He did not rush to level up his mastery yet. There was still a group of terrified kids in front of him, eyes fixed on him in shock.
"Hey, little ones, how about a smile?"
Rorschach spread his arms and smiled at them. "That last shot? That was all thanks to you."
At those words, the already panicked children broke down completely, bursting into even louder sobs. The basement filled with wailing.
Rorschach was stunned. This was nothing like the grateful welcome he had imagined.
He slowly holstered his gun, crouched down, and tried to explain patiently. "Your parents sent me to get you out. All the bad guys are gone now. Come on, I'll take you home."
A little girl lifted her head, eyes red, and said, "You're lying. We don't have parents. The bad people sold us from the orphanage."
As soon as she finished, the crying grew even louder.
Rorschach had never been good with kids. Right now he felt completely out of his depth.
Then, suddenly, he seemed to get an idea.
He patted their shoulders gently and said, "Hey, forget about those useless parents. Want to hear a joke?"
"A joke?"
"Yeah. This is one your uncle's been saving. Guaranteed killer."
He helped them up one by one, snapping the ropes that connected them, then scooped up the youngest child in his arms. As he led them out, he kept talking.
"You kids know what the whitest thing on a Black guy is? First one to get it right, I'll buy them a feast."
The question grabbed their attention. For a moment, they forgot their fear and started shouting answers.
"His butt!"
"His palms!"
"No, no, it's his fingernails!"
"Nuh‑uh, it's his teeth!"
They tossed out guesses from every direction.
Rorschach just shrugged and said with a helpless grin, "Sorry, little ones. The right answer is his master."
"Huh?"
They all stared at him, completely lost. The joke had gone right over their heads.
As mentioned before, Rorschach really was not great at cheering up kids.
Fortunately, once they stepped out of the basement, the scene in front of them wiped out any curiosity they might have had.
Headless corpses and shredded flesh lay everywhere along the way.
None of them dared look twice. Each one clung to Rorschach's jacket, and anyone who could not reach him grabbed a friend's hand instead, following him in terror, desperate to get out.
"Don't be scared. These are all the bad people who took you. They've all gotten what they deserve," Rorschach said, trying to reassure them.
The little girl in his arms suddenly looked up at him. "What about the bad lady at the orphanage? Is she here too?"
At that, all the children raised their heads, wide‑eyed, watching him expectantly.
They had landed in the orphanage because of broken homes, only to be sold off by staff Gus had bought out.
They knew perfectly well that the gunmen were bad. But they also understood that the one who sold them was no better.
Looking at their hopeful faces, Rorschach gave them an answer that did not disappoint.
"I'm guessing her ending is going to be even worse."
——————————
"Ahhh!!!"
A piercing scream echoed through the blood‑splattered room.
A fat woman, shot in the arms and legs and her face mangled, lay on the floor groaning in agony.
Barely a few yards away was the front door. If she could somehow crawl out and a neighbor spotted her, she might just survive.
But a masked figure stood between her and the exit, blocking any chance of escape.
"Connor, look what I found."
Murphy came out of the back room with a heavy suitcase, cursing. "This bitch hid the cash in the floorboards. Know how much is in here? Two hundred and sixty grand. That's right—two hundred and sixty thousand dollars."
He stormed over and started kicking her in the head again, raging. "This old hag used her job to sell God knows how many kids under the table. She deserves worse than this."
With every kick, her screams grew weaker. She was close to the end.
Connor opened the case, and the stacks of hundreds inside sent a fresh surge of hatred and disgust through him.
Kids from the South Side were treated like weeds. Behind that two hundred and sixty grand lay who knew how many ruined lives.
"Hell no. We're not letting this piece of trash off with just a quick death."
He stopped Murphy, who was still kicking, and began tearing through the room until he found a thick coil of rope.
He tied a noose in one end and slipped it tight around the woman's neck, then ran the other end over a ceiling beam, prepping to hang her.
Murphy watched and could not help asking, "We're really killing her? Shouldn't this be the cops' job?"
"Screw the cops. You really think every cop in Chicago is like Rorschach?" Connor did not slow down, hauling on the rope.
But the woman just lay there, dead weight.
Murphy rolled his eyes and came over to help.
Moments later, the orphanage director was hanging from the beam, feet dangling above the floor.
Connor tied off the rope to the doorknob, lit a cigarette, and passed one to Murphy.
Through the haze, he stared at the twisted, contorted face swinging in front of them, feeling something new stir in his chest.
"Murphy, what would you call what we're doing here?"
"Killing, obviously. What else?"
"No. I think 'execution' fits better."
Connor slung an arm around his brother's shoulders, voice rising. "We're purging evil from this world, getting justice for people who'll never see it any other way. We're basically God's own executioners."
"Executioners, huh?" Murphy raised an eyebrow. "Has a ring to it. I like it."
"Exactly. From now on, we're the Executioner Brothers—taking out the trash the law can't touch."
They stubbed out their cigarettes, grabbed the suitcase, and walked out without a backward glance.
Tonight, they had not only scored a fortune; more importantly, they had found what felt like a purpose.
The door slammed shut, leaving only the corpse swaying under the ceiling.
Elsewhere, Rorschach was dropping the rescued kids off just outside the precinct.
"Cross the second intersection and turn the corner. That's the station. Go in and tell them everything that happened," he said.
Each child now had a Burger King meal and a soft‑serve cone in hand. With full stomachs and sugar in their systems, the terror had eased a bit.
"What about you, mister? Aren't you coming with us?" one of them asked.
"I'm not going in." Rorschach waved them toward the corner. "Once you're placed with new families, I'll come visit if I can."
"But we don't even know what you look like," a little boy said, pointing at the mask over his face.
Rorschach smiled. "Then just pretend every good person you meet from now on is me."
A few minutes later, once the last child had disappeared into the station, he yanked up the handbrake, stomped the gas, cranked the wheel, and tore off into the night.
The night was still young.
(End of Chapter)
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