His eyes shot open and the first thing Rorschach realized was that he wasn’t dead. The second thing he noticed was everything else: The smell of the room on his bare nostrils, the sharp light of the lamp piercing his uncovered eyes, even the taste of the air on his moist, exposed lips. He felt naked, which was different from what he thought he’d be feeling, which was dead.
He thought he’d be nothing but a red pool on the cold, Artic snow by now.
Where was he? The clothes he had on were foreign, felt strange. Cotton, 100%. Who spent money to comfortably clothe their prisoner? There was some kind of purpose to keeping him there, since he wasn’t dead yet. A prison cell with a door instead of bars, locked. Unable to get it open. How did he get here? It was Manhattan, no doubt, with the use of teleportation… But it was different from the way he was usually transported. For one, he’d never been undressed and re-dressed so quickly, but he was sure it was possible. Very possible.
Silent, Rorschach was on high alert, his brain whirring quickly under the head of red hair. People had already seen his face, the face under his real one, so it could be that he was being kept a hidden, all special. By Veidt? Manhattan? Doubtful. They knew he was going to tell but Veidt had let him go. Manhattan had gone to kill him, but now here he was, alive, if not cleaner than usual. Had he not known any better, his Mask Killer theory would have fit the situation; taking a mask as prisoner before killing him, gloating about it…
Hurm.
There were provisions in the room, drawers of clothes and a closet with shoes, sweaters, and a coat. There were even things, useful things, on the table and under the pillow. Pens, keys, and a journal, blank as if he was supposed to settle into the room and stay there a while. One of the keys, he found, could be used to lock the drawer. He didn’t know what the other one was for.
The flashlight was heavy, a good weapon under the circumstances. Perhaps someone had overlooked it, or didn’t realize its potential. People usually undervalued such things, not needing to know because they lived pampered, fattened lives. Didn’t care to know anything anymore, to do anything with themselves. Weak.
Weighing it in his hands, Rorschach couldn’t help but feel like it had been placed there for a reason, like someone already knew it was there but hadn’t bothered to get rid of it. There were even batteries, after all. It was placed there to be of use to him, or maybe just to tease. Maybe it wouldn’t do any good to think about things yet, but he didn’t see any better options.
The first person to come for him- they had to feed him sometime and there were no food slots on the door- would be his trial run. See if he had a chance to get out on his own, not wait around for Daniel and Miss Juspeczyk like last time, not that he’d been waiting for them then. He needed just one person, at least one, and he’d make it all work from there, even without his face.
The door creaked open and he watched it carefully, body tense and ready.
He thought he’d be nothing but a red pool on the cold, Artic snow by now.
Where was he? The clothes he had on were foreign, felt strange. Cotton, 100%. Who spent money to comfortably clothe their prisoner? There was some kind of purpose to keeping him there, since he wasn’t dead yet. A prison cell with a door instead of bars, locked. Unable to get it open. How did he get here? It was Manhattan, no doubt, with the use of teleportation… But it was different from the way he was usually transported. For one, he’d never been undressed and re-dressed so quickly, but he was sure it was possible. Very possible.
Silent, Rorschach was on high alert, his brain whirring quickly under the head of red hair. People had already seen his face, the face under his real one, so it could be that he was being kept a hidden, all special. By Veidt? Manhattan? Doubtful. They knew he was going to tell but Veidt had let him go. Manhattan had gone to kill him, but now here he was, alive, if not cleaner than usual. Had he not known any better, his Mask Killer theory would have fit the situation; taking a mask as prisoner before killing him, gloating about it…
Hurm.
There were provisions in the room, drawers of clothes and a closet with shoes, sweaters, and a coat. There were even things, useful things, on the table and under the pillow. Pens, keys, and a journal, blank as if he was supposed to settle into the room and stay there a while. One of the keys, he found, could be used to lock the drawer. He didn’t know what the other one was for.
The flashlight was heavy, a good weapon under the circumstances. Perhaps someone had overlooked it, or didn’t realize its potential. People usually undervalued such things, not needing to know because they lived pampered, fattened lives. Didn’t care to know anything anymore, to do anything with themselves. Weak.
Weighing it in his hands, Rorschach couldn’t help but feel like it had been placed there for a reason, like someone already knew it was there but hadn’t bothered to get rid of it. There were even batteries, after all. It was placed there to be of use to him, or maybe just to tease. Maybe it wouldn’t do any good to think about things yet, but he didn’t see any better options.
The first person to come for him- they had to feed him sometime and there were no food slots on the door- would be his trial run. See if he had a chance to get out on his own, not wait around for Daniel and Miss Juspeczyk like last time, not that he’d been waiting for them then. He needed just one person, at least one, and he’d make it all work from there, even without his face.
The door creaked open and he watched it carefully, body tense and ready.
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