Disclaimer: Me is to owning Watchmen as a monkey is to owning Mars. And since we are evolved from monkeys, and Dr. Manhattan kinda owns Mars, this means…? Not quite sure.


Rorschach's Journal November 27th 1976

Stopped a bunch of scrawny kids from robbing convenience store. Wrist might be sprained, but fine. Got 911 call from store owner as thanks. Police didn't respond until 23 minutes later. Fat lards got out of the car brushing crumbs off clothes as I watched from opposite building. Could taste the rot and apathy rolling off them. One looks like father of kid who robbed store. Must check into it further. Streets are clogged with the stink of whores and murderer. The smell is making me sick.

November 28th

The city's stench has gotten worse. Checked trashcans today for babies. Found two, one alive, one dead. Left alive one in front of hospital. Left dead one where it was. Its getting harder to breathe now. Had to take off mask when on roof. Feeling dizzy, and wrist still hurts. Will ignore it. Head hurts, from a mugger's crowbar. Must remember to ignore that too.

November 29th

Feeling worse then ever. Could barely get out of apartment today. Almost fell off roof. Not sure what is happening. Must have been mugger from last night. Possible concussion? Will go make sure police haven't released him yet. Will take care of him permanently. The cockroaches are getting harder and harder to stomp out They're overrunning everything in a swarm of writhing hairy bodies, fighting for the few moldy crumbs the city has to offer. Need stronger pesticide. Need to find Nite Owl. He's been gone a week. Hope he isn't dead. Need as many as we can get.

Rorschach stood from his crouched position on St. Patrick's cathedral, finishing his journal for the night. It was good to record things, just in case he needed to refer to them again later. Memories can be easily warped, and he couldn't afford that kind of slip up.

A wave of dizziness hit him as he stood up, and he braced himself against one of the church's many intricately designed spires.

"Remember to check for signs of possible concussion. Can't clean up the mess without a mop. Heh." Rorschach chuckled at his own joke. That was what his body was, after all: a mop. To be used to mop up the slime of the world. If the mop was broken, it wouldn't do anything more then smear it all around.

After a moment of stillness, Rorschach began to make his way to the ground. There were no good roofs to jump to from here, but the view was worth it.

He could barely see over the other buildings that towered over the small church, making it seem like it was in it's own little world. Almost made him forget about the sewage and muck that made up this city. Almost gave him hope for humanity. Not that he would ever admit that.

His landing on the sidewalk minutes later left much to be desired.

"Remember to practice jumps more. Have been getting sloppy." He darted into a nearby alleyway, letting the shadows hide him from curious eyes. Another wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. He had to stop and lean against the alley wall.

He felt uncomfortable hot, and his mouth tasted like he put red coals into them. Rorschach didn't know what was wrong with him, but he decided he would ignore it until he found Nite Owl. He needed to make sure his comrade (not friend, never friend) was okay.

Rorschach had no friends. Rorschach needed no friends. Friends leads to feelings and feelings leads to guilt and hate and anger, and a thousand different emotions that clouded one's judgment and leave one blind. Blindness inevitably leads to a downward spiral, into crime and debauchery and the darkness of the human soul.

Rorschach was never going to get caught in that spiral.

"No criminal has been bragging about bagging an owl. Haven't seen his flying machine in the sky. No mentions of Dan Dreiberg in the paper. Time to check his hideout." Rorschach mumbles to himself as he makes his way towards his partner's home, paying no attention to the fact that he was sweating heavily in his coat and mask, and that it was getting harder for him to walk in a straight line.

Must check his house. The thought became a mantra in his head, which he held on to as he struggled to pull up manhole which he knew would take him to Nite Owl's layer. Must check house. He forced back the vomit building in his thought as he walked up the steps from the underground layer which lead to Dan's house.

Costume still on the dummy. If dead, wasn't in uniform. Rorschach fought to think clearly. Disease? Car accident? Heart attack? He grabbed the door handle and pushed it open softly, remembering to be quiet.

Everything was dark, silent. Rorschach smelled no blood, and everything was pristine. He didn't see signs of a struggle, and Dan's expensive coffer maker was still there. Rorschach checked burglary off the list in his head, and walked past the breakfast table, intent on checking the study and the bedroom.

He made it across the kitchen and into the hallway before he heard the front door unlock and click open. Rorschach froze. He tried to move, tried to hide, but he couldn't. His muscles were not responding. His head felt full of cotton with the brambles still in. He stumbled backwards into the kitchen doorframe, shivering and shaking. He couldn't think properly. No no no!

The figure in the door way accidently knocked into the staircase and cursed softly. The lights flicked on, and Rorschach winced, closing his eyes, the sudden change leaving him feeling sicker than ever. He clapped a hand over his mouth as he doubled over, refusing to throw up in his mask.

"Rorschach? What are you doing here?" The voice belonged to Dan. When Rorschach didn't respond, now concentrating fully on not puking his guts out, Dan's voice increased in pitch and worry.

"Jeez man, are you okay? What happened? Did you get hurt?" Rorschach tried to straighten up, to shake his head and explain, but he aborted his idea as soon as the smallest movement made the room spin.

Rorschach tied to tell his partner that he was fine, that he was just checking up on him, and to ask where had he been, but all that came out was a strained whimper. He closed his eyes again in a futile attempt to block everything out.

Rorschach heard footsteps toward him, and put his arm in front of him as if to ward Dan off. This back fired when Dan took hold of his wrist.

Pain, in large quantities, rushed up his arm from his wrist, the one he had hurt from stopping the robbery on the 27th. Rorschach cried out, trying to pull away, but ended up fumbling with his mask to pull it up just high enough not to be in the way of puking onto the floor.

Unfortunately, instead of making him feel better, the smell of vomit stung his eyes and made him want to hurl again. With pure force of will, Rorschach managed to avoid turning his stomach inside out again. He clung to the wall with all his might.

Rorschach slid down the wall, thinking deliriously that that pattern the mess on the floor made reminded him vaguely of a butterfly. Or a car accident. At this point, he wasn't being picky

Black began to encroach on the sides of his vision, narrowing his line of sight. He held it off as long as he could, but finally Rorschach conceded to darkness and passed out.