Who: Gideon and Rorschach What: Someone gets a surprise. That someone doesn't like these kinds of surprises. Where: A warehouse on the outskirts of Seattle When: Tonight, around 10 o'clock Warnings: Violence, mentions of torture, possible language.
Weeks of lead-following, lead-changing, and lead-creating had come to this. The trail was hot, his blood like lava in his veins as he ran along the old road. Once, twenty minutes ago, a car had passed him. It slowed, lights dimming, and kept on going. The driver knew who he was. The driver knew to leave him alone. Normally, he might have questioned the ill-fitting license plate and cracked headlights, the half-rolled up windows and duct taped bumper. But he was on a mission. A lead had told him that Gideon had been spotted taking one Carl Sawyer to a location on the outskirts of the city, outside Rainier Valley to be precise. Rorschach wasn't losing this one.
The warehouse was one of many, though the area looked almost abandoned. The gate to the property was poorly maintained, slats missing and lock half-closed. Getting around it without permission was easy - insultingly so. He crept along the property, looking for the one golden speck he had seen on the horizon. The building was one in a million, glowing brilliantly against the drab background of the world. It was alone, separate from the rest of the darkened warehouses, and he approached it with a near-reverence that, upon later thought, was probably terribly inappropriate.
He reached the front door, not feeling the need to be subtle. Without knocking, without trying the doorknob, he kicked the door in. One kick rattled it. Two made it groan. Three sent it off one hinge, twisting diagonally. It was enough for him to see through, enough for him to crawl over. The warehouse was dark, despite the gold that surrounded him, and he could see that someone had left recently. In the center of the room, tied to a chair turned on its side, was a man. Rorschach approached him quickly, stooping beside him. He could barely see his injuries through the gold shimmer coating his skin, but it was bad. He saw the glint of metal in his cheek, smelled the stench of blood and sweat on his clothing.
"Rorschach," the man wheezed, shaking as he tried to reach for him. The rope binding his wrists kept him still, instead forcing him to incline his head. The sounds of blood dripping on the floor caught Rorschach's attention, and he looked down, ignoring the pathetic pleas for help. "Please," he whimpered. "Help me."
The pleas fell on deaf ears as Rorschach looked around, seeing that no one else was in the warehouse. "Where go," he grunted, voice firm.
The man wheezed, shifting slightly. "Help me," he begged.
"No time. Where go."
There was no response. He just stared at the black and white mask, expression unreadable beneath the blood and gold. Finally, Rorschach ran out of patience. Standing, he jumped over the man, making a beeline for the only other door in the warehouse - a narrow fire exit, put in for safety reasons, that looked like it had recently been opened. He pushed the door open without ceremony and looked around, wildly trying to see something. In the distance, maybe twenty yards away, he saw a gold figure moving away. With a grunt of determination, he took off after it, feet pounding the pavement heavily as he ran.