Rorschach blinks once, then twice, then openly stares, forgetting to switch the transmission in his surprise at seeing the child. It seems out of place, the grime and grit as much of a reason in the stark room as the age, and lips twitch into a tense frown, brow furrowing to match his puzzlement. There have been no other children that he has seen so far, so it's understandably unexpected. It doesn't sit well with him, the boy left on his own, nor does the timid demeanor he has adopted in the clearly new environment. It hearkens to things he would prefer not to think about, has in fact put quite a bit of effort into not thinking about.

But even so. He dislikes it. Something should be done to rectify it, someone should be held accountable.

But he finds he doesn't have the words. He's never been much for conversation, and when he tries to put voice to thoughts they fail before they even get to his mouth. He doesn't know where to start. So instead he only watches, though with much less of his usual hostility.