[ WP ] Retell the origin of a superhero , but reveal the hero at the end of the story .

***Walter Kovac's Journal*** 
 
 **November 19, 1975** 
 
 I am on the trail of this kidnapped girl. Blair Roche, her name is Blair Roche. Cops in this city have ditched the meaning of the words'Justice' and'Service' from long ago. Had to crack a couple skulls and get some bruises on my knuckles to get some information, my trench coat still reeks of cheap alcohol, poor men smokes and blood. I've got a name: Gerald Grice. 
 
 **November 20, 1975** 
 
 I broke into Grice's house. I was too late for Blair. Found burnt child cloth in the furnace, a meat cleaver and lots of blood in his kitchen. He killed Blair, chopped her in pieces, fed to his dogs. I killed both of his dogs, waited upon his return and made him pay. The feelings I had, the impulses I've restrained. A part of me was so sick of watching how decadent a human being can fall, how low a person can get. I needed to kill him, but that's not how things go, not how things are done. I beat him to a pulp, and dropped him on the police station, I'm sure he got the lesson right. I hope deep down that Blair would consider this as'Justice', but I know it's not. 
 
 **November 22, 1975** 
 
 Grice has escaped prison. I need to track him down again. It wo n't be hard. His stench could be smelt anywhere on this city. Killers have that on them. 
 
 
 ***Rorschach's Journal*** 
 
 **November 25,1975** 
 
 Gerald Grice somehow got to me, suffered a hard blow from behind my neck, my carelessness costed me. He tied me to a chair, stripped of my mask and my coat, put them in front of me, was the only thing I could see, he had them lighted up with a lamp from behind me. Shouted things like `` this is what you get for meddling in other's people business''. He grabbed a blade, started cutting me on my chest, as the only thing I could see was my mask, hanging in there, with a static ink pattern. He carved the same pattern on my chest, I remained silent. He finished, my chest was a bloody mess. `` When I get back, I will start with your face, you freak'', he said, and he left to the bathroom. I kept looking at my mask. I kept thinking on how I failed Blair. I knew it could n't let it end this way. I struggled to get free from my restraint. I got free, grabbed my mask and my coat and waited for him. Grice did n't have a chance, I took him down quickly, took the knife from him. He begged for mercy. He begged me to bring him to the police station, as the first time. But we both knew that would not happen, and I'm pretty sure we both were thinking about Blair in that moment. The look on his face remembered me how filthy, how full of dirt a person can get, how unjust fate is when dealing fairness to everyone. The knife in my hand was shaking, I had a tight grip on it while I rose my arm. He kept begging, just as I imagine Blair did. I dropped my arm in a quick motion, and stabbed him in his chest. I repeated the same motion over and over again. Blood was getting on my coat, on my hands on my... face. My face. When I was done with him, there was no more Gerald Grice, nor Walter Kovac.
