Rorschach's Journal #9

Arrested. Whoever set me up, I played right into his hands. They've taken my face. They've taken it.

They stole it from us. We hates them.

Sneak journal into Sing Sing Prison. In usual place.

The scum and creatures of the night are climbing the walls in fury at my presence. Keep eyes forward and senses sharp. This prison no different than the prison that surrounds it. They all want the same thing: Me in a body bag. Preferably dead.

Cell door slam shut behind me. The shouts continue in the block. All aimed at me. Threats and curses. And threats laced with curses, with artistic allusions to rape. So stereotypical, it's sad. It's a regular Shawshank here. With one exception—this prison has a midget. Which makes it at least three times better.

The Big Figure. Even as I sit on floor, he stands eye-to-eye with me. Dan and I arrested him years ago. Targeted him purely because of size. Apparently, had rap sheet the length of my arm, and at least twice his height. We put him away. He stayed away. From the looks of it, grudge hasn't eased over the years.

He bites down on end of cigar. Smoke slowly billowing out through nostrils. Tell him he looks like little tea pot. Doesn't seem to faze him in the least. Smiles and taps ashes of cigar into my cell.

"Laugh it up," he says. Maybe I should laugh it down, you'll hear it better. His eye twitches at this. Smile doesn't fade. "See all these men?" His arm sweeps out across the block. "Three hundred men that want you dead for what you've done. They're angry, Rorschach. They're all buying for revenge, and I'm gonna sell it to 'em."

"Threats?" I say. Scoff at this. Your threats mean little to me.

Big Figure grips the bars. Cigar tumbles from mouth. Spews smoke at me while he shouts. "It's not gonna take long, you freak! You're gonna slip up soon. Very soon. And when you do, I'm gonna be there. Just you wait. By the week's end, they're gonna be hauling you out to the graves in buckets."

Begin tirade. You're setting goals awfully high. Hope you live up to them. Wouldn't want you to come up short. Will have to dwarf your competition. Best not to be short-sighted in this matter…

He walked away a while ago. Wanted to make sure he heard me the whole way back to his cell.

Think about what he said. About slipping up. Giving him an opening. Don't believe I'm that prone to sparking anarchy. Would only make possibility of escape difficult. Will make extra effort to not upset balance.

Rorschach's Journal #10

So. Poured vat of hot oil onto rowdy prisoner's face at chowtime. Sparked prison riot. Big Figure and goons standing in front of cell door. Menacing looks. Smiles. Buzzsaw in hand.

What's black and white and red all over? My face…when I get it back. Only matter of time and small obstacle to overcome…