羅夏
| “ | 當然。為了保護維特的新烏托邦在奠基中多一具屍體有什麼不同。 好了，你還在等什麼？ 動手吧，動手！ |
” |
| ——羅夏面對曼哈頓博士的最後一聲吶喊 | ||
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| 基本資料 | |
| 本名 | 沃特·寇格沃茨(Walter Kovacs) |
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| 別號 | 羅夏 |
| 髮色 | 紅髮 |
| 瞳色 | 黑瞳 |
| 身高 | 168cm |
| 體重 | 未知 |
| 三圍 | 未知 |
| 年齡 | 35歲 |
| 演員 | 傑基·厄爾·哈利 |
| 萌點 | 極端右翼 傲嬌（？？？） 偏執 毒舌 反社會人格 |
| 出身地區 | 美國 |
| 活動範圍 | 美國 |
| 所屬團體 | 守望者→無 |
| 個人狀態 | 死亡 |
| 親屬或相關人 | |
| 戰友：夜梟二代，絲魂二代，笑匠，法老王，曼哈頓博士
敵人：法老王，摩洛克 | |
羅夏（Rorschach）是由阿蘭·摩爾所創作的漫畫《守望者》及其衍生作品的登場角色但原型出自被DC收購的查爾頓漫畫人物。
簡介
羅夏（Rorschach，1940-1985）是美國DC漫畫《守望者》中的反超級英雄，原名沃特·約瑟夫·寇格沃茨（Walter Josef Kovacs）。
他戴的面具上的墨跡會不斷變化。
羅夏是一個貫徹着絕對正義的人，在打擊犯罪時具有嚴重的暴力傾向，他不接受善惡之間所謂的灰色地帶，為懲罰罪惡不惜一切，永不妥協。
人物經歷
沃特從小就沒有得到過家庭的溫暖，他的母親是個風塵女子，父親是母親的恩客，身份不明。成長過程中經常受到他人欺辱和來自母親的家庭暴力，導致了他以後的複雜人格。
羅夏在母親因性交易而被捕後進入查爾頓孤兒院，在漫畫版的附錄中，檔案里曾經提到過他在很小的時候就已經在體操與拳擊上有很大的天賦，而且熱愛文學與宗教。但是為人性格靦腆，所以他可能在那個時候就已經不太正常了。
1964年，22歲的沃特在一家製衣廠工作，用一種新型布料給一名名為基蒂·吉諾維斯的女子做裙子，但對方嫌丑沒有要，就自己留下了那件衣服。兩年後，基蒂·吉諾維斯在眾目睽睽之下被殺在美國歷史上確有其事，案件發生後震驚全國，報道在報刊上。當他從報紙上看到基蒂之死以後，對人性大失所望，並用原先的布料做了面具，起名羅夏，開始了自己的蒙面義警的活動。
1957年，受人委託，調查一名幼童綁架案，並發現了幼童慘遭肢解、屍體餵狗後，徹底對罪犯喪失希望，將兇手殺害，電影版里羅夏使用菜刀將兇手爆頭，而漫畫中是直接將其和房子一同焚燒。
從此，沃特變得更加孤僻，精神變得更加不穩定，處理罪犯的手法開始殘暴起來，將無數的罪犯送進了監獄。
在基恩法案生效後，羅夏是唯一一個不為政府工作且沒有隱退的蒙面義警，因此被指控為罪犯。
平時一直住在一個廉價公寓裡，平常高舉着「末日將至」的標牌在街上遊蕩，夜晚就會作為「羅夏」在街上打擊犯罪。
1985年時就是他發現喜劇演員的死事有蹊蹺並且主動開始調查，才有了後來的一系列故事。
調查過程中，被法老王算計抓進監獄，被二代絲魂和二代夜梟救出，前去南極洲共同直面法老王。
在得知了一切的真相後，無法認同法老王所作所為，是在場中唯一想要堅持將事實公布的人認為人們應該知道法老王屠殺的罪行，被曼哈頓博士為了封口，無奈將其殺害。
雖然性格孤僻，為人並不討喜，但比起其他大部分身手了得、光彩奪目的超級英雄，羅夏令人敬佩的是堅守自己的準則，永不妥協，甚至為之而死。
特點
- 羅夏沒有任何超能力，精通街頭格鬥、體操、拳擊，有着堅強的意志和過人的體力，能忍耐疼痛和不適。
- 有着明確的戰術思維，常用家用物品或身邊隨手物品作為武器，有一把由夜梟II設計並製造的爪鈎槍。
- 有順走別人東西的習慣。
- 從了解一些羅夏墨跡知識可偽裝對墨跡卡片的聯想可知某種層面（人格）上的精神正常，而在綁架分屍案中，認識到人性的真面目後，變得更加偏激了指徹底認知決裂為羅夏（主人格）和寇格沃茨兩個人格（被喜劇演員說從綁架案後就瘋了）。
- 毒舌，多次吐槽二代絲魂的出軌和二代夜梟的懦弱。
- 不愛洗澡總是在用男士古龍水掩蓋自己身上的體味，而且總是穿增高鞋。（168有錯嗎）
- 羅夏是個孤癖的人，沉默寡言，惜字如金，但他卻與德雷伯格（夜梟II）關係很好。二人在守望者時期曾是搭檔。
- 他是一名極端的右翼分子，信仰民族主義、道德專制主義和道德客觀主義，而且是個反共產主義者、反自由主義者。
- 羅夏厭惡女性，但是對同性戀也是深惡痛絕。但在《守望者前傳》的羅夏篇里展現了不太一樣的一面。《守望者前傳》羅夏篇描寫了面具之下的寇格沃茨對一個多次關心他的女服務生有了好感，但在羅夏決意先去剷除黑暗同時也是曾剝走他臉（即面具）的黑幫時，跟寇格沃茨約好等他接自己下班的女服務生被連環殺人案襲擊，（羅夏的魯莽輕敵使其耽誤太久，因為約了見面但未及時趕到），女服務生重傷僥倖生還，且指認了連環殺人案兇手，但後者成功脫罪，女服務生因而失意離開了這座城市，寇格沃茨也認為自己有責任，因此並沒有再出現在女服務生面前，前傳中，以他殺了脫罪的連環殺人案兇手結尾。
角色設定
面具設定
羅夏的面具的材料是夜梟II發明的，是一種雙層布料中間填充粘性流體的結構，顏色對熱量和壓力敏感。
羅夏墨跡測驗
羅夏這個角色的得名，出自由「羅夏墨跡測驗」，是由瑞士精神科醫生、精神病學家羅夏(Hermann Rorschach)創立的一種投射法人格測驗。
投射法人格測驗的原理，在於使用一些意義模糊的、信息不完整的媒介，讓受試者建立起自己的想象，從中了解受試者的個性特徵。
測試的媒介，可以是一些沒有規則的線條，也可以是一些有意義的圖片，也可以是一些有頭沒尾的句子，也可是一個故事的開頭，讓被試者來編故事的結尾。
而標準的羅夏墨跡測驗法，用的是十張精心製作的墨跡圖，按規定順序呈獻給受試者，然後向其詢問「這看上去像什麼？」，「這可能是什麼？」，「這使你想到什麼？」這類的問題。
反應語句內容、每張圖片出現到開始第一個反應所需的時間、各反應之間較長的停頓時間、對每張圖片反應總數以及總時間、被試者的附帶動作等都是分析的依據。
投射法的最大優點在於主試者的意圖目的藏而不露，這樣創造了一個比較客觀的外界條件，使測試的結果比較真實客觀，對心理活動了解得比較深入，缺點是分析比較困難，需要有經過專門培訓的主試。[1]
| 羅夏墨跡測驗使用的墨跡圖 |
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羅夏日記
電影片段：
| 羅夏日記 |
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MARCH 18th, 1964 This is Rorschach's first journal entry, written in his very first journal, immediately after he finished creating his mask from the Kitty Genovese dress. It is one of three entries written by Alan Moore for the Watchmen Sourcebook, for the Watchmen RPG model released in the early 90s. In this entry, he details that he has finished the face, that he is glad he kept the dress and that he finally has a face that he can stare down in the mirror. He also explains that he has decided to keep an account of all he sees and experiences that could have an effect on his nocturnal mission. It is an account of his mission that he can refer back to, and a voucher of his achievements for when the angels come to collect him on Judgement Day. To end the entry, he writes "I'll start tonight, with the woman and her killers." It is notable that his writing style is much more natural and organic sounding, with full sentences and a very straightforward demeanor.
In this second Sourcebook-exclusive entry, he notes that his neighborhood is degrading, having spotted 17 transients. He reminds himself to look for a new apartment the next day. He says that the city is changing, and that the few splatterings of black ink will give way to the entire bottle flooding the city. He blames dopers, politicians, preachers, whores, hippies, liars, pushers, poets and thieves for this. He asks whether great men are holding the world aloft and waiting for their successors, or if "the forces of compromise" take a more active role and release their dogs to hunt down each of them, one by one, to open the way for a sinister masterplan. He then ponders that if the latter is true, then when did the hunt begin? Has all of recorded history been a slow, steady slide into the abyss? Clearly, his mental state has begun to degrade.
In the last of the Sourcebook entries, he notes that he has at least one ally, a cab driver who helped him escape from the police and respects him. He asked Rorschach how he managed to escape from the police, to which Rorschach replies by saying the police don't want to catch him. He elaborates by saying the police protect the public from people the public can never understand. He says that he protects the police from people they can never understand. He says that there is no love between them, nor respect, but there is an understanding of their functions. He says that the day will come where the police become desperate and will lock him up, and they'll realize in horror that his incarceration hasn't pulled them up one rung much less raised them from the entire pit. He ends the entry by saying he has been faithful to his journal... his voucher for when that day comes.
Dog carcass in alley this morning. Tire tread on burst stomach. The city is afraid of me. I have seen it's true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "save us!"... They had a choice, all of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like my father, or president Truman. Decent men who believed in a day's work for a day's pay. Instead they followed the droppings of lechers and communists and didn't realize that the trail led over a precipe until it was too late. Don't tell me they didn't have a choice. Now the whole world stands on the brink, staring down into bloody Hell, all those liberals and intellectuals and smooth talkers...and all of a sudden nobody can think of anything to say.
Slept all day. Awoken at 4:37. Landlady complaining about smell. She has five children by five different fathers. I am sure she cheats on welfare. Soon it will be dark. Beneath me, this awful city, it screams like an abattoir full of retarded children. New York. On Friday night, a comedian died in New York. Somebody knows why. Down there...somebody knows. The dusk reeks of fornication and bad consciences. I believe I shall take my exercise.
Meeting with Veidt left bad taste in mouth. He is pampered and decadent, betraying even his shallow, liberal affections. Possibly homosexual? Must remember to investigate further. Dreiberg as bad. 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 Californian rest resort. Captain Metropolis was decapitated in a car crash back in '74. Mothman's in an asylum up in Maine. The Silhouette retired in disgrace, murdered six weeks later by a minor adversary seeking revenge. Dollar Bill got shot. Hooded Justice went missing in '55. The Comedian is dead. Only two names remaining on my list. Both share private quarters at Rockefeller Military Research Center. I shall go to them. I shall go and tell the indestrucible man that someone plans to murder him. OCTOBER 13, 1985. 11:30 P.M: On Friday night, a comedian died in New York. Someone threw him out a window and when he hit the sidewalk his head was driven up into his stomach. Nobody cares. Nobody cares but me. Are they right? Is it futile? Soon there will be war. Millions will burn. Millions will perish in sickness and misery. Why does one death matter against so many? Because there is good and there is evil, and evil must be punished. Even in the face of Armageddon I shall not compromise in this. But there are so many deserving of retribution...and there is so little time.
42nd Street: Womens breasts draped across every billboard, every display, littering the sidewalk. Was offered Swedish love and French love...but not American love. American love; like Coke in green glass bottles...they don't make it anymore. Thought about Moloch's story on way to cemetery. Could all be lies. Could all be part of a revenge scheme, planned during his decade behind bars. But if true, then what? Puzzling reference to an island. Also to Dr. Manhattan. Might he be at risk in some way? So many questions. Never mind. Answers soon. Nothing is insoluble. Nothing is hopeless. Not while there's life. In the cemetery, all the white crosses stood in rows, neat chalk marks on a giant scoreboard. Paid last respects quietly, without fuss. Edward Morgan Blake. Born in 1924. Forty-five years a comedian. Died 1985, buried in the rain. Is that what happens to us? A life of conflict with no time for friends...so that when it's done, only our enemies leave roses. Violent lives, ending violently. Dollar Bill , The Silhouette, Captain Metropolis...we never die in bed. Not allowed. Something in our personalities, perhaps? Some animal urge to fight and struggle, making us what we are? Unimportant. We do what we have to do. Blake understood. Treated it like a joke, but he understood. He saw the cracks in society, saw the little men in masks trying to hold it together...he saw the true face of the twentieth century and chose to become a reflection of it, a parody of it. No one else saw the joke. That's why he was lonely. Heard joke once: Man goes into doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says "Treatmen is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears. Says "But, Doctor...I am Pagliacci." Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.
Left Jacobi's house at 2:35 A.M. He knows nothing about any attempt to discredit Dr. Manhattan. He has simply been used. By whom? Russians seem obvious choice: Manhattan and Comedian both key military figures. But Comedian referred to an island. Artists and writers living on it. Doesn't fit. Can't concentrate. Too tired. No sleep since Saturday. Walked home past trashcans stuffed with rumors od war, weighing factors-bodies, motives...waiting for a flash of enlightenment in all this blood and thunder.
Woken at eleven by shouting. Disturbed to find I had fallen asleep without removing the skin from my head. Tireder than I thought. Should be more careful. Across street, boy's were defacing abandoned building. Memorized their descriptions then prepared for work. First, peeled off face, folded it inside jacket. Without my face, nobody knows. Nobody knows who I am. On way out of room met landlady. Usual complaints Re: Hygiene and Rent. There were purple bite marks on her fat white neck. Fresh ones. Out in street, inspected defaced building: silhouette picture in doorway, man and woman, possibly engaging in sexual foreplay. Didn't like it. Makes doorway look haunted. On Fortieth and Seventh, saw Dreiberg and Juspeczyk leaving diner. They didn't know me. An affair, perhaps? Did Juspeczyk engineer Dr. Manhattan's exhile to make room for Dreiberg? Also, she hated the Comedian. Must investigate further. Entering diner, bought coffee, then sat watching my maildrop, immediately across the street. Passer's by made various deposits: candy wrappers, newspapers. This city is an animal, fierce and complicated. To understand it I read it's droppings, it's scents, the movement of it's parasites...I sat watching the trashcan and New York opened it's heart to me.
Someone tried to kill Veidt. Prove's Mask Killer theory. Murderer is closing in. Checked maildrop. Message from Moloch. Connected, perhaps? Next, went to retrieve face from allet. Outside Utopia, police restrained a youth on KT-28's. He was screaming something about bombs. Is everyone but me going mad? Over 40th Street, and elephant was drifting. Beyond that, unseen, spy satellites. If they so much as narrow their glass eyes, we shall all be dead. This relentless world: there is only one sane response to it. The alleyway was cold and deserted. My things were where I'd left them. Waiting for me. Putting them on, I abandoned my disguise and became myself, free from fear or weakness or lust. My coat, my shoes, my spotless gloves. My face. Had three hours before calling on Moloch. Away down alley, heard woman scream., first bubbling note of city's evening chorus. Approached disturbance. An attempted rape/mugging/both. Cleared throat. The man turned and there was something rewarding in his eyes. Sometimes, the night is generous to me.
Final entry? Left Veidt's office just before Midnight. Dreiberg, convinced Veidt's behind everything, is serious about visiting Antarctica. Owlship capable, apparently, but are we? Veidt. Cannot imagine more dangerous opponent. Assuming journey possible, tracking him to his lair only option. Still feel uneasy. Unfamiliar territory. He could kill us both, there in the snow. Nobody would ever know...first night in November. I am cold tonight. Offices below, headstones marking daily graves of thousands. Inside, clock faces, as observed as those of celebrities, hands commence final laps. Oblivion gallops closer, favoring the spur, sparing the rein...I think we will be gone soon. Veidt is faster than Dreiberg. Perhaps faster than me. Return seems unlikely. This last entry. Will shortly mail to only people can trust. Tell Dreiberg I need to check my maildrop. He believes me. If reading this now, whether I am alive or dead, you will know truth. Whatever the precise nature of this conspiracy, Adrian Veidt responsible. Have done best to make this legible. Believe it paints a disturbing picture. Appreciate your recent support and hope world survives long enough for this to reach you. But tanks are in East Berlin and writing is on wall. For my own part, regret nothing. Have lived life, free from compromise...and step into the shadow now without complaint. -Rorschach, November 1, 1985. |
《守望者》電影中羅夏最後的日記：
本段落中所使用的歌詞，其著作權屬於原著作權人，僅以介紹為目的引用。
後續
《DC宇宙大事件：末日警鐘》
曾經和羅夏對話的心理醫生的兒子雷吉，在父母死亡後，在精神病院得到蛾人的幫助，得到了羅夏的面具，繼承羅夏的衣缽，成為二代目
《守望者》美劇
羅夏的日記公開，一群狂熱者曲解羅夏日記的內容，並將羅夏日記的內容奉為聖經，組成了一個極端組織「第七騎士團」，該組織成員都是極端右翼分子，特徵為佩戴類似羅夏的布制面具，對政府的現有秩序發出挑釁和攻擊
出場紀錄
- 1986年出版的《守望者》系列漫畫出場
- 2009年在電影《守望者》中出場，主要角色之一，由傑基·厄爾·哈利飾演
- 遊戲《守望者：終結將至》（2009）
- 漫畫《DC宇宙大事件：末日警鐘》（2018年），二代羅夏雷吉作為主角之一登場於DC宇宙
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