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A/N: S--sorry I took so long to update; I'm terrible when it comes to these kinds of things. With any luck, I'll get better at it soon! -nervous laughter- As a side-note, the term 'OC' is used very loosely here to describe any non-canon characters named in this fic; they'll generally be playing minor, essential parts to the plot. Hey, just because they're all dead, doesn't make them any less of an original character amirite. ;D

I--I

.┐┌.

Rorschach's Journal – January 4th, 1985

Somebody knows.

Another person killed yesterday evening. Woman this time. Queens apartment.

Consider visiting Dreiberg if things became difficult. Scrap idea. Know what his response would be.

No new evidence found at scene. Things that shouldn't have been there were. Things that should have been, weren't. Valuables. Children. Respectively. Didn't take Harvard degrees to figure out crime was related. Starting to believe murders aren't about victims at all. Personal slaughterhouse. Pornographic exploitation. Child prostitution ring. No reason to risk not assuming worst case scenario. Provides motivation.

Cold feeling grows in pit of stomach. Must be what they call nostalgia.

Visited standard information points past couple evenings. Possible leads have turned up dry. Papers say police having equal luck. Not surprised. Detectives place hope toward implications of telephone records and white powders to reveal stains left by guilty fingertips. Paperwork, technology, waste of time. Remove red tape and find much faster ways of making people talk.

Toxic cloud infects the air of Harry's place with unmistakable scent of contamination, stinging nostrils and making eyes water. Women lay draped over criminals and thugs like whorish strips of cloth, gaping at me soundlessly through visions half-lidded by drug-induced deliriums of happiness.

Bartender turns around to see what silence is about. Sees me and shrivels like a frayed scrap of paper lit on fire.

State intentions loud enough for entire room to overhear. Single out crook who looks most suspicious after announcement. Interrogate until they admit knowledge of answer or spill name and description of someone who does. Repeat as necessary.

Address in Queens slips out between whimpers after third finger splits into two pieces. Looks like somebody knew.

Satisfied with development. Didn't feel like coming back tomorrow.

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