Chapter 137: Return of Consciousness · Killing Intent Resolved (Part 1)
Darkness.
Then, light.
It wasn't visual light, but the moment his consciousness surfaced from the deep sea, breaking through the heavy sludge—that sudden, clear sense of "existence."
Rorschach snapped his eyes open, his pupils contracting in the dim light as he gradually adjusted.
He was lying on a bed.
The mattress was soft, the sheets clean, smelling of sunshine.
The air held the scent of old wood, books, and a faint aroma of coffee.
Birdsong came from outside the window, crisp and lively, without the noise of metal grinding, or the scent of gunpowder and decay.
1973.
X-Mansion.
His room.
Rorschach slowly sat up, his movements somewhat stiff—not a physical issue, but a brief discoordination between his consciousness and his young body.
He looked down at his hands.
The fingers were long, the skin smooth, without the thick calluses from long-term gun handling, and without dirt or dried blood.
On his wrist, that dark red string was still there, its color seemingly deeper than in his memory.
He closed his eyes and performed a quick self-check.
The system panel expanded in his consciousness, cold, clear, and complete:
[points: 21900]
[Ability List: Light Manipulation 1.0, Shapeshifting 2.0, Toxic Feather Manipulation 2.0, Storm Manipulation 1.0, Spatial Control 2.1, Energy Domination 2.6, Diamond Form 2.0, Ocular Energy Blast (Laser) 2.2, Phase Penetration 2.0, Ice Manipulation 2.0, Venom Secretion 1.0, Beast Force 2.0 (Merged), Energy Nourishment (Phoenix Fragment) 0.1, Mental Immortality (Phoenix Fragment) 0.1, Spatial Teleportation 2.0, Energy Absorption and Storage 2.0]
[Basic Attributes: Super Strength 2.1, Super Speed 2.0, Physical Strength 2.2, Mental Control 1.5, Telepathy 1.5]
Everything was there.
The memories were there too—from Black Robe World to the X-Men World, from 1962 to 1972, and then to the dark future of 2023, every experience was as clear as yesterday.
Nothing missing, no confusion.
"The capital is preserved," he whispered to himself, his voice somewhat raspy in the silent room.
He got out of bed, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
The morning sunlight flooded in, warm and bright, carrying the scent of grass and dew.
Outside was the lawn of the Westchester Estate, maple trees swaying gently in the morning breeze, the Training Ground in the distance empty—everything was as peaceful as an oil painting.
But Rorschach could feel an unnatural decay beneath this tranquility.
It was too quiet.
No sounds of students' morning exercises, no hum from Hank's lab, no sound of Raven directing procurement.
Even the birdsong seemed sparse, as if fearing something.
He turned and quickly changed into clothes—a simple black training suit.
As he moved, he adapted to the strength and speed of his young body.
Super Strength 2.1, Super Speed 2.0, Physical Strength 2.2... lighter and more vital than that weather-beaten body in the future timeline.
But combat instincts, energy control, and spatial perception were all fully retained.
He walked to the door, stopped, and looked back at the room.
Simple, tidy, with traces of life, but lacking "human presence."
A few tactical manuals were spread out on the desk, half a glass of water was on the nightstand, and the closet door wasn't fully closed, revealing a few changes of clothes.
Everything was just as it was before he "left," but there was more dust.
"How long have I been 'gone'?" he thought, pushing the door open and stepping out.
The hallway was empty and silent.
Sunlight shone through the stained-glass windows, casting mottled shadows on the floor.
Dust floated in the air, as if it hadn't been cleaned for a long time.
A faint, intermittent tapping sound came from the distance, like someone repairing something, but the force was unsteady and the rhythm chaotic.
Rorschach lightened his footsteps and walked toward the main study.
That was where Charles usually stayed.
The study door was slightly ajar.
He stopped outside the door, and his energy perception extended inside—
One life signal.
Very weak, unstable, filled with the murky aura of alcohol and drugs.
It was Charles, but in a terrible state.
Rorschach pushed the door open and entered.
The study was dim, the curtains drawn, with only a desk lamp on.
The air had a heavy smell of whiskey, mixed with sweat and a certain... decadent sourness.
Charles Xavier sat in a wheelchair, his back to the door, facing the window, but the curtains were tightly closed.
He held half a bottle of liquor, his hair was messy, his beard unshaven, and the sweater he usually wore was wrinkled and stained.
A few empty wine bottles were scattered on the floor next to the wheelchair, along with several syringes—nutrients and sedatives prepared by Hank, but some had been crudely broken.
Hearing the door open, Charles didn't look back, just said vaguely, "Hank... I told you... leave me alone..."
Rorschach walked over and moved in front of him. Charleslooked up, his eyes unfocused, his pupils without focus in the dim light.
He looked ten years older, his face sallow, with heavy bags under his eyes and traces of dried vomit at the corners of his mouth.
He saw Rorschach, froze for a few seconds, and then pulled a twisted, self-deprecating smile.
"Oh... Rorschach... you're back..." His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing together, "I thought... you finally couldn't take it... and ran..."
Rorschach didn't speak, just reached out and snatched the bottle from his hand.
Charles instinctively tried to grab it back, but his movements were soft and weak.
Rorschach threw the bottle into the corner; the glass shattered, and the liquor splashed everywhere.
"What are you doing!" Charles growled, trying to turn the wheelchair, but his body was unsteady, and he almost fell off.
Rorschach pressed down on his shoulder, not with much force, but enough to keep him from moving.
Chapter 138: Consciousness Return · Killing Intent Decided (II)
He leaned over, staring into Charles Xavier's eyes, saying word by word: "Charles Xavier. Look at me."
Charles struggled, but Rorschach's hand was like an iron pincer.
After a few seconds, he gave up, slumped in his wheelchair, his eyes hollow.
"I come from 2023," Rorschach said, his voice cold and clear, every word like an icicle piercing Charles's ears. "In that World, the Sentinels rule the globe, and the Mutantmortality rate—Jean Grey was besieged by Sentinels and blew herself up after exhausting her strength. Scott Summers was vaporized by energy cannons while covering the evacuation of civilians. Ororo Munroe was torn apart in a storm. Kitty Pryde's body overloaded and disintegrated while trying to teleport too many people. Hank McCoy's lab was breached, and he detonated the Cerebra Brainwave Amplifier, perishing along with half the academy."
Every time he spoke a name, Charles's body trembled.
His gaze shifted from hollow to fear, then to pain, and finally to a state of despair on the brink of collapse.
"What about Raven?" Charles asked hoarsely. "She..."
"Raven was injured and bled while assassinating Bolivar Trask at the 1973 Paris Industrial Exposition," Rorschachsaid, his voice devoid of emotion. "Her blood sample was obtained by Trask, who analyzed the Mutant gene sequence, thereby developing the Sentinel robots capable of identifying all Mutants. She is one of the 'keys' to this disaster. In 2023, she was captured by the Sentinels, vivisected, and her brain was turned into a biochip used to track other Mutants."
Charles's eyes widened, and a wheezing sound came from his throat, as if he were being strangled.
He suddenly bent over, retching violently, but his stomach was empty, and he only brought up some bile.
Rorschach waited for him to recover before continuing: "This is the humanity you believe in, Charles. This is the future your students, your friends, and the people you care about experienced while you were sitting in a wheelchair drinking, injecting yourself, and giving up on life. Do you think, in your current state, you are worthy of them?"
Charles looked up, his face smeared with tears mixed with snot and vomit.
He looked like a dog with its bones removed, but deep in his eyes, something was struggling frantically.
"I... what can I do..." he choked out. "My legs... I can't even stand up..."
"Your legs are broken, not your spine!" Rorschach growled, grabbing his collar and lifting him half an inch from the wheelchair. "Who can you save by sitting here? Can you save Raven? Or save those students who were taken as cannon fodder? Charles Xavier, you are a telepath, you are Professor X! You are not a useless person!"
He let go, and Charles slumped back into the wheelchair, gasping for air, tears flowing uncontrollably.
Rorschach squatted down, looking him in the eye, his voice softening but remaining cold.
"Listen, Charles. I'm back now, with all the memories and intelligence from 2023. I know where Trask is, I know where Stryker is, I know all the details of the Sentinel Program. I can change all this. But I need your help—not sitting here drinking, but using your brain, your abilities, and your connections. Tell me, where is Stryker now? The Pentagon? Or has he already hidden back in his rat hole?"
Trembling, Charles raised a hand to wipe his face, trying to concentrate.
A few seconds later, he said hoarsely: "Stryker... held a hearing at The Pentagon last week, requesting expanded authority for the 'Mutant Control Act'. Now... he should be in Washington. But communications intercepted by Hankshow he's been mobilizing resources recently, moving them north... possibly to a certain Base in Canada."
"Alkali Lake," Rorschach said. "WR-1975. That's his main Base, the nest of the Weapon X Program."
Charles nodded, his eyes gradually regaining a sliver of clarity. "Yes... Hank mentioned those coordinates... but we don't have definitive evidence..."
"Evidence?" Rorschach sneered. "What do I need evidence for? I only need to know where he is, and then go kill him. But Trask is a higher priority—he is the root of the Sentinels. Tell me, when is the Paris Industrial Exposition?"
"Next month... early May," Charles said. "Trask will showcase his 'Sentinel Prototype' model and apply for a defense budget. Raven... she said she was going to assassinate him to stop all this. Erik supports her, and I... I couldn't stop her."
"Of course you couldn't stop her," Rorschach said, standing up. "Because you're paralyzed here while they are taking action. But now, I'm back. Trask must die, and Stryker must die too. I'll handle this."
He walked to the desk, picked up the phone, and handed it to Charles. "Call Hank and tell him to come over. We need to make a plan, gather intelligence, and prepare equipment. Also, wake up those students who are still sleeping—Scott, Ororo, Kitty, Bobby, Warren. Tell them vacation is over, it's time to work."
Charles took the phone, his finger pausing on the buttons for half a second. A flash of determination crossed his eyes, like someone waking from a long nightmare and finally seeing reality clearly. He took a deep breath and began to dial.
Rorschach turned and walked to the window, pulling back the curtains. Sunlight poured in, illuminating the dust floating in the study and Charles's pale but determined face.
He looked at the bright morning light outside the window, the red string on his wrist glowing dark red in the sunlight.
"Trask," he whispered to himself, his voice audible only to him, "your time has come."
Charles took a deep breath and dialed Hank's number.
Outside the window, the morning light of Westchester was gradually dispelling the gloom.
Chapter 139: The Decadent Professor · A Thunderous Awakening
Hank rushed into the study ten minutes later, his blue fur in disarray and his glasses askew, still clutching a wrench in his hand. "Professor! You're awake! Rorschach! When did you get bac—" He froze at the sight in the room, catching the scent of alcohol.
"Clean it up, Smurf," Rorschach said, pointing at the wine bottles and vomit on the floor. "Then activate the Cerebra Brainwave Amplifier. I want real-time tracking for Strykerand Trask, plus the security layout of The Pentagon."
Hank looked at Charles.
Charles nodded, his voice regaining its former gentleness, yet carrying a new, grounded strength. "Do as he says, Hank. We have work to do."
An hour later, the study was cleaned, the windows were opened for ventilation, and the smell of alcohol had dissipated.
Scott, Ororo, Kitty, Bobby, and Warren stood in the study, bleary-eyed but solemn.
They saw the change in Charles—though still haggard, there was light in his eyes.
Rorschach stood before a whiteboard covered in photos, maps, and handwritten notes. He tapped the whiteboard:
"Listen up. We are currently facing two threats: Bolivar Trask, in Paris; he will be showcasing the Sentinelprototype at the Expo next month."
"William Stryker, at The Pentagon in Washington, plans to head to the Alkali Lake Base."
"The two are collaborating, planning to use Mutant genes to build killing robots."
"Our objective: eliminate Trask (the source of the Sentinels) before the Expo, then dismantle Stryker's Alkali LakeBase. The order is non-negotiable—sever the root, then cut the branches."
"How do we kill them?" Scott asked, his gaze intense behind his Ruby Quartz Glasses.
"Leave Trask to me; a solo assassination," Rorschach said. "As for Stryker, we need intelligence—he's currently at The Pentagon, heavily guarded, but we can infiltrate to get the detailed coordinates and defensive layout of Alkali Lake. For that, we need someone."
He looked at Charles.
"Pietro Maximoff. Quicksilver. Where is he?"
Charles frowned. "Brooklyn, New York, in a settlement converted from an abandoned factory. But his movements are erratic; he's hard to find..."
"I have a way," Rorschach said, writing "The Pentagon" on the whiteboard. "Tonight, I'll go find him. Scott, you're coming with me; learn how to infiltrate a military stronghold. Ororo, you, Kitty, Bobby, and Warren stand by to protect the Academy. Hank, keep monitoring global signals, especially in Paris and Washington. Charles, use the Cerebra Brainwave Amplifier to scan The Pentagonand find Stryker's exact location and meeting time."
"How are you going to convince Quicksilver?" Hank asked.
Rorschach grinned. "Tell him we're going to break someone out of prison, and the person we're rescuing might be his father. The payment will be snacks from The Pentagon and news of his mother."
Everyone fell silent. Scott whispered, "Will that work?"
"We'll know once we try," Rorschach said, looking at the darkening sky outside the window. "Prepare your gear; we leave in an hour. Remember, we're not going there to fight this time; we're going to steal—steal intelligence, steal coordinates, and steal a person while we're at it. Move fast, stay quiet, and keep it clean. Is that clear?"
Everyone nodded, a long-absent fighting spirit appearing in their eyes.
Rorschach walked toward the door, paused at the threshold, and looked back at Charles.
Charles sat in his wheelchair, his back straight, his gaze firm, like a sword that had been sharpened once more.
"Welcome back, Professor," Rorschach said.
Charles smiled—a tired smile, but a genuine one. "Thank you, Rorschach. Go bring those children home."
Charles's fingertips unconsciously rubbed the wheelchair's armrest—a habit born of years of anxiety, yet now his hand was as steady as a rock.
Chapter 140: Quicksilver Joins the Team · Glimpse of The Pentagon (Part 1)
An hour after setting off as planned, Rorschach and Scottstood at the entrance of an abandoned factory in Brooklyn.
The night was as silent as when they had infiltrated the Brotherhood's stronghold ten years ago; the same smell of rust, the same mixture of machine oil and cheap tobacco, and the same wary eyes watching the visitors from the shadows.
Only the people had changed—younger, more restless, with less of the hate-soaked paranoia of the Brotherhoodin their eyes, and more of the shrewdness of street survivors and the alertness of those ready to bolt at any moment.
Rorschach and Scott stood at the factory entrance, making no attempt to hide.
Shapeshifting 2.0 had slightly adjusted Rorschach's appearance, making him look like an ordinary street gang member, but Scott's Ruby-Quartz Glasses and tense posture gave them away as "outsiders."
"Who are you looking for?" A tall, thin youth stepped out of the shadows, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, playing with a switchblade in his hand.
"Pietro Maximoff," Rorschach said, his gaze sweeping across the depths of the factory. "Tell him there's business regarding his father... and his mother."
The youth narrowed his eyes, and the switchblade stopped. "Wait here."
He vanished into the shadows. Scott whispered, "There are at least twenty people here, all watching us."
"That's normal," Rorschach said, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed. "A settlement for stray Mutants is bound to be highly vigilant. But they aren't warriors; they're survivors. As long as we don't show hostility, they won't make a move."
A few minutes later, a silver-haired youth emerged from the depths of the factory.
He looked to be in his early twenties, lean but with fluid muscle lines, wearing a red jacket and jeans. His hair was dyed silver-white, shimmering under the dim lights.
His way of walking was peculiar—not walking, but "gliding," his steps so light they seemed not to touch the ground, each step landing precisely in the quietest spot.
Quicksilver. Pietro Maximoff.
He stopped three meters in front of Rorschach, arms crossed, sizing them up. His eyes held curiosity, caution, and a hint of boredom he couldn't quite hide.
"I'm Pietro," he said, his voice carrying a lazy drawl. "I heard you have 'business'? About the father I've never met and the mother who's been dead a long time?"
"Your father's name is Erik Lehnsherr, codenamed Magneto. He's currently held in a specialized cell on the seventh basement floor of The Pentagon," Rorschach said, getting straight to the point. "Your mother was Magda, a Pole. She died in an 'accident' in 1962—actually silenced by Stryker's men because she knew too much about Mutant experimentation."
The laziness on Pietro's face vanished instantly.
He stood up straight, his gaze as sharp as a blade. "Proof."
Rorschach pulled a photograph from his pocket and tossed it over.
It was a blurry black-and-white photo brought from the future timeline, showing a silver-haired woman holding a baby with the Polish countryside in the background.
On the back of the photo was a line of small text: Magdaand Pietro, 1961.
Pietro took the photo, his fingers trembling slightly.
He stared at the photo for a long time, then looked up, his voice cold: "What do you want me to do?"
"A jailbreak," Rorschach said. "Tonight, at The Pentagon, rescue your father. In return, I'll tell you where Magda is buried and the names of those who killed her. Also, The Pentagon cafeteria has chocolate pudding tonight—all you can eat."
Pietro stared at him. A few seconds later, he suddenly laughed, a grin that held the rogueishness of a street punk and a world-weariness beyond his years. "Chocolate pudding? You know I love chocolate pudding?"
"I didn't," Rorschach shrugged. "But I guessed that people who run fast burn blood sugar quickly, so they probably like sweets."
Pietro laughed even harder, but his eyes remained sharp. "Fine, I'll take the job. But let's get this straight: I'm only responsible for the legwork and picking locks. You guys handle the fighting. And if I find out you're lying to me..."
"Do as you wish," Rorschach said.
"Deal." Pietro carefully tucked the photo into an inner pocket. "When do we leave?"
"Now."
Night at The Pentagon was brightly lit, like a steel behemoth crouched on the soil of Virginia.
Searchlights swept across the lawn, patrols marched in unison, and surveillance cameras turned slowly.
The seventh basement floor, the specialized cell area, was even more heavily guarded—blast doors, energy barriers, motion sensors, and a squad of special forces soldiers dedicated to guarding Mutants.
But for Quicksilver, none of this was a problem.
Rorschach and Scott hid in the woods three kilometers away, observing through binoculars modified by Hank.
Pietro was already inside—the moment Rorschach said "Go," he vanished, leaving only a slight disturbance in the air.
"Can he do it?" Scott whispered, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the edge of his Ruby-Quartz Glasses.
"He can steal bullets right out of a gun barrel and replace the slugs with chewing gum," Rorschach said, his eyes fixed on The Pentagon. "To him, time moves as slow as a crawling snail. We wait for the signal here."
"What signal?"
"The lights flickering three times means he's found Erik. Flickering five times means prepare for extraction. We'll need to provide backup."
"How do we back him up?"
Rorschach didn't answer, just kept watching The Pentagon.
He was waiting—waiting for an opportunity. Not an opportunity to back up Erik, but an opportunity to acquire Quicksilver's ability.
A system prompt flickered quietly in his consciousness:
[Target: Pietro Maximoff (Male).]
[Ability Assessment: High-Speed Reaction 2.0+.]
[Acquisition Method: Blood Contact.]
He was waiting for that "accidental" moment in the chaos to avoid suspicion.
Ten minutes later, the lights on the third floor of The Pentagon flickered three times, paused, and then flickered five more times.
"He's found him. Prepare for extraction," Rorschach said, standing up. "Scott, stay here and keep watch with the binoculars. If you see Erik come out, notify me via comms. I'm going in for backup."
"How are you getting in?"
Rorschach grinned, his body beginning to turn translucent—a combination of Phase Penetration 2.0 and Shapeshifting 2.0 allowed him to temporarily shift his phase and synchronize with his surroundings. "Through the front door."
He merged into the night, gliding toward The Pentagonlike a shadow.
Super Speed 2.0 erupted over the short distance, allowing him to cross the lawn and avoid searchlights in the gaps between the patrol's turns.
Reaching the building's outer wall, he "passed" directly through the concrete and entered the interior.
The hallway was lit with a deathly white light, completely deserted.
Chapter 141: Quicksilver Joins the Team - A Glimpse of The Pentagon (Part 2)
Rorschach moved quickly according to the map provided by Hank, while his Energy Perception was fully active, monitoring the surrounding life signals and energy fluctuations.
On the third basement level, he heard the sounds of fighting.
It was very faint, but clear in the silent corridor.
It was the muffled thuds of fists and feet colliding, and the crisp sound of bones breaking.
Rorschach accelerated, turned a corner, and saw the scene.
Quicksilver stood in the center of the corridor, surrounded by eight special forces soldiers, all unconscious or with broken bones, their weapons scattered across the floor.
He was unfastening the utility belt of the last soldier, his movements so fast they left afterimages.
Erik Lehnsherr stood behind him, wearing a prison uniform and special shackles on his hands and feet; his face was pale, but his gaze was as sharp as ever.
He stared at Quicksilver with a complex expression—shock, vigilance, and a hint of an indescribable... daze.
"Old man, can you still walk?" Quicksilver unfastened the shackles and tossed them aside, his voice still carrying that lazy tone, but his breathing was slightly rushed.
High-speed movement consumed a massive amount of energy.
Erik moved his wrists and stared at him. "You are..."
"Your son, Pietro. Long story short, let's get out of here first." Quicksilver turned, saw Rorschach, and raised an eyebrow. "Yo, the backup is here. Let's go, the alarm is about to sound."
Just as he finished speaking, a piercing alarm blared, and red lights flashed.
The blast doors at the end of the corridor began to close.
"Go!" Rorschach barked, taking the lead and rushing toward the other end of the corridor.
Quicksilver grabbed Erik and followed, turning into a silver shadow.
The three of them slipped through the blast doors in the final second before they closed, entering the stairwell.
Dense footsteps came from below, and from above as well. They were surrounded.
"Plan B," Rorschach said, looking up at the ceiling. "Blast our way out."
"Where are the explosives?" Quicksilver asked.
"You are the explosives," Rorschach said, pointing to the ceiling. "Use your speed to hit the same spot on the concrete a hundred times to create a crack. Erik, use any metal you can control to widen the crack. I'll handle the clearing."
Quicksilver grinned. "I like this plan." He turned into a silver shadow, soaring upward, and began striking the same spot on the ceiling at high speed.
Thud-thud-thud-thud—the sounds merged together, like a heavy pile driver.
The concrete began to crack, and dust fell in flurries.
Erik raised his hand, and the metal lamp stands in the corridor, the ventilation ducts, and the metal buckles on the soldiers' equipment all hovered, converging into a metallic torrent that frantically hammered at the crack.
The crack widened, revealing the rebar.
Rorschach stood guard at the stairwell entrance, Energy Domination 2.6 circulating, as he condensed two golden light orbs in his palms.
The soldiers from above and below appeared simultaneously and raised their guns—he pushed both hands forward, and the light orbs split into dozens of slender light beams, precisely piercing the gun-holding wrists of every soldier.
Amidst the screams of pain, weapons dropped.
He didn't kill anyone; he only maimed them.
Now was not the time for a killing spree.
"It's open!" Quicksilver shouted. A large hole was smashed through the ceiling, revealing the night sky. He grabbed Erik and jumped out first. Rorschach followed closely behind.
The three of them landed on the roof of The Pentagon.
The night wind was biting, and the sound of sirens in the distance grew closer. Helicopter searchlights swept over.
"This way!" Rorschach rushed to the edge of the roof and leaped down.
Quicksilver followed without hesitation, with Erik in tow.
The three of them were in freefall; as they neared the ground, Rorschach activated Spatial Teleportation 2.0—a temporarily opened miniature portal that sent them into a forest three kilometers away.
Land, roll, stand up.
Scott rushed out from behind a tree and froze when he saw Erik.
Erik looked at him with a complex expression and finally nodded. "Scott."
"Professor," Scott said in a low voice, adjusting his glasses.
In the distance, the alarms at The Pentagon were still piercing, and searchlights swept around wildly, but they could no longer be caught.
Quicksilver leaned against a tree, panting, sweat soaking his silver hair. He curled his lips. "Chocolate pudding... don't forget."
Rorschach walked over and patted his shoulder. "Good job. There will be pudding, but first, let's tend to your wound."
"Wound?" Quicksilver looked down and saw a scrape on his left forearm that was oozing blood—likely scratched by rebar when he hit the ceiling. It was shallow, but it was indeed bleeding.
"It's a minor injury, no big deal," he said, trying to shake his hand away.
Rorschach had already grabbed his wrist, his finger "coincidentally" pressing against the edge of the wound, lightly brushing it, and blood stained his fingertip.
"Better treat it anyway. If it gets infected and you can't run, you won't get any pudding."
At the moment of contact, a system prompt popped up:
[Blood contact detected (Male target: Pietro Maximoff)]
[Ability extraction in progress...]
[Obtained: Super-speed Reaction 2.0]
[points +1000, Current total points: 22900]
His nerve endings suddenly became clear, and the flow of the World left afterimages in his perception—the laws of Super-Speed Reaction were now etched into his instincts.
At level 2.0, it could significantly increase reaction speed, making time "slow down" subjectively. Combined with his existing Super Speed 2.0, it was a perfect match.
Rorschach let go, took out a simple medical kit from his pocket, and bandaged Quicksilver's wound with natural movements. "When we get back, have Hank give you a tetanus shot. Now, let's withdraw."
The five of them quickly left the forest and boarded the prepared car.
Erik sat in the back seat, watching the night scenery recede rapidly outside the window. After a long silence, he spoke: "Charles..."
"He's fine," Rorschach said, starting the car. "Waiting for you at the X-Mansion. But before that, we have some business to handle."
"What business?"
"Killing two people," Rorschach said, stepping on the gas as the car sped into the night. "One in Paris, one in Canada. Are you interested?"
Erik looked at him with deep eyes and finally nodded slowly. "Trask and Stryker. I know them."
"Good," Rorschach said, his lips curling into a cold arc. "Welcome back to the team, Erik. Let's go kill everyone who deserves to die."
In the passenger seat, Quicksilver licked his lips, his eyes shining. "Let's get this straight first—there's plenty of chocolate pudding, right?"
"Plenty," Rorschach said.
The car drove toward Westchester, toward the X-Mansion, toward the center of the storm.
Chapter 142: Paris Undercurrent · Cutting off the Source (Part 1)
Back at the academy, they began planning how to deal with Trask. Rorschach said, "Raven, you and Erik will infiltrate the expo tomorrow, disguised as cleaners. The bleeding is a ruse; the real goal is to lure Trask into taking a sample—Hank's interfering Agent will render the sample useless, but it will be enough to lure him back to his hotel."
Erik remained silent for a long time, finally nodding—to stop this disaster.
In April in Paris, there was rain in the air.
Rorschach stood at the edge of the plaza, leaning against the railing, watching the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, holding a cup of coffee like an ordinary tourist.
But his eyes were observing.
His energy perception was fully activated, scanning everything within a five-hundred-meter radius—tourists, Police, plainclothes Agent, and those hidden "bodyguards."
The security team was quite skilled, but in his eyes, they were as obvious as fireflies in the dark night.
Hank's voice came through the miniature earpiece, accompanied by static: "The target has left the hotel and is heading to the industrial expo venue. The motorcade has three cars; the one in the middle is Trask. Eight bodyguards, four in front and four in back. The Police have set up roadblocks along the route."
"What about inside the venue?" Rorschach asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Check complete. Raven and Erik have already infiltrated. Scott and Quicksilver are on standby. Ororo and Kitty are at the extraction point. Charles is providing remote support from the academy."
"What about Jean?"
"At the academy, with Bobby and Warren. Charles is keeping an eye on her, so don't worry."
Rorschach nodded and tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash can.
He was wearing a well-fitting gray suit today, with a dark blue tie, his hair neatly combed, looking like a businessman.
Rorschach had used Shapeshifting to fine-tune his face, making himself look a few years older with a more composed demeanor.
He mingled with the tourists and walked toward the industrial expo venue.
The expo was held at the Grand Palais in Paris, with strict security checks at the entrance.
But the bodyguards glanced at him and didn't stop him; his demeanor was too "normal," not like a dangerous person.
Entering the main hall, it was bustling with noise.
Trask's booth was in the center, with the huge "TraskIndustries" logo and the words "Future Defense System" on the backdrop.
On the booth stood several scale models of Sentinel Robots, with cold lines that exuded an aura of slaughter.
Trask himself stood in front of the booth, accepting interviews from reporters.
He was talking on and on about the "necessity" and "humanity" of the Sentinel Robots—"They do not feel fear, do not get tired, and will only loyally execute orders to protect humanity from the threat of Mutants..."
Rorschach stood on the periphery of the crowd, listening quietly with calm eyes, but deep inside, killing intent was surging.
It was this man who, in the future, used a drop of Raven's blood to initiate the Sentinel Program that would exterminate Mutant civilization.
It was this man who was standing here right now, using a gentle tone to market tools of genocide.
But he didn't move. The time was not yet right.
The interview ended, and Trask left the booth, heading toward the lounge. Rorschach followed, keeping his distance.
He saw Raven—disguised as a red-haired cleaner, "accidentally" tripping at the corner of the hallway, causing her cleaning cart to overturn and debris to spill everywhere, blocking the bodyguards' path.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Raven cleaned up in a fluster, her acting skills superb.
The bodyguards frowned but didn't blow up, merely urging Trask to take a detour.
Trask glanced at Raven with a hint of impatience in his eyes, but he didn't say anything and turned to another hallway.
Now was the time.
Rorschach quickened his pace, and before Trask entered the private lounge, he "accidentally" bumped into him from behind.
"Sorry, sir," Rorschach said, steadying Trask, his fingers "happening" to brush against the back of his neck—where there was a miniature transmitter, made by Hank, used for precise positioning.
Trask waved his hand, not caring, and entered the lounge.
The door closed, and the bodyguards stood guard outside.
Rorschach turned and left, walking toward the restroom.
In a stall, he took out a miniature computer; the screen displayed the floor plan of Trask's lounge and a moving red dot—Trask.
Hank had hacked into the venue's surveillance system, but there were no cameras in the lounge.
"He is alone inside," Hank's voice came through, "The bodyguards are outside. The lounge has a window, but it's five stories up. The ventilation ducts are too small for an adult to enter. The only entrance is the door."
"No need to go in," Rorschach said, putting away the computer, "Wait for him to come out. Tonight, he will return to the hotel. It will be quieter there."
"Are you sure he will return to the hotel tonight? There might be a banquet."
"He will," Rorschach said, walking out of the restroom, "Because he needs to analyze the'sample' collected today."
"Sample?"
"Raven's blood," Rorschach said, his eyes cold, "Today at the venue, Raven 'accidentally' scratched her hand and bled. Trask's people will collect the sample and send it to the hotel. He will be impatient to go back and analyze it. This is human nature, Hank. When scientists face an unprecedented discovery, they cannot wait until tomorrow."
Hank was silent for a few seconds: "You made Ravenbleed?"
"Just a little, a surface wound, and I added something to the blood—Hank's special genetic interfering Agent, which will make the analysis results a mess," Rorschach said, "But Trask doesn't know. He will think he has obtained the key, then rush back to the hotel, lock himself in his room, and not want to see anyone. That will be the best time to kill him."
"Rorschach... this is too risky. If Trask analyzes it on the spot..."
"He won't; this level of genetic analysis requires professional equipment, which the venue doesn't have, so he has to take it back to the hotel," Rorschach said, walking toward the exit, "Notify Erik and Raven to evacuate as planned. Scott and Quicksilver will keep an eye on the hotel. I will make my move tonight."
"Do you need support?"
"No need. One person, one knife, that's enough," Rorschach said, walking out of the venue and blending into the flow of people on the streets of Paris, "Tell Charles that after tonight, the Sentinel Program will just be a historical term."
Chapter 143: Paris Undercurrents · Cutting the Root (Part 2)
Night, the 16th arrondissement of Paris, the hotel where Trask was staying.
It was an old-fashioned luxury hotel. Trask had booked the penthouse suite, and security was tight.
But Rorschach didn't need to use the front door.
He stood on the roof of the opposite building.
His perception locked onto the penthouse suite—Traskwas inside, along with two bodyguards.
Trask had just returned and was busy with a microscope and instruments.
On the table was a test tube containing a dark red liquid—Raven's blood, spiked with something.
Rorschach used Spatial Teleportation.
A fist-sized portal formed instantly, with the other end opening in the ceiling corner of the suite's study, providing a perfect view, silent and stealthy.
Trask sat at the desk, wearing glasses and staring into the microscope, his brow furrowed.
He whispered to himself, "Strange... the gene sequence is unstable... it looks contaminated... but it's definitely Mutantgenes, and of a very high level... I must purify it as soon as possible..."
He picked up the test tube and walked toward another, more precise instrument.
Two bodyguards stood at the study door, their backs to him.
Rorschach closed the portal and took a deep breath. The time had come.
He activated Spatial Teleportation, this time for his entire body—target point: the suite's study, right behind Trask.
It was a massive drain and a long distance, but it was worth it.
With a flash of light, Rorschach appeared in the study, two meters behind Trask.
The two bodyguards heard the noise and spun around, reaching for their holsters—
Rorschach raised his hand, Energy Domination 2.6activating, as two thin golden beams shot from his fingertips, precisely piercing the bodyguards' foreheads.
The corpses fell silently to the ground.
Trask heard the thud, turned around, and saw Rorschach, his pupils shrinking in shock.
He tried to shout, but Rorschach had already stepped forward, covering his mouth and pinning him to the desk, his other hand holding a pitch-black, non-reflective dagger against his throat.
"Shh," Rorschach whispered, his voice as calm as if they were just chatting. "Don't shout, don't move. Let's talk for a bit."
Trask's eyes widened, and cold sweat instantly soaked his shirt. He recognized Rorschach—the "businessman" who had bumped into him earlier that day.
"Dr. Bolivar Trask," Rorschach said, the dagger pressing slightly harder, the blade sinking into the skin and drawing beads of blood. "I am someone who has returned from the future. The Sentinel Robots you invent will, in fifty years, kill 99.7% of the Mutants in the World, including children, the elderly, and those who just want to live in peace. Then, they will start killing ordinary people because of 'potential Mutant genes.' You've opened Pandora's box, Doctor. Tell me, should I kill you?"
Trask made a gurgling sound in his throat, his eyes filled with fear, but deep down there was a hint of fanatical, scientist-like obsession. He wanted to speak, but Rorschach's grip was too tight.
"Don't make excuses; I know what you're going to say—'I'm doing this for humanity.'" Rorschach shook his head, the dagger digging in a bit further, blood trickling down the blade and dripping onto the desk. "But do you know? In the future, I've seen those people you call 'threats.' They've saved far more people, including ordinary ones. And you, you've sentenced them all to death."
He let go of the hand covering the mouth, but the dagger didn't move. "I'll give you one last chance to speak. After that, I'm sending you on your way."
Trask gasped for air, his eyes bloodshot, and hissed, "You... you don't understand... Mutants are a virus! They must be controlled! My Sentinels... are the Guardians of humanity!"
"Guardians?" Rorschach smiled, a cold, chilling smile.
With a flick of his wrist, the dagger slashed across the throat.
Shlick—
Trask's body stiffened, his eyes bulging. He instinctively clutched his throat, but blood sprayed out from between his fingers.
He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but only bloody froth emerged.
He slowly collapsed, knocking over the chair, and fell into a pool of blood. After a few twitches, he moved no more.
Rorschach knelt down, his fingers brushing the blood sprayed near Trask's carotid artery.
The blood was warm and viscous, carrying the final heat of life.
A system prompt popped up:
[Blood contact detected (Male target: Bolivar Trask, Mutant)]
[Extracting ability...]
[Obtained: Genius Brain 2.0 (Unawakened)]
[points +1000, current total points: 23900]
How ironic.
It turned out this guy had the Mutant gene himself; it just hadn't manifested.
This ability was Level 2.0, a purely knowledge-based superpower. Its core function was to enhance learning and cognitive efficiency, carrying extremely high strategic value.
Trask's genius brain had now become his trophy.
Rorschach sent traces of a staged "robbery scene" along with an anonymous email containing the "Stryker Cooperation Memorandum" from Trask's encrypted hard drive to The Washington Post—this was the "public opinion insurance" he had agreed upon with Charles.
He looked back at Trask's corpse.
"Goodbye, Doctor," he whispered. He turned, activated Spatial Teleportation, and vanished in a flash of light.
The Paris night was brilliant, the lights of the Eiffel Towershimmering in the distance like the eternal heartbeat of the city.
Chapter 144: Raid on Alkali Lake (Part 1)
Paris was over, and Rorschach returned to the school with news of Trask's execution.
Charles stared at the crimson marker for Alkali Lake on Cerebra: "Stryker has retreated to his old nest. If he's allowed to consolidate his remaining forces..."
Three days later, the team was ready to go.
Stryker had retreated from The Pentagon three days ago, and all signals pointed to Alkali Lake.
He was frantically transferring test subjects, intending to initiate the final stage of Weapon X!
Canada, Yukon Territory, Alkali Lake.
Winter comes early here; the October wind already carried a chill like icy blades.
The lake surface was covered in thin ice, surrounded by sprawling coniferous forests and grayish-white snowfields.
From the air, it looked like a desolate wasteland.
But energy perception told Rorschach that fifty meters beneath the ice lay a three-layer composite armor structure, dense with life signals and chaotic energy reactions—it was a Base, and one armed to the teeth at that.
The Military transport aircraft landed ten kilometers away.
Rorschach, Scott, Kitty, and Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner) stepped out of the hatch, met by a blast of cold wind.
All four wore white camouflage suits and carried tactical packs.
The newest member, Nightcrawler Kurt Wagner, has the ability of teleportation.
"Final confirmation," Rorschach said, his voice clear in the cold wind. "Scott, you're responsible for clearing the main corridor. Use Impact to lead the way, but don't take down any load-bearing structures. Kitty, you'll take us through Phase Penetration into the core area, bypassing the main defenses. Kurt, you'll provide mobile support, rescuing people and creating chaos. I'll handle Stryker and the terminal data. Any questions?"
The three shook their heads.
Scott's eyes were firm, Kitty took a deep breath, and Nightcrawler's tail flicked uneasily.
"Remember," Rorschach looked at them, "this isn't training; it's killing. Everyone inside, from researchers to soldiers, knows what they're doing—live experiments, creating weapons, and eliminating Mutants. If they don't die, more of our kin will die on the operating table. So, don't be soft-hearted, don't hesitate. Being kind to the enemy is being cruel to our kin—that's the first lesson of becoming an X-Men."
He paused and added, "But if you encounter test subjects, try not to kill them. Rescue them. Clear?"
"Clear," the three said in unison.
"Good." Rorschach looked at Nightcrawler. "Kurt, take Scott."
Nightcrawler nodded, his blue skin standing out against the snow.
He grabbed Scott, his tail curled around Rorschach, and with a soft 'bamf' sound, the smell of sulfur filled the air as the two disappeared.
The next second, they appeared on the frozen surface of the lake center.
Rorschach followed immediately after, bringing Kitty to his side.
Nightcrawler teleported again, dropping the person off and remaining on standby.
Rorschach knelt down, pressing his palm against the ice.
Rorschach activated Energy Domination; the ice layer vibrated slightly, silently melting a circular hole two meters in diameter, revealing the dark Water below.
He looked at Kitty.
Kitty grit her teeth, reached out to press Scott's and Rorschach's shoulders, and activated Phase Penetration.
The three bodies became translucent, sinking into the Water, passing through the ice, the Water, the first layer of armor, the concrete structure...
When they solidified again, they were standing in a dim corridor.
The air held a mixture of disinfectant, blood, and metal.
Faint screams and the sound of machinery operating came from the distance.
Rorschach whispered based on the structural diagram provided by Hank: "The main control room is on the next floor... Scott, left corridor, turn right after thirty meters; there are two guards. Clear them out, then wait for the signal."
Scott nodded, adjusted his Rose Quartz Glasses, and walked away quickly.
A few seconds later, two muffled thuds and the sound of heavy objects hitting the floor came from the end of the corridor.
"Kitty, take me to the server room. It's on the east side of the second floor."
Kitty activated her ability again, taking Rorschach through the floor.
The second-floor corridor was brighter but empty.
They passed through three blast doors and entered a room filled with server racks.
Rorschach walked to the main server and inserted a decryption USB drive specially made by Hank.
The screen lit up, and data began copying frantically.
"The monitors show eight guards," Kitty said softly, looking at the surveillance screens on the wall.
"Let them wait," Rorschach said, his fingers tapping quickly on the keyboard to bring up the experiment logs. The screen scrolled with shocking records:
"Project X-23: A cloning experiment based on the genetic samples of a Regenerative Mutant..."
"Nanite synergy experiment: In collaboration with 'Essex Industries,' testing Neural Interface..."
"Sentinel prototype testing: Based on Trask's theories, combined with Mutant gene sequences..."
Rorschach's gaze grew colder and colder.
He quickly filtered and separately packaged the key data: experiment records, partner lists, and fund flows, saving them into an encrypted partition.
Then, he brought up the Base's Self-destruct program and set a countdown: thirty minutes.
"Scott, Kurt, can you hear me?" he pressed his earpiece.
"Loud and clear," Scott's voice came through, sounding out of breath. "Cleared seven, rescued three test subjects. They're heavily injured."
"Kurt, teleport the test subjects to the transport aircraft, then come back for support. Scott, keep clearing, try not to trigger the alarm. Kitty, come with me to the top floor."
"Yes!"
Kitty grabbed Rorschach and passed through the ceiling again.
This time, they entered directly into the outer room of the top-floor office—a spacious conference room where eight fully armed soldiers were on standby.
Seeing the two appear suddenly, the soldiers froze for a moment before raising their guns.
Rorschach didn't give them a chance to fire.
He raised his hand, fully deploying Energy Domination. Eight thin golden beams of light shot from his fingertips, precisely piercing the forehead of each soldier.
The bodies slumped to the ground, weapons falling, without even triggering an alarm.
The door to the inner office opened.
Colonel William Stryker stood at the door, holding a modified handgun pointed at Rorschach.
He was a man in his fifties, with gray hair, a cold, hard face, and eyes like poisoned ice.
He wore a general's uniform, but the shoulder straps had been ripped off by himself—ever since being "forced out" by the Military, he only had this underground kingdom left.
"Rorschach," Stryker's voice was raspy. "I knew you'd come. Ever since the day you bathed the Florida Base in blood, I've been waiting for you."
"Waiting for me to send you on your way?" Rorschach said, slowly walking closer. Kitty followed tensely behind.
Chapter 145: Raid on Alkali Lake (II)
"Wait until you become my most perfect masterpiece." Stryker's eyes were fanatical. "I've studied all the reports about you—the Energy Absorption in Cuba, the Space Jump in New York, the Energy Manipulation against Apocalypse... You are a treasure, Rorschach. Your genes, your abilities, are the ultimate answer to the Weapon X Program! Join me, and we can create a new World! A World controlled by us, with no weaklings!"
Rorschach stopped, only three meters away from Stryker.
He tilted his head, as if looking at a madman.
"WS-1975, Alkali Lake," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I said the next time we met would be the day you die. Now, it's time to deliver."
Stryker pulled the trigger.
The bullets were specially made, their tips coated with a biological inhibitor that could temporarily paralyze a Mutant's abilities.
But it was ineffective against Rorschach—before the bullets could touch his skin, they were deflected, slowed, and suspended by an invisible energy force field, then fell to the ground with a clatter.
Stryker's expression changed, and he tried to fire a second shot.
Rorschach moved.
With a burst of Super Speed, he crossed the three-meter distance in a single step. His left hand clamped onto Stryker's wrist like a steel vise, crushing it with a snap.
His right hand, fingers joined like a blade and wrapped in highly compressed energy, stabbed toward Stryker's heart.
Stryker's eyes widened, a wheezing sound coming from his throat.
He looked down at the hand buried in his chest, then up at Rorschach. His gaze shifted from fanaticism to blankness, and then to the complete gray of death.
"Why... why..." he hissed. "We could... change the World..."
"The World doesn't need you to change it." Rorschachwithdrew his hand and flicked off the blood. "It just needs you dead."
Stryker collapsed to the ground, twitched twice, and stopped moving.
Rorschach crouched down, ripped the ID card from his neck, and walked to the safe behind the desk. He swiped the card and entered the password—freshly obtained from Stryker's memory—to open the safe.
Inside was a thick stack of documents. On top was an encrypted cooperation agreement signed "Essex Industries."
Mr. Sinister. As expected, there was a connection.
He stuffed all the documents into his tactical bag, stood up, and said to Kitty, "Signal the others; full evacuation. The self-destruct sequence has twenty minutes left."
Kitty nodded and pressed her earpiece.
A few minutes later, Nightcrawler appeared with Scott and the last two test subjects.
Everyone gathered in the office.
"Cleared out?" Rorschach asked.
"Cleared out," Scott said, his face a bit pale but his eyes steady. "Thirty-seven soldiers, nine researchers. Eight test subjects rescued; they've all been sent to the plane."
"Good." Rorschach walked to the window.
He pressed the remote, activating the Base's self-destruct sequence.
The countdown reached zero.
BOOM—!!!
A low-frequency explosion rumbled from deep underground, and the entire Base began to tremble.
Lights flickered, and walls cracked.
Rorschach raised his hand, and Spatial Teleportation was activated. A portal large enough for everyone expanded in front of them, with the other end inside the transport plane's cabin ten kilometers away.
"Go!"
Everyone rushed into the portal.
Rorschach took one last look at this sin-filled office and Stryker's body on the floor, then stepped through.
The portal closed.
In the next second, the ice of Alkali Lake collapsed violently. A massive fireball erupted from underground, swallowing the entire Base, all the evidence, and William Stryker's ambition, turning them into ruins permanently frozen beneath the Yukon ice fields.
On the return trip, Rorschach handed the cooperation documents between Stryker and Essex Industries to Charles. "Mr. Sinister's tentacles have appeared, but with Stryker gone, there are no more worries."
Charles gazed at the snowfields outside the window. "The fire at Alkali Lake will light the way forward. Next, the Academy will grow, and as for the signal from Egypt... we will wait and see."
The transport plane flew back.
In the cabin, the rescued test subjects huddled in blankets; some were fast asleep, while others wept softly.
Scott sat in a corner, silently wiping his Rose Quartz Glasses.
Kitty leaned against the cabin wall, watching the snowfields recede rapidly outside the window.
Nightcrawler was tending to the injured.
Rorschach sat in the front row, eyes closed, resting.
The system panel displayed quietly in his consciousness: 25,400 points.
A few low-level abilities had been added to the ability list.
The Stryker storyline was completely over.
"Teacher," Scott suddenly spoke.
"Hmm?"
"We... killed people. A lot of them." Scott's voice was a bit dry. "It's not like training. I... feel like throwing up."
"Then throw up." Rorschach didn't open his eyes. "When you're done, remember this feeling. Then remember, every person you killed had the blood of our compatriots on their hands. Every person you saved might have died on the operating table because of your 'urge to vomit' just now. Being an X-Men isn't about playing the hero; it's about being a cleaner. The dirty work, the hard work—it all has to be done. And it must be done cleanly and efficiently."
Scott was silent for a long time, then whispered, "I understand."
Rorschach opened his eyes and glanced at him, a faint hint of approval in his gaze.
"It's good that you understand. Get some sleep; there's still a tough battle ahead once we're back."
The transport plane soared through the clouds.
The real storm was still brewing.
Charles's voice came through the communicator: "Rest well after returning to the Academy. The World needs time to digest these two 'accidents,' while we... must prepare for a larger shadow."
The rat hole has been cleared.
Next, it's time to slay a god.
Chapter 146: Aftermath and the Next Enemy (Part 1)
The transport plane landed on the academy lawn.
The eight rescued test subjects had been settled into a shelter next to the academy by Hank.
Three days later, seeing the fatigue gathered between Rorschach's brows, Charles said softly, "Go get some fresh air. The World needs time to digest the aftermath of 'The Two Rats' Execution'."
On Boulevard Saint-Germain in the light rain, he stood under the eaves of a bookstore, watching the rainwater flow along the cracks in the stone bricks, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, looking like an ordinary tourist waiting for the rain to stop.
He had been standing there for twenty minutes.
Flying over from New York and finishing the follow-up matters—Trask's body was "properly handled" by the police, and Stryker had been killed by him—he truly needed some time alone to rest now.
It wasn't exhaustion, but a certain level of mental recovery.
The bookstore door was pushed open, and the wind chimes jingled softly.
A woman walked out and stood under the eaves beside him, also gazing at the curtain of rain.
She was about thirty years old, her long chestnut hair tied in a loose bun at the back of her head, with a few strands wet from the rain clinging to the side of her pale neck.
She wore a beige trench coat over a light gray shirt and black trousers, with short boots stained with a bit of mud on her feet.
She carried an old leather bag, bulging and revealing a corner of a camera lens.
War correspondent.
Rorschach judged at a glance.
It wasn't the equipment, but the temperament—the kind of calm settled after experiencing life and Death and becoming accustomed to ruins, along with a trace of imperceptible sharpness and fatigue deep in her eyes.
"The rain won't stop anytime soon," the woman spoke, her voice somewhat raspy but pleasant, with a French-accented English.
She didn't look at Rorschach, still staring at the rain.
"Yeah," Rorschach replied, putting the cigarette back in his pocket. "Just as well, a good time to take a break."
The woman glanced at him sideways.
Her eyes were dark brown, like two ancient wells in the dim light, calm but capable of reflecting figures.
She observed him for no more than three seconds, then slightly raised an eyebrow.
"You have the lingering scent of gunpowder and metal on you... just finished a fierce battle?" she said calmly. "It's fresh, the smell of gunpowder and metal friction. Did you just come off a battlefield?"
Rorschach smiled, a casual look that didn't deny it. "Good observation skills. A journalist?"
"War correspondent, Isabella Renault." She extended her hand, her fingers long with thin calluses and indentations on her palm from holding a camera.
Rorschach took it; the touch was slightly cool but firm. "Rorschach. Sort of a... freelancer."
"Freelancers don't wander the streets of Paris with that kind of scent." Isabella withdrew her hand, pulled a cigarette case from her bag, and offered him one.
Rorschach took it, and she lit it for him with a lighter before lighting one for herself.
The two of them puffed away under the eaves, watching the rain like two fellow travelers who had met by chance and shared a tacit understanding.
"Just back from the Canada ice fields?" Isabella asked, blowing out a smoke ring.
"Yeah. Caught a bit of a show."
Isabella smiled, a faint but genuine smile. "In this World, not having a bad heart is already a rare quality. What about you? Is your heart bad?"
"Depends on who it's for." Rorschach turned to look at her, his gaze somewhat blurred behind the smoke. "For friends, it's alright. For enemies, it's pretty bad."
"Then am I a friend or an enemy?"
"For now, just a passerby. However," Rorschach leaned in closer, his voice lowered with a hint of cynical teasing, "if you buy me a drink, I might consider moving you to the 'temporary friend' list."
Isabella stared at him for a few seconds and then laughed too, a smile that held a different meaning—the languor of a mature woman who saw through everything but was willing to play the game with him.
"There's a bistro around the corner, the owner is a friend of mine, and the cellar is good," she said, stubbing out her cigarette. "Coming?"
"Lead the way."
The bistro was in an Underground Room, dim and warm, with the scent of wood, wine, and stew in the air.
The owner was a one-eyed old man; seeing Isabella, he nodded and handed her a key.
The two of them went down a deeper set of stairs to a private small room—not large, but with a sofa, a wine cabinet, a record player, and walls covered with old maps and yellowed photos.
"My sanctuary." Isabella took off her trench coat and hung it up, revealing the well-proportioned curves of her figure under her shirt.
She walked to the wine cabinet, picked out a bottle of Bourbon, poured two glasses, and handed one to Rorschach. "Sit. Tell me, why is someone who just came off a battlefield and is preparing for the next one getting rained on in Paris?"
Rorschach took the glass and sat on the sofa, his posture relaxed. "Waiting for the rain to stop. And... waiting for a result."
"What result?"
"Whether history will turn." Rorschach took a sip of the liquor, the liquid burning his throat. "I did a few things, killed two people, and saved some—a blue-skinned girl. The children in the lab are seeing the light of day again."
Isabella sat across from him, legs crossed, holding her glass, her gaze deep. "Who did you kill?"
"A balding Dr., a robot builder. He's dead, so many people can live."
"And the blue-skinned girl you saved?"
"Yeah. She might have died or become something worse. Now... she's become a hero, and the World might be a little better for it."
Isabella was silent for a while, then said, "I've reported on twelve wars, seen countless people die, and seen a few live. But people who change history... I've only seen them in books. You don't look like a hero, nor a madman."
"I'm neither," Rorschach said, swirling his glass. "I'm just a commoner who wants to live comfortably. And along the way, I clear out the people who get in my way."
"Including that Dr.."
"Including him." Rorschach set down his glass and looked at her. "Isabella, having seen so much Death, do you still believe life has meaning?"
"I don't," she said frankly, also putting down her glass and standing up. She walked over to him, looking down at him from above. "But I believe in living itself. Breathing, heartbeats, body temperature, desires... these are real. As for meaning, that's a label others stick on you after you're done living. I don't care."
She leaned over, her hands resting on the sofa's armrests, trapping him in the middle.
Her chestnut hair fell, brushing against his cheek, carrying the scent of rainwater and a faint perfume.
Her eyes were bright in the dim light, like some nocturnal animal.
"You have the scent of blood, Fire, and Death on you. But there's a light in your eyes—not that cheap light of hope, but the light of 'I'm still alive, and I intend to keep living.' I haven't seen that kind of light in a long time," she said softly, her voice raspy and direct. "Tonight, I don't want to ask about your past, and you don't ask about mine. We only confirm one thing: we're still alive, we can still feel, and we're still warm. Agreed?"
Rorschach looked at her for a few seconds and then smiled.
He raised his hand, gently brushing away the hair by her cheek, his finger tracing her earlobe, feeling the pulse beneath her skin.
"Agreed."
Chapter 147: Aftermath and the Next Enemy (Part 2)
Candlelight flickered on the old map, the tail notes of a saxophone blending into the sound of rain.
Isabella's fingertips traced the old scar on the side of his neck, like deciphering a silent history of war; Rorschach's palm covered the aged scar on her waist, soothing the rifts of time with his body heat.
The trench coat slid onto the carpet soundlessly, and shirt buttons quietly disintegrated between fingers.
No testing, no words, only the soft creak of the leather sofa and the gradually quickening breath intertwined into a dark undercurrent.
Two bodies entwined in the dim yellow halo, like a parched riverbed welcoming a sudden downpour, washing away the dust of gunpowder and Death.
Sweat soaked her chestnut hair, and panting mixed with the lingering scent of bourbon, steaming into a mist; as she tilted her head back, broken syllables spilled from her throat, only to be sealed between their lips and teeth by his kiss.
Outside the window, raindrops tapped against the glass like drumbeats; in the static of the idling record player, only the roar of heartbeats remained—not salvation, nor sinking, but the confirmation of two specks of dust anchoring each other at the edge of the abyss.
As the rapid breathing gradually slowed, the lingering warmth still clung to their fingertips. The rain outside was fine as silk, leaving only the overlapping body temperatures and the meandering water marks on the windowpane to witness the retreat of this silent tide.
When it ended, the two leaned back into the sofa, panting, sweat mixing, and body temperatures intertwining.
Isabella's head rested on his shoulder, her chestnut hair disheveled, her shirt half-open, revealing the line of her collarbone and an old scar.
She closed her eyes, her fingers unconsciously tracing an old wound on his chest.
"Have you ever died?" she suddenly asked in a low voice.
"Almost. Several times," Rorschach said, his voice a bit hoarse.
"I've died too. In Sarajevo, a bullet went through here," she pointed to her left ribs. "I woke up in the hospital, thinking, oh, I'm not completely dead yet. Then I kept filming, kept living."
Rorschach didn't speak, just put his arm around her shoulder.
The two fell silent, listening to the old jazz on the record player and the faint sound of rain outside.
[System Prompt]: [Intimate contact detected (Female target: Isabella Renault)]
[Extracting ability...]
[Obtained: Super Regeneration 2.0 (Duplicate)]
[Duplicate ability converted into Origin points: +1000]
[Current total points: 26400]
Rorschach didn't care, just feeling the cold feedback of the point increase within him and the warm body of the woman in his arms.
"Where are you going after dawn?" Isabella asked.
"Back to the United States. The moles have been dealt with, but there are even greater threats in the shadows."
Rorschach added internally: "The shadow of Apocalypse is approaching, but there's also a viper in the dark—the tentacles of Essex Industries have already wrapped around the Academy's walls."
Isabella looked up at him, her gaze complex, but she didn't ask more. "Be careful."
"Yeah." Rorschach nodded, looking down at her. "And you?"
"The next war. Congo, or Afghanistan, depending on the editor-in-chief's arrangements." She smiled, a weary sort of free-spiritedness in that smile. "People like us can't stop. Once we stop, we think too much, and then we go crazy."
"Then don't stop," Rorschach said, kissing her forehead. "Stay alive, and remember to breathe."
When dawn came, the rain stopped.
The two said goodbye at the tavern entrance. No hugs, no kisses, just a nod to each other before turning and walking in different directions.
Rorschach walked toward the station, the red string on his wrist glowing dark red in the morning light.
He looked back; Isabella's figure had already disappeared into the morning mist of Paris.
"Another passerby," he whispered to himself, turning to merge into the crowd.
Returning to Westchester, it was already evening.
The Academy's lights were warm, and children were playing on the lawn.
Rorschach walked into the Main Building and saw Charlessitting in his wheelchair by the study window reading, with Raven lying on the sofa opposite him.
Seeing him enter, both looked up.
"You're back?" Charles smiled.
"Yeah." Rorschach nodded, walking over to Raven.
She had changed back to her human form, "red hair and blue eyes," wearing a loose T-shirt, looking softer than usual.
The news was on TV: the Trask Industries scandal was fermenting, and the Sentinel Program's funding had been frozen by Congress.
"How do you feel?" Charles asked, his gaze deep.
"A bit more relaxed." Rorschach sat on the arm of the sofa, looking at the sunset outside the window. "But it's not over. Although Trask and Stryker have been brought to justice, there are still enemies lurking in the shadows."
"What do you need?"
"Intelligence, and..." Rorschach paused. "Is there any movement from Apocalypse's side?"
Charles's expression turned solemn: "The Stryker Base is in ruins, but the Cerebra Brainwave Amplifier's monitoring shows the Egypt signal is slowly strengthening, though it hasn't reached the awakening threshold yet. However, that 'Metal Dust'... in the past three days, it has appeared seven times around the perimeter of the Academy, staying for less than 0.5 seconds each time, a perfect mimicry. It's observing, learning, and... becoming more and more frequent."
"Mr. Sinister..." Rorschach's eyes were cold. "He can't wait either. Fine, now that we've dealt with the two little mice, let's prepare to welcome the big guy. Hank!"
Hank rushed up from the Underground Room, his hair messy and glasses askew: "I'm here! What's wrong?"
"I need you to improve those Energy Grenades from last time, increase the yield, preferably enough to paralyze electronic equipment. Also, prepare several sets of anti-mental interference equipment. We're going to be crawling through holes next, so we need some protection."
"Understood!" Hank rushed back down.
Raven looked up at Rorschach: "Take me with you this time."
Her gaze was firm. "I'm more familiar with crawling through mole holes than you are."
Rorschach looked at her, and after a few seconds, he nodded. "Alright. But be obedient, don't overreach."
"You're the one who loves to show off the most," Ravenmuttered.
The Sentinel Program has completely exited the stage of history, and the scorched earth of Alkali Lake has fallen silent in the wind and snow.
The TV was reporting: the Trask Industries scandal is fermenting, and Congress has frozen the Sentinel Program's funding; the Alkali Lake Base is confirmed destroyed.
But the Egypt signal continues to strengthen, and the 'Metal Dust' has appeared around the Academy's perimeter seven times within three days...