New York City, NY

December 25th, 1985

"What are you talking about? Of course, I want the damn scoop!" Hector Godfrey shouted into the telephone's receiver, causing many of the typists and receptionists to bounce in their seats. A few of them even yanking a now-ruined page from their typewriters to begin again.

The office of the New Frontiersman publications had once seen busier days and pages crowded with news. It was hailed as one of the most formidable right-wing feeds on the east coast. Now, the printing presses were growing quieter by the day. The tip lines were drying up and reporters were coming back empty-handed. Word was getting around that the Sunday edition might not see the light of day that week. No one could even remember a time when that had happened.

Certainly not anytime before the attack on New York. Before _____ nearly destroyed the entire city. Millions of lives were lost. The stagnation brought about by Nixon's reign was giving rise to a new, unified world order. And the nations of Earth had no one to blame but _____'s devastating intrusion.

It was like a bad dream to conservatives everywhere. At least, that's what Godfrey had called it. He needed news. Anything to go on, but had absolutely nothing to work with.

He continued chewing out the reporter on the line. He needed someone tangible in his crosshairs. "Just get back here. Make some calls and get into that press conference. If you can't do that, you might as well box up your desk tonight!" Godfrey slammed the phone back onto its base. He cursed into the air and began stomping through the main floor to his office. "What're you all looking at!" he huffed as he stormed away. "Get back to work!"

He very nearly slammed the door to his office behind him, but found his pudgy embarrassment of an assistant, Seymour, attempting to organize some things around the room. Though, it was hard for the young man to do much of anything with the giant burger in his hand. Before Godfrey could chew him out, the burger began dripping, sending a line of ketchup sliding across Seymour's smiley face shirt.

"What's going on here?" Godfrey asked, perturbed.

Seymour whirled around to face his boss, spooked, before turning his attention down towards his own shirt. "An allusion?"

The editor-in-chief sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. "It's called an allegory, you dumb nut." He shirked his shoulders. "What does it matter? We got nothing to write about anymore. Not since that crazy you know what tried to wipe us out."

Seymour looked confused. "You mean the—"

"Yes, that!" Godfrey cut him off. "And because of that thing, we've got blank pages on our hands."

"Oh!" The assistant waved his free hand around. "I heard Robert Redford might be running for president in '88."

"The actor?" The man looked at his assistant like he was a madman. "Are you that much of an ar-tard? Do you just accept everything you hear at frippin face-value? Why don't we just elect that hack Ronald Reagan to office? Or the goddamn Terminator while you're at it? Jesus, Mary and Skywalker, at least try to make it sound credible!"

Seymour took a bite of his burger, defeated. With an ingenuous shrug, he pointed to the stack of parcels sitting by the window. "If you want, I could pull something from the crank file."

With a scoff, Godfrey turned away. Turning to the crank file had always been a ritual reserved for when the publication needed some laughs on paper. It was never meant to be their saving grace. Ever. He was just about ready to retire after this whole mess. "I don't care," he said with a dismissive wave. "Take some initiative. Pull whatever you feel like. I leave it entirely in your hands."

Against some sort of historical canon, a My Chemical Romance cover begins to play gently through the overhead speakers. As it picks up, Seymour sets down his burger and wipes the grease off his hands and onto his pants. With a determined streak running through him, and a fierce wanting to impress the boss, he turns toward the crank file—taking special notice of a dark, leather-bound journal sitting unassumingly amongst the parcels…

Rorschach's Journal – October 12th, 1985

Tonight, a Comedian died in New York.

Sucks…

Thank you very much for the reviews and support! Wouldn't have kept going beyond the first chapter if it hadn't been for that pleasant surprise. Was never very confident in my parody abilities. The response was much more positive than I imagined it would be. Especially since I know what it means to be an Alan Moore loyalist. xD

But I feel that I must point out a few things:

- Yes, yes, I know the title is spelled wrong. It was a parody itself because I've seen an innumerable amount of people spell it in that form all over the place (Google "The End is Neigh" and weep for humanity). Neigh, horse!

- I love Watchmen. Trust me, I do. The movie...that, too. It was a direct translation, which is alright by me. But it made the experience rather boring because I knew everything that was going to happen. A few things were changed, and those surprised me. On the whole, I think the director's cut will be much better. The story of the two Bernie's was a sad thing to lose in translation, as their deaths had no purpose in the end in comparison to the comic (which was the most emotional part for me). Bah, off on a tangent here. Not the place for a rant. What I'm trying to say is the story and the characters are very dear to me. That's it!

-Must also somewhat apologize for the places where certain aspects of the story are exaggerated. The run-on Big Figure jokes. Dan's depressing love life. Manhattan's equipment. They were all little things in the story, so it was my intention to blow them out of proportion. Take that as a pun if you'd like.

And, as always, thank you to the readers, those about to review, and those who did review during the writing process:

MK08 (For leaving a review nearly every step of the way. Thanks much!)

Leya Gecko (And to you as well, thanks for keeping up on the story!)

Mister Buch (Co-author and fellow Crimebuster!)

hmsbeta

Zach Archer (For dutifully pointing out that I "spelt" my "stories" title wrong. I salute you, sir.)

AnonymousPsuedony

silent-suffering

k8

Doom Dragon

FSB

Beatlemaniac1

Shark Blank

Em-K

Twisted Root

Neetyneet

anon (Always happy to please the greats. =D)

Thanks again! Hopefully I can get something else done in this here universe. Entirely skipped over the interview Kovacs had with Doctor Malcolm Long for pacing's sake. Thinking I might head there and make a short thing out of that. But who knows? I certainly don't!

"So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."

-knight