All language subtitles for Watchmen.Chapter.I.2024.720p.WEBRip.x264-YIFY

Oh, how the ghost of you
clings... Nostalgia...

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?

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?

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.

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!

Give me back 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.