.Ŧ.

Connie turned the page of the journal as Niteowl flew Archie high above the city, wondering if he ever found out who the woman in the alley was. She wondered why he had bothered to scratch out 'beautiful'. It wasn't as if someone would care, even if they had gotten their hands on the journal. The next page was important to her.

.U.

Rorschach's journal. February 16, 1965.

Tonight, I met my fellow crime fighters. The comedian was intoxicated, and proceeded to burn a map of the U.S. with his lighter. Niteowl had said something about no more drinking at meetings. Niteowl is the closest thing to a partner I think I'll ever have. We agreed to meet up with each other next week to start acclimating each other to our respective styles of justice. I have decided that the second Silk Spectre is no better than the first. She went off with Dr. Manhattan to sully their souls with soft kisses in the night. His girlfriend was there, too. I wonder idly how she will react to his infidelities. It makes me shudder to know that even among our ranks, there are still sins upon us.

Ozymandias gave a speech outlining our work. He driveled on for what seemed like forever. The man needs to put his priorities in order. We are not here for glory, or even for a perfect world. We are here to be the ones to put the corrupt and the dirty in their places. To give a different perspective on the city.

There was someone else at the meeting, as well. She was the woman I had found yesterday. She was in different clothing today. It was a black suit, with a zipper up the front. I believe it was leather, but it was adorned with thick kevlar. Her boots were sturdy, perfect for quick movements. Her mask was red, and her face was scrubbed clean, with no traces of makeup. She smiled at me once more, and I actually felt the urge to smile back at her, even if she couldn't see it. I resisted. She was probably a loose woman, with her hazel eyes and long dark hair. She said her name was Muse, but I could care less. She said she wanted to work with me soon.

I told her it wasn't likely, but I know that it is. There is something about her that makes me think. She reminds me of the woman I met at work this morning, Jamie Cooper. Perhaps I'm wrong about Muse. Maybe she is a good woman. I'll have to do some research on this.

.M.

Rorschach trudged into bed that night, silently calculating. There had been a two percent decrease in crime since last week. However, more than thirty percent of this crime had been rape.

'Rape on prostitutes. It was basically doing overtime with no pay,' the cynical voice whispered.

"Shut up," Walter tore off his mask. "Most of those women were good women. Weren't they? I remember a couple of them had kids with them that they were protecting."

'Just because one is a mother does not mean one is a saint. Don't forget that, Walter. You remember mother, right?'

"How could I forget?" Walter cried out as he sank onto his bed, distraught. He remembered how his mother would use their home as her 'office.' She would scream at him when he accidentally found her at her job. 'I should have gotten that abortion!' rang through his mind again. It had been years since the broad died. Did he even care? Not particularly.

He struggled through sleep, dreaming of his mother teaching Muse the ways of loose women, and Muse stupidly following orders. Images of hazel eyes crying as she was raped repeatedly, with money thrown at her on her client's way out. Her dark hair trailing down her bare body–

Walter didn't sleep much after he woke from his nightmare. He didn't want to think about her in that way. He didn't want to think of any woman in that way.