Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from Watchmen, they all belong to Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons and DC Comics. This is set after the end of Watchmen, so if you haven't read it this story could be considered a spoiler.

Watchmen: Legacy

New York didn't die because of a alien attack, but it's such a big lie everyone believes it. But I know. They published R.'s journal in the New Frontier, blacking out the names to avoid a libel suit, but no one wanted to believe. A man like Ozymandius, murdering a city? Impossible. Such a country of fools.

The announcer smiled brightly as she continued, "The New York memorial is well under way, with the tribute statue to the fallen complete." Her smile faltered a bit as she continued, "However the recent killings of pimps continue, and apparently the calling card resembles that of the criminal Rorschach."

I watch them on street corners with a mix of pity and contempt. They should find a better way to support themselves, for their sake and their children. But I know why they do it, and I'll see it stopped. No matter the cost.

"Shit," the cop covered his mouth as he went green, then ran for the opening of the alley. He gasped in fresh air as he tried to get the smell out of his nose, to not see the maggots dancing on rotting flesh.

"Looks like it's been here about two weeks, maybe more," his partner noted, the young woman kneeling beside the corpse, a cloth held over her mouth.

"How can you do that, Rita?" he asked weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve then covering his own mouth with a cloth.

"We do what we have to," the redheaded woman answered with a shrug. Rita got up and frowned, "There's something missing, Alan..."

"Huh?" Alan blinked, the sandy brown haired man looking around. He frowned as he saw something in the corner, "Got a piece of paper over here, looks newer than the rest of the trash."

Rita pulled on a rubber glove to preserve evidence and carefully skirted the body as she picked it up. She opened the folded sheet and both cops gasped in a mix of fear and alarm. A letter r was written there, reflected like a rorschach blotch.

"Oh crap," Alan said weakly, "not him."

Rita shook her head, "He's supposed to be dead, remember? It was on the news."

"Well obviously the news got it wrong," Alan said dryly. .

"Maybe," Rita stood up, holding the paper still in her hand as she mused, "or maybe there's a copycat."

"Oh, just what the world needs," Alan muttered as the crime scene techs began to bag the body, "another Rorschach."

City stinks of death and corruption. They cleaned all the corpses away but the stink still lingers, from the highest towers down to the gutters. I walk the streets invisibly, past the dealers, the thieves and the murderers. Someone must take a stand, someone must remind them of right and wrong.

Adrian Veidt looked out at the city from Pyramid Industries, the blonde haired man studying the city below them. Turning to the two detectives he said flatly, "There's no way it could be Rorschach."

"And you know that how?" Alan asked skeptically, leaning against the desk and wishing he could light up his smokeless pipe.

"I didn't see him die myself," Adrian conceded as he turned to face them, his finely made suit hugging his athletic body, "but Dr. Manhattan confirmed it."

"Ah," Rita murmured, her eyes widening just a bit as something had occurred to her.

Adrian nodded slightly, "I never asked, but I assume so."

"They published Rorschach's journal in the New Frontier," Alan said quietly, "pretty wild stuff. Do you think he inspired a copycat?"

"Possibly," Adrian agreed as he picked up a pyramid paperweight and turned it over in his hands, "while I don't agree with it Rorschach's simplistic black and wight view of the world could be very tempting."

Rita nodded as she made notes, "The equipment to make his costume... hard to come by?"

"Very easy," Adrian shook his head, "the black and white cloth is still popular, and can be shaped by cutting with heated instruments to hold the seals. He never wore a normal costume just a peacoat and hat..."

"So no way we can find this nutjob based on equipment?" Alan said sourly. "Great."

As Rita put her notebook away she said, "Please be careful, sir. It's quite possible whomever this new Rorschach is, he or she may bear a grudge against you."

Adrian lifted his chin, "I've survived assassination attempts before."

"Maybe," Rita noted, "but back then you paid for them yourself."

It seems Veidt is as shallow as ever. Not worth the effort to kill, barely worth investigating. Confirmed he was homosexual, not a issue in his activities. Inspired by Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis?

The district captain pushed the documents aside as he studied the two officers. Rita Morgan was young, intense and driven, one of many people moving to New York in defiance of the alien attack. Alan Gibbons had just drifted to the town, a lack-luster cop looking to end his career in a town where the worst had already happened.

"Sir," Rita nodded to Chief Snyder, standing attentively in front of the desk while Alan slouched nearby.

Jack Snyder sat back as he said, "Why no progress on these Rorschach killings?"

"There is progress sir," Rita corrected, "we've got physical evidence from the bodies as well as a apparent method of operation. We just need a break..."

"We got dick," Alan corrected. He took a puff from his water pipe, "No witnesses to the perp, no trace evidence from him."

Snyder studied the two cops, "Any proof it is Rorschach?"

"Just the notes," Rita conceded, "and the targets fit."

"Yeah," Alan conceded, "they feel like Rorschach kills, from what I can tell. Real murderous SOBs, couple of which had been through the system a few times. Either light sentences or walked on technicalities."

"Was that commonly known?" Snyder asked them, wondering if Rorschach might just have a police connection.

"A few of the early release cases made the news," Alan sounded disgusted, "they had a whole series. Might as well have painted a target on these bastard's backs."

"Damn," Snyder sighed. He sat up, "All right, keep plugging away at this you two. We need the public to think we're taking it seriously."

"Yes sir," Rita saluted then both of them left.

The police are less than useless. They're cutting off fingers while the patient's arm rots. And across the city I hear cats cry like babies, and I know what they fear. The wretched scum of humanity with their porn and other amusements don't care about anyone else. But someone has to care, and I guess that would be me.

Walking home from work at a dismal little café the young woman took a shortcut down a alley, the brown haired girl more preoccupied by calculating her overtime then watching where she was going. She didn't realize she was being followed nor was aware of the other figure watching from the shadows.

"Hey pretty girl," one of the men leered as they moved to cut her off, "have you come to play with us?"

"No, I...," she started to turn to run, only to see another man behind her, grinning evilly.

"No way you came down here on your own," the first man laughed, "bring friends?"

She held her purse like a weapon, "Get away from me."

"Now, don't be unfriendly," the man's smile was gone as he flicked out a concealed knife.

"I wouldn't do that," the muffled voice warned coldly, drawing their eyes to the mouth of the alley. The man stood there in his long brown trench coat, a fedora pulled down shadowing his face, but instead of facial features he wore a eerie mask, black and white blobs moving across the material.

"Oh fuck," one of the men said weakly, taking a half step backwards.

"He ain't the real Rorschach," the man with the knife snarled as he ran at him, "he's dead, damn it!"

"Do I look dead?" Rorschach hissed as he kicked out, slamming his foot brutally against the man's kneecap. With a howl he went down and Rorschach calmly picked up the knife and plunged it into the goon's hand.

"Jesus!" the wounded man yelped, yanking his hand back as the other stared on in shock.

"Hmm," Rorschach walked by the wounded man as he advanced on the other attacker, "you threatened the lady. Poor behavior."

"S... stay back!" the second man stammered, backing away and hitting the side wall at the far end of the alley.

Rorschach grabbed him by the collar, something in his stance more menacing than usual, "In a good mood, so I'll give you a choice." Rattling the man with a simple shake he continued, "Turn yourself in to the cops, confess. Or I will find you." With that Rorschach let him go and he fled from the alley, grabbing his injured friend as he did do.

The young woman pushed off from where she had been cringing against the wall, "Thank you."

His voice was surprisingly gentle as Rorschach said, "Be careful going home. This isn't a safe city for a woman alone."

Rorschach watched the woman walk away, turning and walking away into the shadows. The mask came off easily, shoved into a coat pocket along with the hat, and Rita Morgan smiled grimly as she walked on.

The reputation is as great a weapon as the mask. People are frightened of Rorschach, and that fear gives me an edge. I'll need it if I intend to take his place, in this city of sin and corruption. I'm not really Rorschach yet, but I think in time I will be.

End

Notes: There's a tradition of "legacy" heroes in Watchmen, with both Niteowl and Silk Specter having successors carry on for them. I thought it might be interesting to see a successor for Rorschach , done in the style of the second Question.