Rorschach flipped through the pages of his journal. He perched himself on the roof of a silicone factory as he reached the last entry of his journal. As he turned to a fresh page he sighed. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a pencil.
While he scribbled away he felt the night air growing colder and sirens screaming deep within the city blaring louder.
Would it ever end?
He closed his journal and stuffed it, as well as the pencil, in his pocket. He couldn't think like that.
Too much work to be done. Can't quit now.
Not when the belly of the beast was so close to bursting. He couldn't let the atrocities of the world get to him. The city was black, ugly, filled with most detestable wretches that the Earth had to offer.
But, he knew. He knew what this city needed. It needed him. The evil that had collected and stagnated here was out there. He knew that the city would writhe in pain and beg for mercy. All he had to do was squeeze it in the right places.
The city needed him to save whatever small bits of good and decent people still resided within it. The city needed him and he needed it. Musings.