From the Notes of Doctor Malcolm Long:

[First Entry – Personal Note #1]

I was called in early this morning to Sing Sing Prison. They wouldn't tell me exactly what it was for or to what end, but I have high hopes.

The man who contacted me is a personal associate of mine who works at the prison with me. Whenever we get a chance to speak, I always make it a point to let him know that I'm interested in moving up. I want to be the one who takes the high-profile cases. The one who takes the media's questions on the matter. I want to stare the murderers and rapists of this city in the eyes and find out what makes them tick.

I want to be in the deep mud. The career-making mud.

When I finally arrived at the prison, the mood was erratic. The inmates were all screams and the guards retained a look of amusement. I had a guess as to who was brought in. A hope, I should say. And I was not disappointed.

It was Rorschach himself—sans his trademark mask. He sat calmly and quietly in the interrogation room. Not the most handsome of men but…well, hell, he's fug-ugly. Not even going to lie about that. Not at all what I was expecting. They used to say around the office that Rorschach has no soul. Now that I know he's a ginger, I'm certainly willing to buy into that fact.

But although I looked at him through one-way glass, I still felt like he could see me. His eyes were unflinching and cold, and they seemed to be gazing deep into me…

That was until I took a step to the side and his eyes didn't move. I'm far too paranoid when it comes to these things. Even waved a few times for good measure, with no result. Felt a lot better.

My associate asked me if I needed some time to prepare and I nodded in return. This will not be an easy task. The human mind is a dark and ambiguous entity. To unlock its most tightly guarded secrets is the equivalent of taking a ball of yarn from a rabid cat—one wrong move can set it off. Its reaction may be to either to claw my hand until it stings with that pain that just won't go away even after you wash your hands a million times…or to retract back into the shadows. To hide. To take shelter.

To a mental locksmith like myself, the mind of a criminal might as well be a Gordian Knot. Unmanageable and nearly impenetrable. The only solution is a show of force in the right spot. And I always find the right spot eventually, despite what my wife will say on the matter…

Rorschach, or as his file states: "Walter Kovacs", will be no more difficult to unravel than any of my other patients. This will be a much more intimidating challenge, to be sure, but it will only be a matter of time before we find out who he really is. Only a matter of time…