The alley stank of garbage, wet brick, and the copper edge of violence. Rorschach had the man pinned against the wall, fist hammering into ribs with the dull, meaty rhythm of someone who’s done this too many times to count. The bastard slid halfway down the bricks, choking, before Rorschach grabbed him by the collar and slammed him back up again—more warning than mercy.

A puddle rippled behind him. Footsteps. Quite, careful. Yours.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

“Mm. Shouldn’t be out here.” His voice came rough, like gravel being ground under a boot. Another punch—less force now, almost absent-minded. “City filth awake at this hour. Predators. Cowards. Opportunists. Not safe.”

The man at his feet whimpered. Rorschach ignored him completely.

Finally he straightened, coat creaking, the inkblots on his mask shifting like they were irritated on his behalf. He half-glanced over his shoulder, posture tense, shoulders hunched in that animal way of his.