Rorschach's Journal, Age 16. They took me out of one cesspool, only to put me in another.

My mother's indecent life finally caught up to her. She's rotting in jail. The powers-that-be determined a 16-year-old boy can't be left on his own. What do they know? I've had to take care of myself since I was six. The bureaucrats who pretend to care about so-called disadvantaged children can't accept that. They only see rules and regulations, not reality. So they sent me to live with an aunt and uncle I never even knew here in Angel Grove, California. Angel Grove. Nice name. Sounds like a nice place.

It isn't.

It's a sewer. A sewer disguised by well-manicured parks and flower beds and coffee shops and people with forced smiles, people who hide their true selves. People like my aunt and uncle. Uncle Lowlife I call him. He likes to drink. And when he drinks too much, he likes to hit my aunt, a woman with no backbone, a woman who excuses the blood and bruises and broken bones he gives her. Uncle Lowlife hit me once in a drunken rage. I showed him what a real beating was like. He doesn't hit me any more.

And there's other filth in Angel Grove. Aliens who want to take over the world. I'm up to my neck in this fight. I'm a Power Ranger. Don't ask me why. Zordon picked me for this group.

What a group. Jocks, pretty boys, prom queens, a nerd. All friendly and smiling and good.

And naïve.

But they can fight, I'll give them that. Still, they follow Zordon with blind allegiance. I tell Jason, our leader, my concerns. He dismisses them, says Zordon is truly a good entity who only wants to help mankind.

I don't buy it. No one is that altruistic. Everyone has their own agenda. Rita Repulsa. Zordon. Even the other Power Rangers. Jason, always trying to prove himself as a leader. Kimberly, wanting to show she's more than a pretty face. Billy, always trying to be accepted as one of the guys.

What's my agenda? Simple. To survive.

"Hey, look. It's freak boy."

Rorschach glanced over his shoulder. Two young men in old, denim clothing strutted into the colorful Juice Bar. One heavy-set, the size of a football lineman. The other had a lean build and a Weasley face.

It's Bulk and Skull. Self-proclaimed bullies at Angel Grove High School. They think they're tough. I've seen tough. These two are nothing. Just specks of dirt among the filth that suffocates this planet.

Rorschach turned back to the counter, sipping his coffee, now luke-warm.

"Whach'ya drinkin', freak boy?" Bulk plopped his large arms on the counter next to Rorschach. Skull took up position on his other side, chuckling. "Yeah! Freak boy. That's a good one, Bulk. Good one."

Rorschach groaned and ignored them.

"Hel-looooo. Earth to Freak boy." Bulk waved his hand in front of Rorschach. "Ya lose your hearing as well as your voice?"

Skull howled with laughter. "That's another good one, Bulk."

"Hey, Bulk," Jason said from further down the counter. "Maybe you should take it easy on Walter today."

I grimace when Jason calls me that. Walter Kovacs is nothing. A name on a birth certificate. Not a real person. Rorschach is real.

Jason continued, "He just wants to be left alone today."

"C'mon, Jason. I'm just trying to be friendly with Walter, here. Get him to talk to me. You can talk, can't you, Walter?"

Rorschach clenched his teeth. I hate being called Walter.

"No? Not one little word for Uncle Bulk. Well, maybe this will get you to talk."

Bulk snatched the coffee cup from in front of Rorschach. He took a few steps back, holding the cup in front of him. "C'mon, Freak boy. If you want it back, all you have to do is ask. Say please. Let me hear you talk."

I've had it with Bulk's antics. But I've always had a low tolerance for people like him. The ones who use their power, be it real or imagined, to intimidate others, to exert control over others. They think whatever strength they have gives them the right to treat other people like garbage. And what do those who pretend to oversee society do about them? Send them to the principal's office? Detention? Let them fingerpaint at the community center? None of that works. Only one thing works with these maggots. But the spineless politicians and bureaucrats don't have what it takes to go that far.

I do.

I glance at Bulk, who still wants me to talk. How pathetic is this idiot's life if he thinks me uttering a word is entertaining?

He's still laughing and goading me to talk. Me, I'm sizing him up.

Bulk has about four inches and at least 130 pounds over me. Big guy. Most people would go out of their way to avoid a fight with him. But I've watched Bulk at school and around town. Mostly he just relies on intimidation. I've never seen him in a fight. Sometimes I wonder if he's ever been in an actual fight. I don't count the times he's just beaten up people. Beatings only go one way. In a fight, the other guy hits back. Bulk doesn't expect people to hit him back. A punch would surprise him.

That's one in my favor.

Bulk may not be much of a fighter, but his size still makes him a threat. I know how to neutralize that threat. No matter how big the opponent, take him off his feet, and he loses his advantage.

I scan the counter in front of me. There's a plastic display bucket with freshly cut limes, something to give the impression of how healthy the stuff they serve here is. Next to the bucket is a stainless steel napkin holder.

That's all I'll need.

Rorschach reached out and plucked two limes from the bucket.

"Oooh. Do I get a little flavor boost for my coffee?" Bulk held the cup in front of him. "C'mon, Walter. Squirt me."

Rorschach scowled. What an idiot.

He brought up his hands, pointing the cut limes at Bulk's face, and squeezed. Thin, clear streams of liquid shot out of the fruit, and right into the big teen's eyes.

Bulk dropped the coffee. He cried out and covered his face with his massive hands.

Rorschach dropped the limes and snatched the napkin holder. He jumped off his stool, dropped to his knees, and swung the holder in an arc. It smashed into Bulk's knee. Crunches and pops filled his ears. An instant later they were drowned out by Bulk's screams. He dropped to the floor, both hands clutching his knee, tears streaming from his red eyes.

I turn around to face Skull. The guy's just staring at his friend in shock. He never expected anyone to take out Bulk.

I can see it in his eyes. He doesn't know what to do now. I'm not surprised. Skull thinks he's tough only because he's around Bulk. Take Bulk out of the picture, and he's nothing.

Skull just keeps staring at me, so obvious he's trying to accept what just happen . . . and he can't.

I glare at him. "You've got two choices. Run, or scream."

He takes a second to think about it, then he bolts for the exit. What'd you know? He does have some functioning brain cells.

"Walter . . ."

Kimberly says that hated name in her oh-so-chipper voice. How is it she can be so happy all the time after everything we've faced?

"Was that really necessary?"

"I thought so," Rorschach answered her.

"You know there are better ways to resolve these conflicts."

Great. Now the other prom queen wants to put in her two cents. I just stare at Trini, the Yellow Ranger, pretending like I care about her advice.

"You could have started a dialogue, explained to him you don't appreciate his actions, maybe do something nice like buy him a coffee."

I just shake my head. How can kids entrusted with the sort of powers they have, and who fight all sorts of alien scum, be this naïve? Like Rita Repulsa would really give a damn about starting a dialogue.

"Trini's right, Walter."

Now I groan. It's Tommy, the pretty boy. He used to be evil once, tried to destroy the Power Rangers. Now he's one of us. He's our friend.

Their friend. I still don't trust him.

"You see . . ."

The communicators on our wrists beep all at once. Something's up. Something involving Rita, no doubt. Lucky break. Now I don't have to listen to Tommy prattle on.

We hurry to the door, ready to make for the alley near the Juice Bar where we can morph without anyone watching.

But before I go, I've got one more piece of business to take care of.

Bulk's still on the floor, blubbering like the baby he is. I kneel down beside him and grab his collar. His face goes white like chalk when we lock eyes.

"You wanna hear me talk, then hear this. If you wanna keep breathing, don't bother me again."

Bulk nods and goes back to crying. I head out the door to join the other Rangers in the alley.

"All right!" Jason shouted. "It's Morphin' Time!"

Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it.

Colorful flashes of light enveloped the six teens. Their clothing changed into jumpsuits and motorcycle helmets, each a different color; Red for Jason, green for Tommy, pink for Kimberly, yellow for Trini, blue for Billy, and black and white for Rorschach, with the blobs of colors shifting constantly to form new, ink blot-like patterns.

We teleport to a local park. Lots of trees and pretty flowers . . . and a lot of gray, faceless humanoid figures, and their leader. I scowl under my helmet. Great. I go from fighting one idiot to fighting another.

"Ah, Power Rangers," a winged, gold-clad monkey-like creature said in a gravely voice. "I have been expecting you."

"What are you doing here, Goldar?" Jason asked, his arms going through all sorts of emphatic gyrations.

Why does always he do that?

Goldar shook his sword over his head. "I am here to put an end to the Power Rangers once and for all."

"You're welcome to try, Goldar," Kimberly blurted, also using emphatic hand gestures. "But you'll fail like you do every ti-"

"Enough talk," Rorschach growled. "Let's take 'em down!"

I leap into the middle of the Putties. Putties. Rita's foot soldiers. Drones. No independent thought. Only basic combat skills. Cannon fodder.

Corpses.

The Putties try to fight. A kick here. An elbow there. A snap of the neck. It takes less than a minute, and nine Putties are lying dead around me.

Then it's just me and Goldar.

"Ah, Black Ranger." Goldar shook his sword over his head. "You may have defeated my Putty warriors, but you will never be able to -"

Rorschach bent the fingers of his right hand and drove them into Goldar's throat.

Why do these guys have to talk so much?

The alien dropped to his knees. His sword fell from his hands. His breaths came in raspy wheezes.

Rorschach picked up the sword and glared at Goldar, whose furry hands clutched his throat.

"Black Ranger!" Jason yelled. "Don't!"

Why not? This maggot and his friends want to take over Earth. Kill millions. Why show him mercy? You give mercy to the weak, the helpless.

Goldar is neither.

Rorschach raised the sword and plunged it into Goldar's skull. The alien jerked, stiffened, then fell to his side.

"Rorschach!" Jason stomped across a lawn full of dead and unconscious Putties toward him. "How could you do something like that? That was an excessive use of force."

"This is war. There's no such thing as excessive force."

He bent down and pulled the sword out of Goldar's head. He gazed at it, watching the dark blood slide down the blade.

"I think I'll keep this."

"What?" Kimberly blurted. "Why?"

"Because next time I see Rita Repulsa, I'm gonna use the sword of her number one lapdog to cut off her arms and legs, and while she's lying on the ground helpless and bleeding, I'm gonna lop off her head."

I can't see their faces, but I can sense their body language. They're squeamish about it. I start to wonder if they'll try to stop me from carrying out my threat against Rita Repulsa.

Let 'em try.