Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Watchmen, or Heavy Rain. Though I'd sure like to... ;P And stuff. I'm just a fan :) Enjoy!!!
"...Where am I?"
"I think the question to ask, Walter, is where are you not?"
"Wrong. Question makes no sense. Wrong name, also."
"But what is the use in a question if it does not make sense, and what is the use of sense in a world so senseless? I'm disappointed in you, Walter. I would have though you'd have realised that long ago."
Rorschach didn't answer.
"Silent treatment? How very typical. From what I've read, anyway."
"Psychiatrist. Should've known. But then, dark directly opposes that theory. Psychoanalysts flood room with light - attempt to brighten the minds of schizophrenics and the disturbed. Square one again. No clue. Who are you, voice?"
After asking that question, Rorschach had suddenly got the impression that the owner of the voice had disappeared. He didn't bother to call out, figured that even if he hadn't disappeared, then it wouldn't matter if he had a snoop around.
Except... there wasn't much actually to snoop around. Every time he tried to stand up, he woke up, seemingly hours, or maybe even only minutes later, with no recollection of what the Hell had just happened. Great. Fucking great. He'd been drugged.
After this little realisation, looking around the room (or whatever) he was in seemed to be the next logical option. That would have been a great idea, if he could even fucking see. Not that he was scared of the dark. But when you're locked in a pitch black room, drugged up to the eyeballs, and with some psychoanalyst jerk slithering around somewhere who'd presumably got some dark purpose or other for bringing him here? This wasn't looking good.
