over me.
In despair, I sank beneath the waves,
offering up my wretched soul to God,
his mercy and his judgment.
Waking from nightmare,
I found myself upon a dismal beachhead,
amongst dead men and... the pieces of dead men.
I'm informed on these things.
I see every paper in the world.
See, everything's connected.
I begged that the gulls should take my eyes...
A news vendor understands that reality.
...thus sparing me the horrors.
The weight o' the world's on him, but he can take it.
But at least I was alive.
He's a survivor.
And I knew that life had no worse news to offer me.
Good afternoon.
Is it here yet?
Oh! Your copy of today's New Frontiersman, coming up.
I keep it for ya every day, don't I? Uh...
Hey, how's the end of the world coming?
Today for certain.
You won't forget to keep my paper for me tomorrow?
Sure will!
I had a sudden memory
of clinging fast to someone through the tempest.
Our fateful ship's figurehead,
now lying at my feet,
blindfolded by seaweed, smiling.
I thought better of removing the kelp from her eyes,
not wishing her to suffer the terrible distractions of that grim tideline.
She had borne me through seas of blood,
had nourished me in the heart of the storm.
This small comfort was all I could offer,
for I could not love her as she had loved me.
Mmm... Jon...
don't you have to do a TV interview soon?
No. We have plenty of time.
Laurie?
Oh, God! Jon, just be one person again!
Don't be upset. I'm sorry. I thought you'd enjoy it.
I was just trying to please you.
I-I-I know.
I know. I'm sorry I over-reacted.
You just startled me is all.
I'm fine. It doesn't--
Laurie?
- Are you okay? - Am I okay?
This whole time you've been working out here
while we were in bed?
My work's at an important stage.
- It didn't seem necessary to-- - To what?
Give me your full attention?
For once?
If there's a problem with my attitude,
I'm prepared to discuss it.
I hate you.
Laurie?
I left Jon.
Oh, I... I'm sorry, I--
And I'm sorry to dump this on you,
but you don't know what it's like, living with him.
For him...
the real world is like walking through mist,
and all the people are just shadows.
I mean, the way he looks at things,
like he can't remember what they are,
and he doesn't particularly care.
Sometimes I look at myself and I don't understand
how things got so tangled up.
- Hey, can we go out? - Oh!
- Get some air? - Um...
I'll get my coat.
Let's go.
- Oh! Dr. Manhattan! - Dr. Osterman...
We need to get you into make-up.
That blue is-is far too light for broadcast.
- Is this dark enough? - That's perfect!
Here's a list of no-go talking points compiled by army intelligence.
Afghanistan will come up but play it cool...
And try not to get into any tight corners.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have something really special for you tonight.
In his first live interview,
let's have a hand for Doctor Manhattan himself,
Dr. Jon Osterman!
So, uh... what's up, Doc?
Well, you'll forgive the levity, doctor,
but the news overseas has everyone a little tense.
So, before I throw you to our hungry reporters here tonight,
let me kick things off with this...
If the Reds act up in Afghanistan,
are you prepared to enter hostilities?
There is no situation in Afghanistan currently requiring my attention.
Ahem. If I can jump in.
Doug Roth. Nova Express.
Dr Osterman... Do you remember Wally Weaver?
The newspapers called him Dr. Manhattan's buddy.
- He died of cancer in '71... - I remember.
I attended Wally's funeral
How about Edgar W. Jacobi, aka Moloch?
You and he battled it out many times over the years.
Did you know he's also battling terminal cancer?
No. I did not know that. I would rather not--
And are you aware that Janey Slater,
with whom you were romantically linked for several years,
is suffering from lung cancer?
No, I... I wasn't told. I--
Or that she has six months to live?
I recently interviewed Ms. Slater.
Her story's hitting the streets right now.
- What are you suggesting? - Jon,
Doug has reports of over two dozen of your former associates
who have been similarly afflicted--
No, I--
Do you have any response to these allegations?
- Are we gonna get cancer? - Is this guy radioactive?
Leave me alone.
Do you think you gave Ms. Slater cancer
by sleeping with her?
I said--
How does it feel knowing you may have doomed hundreds of people?
Leave me alone!
Um...
- You okay? - Yeah. Fine.
Um... I...
We just need to get our breath back.
- We should-- - I'm just gonna go grab a hotel.
Think my relationship over.
Oh. Of course.
Thanks for listening, Dan. Take care.
Sure...
W-w...
You too, Laurie...
Bye.
The freighter's murderous onslaught had surprised us.
We'd been blasted to fragments before we could warn Davidstown of the hell-ship's approach.
I thought of my family there,
vulnerable, unsuspecting,
unaware of the damnation that bore down upon them.
Crazed with helplessness, I cursed God and wept,
wondering if he wept also.
But then, what use are his tears if he also denied me help?
That night I slept badly beneath cold, distant stars
pondering the cold, distant god
in whose hands the fate of Davidstown rested.
Was he really there?
Had he been there once...
But now departed?
Hey, this base is off limits. You don't belong... here.
I believe you are correct.
Please tell your superiors and Laurie Juspeczyk
that I am leaving.
Leaving for Mars.
Gone? What do you mean he's gone?
Ma'am, your meal ticket flew the coop after last night's broadcast.
Dr. Manhattan, the linchpin of America's security,
has left Earth.
Mr. President...
The Russians are invading Afghanistan and Pakistan.
If this keeps up, they'll try taking Western Europe next.
If Dr. Manhattan wanted to live on a red planet,
he should've stayed home.
Keep running the numbers for our losses in a nuclear exchange.
And be ready for a first strike in seven days.
Good morning, Daniel.
Brought you your paper.
The Comedian murdered, Dr. Manhattan exiled...
Two of us gone. All within a week.
Who next? Veidt? Juspeczyk? Me? You?
These days, nobody's safe.
The photograph is in my hand.
It is the photograph of a man and a woman.
They are at an amusement park in 1959.
In exactly 38 seconds,
I drop the photograph to the sand and walk away.
It is already there, 31 seconds into the future.
The photograph is in my hands.
I found it in a derelict bar 27 hours ago.
Twenty-four seconds.
It is still there, 27 hours into the past.
Twenty-one seconds.
I am still there, looking at it.
Eighteen seconds.
It is October, 1985.
- I'm on Mars. - Fourteen seconds.
- It is July, 1959. - Eleven seconds.
I am at the Palisades Amusement Park.
- Eight. Seven. Six. - I am tired of looking at the photograph.
- Five. Four. Three. Two. One. - I open my fingers.
It falls to the sand.
I am going to look at the stars.
They are so far away,
and their light takes so long to reach us.
All we ever see of the stars are their old photographs.
I am watching the stars,
admiring their complex trajectories
through space,
through time.
My father admired the sky for its precision.
He repaired watches.
It is August, 1945.
I sit in a Brooklyn kitchen,
fascinated by an arrangement of cogs on black velvet.
I am 16 years old.
Jon? Jon? What are you doing?
Practicing on your old pocket-watch before I leave for school--
Forget watches. Have you seen the news?
They dropped an atomic bomb on Japan! A whole city, gone!
- This changes everything! - Father, what are you--
- I'm doing what is best for you. - Wait!
This atomic science is what the world will need,
not pocket watches!
Professor Einstein says that time differs from place to place.
If time is not true, what purpose have watchmakers?
Wait! No!
Forty years ago, cogs rain on Brooklyn.
One hundred and fifteen minutes into the future,
meteorites penetrate the rarefied Martian atmosphere.
It is 1958.
I am graduating with a PhD in atomic physics.
It is May 12th, 1959,
my first day at the Gila Flats Test Base.
Wally Weaver shows me around.
What's this place?
This is where the intrinsic field experiments happen.
They're, uh, trying to prove there's some field
holdin' stuff together besides gravity.
This is our time-lock test vault,
for when they're tryin' to separate objects from their intrinsic fields.
It makes sure no radiation gets out.
Wally steers me to a crowded bar.
There is a sudden sense of deja vu.
So, you must be the new guy.
Pretty young for a research scientist.
Well, my dad sort of pushed me into it.
Happens to me a lot.
Other people seem to make all my moves for me.
I'm Janey Slater.
Can I buy you a drink?
Hey, young lovers!
There! That's a beautiful picture!
The photograph lies in the sand.
It is July, 1959.
By the shooting gallery, Janey's watch falls off
and a man steps on it.
- I tell her I can fix it. - I can fix it.
It is 1963.
We're making love after an argument,
our tenderness in direct proportion to its violence.
It is 1966, and she's packing a suitcase, crying.
It is August, 1959.
We have only been together for a month.
- So Jon... - The accident is waiting for me.
...did you fix my watch yet?
Sure did, it's right-- Oh.
Must've left it in my lab coat
when we were resetting the intrinsic chamber.
Be right back.
The accident is almost upon me now.
- Janey! Janey! - Jon?
- Open the door! - I can't!
Open the door!
It's on a timelock for the next experiment! I--
- I can't override it! - No.
Oh, God, it's starting!
Oh my God! Janey!
- It's my fault! - No!
No! Janey!
- Please! - I can't stay and watch...
Please, I... I just can't.
- Don't go! - I'm sorry.
No! No! No! No! No! No!
Janey!
No...
The shields slide back from the particle cannons.
The atoms in the test chamber begin screaming.
I look at the watch in my hand.
Good as new.
And the light...
the light is taking me to pieces.
It is September.
A token funeral service is held.
There is nothing to bury.
It is October.
Janey places the only photo anyone has of me in the bar.
It is November.
A human nervous system briefly materializes.
It is November 10th now.
A circulatory system is seen walking through the kitchen.
Wha... What?
November 14th.
A partially muscled skeleton appears outside the perimeter fence.
It screams for 30 seconds before vanishing.
Really, it is just a question
of reassembling the components in the correct sequence.
Jon?
It is Christmas, 1959.
So, do you like it?
I mean, is a ring the sort of thing that you like
now that you're, uh...
Like that symbol on your helmet?
Marketing boys say you need a symbol.
It's February, 1960.
Your symbol is meaningless.
If I am to have a symbol,
a hydrogen atom would be more appropriate.
A symbol I respect.
It's atomic structure is a perfect grid.
I like it very much.
Janey? What's wrong?
I'm scared, Jon.
Of me?
They assign me the name Dr. Manhattan
for the ominous associations it will raise in American enemies.
They're shaping me into something gaudy and lethal.
I'm just scared because everything feels... weird.
March, 1960.
We repeat: the superman exists
and he's American.
Pentagon sources say
this Dr. Manhattan can control atomic structure itself.
There's been no response from the Kremlin.
It's as if everything's changed
November, 1960.
The newspapers call me a crime-fighter,
so the Pentagon says I must fight crime.
The morality of my activities escapes me.
Not just you. Everything.
May, 1962.
A masked man retires to open an auto-repair business.
With someone like you around, the whole situation changes.
You can do anything.
All I got to offer is a good left hook.
And some mean wrenching skills under the hood.
Well, the new electric cars I've designed should be simpler.
Electric?
They say you can do anything, Jon.
They say you're like a...
like a god now.
September, 1961.
John Kennedy is asking what it's like to be a superhero.
So, what's it like to be a superhero?
You should know.
I tell him he should know.
He nods, laughing.
I don't think there is a god, Janey.
If there is, I'm not him.
November, 1963.
In Dallas, his head snaps forward and then back. Two shots.
I can't believe this. So you knew he'd get shot?
Then why didn't you do something?
I cannot prevent the future.
To me, it is already happening.
I'm still the same person.
Nothing's changed.
It is 1966.
A young woman sits to my right.
She looks at me and smiles.
Stop staring at that girl! Pay attention!
I'll always want you.
As I lie, I hear her sobbing in 1966.
It is May, 1966.
My name's Laurie.
Do you have another name, apart from Dr. Manhattan.
You pig.
My name's Jon.
I knew you were seeing her!
It's nice of you to come out on patrol with me.
Your um, girlfriend won't mind, will she?
As I lie...
- I hate you. - ...I see her walking out on me in 1985.
She is beautiful.
After each kiss, she plants a smaller, gentler one on my face,
like a signature.
I pull her closer, never wanting to lose her.
Knowing that I shall.
I am tired of their world...
of these people.
Alone!
I am tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives.
In Arizona, I am taking the photo...
and I am gone.
Gone to Mars.
And I have decided to create something.
A world grows up around me.
Am I shaping it,
or do its predetermined contours guide my hand?
The world changed because of me.
But what if I hadn't left the watch in the test chamber?
What if I had not gone back?
Or waited, just a moment?
Am I to blame, then?
Or Janey?
Or my father?
Which of us is responsible?
Who makes the world?
Perhaps the world is not made.
Perhaps nothing is made.
Perhaps it simply is,
has been, and will always be there.
A clock without a craftsman.
I am standing on a balcony,
as I once stood on a fire escape,
trying to catch the falling cogs and wheels.
But it is too late.
Always has been.
Always will be.
Above the Nodous Gordii mountains,
like jewels in a maker-less mechanism,
the first meteorites begin to fall.
Oh, God, not again.
What do you want from me?
Nothing. Old and alone.
Thought you might appreciate company.
Can I come out, then?
No.
Deep breath.
You said Comedian visited here. Mentioned a list.
You and Janey Slater were on it.
Talked about someone messing with Dr. Manhattan.
Days later, Manhattan publicly disgraced.
Forced into exile.
Allegations he'd given people cancer.
Janey Slater. You.
Tough break.
I think Blake's list was cancer list.
Somebody wrote it. Somebody put your name on it.
Somebody gave it to the media.
Comedian and Dr. Manhattan were always your biggest enemies.
Now they're both gone.
Very convenient. Who is it, Moloch?
- Who's behind this? - I don't know!
- Not convincing. - I don't know!
I don't know!
I swear to God, I don't know who it was!
Hmm. Better.
If anything should refresh memory,
contact me by leaving note,
trash can opposite Gunga Diner, at 40th and 7th.
Rorschach's journal. October 21st, 1985. 2:35 AM.
Jacobi visit useless. Knows nothing.
Has simply been used. But by who?
Russians?
Comedian mentioned an island,
artists and writers living on it.
Doesn't fit.
Waiting for a flash of enlightenment
in all this blood and thunder.
Everything I loved,
everything I lived for,
depended on my reaching Davidstown in advance of that terrible freighter.
It was then I conceived of building a raft.
But the island's trees did not look buoyant enough to reach Davidstown,
not unaided.
Suddenly, I found myself considering a repulsive notion...
Birthed from the gas-bloated stomachs of the buried men.
I shuddered at my loathsome scheme.
But I had no choice.
I pulled men up from underground,
sand trickling from their sockets.
I tore their clothes to ribbons to bind them together.
I fixed their bodies to the bottom of the raft.
As the ebb tide rose,
I embarked, heading east.
East, across the night seas.
Borne on the naked backs of murdered men.
Lent speed by my hunger,
I ripped a seagull from the air.
I had not eaten since the shipwreck.
Chewing on raw meat, I drifted on toward Davidstown.
My home was there.
And nothing would take it from me.
So... the government said
I can't live on the base now that Jon's gone.
And they canceled my credit cards.
Now all I have left is my savings.
What-- Where... where will you stay?
Did you call your mother?
I'd rather sleep on a street grate.
It just burns my ass to be so damn...
disposable.
- Well, I um-- - Anyway,
I appreciate you buying me lunch, Dan.
Don't worry about me,
I'll find someplace cheap to stay.
- Laurie! - Yeah?
You could, uh, always stay at my place.
There's plenty of room.
Oh, I-I don't want to impose.
Hey... you're not.
Truly.
I mean, we're both friends.
We're both in the same line of work.
And we're both, uh...
We're both leftovers.
Yeah.
I'd swallowed too much bird flesh,
too much horror.
I grew faint and dozed fitfully.
The Black Freighter's hideous banner flapped dismally in my dreams.
Its death's-head banner flies above us all.
And the heads nailed to the ship's black prow are our heads.
Truly, whoever we are, wherever we reside,
we exist on the whim of murderers.
Your four o'clock is here, Mr. Veidt.
Beneath my raft, something moved.
It's the meeting with the toy company, isn't it?
Yes. They want some new characters in their Ozymandias line.
They said maybe some of your major villains.
The major villains are all dead.
Irrationally, my first thought was of the corpses,
bursting their bonds,
attempting to clamber up into the air and dryness.
Did you see the news?
Some guy went crazy and killed his kid
because he was afraid there's gonna be a nuclear war.
I'm sorry, but that's just dumb.
Nobody's so crazy that they'll start a war.
I don't understand why everyone's so down and scared.
Well, perhaps they lack your youth and enthusiasm.
Well, I have to be upbeat to work in this place.
All this Egyptian decor is very morbid.
In the darkening water I heard a splash.
Very obsessed with death.
Shadowy forms approached.
Were they boats come to rescue me?
Actually death wasn't morbid to the ancient Egyptians.
They saw death as an inevitable step
in beginning a voyage of spiritual discovery.
I find that very comforting.
No, not boats.
Fins.
Well, I think it's-- Oh, God, he's got a gun!
Teeth shredded my raft.
Tiny, prehistoric eyes glistened with rage.
It became tangled in my ropes.
Terrified, I took up a splinter of mast.
The shark's stained marble eye looked up at me...
And in that instant...
We knew each other!
What have you got in your mouth? No!
Don't bite down. Don't bite down, you scum!
The leviathan attempted to swim away...
Dragging my raft in its bloody wake.
I want to know who's behind this!
I hung on desperately,
cursing in the bitter stinging spray.
Damn... cyanide capsule.
Eventually the shark died.
And shortly thereafter, stopped swimming.
Good evening, Jacobi.
Was wondering why you wanted to see me.
Then someone tried to shoot the world's smartest man.
Comedian, Dr. Manhattan, Ozymandias...
someone's killing masks, Jacobi.
Someone wants us dead.
Maybe you can enlighten me.
Hmm...
Rorschach!
- No. - This is the police!
No, no, no, no!
We know you're in there, it's all over!
If there's anyone in there with you,
- send them out unharmed! - Framed. Set-up.
Walked right into it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Then come out and surrender with your hands clearly visible.
Never. Never surrender. Need weapons.
You have 30 seconds!
There's no escape Rorschach.
- It's the end of the line. - Yes.
Time's up!
Ready when you are.
Get up, get up!
- No pain, no-- - Get him! Don't let him get away!
- It was a setup. - Cuff him!
Somebody framed me, somebody--
No! No! No! My face!
Give me back my face!
After eating their fill, the sharks departed.
For the moment, I was safe.
That night, eating shark,
I would have chuckled at the inversions of natural roles
had not my parched laughter seemed so hateful.
My raft grew increasingly grotesque,
reflecting my own gradual transformation.
With such thoughts to comfort me,
I drifted on, mast-less into the dawn.
Hey kids, tune in for the animated adventures of Ozymandias.
This Saturday morning sponsored by Meltdown!
In the May of this year, 1962,
that's exactly what I opted to do.
I retired.
To mend cars.
Probably for the rest of my life.
As I see it, part of the art of being a hero
is knowing when you don't need to be one anymore,
realizing that the game has changed,
and that the stakes are different,
and that there isn't necessarily a place for you
in this strange new pantheon of extraordinary people.
The world has moved on,
and I'm content to watch it from my armchair
with a beer by my side
and the smell of fresh oil still on my fingers.
Part of my contentment comes from knowing
that there have maybe been some overall consequence
of my 23 years behind the mask.
This knowledge came to me in the shape of a letter
from a young man whose name I'm not at liberty to reveal.
He told me of his great admiration for my efforts as Nite Owl
and proposed that,
since I'd retired and would no longer be using the name,
perhaps he could borrow it,
since he intended to follow my example
and become a crime-fighter.
I've visited his home since then
and seen some of the fabulous technology
he intends to bring to bear on the war against crime.
I was certainly far too impressed
to refuse him the use of what I'd always thought
was a dumb name to begin with.
So by the time this sees print,
there may well be a new Nite Owl
patrolling the streets of New York.
Also, Sally Jupiter tells me
that as soon as little Laurie's old enough
she wants to be a superheroine just like her mom.
So who knows? It seems as if,
from being a novelty nine-day wonder,
the superhero has become a part of American life.
It's here to stay.
For better, or for worse.
Oh, how the ghost of you clings... Nostalgia...
We argued.
And I said, Jon,
you know how every damn thing in this world
fits together except people.
It's okay, Ms. Slater.
We can stop here if you need to.
No. No, I want the world to know all the details.
I'm glad you contacted me.
It's a relief to finally tell the truth about him.
Well, after helping Nova Express with our investigations,
and sharing your story with the world,
how do you feel?
Heh, bitter as hell.
Oh, and I don't need anyone's sympathy.
That won't cure my cancer.
After learning of your condition,
and the others, Dr. Osterman teleported to Mars,
sending shockwaves across the globe.
Any comment about that?
It figures.
He dumped me for some 16-year-old
who ran around in her underwear.
Now everyone's shocked that he dumped Earth for Mars?
Ah, they're all just worried
because he's not here to stop us from nuking each other.
Worried they're all going to die in a radioactive wasteland.
Well, Mr. Roth, here's your comment...
welcome to my world.
So, seen the news lately?
Can't miss the headlines about this war they say is coming.
There was a smaller story yesterday...
about a tenement fire?
If I can figure out who made the rescue,
so can the police.
You're not taking Rorschach's maskkiller nonsense seriously?
We worked together.
Rorschach was always a brilliant investigator and tactician,
so I wonder if he found any evidence that links all these events.
The four of us, taken down.
War looming on the horizon.
I'm terrified it's all connected
and the worst is yet to come,
and I can't do anything to stop it.
No!
Rorschach again... They finally caught him.
There's a riot at the prison.
We got a jail full of guys out here who hates your guts!
What do you got?
Your arms.
Come and get me.
If we don't crack this case,
there may be no going back for any of us.
Everybody's scared.
You can feel it.
We'll get murdered in the chaos.
Just waitin' for the nukes to start droppin'.
You are going to try to convince me to save this world.
Humanity might be on the brink of extinction.
Doesn't that bother you?
This face is all I need.
Never compromise.
Do it!!
This all says war.
I will invest accordingly.