The smell in the restroom was naturally far from pleasant, but Reggie lay sprawled over the toilet lid, wailing and gasping for air in huge breaths. It probably acted as some sort of air filter, so the place did not have the usual murky stench of an ordinary public toilet.
The lighting was bright, but somehow, even under the harsh light, this black man gave the impression of having been abandoned in a dark corner. It was as if, after God declared there to be light in the world, He had reached out and removed the patch of light above this man's head.
A sense of loneliness constantly radiated from Reggie. Beyond that, he had that distinctive feeling peculiar to mental patients, an unusual aura that set him apart from ordinary people.
"Hiss, this is a bit tricky." Harley stood and scratched her head, making her tied-up hair even messier. She drew in a breath through her teeth. "I've never seen a patient this unusual. As expected of Rorschach—even his bipolar disorder has so much personality."
The original Rorschach had mental problems as well. His severe schizophrenia often caused a series of symptoms, including muddled consciousness and inexplicable fits of rage.
But as Su Ming had once said, who would become a Masked Vigilante without at least a little mental illness?
Even so, Rorschach's persistence and his refusal to ever compromise with truth had not stemmed from mental illness. They had come from his rational judgment while clearheaded. The diary he wrote before going to his death showed that he understood perfectly well what awaited him.
Rorschach had pushed the role of an Anti-Hero about as far as it could go. He could burn a captured murderer alive, yet he could also be battered black and blue saving a cat.