Rorschach’s journal, October 13th, 1985. 8:30 PM. Meeting with Dreiberg left bad taste in mouth. A flabby failure who sits whimpering in his basement. Why are so few of us left active, healthy, and without personality disorders? The first Nite Owl runs an auto repair shop. The first Silk Spectre is a bloated, aging whore, dying in a California rest resort. Dollar Bill got his cape stuck in a revolving door where he got gunned down. Silhouette, murdered: a victim of her own indecent lifestyle. Mothman’s in an asylum in Maine. Only two names remain on my list. Both share private quarters at Rockefeller Military Research Center. I shall go to them. I shall go tell the indestructible man that someone plans to murder him.