[He squeezes his hands into tight fists, leather creaking. The dislike is mutual. He's never liked cops, in fact; always thought them ineffectual and poorly trained, and he came to like them even less after being in their custody.]

For one of us, at least. Doubt it'll be you.

[He does notice, and he tenses in preparation to repel her. His speed is his greatest strength and he's not expecting her to be able to challenge it. The only person who ever could was Veidt, and Veidt outclassed everyone except Manhattan. An infuriatingly, impossibly fast man, who could have been the best of them if not for his ego and delusions of grandeur.]

Face. [He corrects.] Seem more interested in fighting than answers. If you want to try, welcome to. But will be unpleasantly surprised if you think you're fighting 'a' Rorschach.

[A little egoistical himself, perhaps, but he's probably more skilled than anyone masquerading as him, or anyone she might be mistaking him for. If there needs to be a group of Rorschach, how individually talented can they be?]