All language subtitles for 9qwe1

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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?

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.

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!

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.