American comics: Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who worry about their fathers!.

Chapter 994 The Second Generation Rorschach and Moths to a Flame

The lights in Block B of Arkham Asylum went completely out.

The entire power supply system was cut off.

Once Arkham was plunged into darkness, chaos erupted immediately, with screams and banging on doors from other cells rising like a tidal wave.

"Rorschach."

The girl's voice reached his ears, "Grab me."

A slightly cool hand gripped his wrist precisely.

After hesitating for a moment, Luo Xia, disregarding the other party's purpose in saving him, immediately grabbed that hand tightly.

He was pulled up by an irresistible force and stumbled out of the cell.

Amid the chaos, the guards' shouts rang out.

The owner of that hand seemed to be able to see in the dark, pulling him precisely around obstacles and through the maze-like corridors.

As he ran, Rorschach could hear the thud and screams of guards falling behind him.

I don't know how long I ran, until the cold night wind suddenly rushed into my lungs.

The two finally escaped and stood in the shadows outside the towering walls of the mental hospital.

"I am the Saturn Girl."

The girl released her grip, turned around to face him, and said, "Hello, from the 30th century."

By the dim light of the streetlights in the distance, Luo Xia could make out her appearance.

The girl was very young, wearing a tight-fitting silver and blue uniform made of a unique material. She had short, neat hair and her eyes shone brightly in the darkness.

While talking to Luo Xia, she cautiously scanned her surroundings.

"why?"

Rorschach's voice came from behind the inky mask, "Why did you save me?"

Saturn Girl succinctly stated, "I come from the future, but I've been traveling in this era for quite some time. A lot has happened recently, and I've been investigating why superheroes are being ostracized. I happened to find your information at the mental hospital. You have no past and no future, as if you were born out of thin air, so I guess you might know something."

“I have the ability to read minds, so, Reggie, I can see into your mind to some extent. You must know what happened, right?”

She looked nervously at the ever-changing mask on Luo Xia's face, "I hope I don't mess this up."

Upon hearing the other person say his real name, Rorschach's throat bobbed.

Then Rorschach shook his head and said to her, "You must be mistaken. I don't belong to your world. I come from another universe."

"Other universes?"

The Saturn girl blinked, not particularly surprised.

Although she did not fully access Rorschach's memories, she did access vague fragments, realizing that he might not be from this world.

Which universe do you come from?

"A universe that is beyond redemption."

Without waiting for Saturn Girl's response, Rorschach slid down to the floor, his back against the cold wall.

The ink on the mask no longer surged, but settled down, like solidified oil stains.

Those deliberately sealed-off fragments of memory surged up in front of this unfamiliar person from the future.

Rorschach looked out at the night sky and told the Saturn girl about his experience.

New York, 1985.

A gigantic, octopus-like "alien monster" tore through the sky and landed in the city center.

The psionic shockwave exploded and rippled outwards.

Reggie Long wasn't Rorschach back then.

He was just a high school student, hiding in a basement a few blocks from the center.

After the tremors subsided, he crawled out.

The whole world has changed.

The familiar corner café has become a twisted steel tomb, and the neighbor's red car parked on the side of the road looks like tin foil that has been crumpled by a giant hand.

He ran home like a madman.

The upper half of that apartment building, covered in ivy, disappeared.

Among the ruins, he saw his parents' bodies.

Reggie stood there until his legs went numb.

There were no cries or screams; it was as if the world's voice had been taken away.

Three million people!

The cold, hard numbers in the news told him that three million people had died.

The immense trauma overwhelmed Reggie.

He was then sent to a mental hospital.

Like a walking corpse, he refused to communicate. After entering the mental hospital, the only thing he could do was stare blankly at the water stains on the ceiling.

Everything changed starting with an old man.

Baron Bayer, whom his fellow patients privately called "the Mothman."

A thin, sparsely haired old man whose eyes were sometimes cloudy and sometimes unusually clear.

No one knows how he got locked up; his medical record says he has paranoid schizophrenia.

He always said he was a member of the “militia,” a long-forgotten group of heroes.

Reggie's silence attracted the Mothman.

The old man would sit by his bedside and ramble on about bizarre "past events": how Silk Soul used a long whip to subdue robbers, the Comedian's signature shotgun tactics, Night Owl's flying machine... and things like that.

Nobody took it seriously, except Reggie.

Those stories were the only light in his dark world.

Then, something strange happened.

The Mothman often "disappears" at night.

When the nurses made their rounds, his bed was empty.

Before dawn, he would reappear on the bed, covered in dew or chill, sometimes clutching a handful of candy, which he would secretly slip to Reggie.

How did you get out?

One time, Reggie couldn't help but ask.

The Mothman's cloudy eyes brightened, and he grinned, revealing a toothless smile. He leaned close to the boy's ear and whispered mysteriously, "Wings, child, everyone has invisible wings. As long as you want to fly..."

As he spoke, he spread his withered arms and made a clumsy gliding motion.

Nobody believed he could fly away, but the candy was real, and the fragments of the outside world were real too.

Reggie's numb heart was pried open a crack by this crazy old man.

Christmas Eve, 1991. Late at night, the Mothman woke Reggie.

He was unusually clear-headed, with eyes as sharp as a young man's.

Merry Christmas, Reggie.

The old man said this as he stuffed two things into Reggie's hands.

A notebook with worn edges and dark stains.

There was also a worn-out kraft paper document bag, sealed with wax; the old man said it was a keepsake from Reggie's father.

“Your father was Rorschach’s psychologist, and this notebook belongs to Rorschach.”

The Mothman's voice was low and menacing. "He felt there was something hidden beneath Rorschach's mask... humanity? Hope? Who knew, he went to that seminar that day, and there it was..."

The old man didn't say anything more, but patted the file bag and said, "Take this, it's what your father left for you."

Reggie clutched the cold file folder and the rough notebook, his heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest.

Mothman looked at him with a complex expression, a mixture of affection, expectation, and a deep weariness that Reggie couldn't decipher.

Reggie's life in the mental hospital continued peacefully afterward.

Reggie's introverted personality made him a target of bullying in the hospital.

The caregiver was indifferent, and the bullies among the patients used him as a punching bag.

Once, he was cornered in the laundry room and his fists rained down on him.

He curled up, covering his head and face, bracing himself for yet another humiliation.

"Foot! Step on his left ankle!"

A hoarse voice came from the vent.

It's a moth-man; I don't know how it climbed up there.

Reggie instinctively did as he was told, stomping hard on the attacker's supporting ankle, causing the man to scream and fall to the ground.

"Right fist! Three inches below the ribs! Quickly!"

The Mothman's voice was urgent.

Reggie's fist swung out instinctively, striking his opponent's ribs.

The guy who was hit curled up like a shrimp.

"Run! Child!"

Mothman shouted at Reggie.

Reggie rushed out of the laundry room, his heart pounding.

It wasn't out of fear, but because of a feeling of control I'd never experienced before.

That night, in the abandoned activity room, the Mothman began his "teaching".

"The essence of the Silk Soul Whip lies in the flick of the wrist, not brute force."

The old man somehow got hold of an old electrical wire, flicked his wrist, and the wire shot out like a live snake, precisely snatching away an empty can from the corner of the wall.

"The comedian's gun butt smash is all about surprise and tricky angles, like this!"

He grabbed a mop handle, mimicking the weight of a shotgun, and with a sideways backhand slam, smashed it onto the sandbag, the dull thud echoing in the empty room.

"And the Night Owl's joint locks."

His thin fingers precisely pinched a spot on Reggie's arm, and a tingling sensation instantly spread throughout his body.

Mothman wasn't just showing off; he was demonstrating the simple and efficient killing techniques honed on the battlefield by his teammates.

Every exertion of force, every demonstration of a chokehold, was imbued with a chilling, murderous aura.

His cloudy eyes became exceptionally bright and sharp as he explained, as if he had returned to the era when he wore uniforms and fought side by side with his comrades.

Reggie was a rough diamond; his immense grief and anger gave him extraordinary focus.

He absorbed every move the Mothman taught him like a sponge, honing his skills to be even more ruthless and precise through repeated "practice" (resisting bullying).

His body became stronger from the beatings, and the numbness in his eyes was replaced by a cold vigilance.

He was no longer just a punching bag; he became a fearsome presence in the shadows of the mental hospital.

The way his fellow patients looked at him changed; their eyes were now filled with fear.

The caregivers also vaguely sensed that something dangerous was growing within this silent young man.

The days passed in a stifling calm.

The Mothman remained elusive, bringing back scattered news from the outside world.

Reggie, on the other hand, was engrossed in studying Rorschach's notebook.

Walter Kovacs' (Rorschach) distorted worldview, obsessive sense of justice, and ultimate sacrifice permeate him like a poison.

1992 years.

A media bombshell exploded around the world: the Pharaoh's plan was exposed.

That “alien invasion” that destroyed New York and killed three million people was a grand hoax orchestrated by the Pharaoh himself!

He sacrificed three million lives for the sake of so-called "world peace".

News reports were everywhere, and on television, the Pharaoh's handsome, calm face became the most hideous demon in Reggie's eyes.

Years of pent-up hatred, like a volcano, burst through the calm shell he had forcibly maintained.

He wants revenge!

Using the method of the original Rorschach.

The plan gradually took shape in his mind.

Using his familiarity with the terrain and the skills taught by the Mothman, Rorschach set fire to the asylum in the dead of night.

The fire originated from multiple sources; thick smoke first engulfed the pharmacy and archives, and then the wards.

A piercing alarm blared, and chaos erupted.

Reggie, supporting Mothman, was swept away by the chaotic crowd as they rushed out of the burning building and stumbled down the hill behind the mountain.

The cold air filled my lungs, and the sparse lights of the town below could be seen in the distance.

"Alright, child... let's stop here."

Mothman stopped, coughing violently, and released Reggie's hand.

He turned around and looked up at the mountain.

The asylum burned fiercely in the night, like a huge, twisted torch, illuminating his wrinkled face.

"Grandpa Balang, let's go!"

Reggie tried desperately to pull him away.

The old man waved his hand, a smile of near relief appearing on his face.

(End of this chapter)