"Mr. Rorschach!"
Jarvis, standing by the car, spotted Rorschach's silhouette and stepped forward to greet him with his usual polite nod.
"Jarvis, have you been waiting long?"
"Just arrived, sir. Please, hop in—the banquet has already been arranged."
Jarvis circled to the other side and opened the car door for him.
To be honest, Rorschach always thought Howard Stark's butler looked more like a gentleman than Stark himself. Despite Howard's age, the man still carried that playboy charm like a badge of honor.
"Banquet? I thought he said it was just a light dinner. Didn't have to go all out."
Rorschach gave Jarvis a sidelong glance.
"You saved Mr. Stark's life, sir," Jarvis replied with a faint smile. "He insists on showing proper gratitude."
"Life-saver's pushing it," Rorschach muttered, shaking his head.
Still, Howard Stark had everything but a shortage of money. If the man wanted to put on a feast, Rorschach figured he might as well enjoy the luxury.
Just as he stepped toward the car—
"Target acquired. Repeat: target in sight."
Rorschach paused.
His enhanced hearing had caught the transmission. Crisp, low. Military-style.
"Are you sure?"
"Facial match is eighty percent. I'm confident—it's him."
"Good. Keep eyes on him."
"Copy that."
The voices cut out.
"Mr. Rorschach?" Jarvis asked, noticing the sudden hesitation.
Rorschach quickly waved it off. "It's nothing."
He climbed into the car casually, but his eyes flicked toward the street, scanning for movement.
And there—on the far end of the block—stood a square-jawed man in his thirties, buzz cut, trying hard not to look suspicious. The guy was watching him, no doubt about it. And the moment Rorschach got in the car, the stranger turned and entered a separate vehicle.
When Jarvis started driving, that same car followed—subtly, but not enough to fool Rorschach.
They're tailing me.
But who?
Rorschach leaned back in his seat, arms folded, thoughts spinning. He hadn't been in this world long. Didn't go out of his way to make enemies, either.
But then again… Sabretooth. Red Devil. Riptide. A handful of werewolves.
Yeah. Okay. Maybe there were a few bodies in his rearview.
Still, it had been a while since Sabretooth. Caliban was confident Shaw hadn't tracked him. So who else would be after him?
Werewolves?
No… they didn't seem this organized.
Unless their new leader was running a tighter ship than expected?
He closed his eyes, mentally running through every possibility.
Nothing solid yet.
Fine. Let them come. Eventually, someone would slip.
54th Street, New York. Inside a temporary command center.
Stryker leaned over a table cluttered with monitors, his face lit with satisfaction.
Finally. They found him.
The deaths of Sabretooth and Agent Zero had burned into Stryker's pride. He'd launched a full-scale investigation—but came up empty every time. No clues. No trail. Just two elite assets wiped off the map.
It made his skin crawl.
And then—unexpectedly—a tip from Lucian, the werewolf leader.
A young Eastern man. Barehanded. Killed a werewolf in open combat.
Stryker wasn't a mutant himself, but few men alive knew as much about them as he did. And he knew one thing for sure: mutants from the East were incredibly rare. In all his years, he hadn't seen more than one or two.
Then there was the fighting style—pure close-quarters. Just like the suspect at the playground.
That was enough for Stryker to launch his own operation.
He had agents sweep the area near the tavern where the first fight happened. Pulled security footage. Dug into the people connected to the suspect.
Rorschach's trail led to a few key figures: a middle-aged man who'd visited the tavern with him (probably Raven in disguise), the tavern's blind manager (Caliban, who had since disappeared), and of course… Howard Stark.
Stark had been personally saved by Rorschach. That was a connection worth watching.
So they did. Including Stark's butler, Jarvis.
It paid off.
"Sir, the target's confirmed," came a voice over the radio. "I'm ready to move in."
Wade stepped forward, itching for action.
Stryker raised a hand. "Not yet."
"Seriously?" Wade scoffed. "He's right there. What are we waiting for?"
"You're not going in solo," Stryker said firmly. "I'm assigning you two tactical squads. You're in command."
Wade stared. "You're kidding. It's one guy. We're not storming a fortress."
"He killed Sabretooth and Zero."
"Yeah, so? They weren't invincible."
"You're a candidate for Weapon X. I'm not letting you get killed over confidence. You go in with backup, or not at all."
Wade groaned. "Come on, Stryker. You've known me for years. You really think I need babysitters?"
"I think you're reckless," Stryker said, unflinching. "This guy is dangerous, and we need him alive. If you can't take him alive…"
He leaned closer.
"…then bring me the serum."
Wade grinned. "That, I can do."
Stryker didn't smile back.
He wasn't interested in heroics. He wanted answers.
If Rorschach was connected to a larger mutant organization, he needed to know who they were.
But if that wasn't possible—if Rorschach had to die—then his blood would still serve a purpose.
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