Robbery (Seeking Collection, Seeking Recommendation!)

By the time Rorschach arrived at the Delicious Chinese Restaurant in a flustered rush, a white police cruiser from the Manhattan Precinct was already parked at the curb.

A yellow caution tape cordoned off most of the sidewalk.

At the same time, a portly, potbellied cop lounged leisurely with a paper cup of coffee, occasionally shooing away curious onlookers and tourists.

Near the restaurant entrance, a few tabloid stringers crouched in the corners.

They kept darting glances at a Black officer handling crowd control, their eyes flickering with calculation.

Rorschach leaped off his bicycle and sprinted up to the Black officer.

"Excuse me, Officer, I'm family of the shop owner."

"Rorschach, right?" The Black officer gave him a gentle smile and nodded. "Your aunt already told us you'd be coming. You can go in..."

The Black officer continued, "But watch your step, kid... The forensics team is on their way; it'll take time to collect the evidence."

"I understand."

Rorschach took a deep breath.

He ducked under the caution tape and stepped inside the restaurant.

As if his arrival had drawn their attention, the tabloid reporters smoking nearby all turned their heads.

Expressionless, they spat a few times in the direction of the Black officer.

The Black officer seemed not to notice, maintaining a cold demeanor—

though the hand resting on his holster tightened involuntarily.

Meanwhile, Rorschach had only scanned the restaurant for a few seconds

before his face darkened considerably.

Rows of solid-wood tables and chairs lay overturned.

A mess of bowls, chopsticks, and utensils was scattered everywhere, many of them completely shattered.

Across the chaotic floor, brass bullet casings lay strewn like scattered blossoms, littering every corner.

On the ceiling, countless black bullet holes radiated outward, nearly covering the entire surface.

For a moment, the place didn't look like a restaurant—

it looked like the wreckage of a guerrilla firefight.

Rorschach's fury flared, his fists clenching tight.

But he suppressed his emotions and quickly walked over to his aunt.

At that moment, his aunt, her short hair soaked with sweat, stared blankly.

Pale-faced, she sat in her usual chair, her hands clasped together.

Her rough fingertips, squeezed tight, were drained of all color.

At the same time, a middle-aged cop with a brown beard sat across from her.

He seemed to be questioning her about the case—or maybe just killing time.

Because from the moment Rorschach walked in, the man had checked his wristwatch far more often than he'd asked his aunt any questions.

"Aunt? Are you hurt?"

Rorschach called softly, reaching out to put an arm around her shoulder.

"Rorschach?"

His aunt snapped out of her daze, her eyes reddening as she choked out, "Just a little more, and I'd never have seen you again..."

In an instant, the rage in Rorschach's eyes could have set the air ablaze.

He took a deep breath and whispered soothingly, "Don't be scared, don't be scared... I'm here. It's all over now."

A few minutes later, seeing his aunt had calmed down considerably, Rorschach looked up with a serious expression at the bearded cop.

"Officer, what exactly happened?"

"What else could it be?" The bearded cop frowned, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Just another day in Manhattan... A few masked robbers came for cash. Your aunt tried to stop them, and one of the rookies got nervous, squeezed the trigger, and sprayed the whole restaurant..."

"Don't worry, kid. The crooks in Manhattan are mostly pros—they only go for the money, not people."

"Hah!"

Rorschach was so angry that he laughed instead.

His face darkened as he pointed at the chaotic interior of the restaurant: "If this isn't considered a big deal, then in your eyes as police, is it only a big deal if someone gets hurt or dies?"

"You police collect taxes from all citizens, and this is how you do your job? Does the derelict NYPD need to give me a tax refund?"

"Sir, I'm just an ordinary cop. If you feel your rights and freedoms have been violated, feel free to go bother the Mayor of New York City..."

Before he finished speaking, the bearded cop suddenly stood up and walked toward the restaurant's exit, Without Looking Back.

"Also, catching serious criminals is the responsibility of the FBI and the Major Crimes Division. I was just giving you a friendly reminder—if criminals find a place with easy money and gullible people, they'll definitely come back. I suggest you shut down for a while."

The bearded cop acted as if he couldn't care less about preserving the physical evidence at the scene. As he walked, he gestured for the black cop to leave with him.

"You..."

Rorschach's eyes narrowed. He was about to bark a reprimand.

But his Aunt grabbed his arm.

She closed her eyes, her voice heavy with exhaustion: "Rorschach, I told you... poor people can't get help from these cops. The rich are their real responsibility... Forget it. Just accept it and move on."

Rorschach's eyelids twitched violently.

He turned to look at his aunt, forcing an incredibly stiff smile onto his face.

"Alright, Aunt. Whatever you say, Aunt."

But deep in Rorschach's heart, he had other plans.

Accept it and move on?

Impossible!

This matter... will not end until someone dies!

After a moment of silence, Rorschach leaned toward his aunt and gently urged, "Aunt, let me take you home to rest first?"

A hint of hesitation flickered in his aunt's eyes. "The shop hasn't been cleaned up yet, and the losses haven't been tallied..."

"Don't worry, I've got it all covered!"

Rorschach quickly patted his chest, making a promise.

Seeing Rorschach's firm attitude, his aunt no longer insisted and obediently complied.

This sudden life-or-death scare was something her kind-hearted nature couldn't easily bear.

"Take it slow."

Rorschach carefully helped his aunt up.

The two of them walked arm in arm toward the restaurant's exit.

"Hello! Manhattan Network Radio..."

"This is the New York Star. What's your take on this armed robbery?"

"I'm an intern reporter for The Daily Bugle..."

But at that moment, several unknown tabloid reporters suddenly burst into the restaurant.

They showed no respect, no restraint whatsoever.

They just trampled recklessly over the physical evidence on the floor, surging forward!

In an instant, the anger that had been building up inside Rorschach exploded!

He took a sudden step forward, shielding his aunt behind him, and raised both hands.

The combat stance of the Catachan Fighting Style... ready!

At that moment, Rorschach's eyes were bloodshot, his pupils crimson.

The savage brutality born from the jungles of Catachan erupted from his body!

"GET OUT—!"

But before Rorschach could do anything drastic, the tabloid reporters instantly froze in their tracks. After exchanging knowing glances with each other, they practically scrambled and crawled toward the door!

It was just an interview—why get so worked up over it?!

Just then, his aunt patted Rorschach's tense, muscle-bound back with relief.

"Forget it, Rorschach... let's go home."

"Aunt—"

"Be good, let's go."

"Oh..."

There should be one more chapter. If not, I'll post it tomorrow.

Trying to update with four thousand words.