A/N: I DO NOT own any part of Wathcmen. This chapter will be a bit short, seeing as how it's an introduction, compared to others if I do continue. For any classical music fans, the title is from Erik Satie's Gnossiennes. Gnossiennes No. 3 was my inspiration for this story, I would definitely recommend listening to it. Constructive criticism is extremely welcome! If I continue on with this story I'm definitely going to stick to the movie ending (something about that alien just didn't sit right with me). Anywho, let me know what you think, and enjoy! This chapter is a bit violent, and has a flashback rape scene (vague, but still a little graphic). *Previously featured under my other pen name, DMMA*

Introduction

June 21st, 1982

"But I remained to look at the crowd, and I saw a thing that I should be afraid, without more proof, only to tell, were it not that conscience reassures me, the good companion that emboldens man under the hauberk of feeling himself pure. I saw in truth, and still I seent to see it, a trunk without a head going along even as the others of the dismal flock were going. And it was holding the cut-off head by its hair, dangling in hand like a lantern. And it gazed on us, and said, "O me!" Of itself it was making for itself a lamp; and they were two in one, and one in two. How it can be He knows who so ordains. When it was right at the foot of the bridge, it lifted its arm high with the whole head, in order to approach its words to us, which were, "Now see the dire punishment, thou that, breathing, goest seeing the dead: see thou if any other is great as this! And that thou mayest carry news of me, know that I am Bertran de Born,[1] he that gave to the young king the ill encouragements. I made father and son rebellious to each other. Ahithophel did not more with Absalom and with David by his wicked goadings. Because I divided persons so united, I bear my brain, alas! divided from its source which is in this trunk. Thus retaliation is observed in me…."

"-Sing us a song, you're the Piano Man, sing us a song about love…"

Holly Abraham looked up from the worn pages of her ancient copy of Dante's Inferno, as the strained sounds of Billy Joel's Piano Man hit her ears.

Looking around for the source of the sound, her eyes and ears settled on a young man seated about a yard away on the grass, legs crossed with a guitar in his lap as he played.

His voice was rich and throaty, full of soul and misery. Squinting against the late-evening sunlight, she continued to observe him as people walked past, tossing coins into his open guitar-case.

The early summer air enveloped her in a pocket of haze and humidity, and Holly wiped a bead of sweat from her arched brow, feeling her sunglasses rub against her already-burned skin.

Beginning in April, New York City had found itself slave to record-breaking heat. The sweltering temperatures hit 70 in the morning, before steadily rising throughout the day without mercy. The humidity was the worst of it all, turning the bustling city into a slow-moving and soupy cocktail that seemed to slow down everyone in it.

As Holly's dress stuck to the bottom of her thighs, and she found herself gazing hungrily as she stared at the duck pond before her. Silently, she thought about how good it would feel to have the droplets of water drip down her skin, and wanted nothing more than to submerse herself in the murky waters, swimming with the ducks.

In pairs they moved together, bobbing for fish and sticking their tails in the air. Holly smiled, watching the sight with a child-like glee as she reminisced about the days growing up, where she and her mother would travel to the small pond up the street from her house and throw bread to the ducks.

Looking back down at her book, she once again submitted herself to the descriptions of Hell, described poignantly by Dante. After reading the book for the first time as a sophomore in high school, she fell in love with the philosopher's depth, and the emotion with which he wrote as he tried to meet again with his dead wife Beatrice.

Quacking ducks and cheerful chirps from sparrows pulled her immediately from the seven circles of Hell, and Holly soon found herself unable to concentrate.

Down the way, the young man was still singing. This time, he was singing Elton John's Tiny Dancer, and Holly found herself listening to his slightly-raspy voice, impressed by both his vocal quality and his guitar playing.

For a moment, her mind zoomed back to a day, the summer of her freshman year at Juilliard when she and a few classmates set up a string quarter in the park near the Great Lawn and played a slew of Beatles hits.

In bare-feet and a sundress, Holly could not remember having ever been happier, spending time doing the thing she loved the most with people she enjoyed.

How the times had changed.

Suddenly, the cheap digital watch around her right wrist began to sound off loudly, and she silenced it, quickly digging through the neon-pink backpack next to her.

Grabbing a bottle of pills, she unscrewed the cap, dumping two blue ovals into her right hand and quickly letting them fall into her mouth.

Swallowing them whole, she let the bottle fall back into her bag before digging around for a back of Marlboro Reds. The red and white carton fell into her hand with ease, and Holly pulled a slim cigarette free from the box and slid it between her lips, following quickly with a silver Zippo.

Inhaling the nicotine into her lungs, Holly stood up, shoving her book into her backpack before slinging it onto her back.

The day was so hot she wore nothing but sleeveless sundress, which revealed more than she wanted it to, but it was better than having giant sweat stains all over her back.

Making her way towards the guitarist, she hiked up the bag, covering the tattoos and scars that decorated her back.

On her left forearm was a beautifully scripted quote from Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. Around her wrist, J.R.R. Tolkein's epic script from The One Ring. On her back, two large angel wings with a small cross between her shoulder blades. Holly's body was a walking canvass, which generally didn't go over well with members of the New York Philharmonic.

In the weeks before a big performance, she usually found herself splurging with money she didn't have on expensive foundation to cover up the tattoos for each performance. Just for the sake of being able to do what she loved.

Stopping in front of the guitarist, Holly dug through one of the pockets of her backpack before producing a five-dollar bill, silently calculating how much the small amount of cash would dent her budget.

Dropping it into the case below her, she set off in the opposite direction, making her way for the busy Manhattan streets.

As she walked, her stomach began to burn furiously as the Levodopa assaulted her empty stomach. Ignoring the pain, she made her way to the nearest subway station, taking in the beautiful sounds of the city.

A musical number was in progress. It started with an opening, the long and loud honk of a frustrated taxi-driver set in traffic, then moved into the first suite. A chorus of jackhammers and deafening construction sung in harmony, accompanied by the patter of thousands of footsteps hitting the ground at once. Then, a crescendo: a pigeon, screeching out just in time with the squealing breaks of another taxicab. The next passage began as the driver rolled down his window and began screaming in anger at the one in front of him.

Holly took it all in, looking around her beautiful city as she polluted the hazy air with her own smoke.

Dropping the cigarette butt to the ground, she stomped it out, feeling her stomach rumble wildly.

Quickly, she stopped at a pretzel-vendor and purchased a cheap and filling mixture of salt, butter, and soft dough. Shoving the treat into her mouth, she swallowed, eating quickly and praying she wouldn't throw it up before she could even get it into her stomach.

Coming upon a particularly crowded block, Holly swung around the railing of a staircase, ascending the concrete steps as she lowered herself into the cool underbelly of New York City.

The station was crowded, as dozens of New Yorkers made their way home for the day. After twenty minutes, she found herself on the platform, watching as the train flew through the tunnel and came to a screeching halt.

Rapidly stepping onto the silver bullet, she found a plastic orange seat and sat down, pulling out her copy of Inferno once more and flipping through the torn and yellowed pages.

"That any good?" came a voice.

Looking up, Holly found herself meeting the eyes of a stereotypical punk-rock teen, sitting diagonally from her.

He had a tall spiked Mohawk, dyed purple and several piercings that made Holly's tongue unconsciously graze the ring in her lip.

Sleeve-tattoos adorned his arms, along with a black Pink Floyd t-shirt and baggy pants.

"Um…yeah actually. One of my favorites." She answered curtly, before putting the book away and pulling out her diary as the train began to move.

Instead of inquiring further like Holly had expected him to, the young man turned his attention to the standing bodies on the train, before pulling out a Sony Walkman and placing headphones over his ears.

Holly flipped through used pages, before settling on an empty one about a third of the way through. She had kept a journal since she was a little girl, as a way to get out the things she could tell no one else.

Through all of school, she focused all of her time on music. She had friends yes, but she couldn't tell them about her hopes and dreams. After her parents died, she delved deeper into herself, and found that her diary had become her best friend.

Pulling out a purple pen, she bit the inside of her cheek, tonguing an open sore before going to work.

6/21/82

It always amazes me, how every person in this city can be so oblivious to the world around them. On my way home from work today, I saw an old lady fall on the pavement, and watched as thirty maybe forty people walked by. One helped. One. It baffles me to be honest. Maybe because I was born in a small town where everyone helped each other out. I always called myself a "city girl". I always thought that I was made for this life, but can I really be? Self-fulfilling, self-indulgent. The people I see frighten me. I feel like I'm living in an alien world. Even now, five years later, I still don't quite understand it.

Sunday will be the anniversary. Of mom and dad. I've been so busy that I've completely forgotten. It hasn't even felt like two years.

I haven't talked to Sarah in days now. Last time I checked, Aunt Jen said she was doing alright. Getting straight A's in school, doing really well in dance. I pray that she's not making the same mistakes I did. After all, I managed to get straight A's too, even despite what I was doing on my own time.

I'm in a weird mood today. I barely feel there. The shaking is starting again. I have to make a note to call the doctor. The problem is, I'm running out of money. Slinging coffee only pays so much, and the money I make from the orchestra goes to medicine and Sarah. It's funny. I make nearly $20,000 a year, and I'm living in a crummy apartment in the worst part of town.

The medicine is getting more expensive. It's this damn recession, but I really can't do without. The money I make is being saved for Sarah. Even if she gets a full-ride scholarship into school, I still have to send her money for other things, and Aunt Jen is struggling to pay the bills by herself since her husband died. I guess I am a little cheap too, but what's the harm in that? I'd rather hoard money then have to sell myself on the street for it.

After careful thought, Holly put the pen back into her bag, returning to her book. The sticky seats were clinging to her skin, and she knew when she stood, there would be a large red mark on her thighs.

Cautiously, she tugged the skirt down, hiding more than just red marks. The long scars on her inner thighs would be visible if she moved the wrong way.

Looking up at the glass window across from her seat, she caught a view of herself.

Once upon a time, she had been beautiful. Over the years though, a combination of stress, the disease, and poor diet had taken hold of that beauty, turning her into someone she barely even recognized.

After months of frustration with her constantly shedding hair, she decided to start anew, chopping it all off. Her black locks now fell into edgy layers that hugged her face and tapered in the back. The pixie-cut really did do justice for the shape of her face, although she no longer had long tresses to hide behind.

She had wide eyes, a chocolate brown color that was barely noticeable save for her thick and full eyelashes, a long nose, slightly crooked, and full lips, which often sat in a pout whenever she was thinking.

Due to photosensitivity from various medications coupled with already-sensitive skin, her usually pink cheeks were tinged bright red, burning from merely a few hours exposure to the sun. Carmel colored skin had been provided from a Jewish father and an African-American mother, and a childhood of gymnastics and dance left her with a sleek body, only disturbed by natural curves. Wide hips and slim thighs were accompanied by full breasts and a round but firm backside, however, after months of living an unhealthy lifestyle consisting of tobacco, grilled cheese sandwiches, and hard liquor, Holly was losing the prized figure she once paraded around.

By no means was she large, but the several pounds of weight gain sat on her arms and tummy uncomfortably. It was not the Holly she was used to seeing when she looked in the mirror.

Her appearance itself was a paradox of sorts. She constantly wore floral prints and girly clothing that made her look innocent, despite the tattoos on her body and the ring in her lip. During high school, many wondered exactly what group she was trying to fit in, but in all honesty, she was just being herself.

Looking up as the train came to a halt Holly looked at her watch, wondering why the trip had taken so long before realizing she had missed her stop. Hurrying off the large vehicle quickly, she checked a nearby map to find her location, and then set off for home.

The moment she was above-ground, the momentary sanctuary the subway station had given against the heat was gone, and Holly walked slowly through the grimy streets.

It was nearly eight now, and the sun would be setting soon. Already, dark clouds were rolling in, promising a nighttime thunder storm that would do nothing to stem the heat.

The mile it took to walk to her apartment took longer than it ever would given the sweltering temperatures. As Holly approached her shabby apartment building, she noticed a group of young men congregated around the entrance.

The sight was not really uncommon. She lived in a seedy place of town, where seedy things took place. Still, the cash in her backpack sang out in alarm, and she clutched her things tightly, feeling her heartbeat suddenly quicken in her chest.

Reaching the crowd, she realized they were blocking the building entrance, and with all the strength she could muster, Holly muttered a small "excuse me," before gently trying to push her way through the group.

The gang of young men all wore clothing with various items of yellow.

Some gang color. She thought to herself as she moved slowly through the crowd.

"Hey there Holly!"

Freezing, Holly felt her heartbeat stop momentarily as the voice shot icy tendrils of panic and fear through her body.

"Listen, the guys just want to hang out with you alright? Everything is fine, I promise. Don't be scared. They're really nice guys."

Looking up, at the top of the steps, Holly found herself looking into the icy green eyes of her ex-boyfriend Danny.

"Danny I don't want to do this. You should see the way Roach looks at me. I'm scared."

"Hol, they just want a girl to keep them company. I promise you, nothing is going to happen. I won't let anything happen. Alright?"

Leaning in, he kissed her forehead in reassurance.

"Danny." She said, feeling the scars on her legs and back throb momentarily.

She walked into the living room, where six of the guys were congregated around a small television. The vinegary stench of heroin hung in the air, and Holly's blood ran cold as 12 sets of eyes all looked at her.

Danny walked down the stairs, a yellow strip tied around his bicep. Since the last time she saw him, he had let his hair grow out, so now the black greasy mess fell to his chin. As she stared at him, disgust and hatred welled up inside of her, and she wondered what she ever saw in him.

"Hi guys." She said gingerly, standing in the center of the room. Two of the guys, one named Luis and the other Almie, scooted over, making way for her on the couch.

Sitting down, Holly found herself on their laps and fought the discomfort as the exposed skin of her legs rubbed against their bodies.

"Woah, what's with the haircut? You look like a dyke!" he exclaimed, fingering a lock of her choppy hair and Holly flinched under his touch.

"I like it short." She said, in almost a whisper before looking up and meeting those cold green eyes.

"Hey there Miss Holly." Almie said. Ironically, he was Hispanic and Luis was not. Suddenly, Holly blinked, only to find her vision slightly blurred. She felt funny. She felt strange. She felt…drugged.

"Danny." She murmured, her head nodding to the side as her eyelids dropped. Opening them, she blinked rapidly and felt herself sinking into the couch.

"You're lucky you got that rack and that ass. You're still sexy. So, what you up to?"

Immediately his tone set off warning bells in her head. He wanted something.

"What do you want?" she blurted, and watched as his face went from amused to slightly irritated.

"Well, guess we're skipping the pleasantries. I need a place to crash tonight. Me and a few of the guys."

She felt a hand on her thigh, and looked over to find Almie's face close to hers. Leaning in, he pressed his lips against her own forcefully, and Holly could hear the cheers from some of the other guys in the room.

"No." she said weakly, turning her head away. Fighting the haze, she tried to stand up, only to stumble and fall to the ground.

Several of the guys laughed, and Holly could focus on nothing but the fuzzy carpet on her face, stained with crumbs, spilled beer, and semen.

"Now where you going baby?" Luis suddenly said, grabbing her and pulling her back onto the couch. This time, she was on her stomach, laying across Almie's lap.

"Danny." She cried out weakly, only to hear a few of the guys laugh.

"Danny ain't coming baby." Roach said from somewhere in the room.

"I barely have enough room for the cat and myself. There's no way in hell that you guys will be able to fit." Holly said quickly, glad she had an honest excuse, but Danny stepped forward immediately.

"You've got a whole room full of your instruments and shit. You've got a living room, a bathroom with a tub. There's plenty of space."

Her shorts were pulled roughly and unceremoniously down her legs, along with her underwear. Again, she tried to sit up only to find herself forced back down.

Almie quickly unbuttoned and zipped his jeans, and Holly gasped, screaming Danny's name in choked cries.

"DANNY! DANNY! PLEASE HELP ME DANNY! DANNY!"

"No." she shook her head resolutely, praying that her weakness didn't show. Danny leaned forward, grabbing her bicep tightly.

"We need a place to stay Holly."

"And I said no. N-O. You deaf or just stupid?"

She had no idea where the insult came from, and immediately, wished she could take it back. Grabbing her by the straps of her backpack, Danny threw her back so hard and reeled and fell to the ground.

She gagged as semen filled her mouth, listening to the cheers and hollers around the room. Suddenly, she was rolled on her back and looked up in pure horror as one of Danny's friends named Che pulled out a silver knife.

Immediately, everything stopped as she laid eyes on the knife. Even in her drugged state, she knew whose it belonged to. She could see the inscription on the handle, the delicate etching on the blade.

Leaning down, Che put a hand on her belly before pressing the knife into her skin. Pain raged through her body, and Holly screamed loudly as he dragged the blade across her flesh.

Pulling herself up off the ground, Holly looked down at her hands. The skin of her palms was scraped clean off from her fall, and they stung wildly as she struggled to keep the tears from flowing.

"Where's your keys?" Danny asked coldly, all hint of amusement gone from his voice.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed in reply, spitting at him.

Several of the guys stepped away, as though not wanting to be near her when she got it. And as Danny's face clouded over with rage, she understood why. Rage comparable to the day she had called the cops.

"Stupid cunt!" he screamed, lunging forward and sinking his fist into her jaw.

She screamed at the top of her lungs, feeling the tremors wrack her body as she knife made its way around the skin of her legs. She couldn't move. She couldn't do anything but lay there and let it happen. She was weak.

"FUCK YOU!" Holly screamed and sobbed at the same time. Again, she met another fist, this time to the gut.

Immediately, vomit soared up her esophagus and she leaned over, heaving wildly as feeling her throat burn.

Several of the guys laughed, and she heard Roach's distinct cackle.

Opening her eyes, Holly found herself in an empty room. She was cold, her body assaulted and left without regard.

Standing up, she fell to the ground immediately, feeling a searing pain between her legs. The kind of pain that could have only been brought about by having six guys take turns.

Then, one fist became many, and Holly found herself succumbing to Danny's fury as he pummeled her mercilessly. She screamed for help, begged, and heard someone scream from somewhere, perhaps an apartment window "LEAVE HER ALONE!".

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH OR I'LL GIVE YOU A SLUG!" one of the guys replied in return, and all objection ceased.

Shrill cries met Rorschach's ears, and he swung from the alleyway, finding the source of the noise.

His gloves were still bloody from his last kill, and he pondered what he may find. Attempted rape? Battery? Theft?

Coming through another alley, he watched across the street as a group of guys huddled around someone screaming in pain. In the apartment complex behind them, several ghostly faces peered out the windows, watching. Watching, and not doing anything.

Fury coursed through the masked vigilante's veins, and once more, his disdain for the human race peaked.

Sitting and watching. Vile. Self-fulfilling. Cowards. Is this how people saw Genovese? Did they stand in mouth of alleyway inactive?

The men were all distracted, and Rorschach snuck across the street with ease, using his fists first, before using weapons second.

He took down the first with ease. An Asian man who looked as though he once belonged with the Knots. Grabbing his head, Rorschach snapped his neck quickly, letting him crumple to the ground.

Too quick. Undeserving of quick death. But must act quickly. Screams are getting louder.

One of the guys turned around, opening his mouth, and immediately Rorschach set forth to silencing him.

"Dan, come on! Dan!" Roach screamed, pulling Danny off of Holly.

She willed air into her lungs, coughing wildly as the oxygen raced into her body. Her throat screamed in pain, and for a moment, she foolishly wondered if he had broken her neck.

"What the fuck? Let go of me man!"

"That psychopath Rorschach is-AHHH!"

His words were cut short with a scream, and Holly watched in both horror and awe as the masked avenger grabbed Roach, plunging a knife right through his throat.

His body fell to the ground, and Danny grabbed Holly, putting a knife to her neck and standing behind her.

"Come and get me you fucking faggot. I'll slit her fucking throat."

Holly whimpered, putting her hands on Danny's arm.

"Danny, please. Please, don't do this. Think about-"

"Shutup!" he screamed, letting the point of the knife dig into her throat.

Her already-bruised skin screamed in protest, and Holly felt large tears slide down her face. She was weak. She was pathetic. And she was going to die. Here. On this disgusting and gritty street.

She watched as Rorschach tilted his head, as if contemplating whether or not to simply sacrifice Holly then go after Danny.

"Please. Please. Make him let me go. I haven't done anything wrong." She pleaded, watching as the inkblots on the vigilante's mask shifted quickly.

"'Haven't done anything wrong?' You may have played innocent once when you called the cops on me, but not to this guy. If he kills me, you're going down too. You forget about selling to those kids you went to that fancy school with for me? You forget about snorting that junk?"

Holly closed her eyes as his words hit her like a battering ram. Rorschach simply stared at her, and although Holly couldn't see his face, she could feel his glare of contempt.

Quickly pulling a gun from his pocket, Danny pulled back the hammer, pointing at Holly's would-be savior.

"Fucking freak." He muttered, before firing off a shot, so close to Holly's ear that the blast deafened her.

Rorschach was fast, moving swiftly from the path of the flying object, but not fast enough. It lodged itself into his left shoulder, although if he hadn't moved so quickly, he might have been hit in the heart.

Falling backwards, the masked vigilante gripped the wound, and Danny seized the opportunity to toss Holly to the ground.

Leaning down, he threw one last punch that was so disorienting she felt she was swimming for a moment.

Closing her eyes, she spat blood, coughing as she wheezed. Her hands began to shake wildly, and she moaned on the ground, her entire body on fire.

The sound of sirens caught her attention and she looked up. Someone had called the cops.

Looking around, she found that Danny and any living comrades had scattered. All that remained was Rorschach who staggered and leaned against the frame of Holly's building, pressing his hand to his shoulder.

Blood streamed over his glove from the wound, and even from where Holly was standing, it didn't look too good. By no means did she have any real medical experience. She had given a few of Danny's friends stitches, but that was about the extent of it.

Walking over to him, she put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him up the steps and into her building.

At first he walked with her freely, but then seemed to have some sort of realization and shrunk away from her, yanking himself from her grip.

"The cops are coming. Please, let me help you." She croaked.

He had saved her, whether he wanted to or not, and by simply human nature, she could not throw him to the dogs.

As she stood next to him, she was immediately overwhelmed by his odor, a mixture of stale sweat, dried blood, and too much cologne. Unintentionally, she wrinkled her nose at the stench, almost gagging. Then again, she had smelled much worse.

The thought of old vomit entered her nose, and she shoved it away, focusing her attention on the man before her.

"Don't need your help." He growled, pulling away from her, although as he did, he swayed dangerously, falling against the wall.

As the sirens grew louder, Holly bent down and grabbed him with all the strength she could muster, holding him up. As she did, he suddenly grew heavy in her arms and she realized he had passed out.

She was surprised how much shorter he was than she, but seemed to have a muscular build.

"Here, I've got him." Came a voice, and Holly looked up to find the man who lived across from her, Mr. James. Mr. James was a divorced father of two who worked for the U.S. Postal Service. He had welcomed her on her first day at the apartment complex, and the two frequently ran into one another at their mailboxes.

For all his kindness, Holly's pain was a reminder that he had left her out there, and she simply glared.

"So now you help?" she croaked.

He flushed, and his shame did nothing to abate her anger. Wordlessly, he picked up Rorschach, slinging him around his shoulders like a paper doll, and Holly forgot her anger, marveling at his strength.

Onto the elevator they went, then they rode up to her fifth floor apartment. Mr. James helped carry Rorschach to Holly's apartment, where she opened her door, immediately greeted by a black cat with big blue eyes.

"Move Socks." She muttered, and the cat stepped to the side, watching curiously as Mr. James carried Rorschach in.

He set the man on Holly's battered living room couch, and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"I'll go get some towels." He announced, rushing from the room as if saving the masked hero's life could make up for almost letting Holly lose hers.

Walking over to him, she looked down upon his face, constantly shifting and changing. Letting a hand touch the fabric lightly, she dragged her fingers against it, feeling the smooth surface beneath her tips.

He had saved her, and she had saved him.