Good Cop, Bad Cop

Summary: Rorschach's alive. He finds himself transported to a strange other universe where superheroes are everywhere. Unfortunately, he finds himself a tag-along: DEADPOOL. With a homicidal maniac and a psycopathic mercenary on the streets, what's gonna happen to the Marvel Universe? Not much. They're too busy trying to kill each other.

!#$% FAN FICTION'S DOCUMENT EDIT! !#$%$$%^%$$&*&%$#!&*%$#$%!$#%$$&**&^%$#!#%^&*%^%&^%$##!%^&^%$&%&$#!$%^%&%&%^^$%$####! Seriously.

Hmm. Ignore that stuff above. There was another note written here, but...tch...yeah...So. Please enjoy this story! I'd appreciate some feedback. And, uh, no offence to any one from Rhode Island. And Cuba. I know it's a state: I watch Family Guy.

Disclaimer: Watchmen (Rorschach) belongs to Alan Moore and its respective owners. Deadpool belongs to...I don't know, someone? The idea of a good cop/bad cop sitcom involving the two character belongs to ItsJustSomeRandomGuy. Chinduism belongs to Chindu.

Chapter 1: Once More, From the Top

The world is built on a lie.

A lie that was created by a river of blood, and fed by the blood of millions.

All in the name of peace.

It was a falsehood, made to create peace. Made by hypocritical pacifists. A lie made by a liar.

But what peace is worth living for in a world built on lies?


And so death is what he chose.

Never compromise, even in the face of Armageddon.

Death is not befitting you.

Death is the only thing left.

It is not.


"-We now return to: The Hangover-"


"-forecast for New York is-"


"-report shows a sudden decline in gang activity and night-time crime-"


"-studies show that eating kumquats reduce the chances of-"

So THAT'S what a kumquat is.


"-pool, charged with reckless endangerment, millions of dollars of property damage, and 29 counts of threatening an endangered species-"


"-rumours of a new masked vigilante-"


"-the winner of the Miss America Pageant is-!"


"-Rhode Island!"

"GOD! What is wrong with you people! It's not even a state!"

Actually, it is.

"Say what?"

Sing the song…

"Fifty nifty…hmm hmm…Alabama….Kentucky…."

Finger-lickin' good!

"…Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South Carolina-"

There! You missed it!

"Did not! Rhode Island isn't a state!"

It is! You just forgot to sing it!

"Because it isn't in the song! If it's not in the song, it's not a state. Like Cuba."

Is too!

"Is not!"

Is too!

"Is not!"

Is too!

Who wants chicken?

"Is no-"

Rrring ring!

"Wait, lemme get this." Wade reached over and picked up his phone. "Hello?"

"Is this Deadpool-" The phone was immediately dropped as Wade fetched his mask. He slipped it on, and picked up the phone again.

"Yes, this is Deadpool. Make it quick. I was in the middle of winning a very important argument."

Was not!

"Yes, um, I'm calling on behalf of my boss. He's offering a job that needs special attention that only someone of your calibre can provide." The man on the other end sounded shifty, hinting at the kind of job being offered.

"Right. Who am I offin', and what are you offerin'?"


"Uh, the, um, target, is to be discussed personally with the Boss himself. As for payment, we're willing to pay you fifty grand-"

"Not doing nothin' for anything under 70. I like sevens. It's a nice, round number."

"Wait! You'll get the fifty now, plus an additional seventy after the job's done."

Deadpool rubbed his chin, counting up the numbers. "Hundred twenty, huh? Not bad. Good thing for you I also like 13. It's a nice, cursed number."

"Um, what?"

"I'll do it."

"Great! The Boss'll meet you down in the warehouse district, number 27."

"Awesome. Wait, one more thing: Is Rhode Island a state?"

"Um, yeah, I think so."

HAH! I win!

"Well, if you win, it means I win too!"



Deadpool drove his girly moped-

"It's manly!"

Deadpool drove his wimpy-


FINE. Deadpool drove his MANLY moped through the darkening streets. Streetlights flickered on as the last vestiges of sunlight began to fade. As he neared his destination, there was a distinct change in the atmosphere of the place. Graffiti was splattered against the walls, garbage piled in the gutters, and off in the distance, a scream was suddenly silenced. He pulled to a stop in front of a dilapidated building, and checked the address.

"Why can't they ever hold shady meetings in a nice, classy restaurant? It's not like they can't afford it. They can afford to hire me, so why not dinner?"

He entered the building, and was immediately confronted by two surly-looking goons.

"You Deadpool?" Asked Generic-Goon-No.1

"No, I'm Sally, from the East Side Girl Scouts division. Would you like some Crispy-Thins? They taste great, and work much better than those Twinkies for your love-handles." He patted the goon's tummy.

Goon-No.1 and Goon-No.2 both blinked in confusion. Then Goon-No.2 had an epiphany. First one, too.

"You're not Girl Scouts. Where's your badges?"

Deadpool held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, ya got me. I was never in Girl Scouts. They never let me join. Said I was 'sick and perverted' for some reason. Those uniforms look good on me!"

The two guards decided to take the sane path and ignored his ramblings as they led him to their boss.

"Uncle Tony! Long time no see!" Deadpool ran into the room arms wide, and embraced the Boss in a hug. "You didn't come for Thanksgiving! I was sooo hoping to see your spoon trick again. Will you do it now, huh? Will ya? Pretty please?"

"Uh, Boss?" A thug standing to the left shifted uneasily. "You know this guy?"

The Boss shook his head as he pried himself from the red clad mercenary's grip. "No, but I'm guessing this is Deadpool."

At the mention of his name, Deadpool stood ramrod straight and saluted. "Deadpool, Merc-with-a-Mouth, reporting for duty, sir! Give me a name, and I'll put a bullet through their head, stomach, heart, gall bladder, left ventricle, and/or appendix. For the right price."

"Down to business, then." The Boss had a lackey bring him a chair, and sat down in it.

"A few weeks ago, I got a message from one of my boys. Said his group was ambushed while moving some 'precious cargo'. Didn't see nothin' because he was takin' a whiz, but came back to find his whole crew, six men, lying dead or dying on the street. Now I figured it was another one 'o' those whack-jobs in tights, somehow got the jump on them. Finally got the guts to get their hands dirty. But here's the thing; few days later, I get reports of another botched job. And another. And another. I ask around, and find a trail of bodies with no end.

"Somebody's out there, whacking my boys, and costing me money. I want them found, and found dead. You get me?"

"I get ya," Said Deadpool. "But it'd be easier if I got a name or face to go with."

The Boss shook his head. "No witnesses left. Only stiffs, and this." He pulled out a piece of cardboard. It looked like a ripped piece from a pizza box, but on it was a crudely drawn symbol, inverted and mirrored 'L's with two dots on the bottom. Deadpool looked at the Boss.

"I can't read Chinese."

"It's his calling card, you idiot. I'll tell you where my boys are gonna be, and you get ready to kill that son of a bitch." The look on the Boss's face was enough to kill. "Your payment's already deposited. You'll get the rest after you hand me this bastard's head on a platter."

"Righty o' then, old chap. Pip pip, cheerio!" Deadpool exited with a flourish.

Once the mercenary was out of sight, the thug that spoke turned to the Boss.

"You think he can do it, Boss?"

The other man sighed and massaged his temples. It was the same thing anyone did after a meeting with Deadpool. That, or being stuffed in a body-bag. "No, but he'll be the distraction while you guys go in and finish that bastard. And if that idiot gets caught in the crossfire…actually, make sure he gets caught in the crossfire."

Rorschach's Journal, December 1st

A month has passed since Veidt's plan. Since his lie. A month has passed since I 'died'. A month since arrival 'here'. Don't know where 'here' is. Looks like New York. Feels like New York. Smells like New York. But not my New York. Found new Journal to replace one that was lost. Hope that truth will get out, eventually.

Things are strange 'here'. New styles. New technologies. Daniel would like it here.

Hurm. Must stop living in past.

One thing the same: the scum and filth caked throughout this city's underbelly. Night time reveals humanity's true depraved nature. Crime and sin rampant. Always will be. Taken upon myself to clean up.

Another thing different but same: Masks. The abundance of it. Everywhere, there are Masks. In the paper. On television. On Internet. All over the world. Saw one swinging from buildings in red and blue tights. Hurm. Going through 'Superhero Boom'.

They are, different, from my world's Masks. They have powers. Super powers. They are respected. Scorned. Hated. Loved. Ignored. They are naïve. Soft. Weak.

Different, but same.

All have strange fetish for tights. Hurm. Must investigate connection with powers.

Don't know why Jon sent me here. No humanity left in him. Why care? Saw something in future? Felt guilt? Accident? Will contemplate further.

Just finished a night of patrol. Found and stopped traces of drug ring over past few weeks. All point to a 'Boss'. Will get his just rewards eventually.

The filth brought up interesting news. Said the Boss hired a hitman. Will be after me. Hurm. I thank him by breaking his neck. Less painful that way.

Let them come. I'll be waiting.

The City that Never Sleeps was haunted. Haunted by a force of nature, relentless, unforgiving. A force given human form, hidden beneath a mask, a trench coat, and elevator shoes. It bled with the shadows, striking out in an instant, delivering justice on those who would dare to deserve it.

Just another night for Rorschach.

The masked vigilante was following a trail to another crime. A trail of broken fingers and shattered shot glasses. A large shipment of drugs was being delivered. A new batch of blood to feed the underworld's starving parasites. The informant was quick to give the location up. Hurm. Usually took at least two fingers before they squealed. Flitting from shadow to shadow, Rorschach arrived at the target area, and waited.

He wasn't disappointed.

A plain moving van drove up and stopped, unloading its passengers. Five men got out. They walked up to a door and knocked, each looking left and right. The door opened, and they walked in. When they walked out, they carried bags of white powder. Rorschach struck.

He leapt from his vantage point, and like an avenging angel, rained Judgement upon his first victim. The man crumpled to the ground, dropping his package. His buddies noticed what happened, but failed to pull their guns out quick enough. Rorschach reached for a man to his right, and pulled the gun from its owner. A quick strike to the gut and the man was down. Rorschach turned to the others. In a flurry of fists and feet, all four were down. Too easy. Rorschach cocked the gun he held, and aimed it.

A noise above made him look up, and hastily jump away. Just in time, for a red blur appeared where he stood moments before.

"Boy, am I glad I didn't shoot you. Well, I am gonna shoot you, just not, you know, secretly, from far away."

Rorschach narrowed his eyes and studied the newcomer with apprehension. He was decked out in a red and black costume, face completely covered by his mask. He was carrying enough weaponry to start a one-man army. On his back was strapped two sheathed swords. From his stance and movements, Rorschach could tell this guy was a professional. And from the amount of weight he must have been carrying, this guy was also strong. Not your typical run-of-the-mill thug. Rorschach smirked. Finally, some action.

He struck immediately, catching the other man off-guard. He sent a well-aimed kick in his direction and could see the other's eyes widening before barely managing to block it. Hurm. Reflexes were good. But Rorschach didn't stop there. He used the momentum to bring his other leg up, and smashed it into the guy's head. The costumed man flew into the wall with a muffled thud, and didn't move. Rorschach lifted the gun and fired a shot into the man's heart.

"Hurm. Best they could come up with? Pathetic." He tossed the gun away, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. But as he walked away, a voice floated up from behind.

"Now I'm REALLY glad I didn't shoot you. Thank you, voices in my head."

Damn! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Should've known a professional would be wearing body armour. Next it'll be in the head. He pulled his hands out, getting into a ready stance.

"What, you wanna fight again? But we haven't even made up from the last one!" The red-clad hitman shrugged. "Oh well. I'll take your head as an apology." He pulled out his two swords (katana, as it were) and charged.

Rorschach spotted a discarded pole and quickly brought it up to block the other man's slash. The weapons made a CHING sound that echoed off the walls.

"So, I was perched on the rooftop, with my sniper rifle trained at this spot," The man was talking as he took another swipe at Rorschach. "I waited here for a good while, too. Got bored eventually and shot some pigeons. Got bored some more and shot some taillights. And man, you are GOOD. I didn't even see you until the goons arrived.

"I was ready to put one right through your noggin, but Yellow-Thought-Box convinced me to go down and confront you face-to-face. By the way, cool mask. How'd you get it to move? Does it come in red?"

Rorschach was beginning to become very irritated. This guy talked too much, and when he did, it made no sense. He speculated that was due to some form of insanity, or lack of brain cells. He didn't know he was right, on both accounts.

"You know, you're shorter than I expected."

That did it. With a feral snarl, Rorschach swung the pole with all his strength. The offending idiot brought up his swords to block, but due to the sheer power in the blow, it resulted in his swords being flung across the floor.

"Whoa! Struck a nerve, did I? Yeah, I tend to do that. You'd be amazed by how many people get annoyed when I simply ask if they'd stopped dieting. It's not like I called them fat or anything, right?Now as for Agent X,( or as I like to call him, Manuel) calling him fat is a complimen-" His implied insult was interrupted as Rorschach rammed the pole into his solar plexus. The raving lunatic doubled over wheezing. Rorschach took this chance to slam the guy into the ground.

"Hurm. Talk too much." Rorschach raised his weapon over the man's head, but the skid of tires interrupted him.

Several black cars pulled to a stop at where they were, effectively blocking the two fighter's paths. Men poured out from them, wielding firearms and training them on Rorschach and, unsurprisingly, the man in red. The largest of them stepped forward, a cruel smirk on his ugly mug.

"End of the line for you, freak. The Boss is here to collect his due. And as for you, Deadpool, consider your contract terminated. Permanent like."

Rorschach heard the man, Deadpool, shout, "It's a trap!" before acknowledging the distinct click of guns bring loaded. Stupid, stupid, STUPID! He should've known! The trail was too easy. The job finished too quick. And this loud-mouthed moron was just a distraction. He made a mistake, and looked to be his last one.

But just as he heard the shot of the first gun, a hand grabbed his wrist, and everything disappeared.

Notes: Dearie me, Rorschach's so hard to write! So...INTENSE. So...Right-wing. So...descriptive. It's what makes him cool, though. Now, Deadpool, (or as I like to call him, DEA-POO), I can relate...Not the cancer-Weapon-X-experiment-torture-crazy-Death's-his-girlfriend thing, but more the talk-yourself-into-an-argument-with-yourself-then-LOSE-crazy thing. I'm sure most of you are like that too. That's why you're reading this story. 'Cuz the voices tell you to. Listen to them! Wanna know something funny? I'm doing this when I SHOULD be listening to what my teacher is saying about calculus...You know what?...Fuck calculus…and doors. Later.

- Chindu, Prince of Darkness

P.S. WTF is a 'kumquat'? Seriously! I thought it was a squash! SOMEONE TELL ME! PLEEEAAASE!