Jokes and Masks

In a silent high-rise apartment, a disconsolate Edward Blake sunk in his leather couch; a cigar dangled from below the unkempt, curly hairs of his mustache, and a puff of sharp smoke streamed through the air. On the table next to him sat his trusty long-barreled pistol, and beneath it, an outdated issue of Hustler. Outside glow the city's lights - tall skyscrapers shimmer a brilliant golden, the light shining in dimly through glass windows. High above the city, wind blows against the window, and the noise of traffic rings through New York. But nothing served to break the darkness in the room except for the pale light of the television screen. Painted on it was the image of a middle-aged woman.

"...Maybe the reason why the Soviets are doing these bomb tests is because of Dr. Manhattan - Of course! Maybe the whole world feels like that-"

The messily-haired old man shook his head. He didn't care about vigilantism right now, nor did he want anything to do with the delicate relationship between the United States and the Soviet Union with only a sole blue-skinned god who really didn't care about humanity at all trying to balance the nuclear situation out - an omnipotent being indifferent to humanity's suffering, put in place as humanity's only hope. When the nukes start flying - and they will - ain't nothin's gon' be important, after all. We'll all be dust.

And that delusional son of a bitch Veidt thinks he's gonna fix it by blowing up "a couple of major cities around the world..." London, Paris, Beijing, New York, Los Angeles, Hong Kong, and Moscow... like it'd make a goddamn difference. Ending millions of lives is not going to make a damn difference. "The biggest practical joke in human history," he recalled with disgust... it wasn't goddamn funny to the Comedian; even he, a guy who had no fuckin' problem with ending the lives of innocent children... just because it was "war", the guy who took up vigilantism" for the sole purpose of hurting criminals... even he couldn't believe Veidt would do something like that... and why? What was the reason for such a horrible deed? To "save goddamned humanity"... nobody can save humanity. But the plan itself... it was so wrong, so horrible... that Veidt could just kill millions of innocent people without even blinking...

If I just hadn't looked out that damn window, never jumped down to that goddamn island, never found out about that plan... I'd actually have taken randomly dying, all my sins behind me, in an explosion in New York than knowing about this plan... Sure, he'd done some pretty bad things in his life... he'd thought that he was above it all, that he knew how bad the world was... and now, with his deliberate mask of cynicism and amorality shattered, he was left sitting here in this dark apartment. But it doesn't matter, doesn't it? Heh.

Taking the cigar out of his mouth, he held the remote control up, and his thumb pressed down on the button.

Click.

A loud rock song disturbed the apartment's quiet, accompanied by the image of an astronaut on the moon standing next to a flag which bore a flashing logo, reading, in gaudy, bold letters, "MTV".

Click.

"Soviet ships have violated

the territorial waters-"

Not more of this bullshit.

Click.

"Unforgettable, that's what you are…"

Nat King Cole, he recognized. Blake sat back on the cushioned couch and watched the commercial slowly unfold, with the tranquil song playing in the background, hoping it would help him calm down.

"Unforgettable, though near or far..."

Below the song's sweetly-sung lyrics, though, he began to detect the pace of measured, muffled footsteps on the carpet outside his apartment as he put the cigar back into his mouth. He turned towards the door on his right; a shoe-shaped shadow interrupted the glow of light emanating from beneath

CRACK

A foot burst through the wooden door, leaving a hole where the lock had been, through which a single ray of light reached into the apartment. As the door swung open, a well-built, black-robed figure stepped through, his face hidden in the shadows - but Eddie recognized the long, flowing robe instantly. Adrian Veidt - Ozymandias.

"Like a song of love that clings to me..."

He knew he wouldn't be able to win the fight; not at his current physical condition - he knew that tonight would be the night he would die.

"How the thought of you does things to me..."

But to him, death wasn't something to be afraid of; if anything, it was the ultimate relief; freedom from the torturous knowledge of the horrific plan Veidt planned to execute... but more ultimately, it resolved the sadistic, meaningless joke that was human life - all the memories, all the experiences, all taken away and rendered meaningless in the bitter end, whether it be the end of their life or the oblivion humans bring upon themselves through their savage nature, as Rorschach understands, and no matter how hard people try to escape the end or ignore it or hide it with their superstitions and their self-created illusions, it is in the end where they're forced to confront reality. There is no goddamn point to life. But for the hell of it, or maybe just because I don't want to die like a pussy, let's go out with a fight.

"It's a matter of time, I suppose," He grunted with an air of nonchalance, taking the cigar out of his mouth, tipping the ceramic handle in his hand over and spilling his coffee cup's contents onto the floor.

"Never before... has someone been more..."

He hurled the cup at the intruder with his near-superhuman strength, and then dove for the pistol lying next to him, his fingers catching the grip as he rolled out onto the cold, moonlit balcony. The black figure moved out of the way just as the cup smashed against the adjacent wall with a resounding crack, shattering into pieces.

"Unforgettable, in every way, and forever more, that's how you'll stay..."

His finger pressed down on the trigger of the pistol once, and the apartment was momentarily lit with the flash of a gunshot, accompanied by the pop of a silenced pistol; however, the figure was able to move out of the way, and the bullet hit the television set, creating a spiderweb crack as the screen blacked out.

Out of the darkness the intruder struck, snatching the firearm out of his hand, and Blake found himself hurled against a wall. The man tossed the pistol aside, walked up to him.

"That's why, darling... it's incredible..."

The form began delivering an overwhelming flurry of blows, each one sending a shock of pain through his body like an iron club swinging into his face as Blake slowly went from simply trying to get a few shots back at him to futilely trying to dodge and block the fists.

"That someone so unforgettable..."

He sank onto the floor dazedly, the blinding pain permeating every muscle, every bone in his body, but he wasn't done for yet. Mustering the last of his strength, he dove into the figure standing above him with a furious roar and pinned him against the stone fireplace. He sent one blow into the figure, but it was able to duck just as his hand punched a chunk off the stone instead. His other fist flew into the plaster wall, punching a hole into the next apartment.

"thinks I am unforgettable too..."

The figure forced him into the glass table, shattering it, and he was picked up again and sent flying into the table set at the other side of the room as he fell into it… Suddenly, the pain became a thing that was distant to him, and the sound of the table breaking under the impact seemed faraway. Dazedly, he crawled back to his feet; behind him, on the marble counter, his hand found the grip of a kitchen knife, and he slid it out of the stand it stood in.

With a flick of the wrist, the knife spun through the air before embedding itself in the TV screen with the sound of shattering glass. His fingers found a meat cleaver and threw it at the approaching Veidt, who caught it and redirected it into the ground, lodging it in the slate tiles with another twang.

Blake retrieved yet another blade from the stand and slashed at his assailant's throat, but Veidt reflexively drew back. The old man unleashed all his fury at the black-robed figure, but every single time he wildly lunged, stabbed, or slashed at him, his target managed to skillfully dodge or block every single move he made, and he soon found himself being forced back onto the counter.

Veidt pressed down on his hand and abruptly wrenched it at an obtuse angle; the sound of cracking bone was heard, and the old man cried out in pain, but inside, he was laughing, and the grin on his face showed it.

"GAAAAAGH!"

Veidt picked him up.

"Unforgettable…"

"It's a joke… it's all a joke… Mother, forgive me..." his smiling face muttered, blood trickling down his cheek. This was the end.

"... in every way, and forever more…"

A spot of blood dripped upon the smiley-face badge he wore on his robe.

"That's how you'll stay…"

The black-clad figure slammed his head into the counter, a piece of it breaking off as he crumpled to the floor. He pushed himself up, looking at his assailant for one last time before he was picked up and catapulted through the glass wall. It was over. He'd lost.

"That's why, darling... it's so incredible..."

"IT'S ALL GODDAMN OVER!" he yelled, delirious with delight, laughing as he fell the whole way down, shards of glass and his badge following him.

"That someone so unforgettable..."

His body hit the concrete sidewalk with a thud, and crimson blood pooled out from under his robe.

"thinks I am unforgettable, too..."

The aluminum smiley-face pin landed next to his body with a clink, teetering around before settling on the ground.

But the story wasn't quite over for the Comedian. Not yet.

In the cold, stinging rain, a lone, masked figure treaded over cemetery grounds, water dripping off his fedora and his leather trench coat as he placed every muddy step through the empty blackness, broken only by the flash of a lightning bolt. He paid no heed to any of the gravestones around him except for a single one, before which a spray of roses lay.

...Edward Blake. Born 1918, buried in the rain, murdered... Is that what happens to us? A life of conflict with no time for friends - so that when it's done, only our enemies leave roses. Violent lives, ending violently. Blake understood. Humans are savage in nature. No matter how much you try to dress it up - to disguise it - Blake saw society's true face, and chose to become a parody of it - a joke.

The figure stopped at the gravestone and bent over, and a finger wrapped in leather reached out and picked a flower from the bunch. He eyed the rose in his glove for a while through an ink-blotted mask.

No one else saw the joke. That's why he was lonely. Heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems hard and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, "Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears. Says, "But doctor... I am Pagliacci."

The man took the rose, placed it in the chest pocket of his brown leather coat, stood up, turned around, and walked down the stone road leading away from the cemetery, and the gravestone sat there in the cold rain, a single rose now missing from the spray. As the man treaded past the wrought-iron gate, he turned around, looking back at the Comedian's grave again, before heading off into the darkness.

Good joke. Everybody laughs. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.

Thunder cracked through the air, and a flash of blinding light lit the cemetery.

Above the Comedian's grave, a faint blue aura of energy appeared, beginning to expand, at first slowly, but then more rapidly, with the color growing in intensity. Blue lightning began to crackle through the air and filled it with the smell of ozone; within the center of the blue aura, a white sphere of light exploded as a ring of blue fire shot out from the center, and a blue-skinned man appeared, hovering above the gravestone.

Yes, the appearance of Dr. Manhattan was always a sight to behold, especially for someone who has never seen it before - but there was nobody around to witness this event take place, and the near-omnipotent, being knows that he will not be detected, thanks to his nonlinear perception of time - to him, everything is predetermined; he can see into the past, present, and future, but his actions are subject to the universe's will, and the universe's will decrees this: He is not here to pay his respects to the Comedian; even though the two of them may have shared a partnership in the fight in Vietnam, he does not care for the humans' pointless lives right now (but he realises sometime in the future he will), nor does he care about the tense situation between Russia and United States. With the sheer scale of our universe, I could kill the entire human race, and nobody would even notice.

No, he is here for an experiment - to humor himself, firstly - because the universe thinks it's funny, and it was a way of getting something funny out of the humans he was so tired of, but secondly and more importantly, to give the Comedian a nice little... parting gift, one could say.

Two seconds in the future, his arms are raised, and he is in the process of finding the Comedian's consciousness and memories once hidden away inside his body in the past, even though he knows where it is. Four seconds later, he finds it. Edward Blake experiences a brief life-after-death before his consciousness and memories are removed from his body in a time-frozen state, a model of hovering, frozen electrical impulses engulfed in an ethereal blue aura.

The being looks up to the stars, and pinpoints the location of a... certainly... interesting... choice of planet - dominated for the majority of its lifetime by a race of colorful equines (He chuckles to himself.). He scans the planet's history, looking past all the countless battles, wars, births, and deaths, and selects an eye-catching point in its time. With a flash of blue light, he teleports Blake's mind to that particular place, in that particular time, creating for it a body suited for the environment along with a few "privileges", and then he teleports away to continue his work at the Rockefeller Military Research Center.