CHAPTER ONE
THE KEENE ACT
Rorschach's Journal
August Third
1977
His body limp. His eyes half-closed. Serial rapist; serial Liberal as well. August. Stifling heat. Warm. Sweat trapped under face. Annoying. Not distracting.
Harvey Charles Furniss, they call him. Now what they call him would be "Deceased." Was a struggler - unsurprising. Had to follow leads everywhere. Finally, got him. His face broke, spurting blood. Fell limp. Got note – found some spare tape, put on him.
I stepped back, looking at my work.
"neveR!"
The body laid at the bottom of the stairs of the New York Police Department, blood caking his jacket and shirt. If one were to look from a distance, it could look like his entire chest was just a giant mass of blood. A tight, yellow line encircled the body, reading, in black, bold letters, "POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS" and similar phrases. Detectives swarmed around the body, shouting investigative-esque phrases such as "What's the motive!?" and "Who did it!?", with the latter being generally much less helpful than the former. Generally, at least. Slowly, they flipped the body so it's face was down on the curb, finally seeing the bloodstained note, an ink signature of an ink blot on the right side.
"neveR!" it read in bold letters, sending a clear message.
"Guess someone disagrees with the Keene Act, than?" Some wiseass investigator murmured from the side.
And across the street, strolled Walter Kovacs, minding his own buisness – except for one, small glance to the side. One tiny, unnoticeable glance as he looked at the carnage that stood before him.
It wasn't him that caused this bloodshed, this gore. It was Rorschach. No relation.
"New Frontiersman, please!" Kovacs said to the typical news-stall operator, who quickly handed it to his regular customer, Kovacs depositing the money into the jar that he had. He slowly strolled down the street, blending in with the massive New York crowds. Little did anyone know that he caused it. No – not him. Rorschach.
Was Rorschach the disguise...
Or was Kovacs?