Authors note: This is only the introduction of the fanfiction, and this story will probably only stretch to 4 parts anyways. :] Enjoy. The next update of the story will be tomorrow.

Raindrops scattered across the pavement, leaving dark transparent specks instead of crimson ones. The sky was nothing but a pit of darkness and smoke, clouds rolling in like gray and white ghosts. The crunching of gravel was the only real noise heard in the alley ways, as Walter Kovacs, no...Rorschach came trotting through with his hands tucked tightly into his coat pockets. He didn't show his face, he didn't approve of it. Only a white mask, a bag that was pulled over his red hair and pale freckled face, was his real face. He remembered acquiring this fabric when he was a garment worker after dropping out of High School. He put together a dress made by Mr. Manhattan that consisted of black and white liquids that shifted and squirmed into vague forms of a Rorschach test. The woman he made it for turned the dress down but he instantly cut it into a smaller strip and stitched it into a new face. Perfection, he thought.

The world around him moved but didn't move with him. He was alone; he didn't find anything wrong with being alone neither. Filthy whores reached out to him, brushing his hunched shoulders with their fingertips as he walked by. How many men have those hands touched? Their existence stung him, but he paid no mind. He was a whoreson, after all. He could vaguely see his mother giggling while entertaining another man, and on occasion he would ask her if she was hurt. She'd beat him. But that was in the past and that was too long ago for it to matter now. He lived in this underworld full of bitter heathens and raging Neanderthals. But he believed in retribution, and that the whole world was going to pay the price. No one makes it out alive.

In full value he could see the world a good place if it weren't layered in slime and deceit. His feet continued to mark the sidewalks with rain water, as he carried on towards an open alleyway. A blood curdling scream whistled through the smoke thickened air and he stopped in his tracks.

Whoever she is, she probably deserves it, He hunched his shoulders again and carried on until the scream echoed through his latex mask and he couldn't resist the urge to turn his head towards the alleyway. Maybe she doesn't.

He then bolted. His feet were silent yet quick and his hands had bounced out of his pockets, the coat rippling behind him.

The Alleyway was damp and dark, the moon casting it in black and white. He could hear grunts and laughter and a choked scream, the filthy scum probably beating the woman to a bloody pulp. Damn it, Rorschach's lips tightened in a fine line beneath the latex, and he immediately zoned in on a man kicking a female in the ribcage against the bricked wall. He was nothing but a savage, an animal. Rorschach was going to put the dog down. As quick as a bullet he plummeted into the filthy monster and knocked the air right out of him. He slipped several feet to the ground, teeth flying and bones cracking. Another mugger came up behind Rorschach with a switchblade but Rorschach was too quick. He elbowed him square in the jaw then spun around and kicked him to the concrete, not even bothering to stop until blood was smeared along the contours of the alley and the screaming had ceased to exist.

"Only two," Rorschach was disappointed, "I only mopped up some of the waste." The woman was whimpering on the floor, her body shivering and shaking about. Rorschach turned to face her and kneeled down for a split second to take it all in. She had a long pale body but it was folded in on itself like a wad of miswritten paper. Her face was swollen and battered, and she was probably once beautiful but now she only looked defeated. Tears were trailing down her bruised cheeks and dribbling off her full and cut lips. She wore a corporate outfit, or most of it. The rest of it was strewn along the alley. She didn't have the vibe of a whore, but the vibe of an innocent being victimized.

May as well put her out of her misery like an injured race horse. Rorschach was just about to do so until she cried out and reached for him like a drunken lunatic, her fingers going for his own. He leaned away from her and let out a minor "Hurrm.." She could use some healing. He didn't say a word, just gathered her up into his arms and began his long walk ...to anywhere but there.