A/N: I decided to re-write this entire fic. So please, enjoy what I've brainstormed up.

My mother died just a minutes ago.

I witnessed the murderer leaving our apartment. I suspected it was the man who gave her the drugs and the alcohol she was so hooked on.

Finding her on the floor, chest ripped open like a turkey when it's overcooked, blood soaking our crappy carpet... It was the hardest thing I'd ever have to witness in my entire twenty years of life. I'd promptly vomited in the kitchen sink, overly worn shoes tracking blood into the peeling plastic of the floor.

After heaving for what seemed to be forever, I just sat at the table. It was at that moment that someone came in through the window. He reeked worse than the blood and vomit mixture that clouded the room.

Rorschach.

He was still around after all of these years. They all called him insane for keeping up with being a 'hero'. I was just happy he decided to go against the law and do what was needed in the awful streets we lived on. I remember just a few years ago he saved me from potentially being raped. He probably didn't remember me.

"You did this?"

I shake my head no. I feel tears running down my cheek in an uncomfortable, hot manner. I'm in so much shock I can't even move from my spot. My legs feel like lead.

"I-I found her l-like this," comes the shaky reply. "The- The guy who did it r-ran out. I got a picture of him. It's on her bedside table. They were d-dating or so-something."

I hear him clunking around the room at this point. I was trying to keep my voice low enough so I could keep stuttering to a minimum despite my crying making it worse. Which... Wasn't doing much to be honest. I force myself up, walking over to the room. He's looking for the photo.

"Cuh- can you please stop. It's n-not worth it. She was a dr-drunk and an addict." I wipe at my eyes. He smells so bad. I think I'm crying from the smell now. He turns to me, tense as a cat ready to pounce. "A wh-whore. No one cuh-can use her again now because of th-this. She can't be u-used."

I feel myself dropping to the floor. I'm crying again. I'm so numb. I'm not sure if this is happening or not. I can't figure out if Rorschach is just my imagination playing tricks on me to cope with seeing my mother's dead body or if he's real. There's a rip of paper, a scribble, and he shoves it into my hand.

"Go there. Killer will try again. Might have grudge against mother and you."

And everything just blurs more after that.