At four in the afternoon, the setting sun bathed all of New York.
Rorschach wore a grim expression beneath a black baseball cap.
With a gray sling bag on his back, he stepped out of the apartment.
A few minutes earlier, his aunt had reluctantly fallen asleep, still shaken by fear.
Before going to sleep, she had reminded Rorschach once again.
She told him to clean up the wrecked restaurant and put up a notice saying it was closed.
Rorschach obediently did as he was told.
At that moment, he was on his way back to the restaurant.
Except there was now something extra in his sling bag.
A pitch-black, lightless Catachan Combat Knife.
Young Rorschach could endure any threat.
For example, Thanos, watching from between the distant stars.
Or Ultron, not yet created, who would seek to destroy humanity.
But all of that depended on one thing: his aunt could not be harmed in any way!
Otherwise...
It would be a fight to the death!
And over the years, everything he had seen and heard.
Had been enough to leave Rorschach utterly disappointed in the Upper Echelons that maintained order in the city.
Justice or not.
Fairness or not.
He could only rely on his own two hands.
To take it back!--
By the time Rorschach arrived at the restaurant.
The forensic personnel promised by the Manhattan Precinct had still not arrived.
Maybe they never would.
After all, a robbery in Chinatown.
That had neither claimed any lives.
Nor stirred up a media storm.
Would ultimately end up as archived paperwork at the Manhattan Precinct, consigned to history.
Rorschach skillfully rolled up his sleeves and began clearing the debris from the floor.
He kept whatever could still be used to minimize the losses.
The useless things were thrown away and counted as damages.
However, not long afterward.
Rorschach happened to catch sight of a figure Wandering back and forth outside the restaurant.
It was a blond homeless man in tattered clothes, his back hunched over.
Rorschach stopped cleaning.
He walked directly to the entrance and said:
"Friend, the restaurant will be closed for a while. Go find some food at a church first."
Before he had even finished speaking, the bearded blond homeless man stopped.
He cast a few timid glances at Rorschach, his eyes darting about uneasily.
Then, as if he had finally worked up the courage.
He raised his head and stammered:
"I... I'm not here for food... When the robbery happened, I... I was sleeping by the street. I saw those robbers!"
"They were all wearing matching red tracksuits, and their accents didn't sound local to New York... They sounded like Slavs!"
After hearing the homeless man, Rorschach narrowed his eyes and muttered:
"Red tracksuits? Slavs... Could it be the Tracksuit Gang?"
The Tracksuit Gang was a criminal organization active in New York City and its surrounding cities.
Most of its core members were Slavs.
Rorschach's thoughts raced.
After pondering for a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of cash.
Rorschach took out several twenty-dollar bills and stuffed them into the homeless man's jacket pocket.
"Friend, thank you for the information. This is your reward."
However, something beyond Rorschach's expectations happened.
The blond homeless man's face immediately flushed red. His fingers trembled as he pinched the bills in his pocket and tried to return them to Rorschach.
"I'm not here for money!"
"You and your aunt are both good people! I'm happy to have eaten your food... It made me feel like I was still alive. As long as I'm alive, there's still meaning!"
Tears seemed to well up in the blond homeless man's eyes as his emotions surged.
At the same time, he inadvertently exposed the inflamed, festering needle marks on his arm.
He was an addict.
Rorschach keenly noticed that, but he did not take back the money he had given him.
Rorschach sighed and suddenly asked, "What's your name?"
"I... I'm Robert Reynolds." The blond homeless man hesitated before giving his name.
At the same time, he took back the money and stopped insisting.
"Robert?"
Rorschach felt that the name sounded familiar.
But he quickly cast the thought aside.
Right now, he had something more important to deal with.
Tracksuit Gang, Slavs...
Eugene Paul?
Eugene was a typical Slavic surname...
At that moment, Rorschach narrowed his eyes as a clear lead emerged in his mind.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Robert, Rorschach casually sent him away.
Then he turned around, shut the door, and locked it.
Rorschach got on his beloved bicycle.
And headed west.
--
Manhattan Apartment, 403.
A dejected Eugene Paul slumped on the sofa, a Plastic Neck Brace fixed around his neck for treatment.
Even though the doctor had repeatedly warned him not to drink or smoke during treatment if he wanted to recover faster.
Eugene was clearly not the sort of patient who liked following orders.
Eugene carefully drank his beer, occasionally glancing down at his phone to pass the time.
He tried to use it to ease the pain in his body.
As well as the frustration in his heart.
He, Eugene, a strong, long-time high school bully.
Had actually been thoroughly beaten up by an insignificant delivery boy!
The incident had made him a laughingstock among his friends.
He had been utterly humiliated!
"Damn yellow monkey."
Growing increasingly irritated, Eugene tossed aside his phone, closed his eyes, and tried to ease the gloom in his heart.
Knock, knock, knock--
Just then, a series of knocks suddenly sounded, interrupting Eugene's meditation.
Eugene opened his eyes angrily and shouted:
"Who is it?"
No one outside answered. There was only a brief pause.
Before the knocking started again.
Knock, knock, knock--
"Once I find out who you are, you're dead!"
Cursing under his breath, Eugene stiffly rose from the sofa.
With one hand supporting his neck, he walked toward the door.
Just as he grabbed the doorknob and turned it.
Bang--
With a deafening crash, the wooden door in front of Eugene suddenly sprang up and flew open!
In an instant, the entire door carried tremendous force as it slammed heavily into Eugene's chest.
"Ah!"
As his scream echoed through the room, Eugene's large body crashed onto the floor.
"Hello, Eugene!"
Slow footsteps sounded.
Rorschach, wearing a baseball cap and smiling, appeared in the doorway.
"Who!"
Eugene endured the intense pain and struggled to prop himself up, trying to see what his attacker looked like.
However, when he finally saw the figure before him, his eyes immediately widened.
Terrified screams erupted one after another, like a squeaky chicken.
"Don't come any closer--"
Without saying a word, Rorschach continued forward.
At that moment, the burly Eugene was like an inchworm, desperately wriggling across the floor.
A few minutes later, Eugene could no longer endure the pain in his body. With a twisted expression, he lay on the floor and completely gave up resisting.
In an instant, tears blurred Eugene's vision.
He seemed to have completely broken down.
"Rorschach, please spare my life... Murder is a first-degree felony in New York..."
"Boohoo..."
"I was wrong, I really was! I shouldn't have bullied my classmates... I shouldn't have picked on people."
"Boohoo, I was wrong."
Still smiling, Rorschach crouched in front of Eugene.
He looked down at him with icy eyes.
"I ask, you answer..."
"Understand?"
With tears and snot streaming down his face, Eugene hurriedly nodded.
"I understand! I understand!"
"At around three this afternoon, when the restaurant was robbed, did you fire a gun?"
"Huh?" Eugene froze, his eyes filled only with confusion. "Robbery? Fire a gun?"
Rorschach's gaze sharpened.
Eugene, still trying hard to read his expression, immediately swore:
"I swear to God! I, Eugene, never use guns when I bully people! Besides, I was receiving treatment at the hospital this afternoon!"
Rorschach frowned deeply.
Had he found the wrong person?
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