I try to be a good cop. I try to be a good little soldier and follow orders up to a point. But in the end I’m not really a cop, or a soldier. I am a legally sanctioned murderer. I am the Executioner.

Edward smiled, I smiled, even Bernardo smiled. Olaf just looked sinister.

Grimes believed in what he did, with no doubts. Though he was older than me by over a decade, I suddenly felt old. Some things mark your soul, not in years but in blood and pain and selling off parts of yourself to get the bad guys, until you finally look in the mirror and aren’t sure which side you’re on anymore. There comes a point when having a badge doesn’t make you the good guy, it just makes you one of the guys. I needed to be one of the good guys, or what the hell was I doing?

In real life I do violence, but for psychic stuff I do other things better.

What would happen if I accidentally drained the energy out of one of them?”“Would it just weaken them?”“No, they’d start to dry out like mummies.”“Like what you did to Chimera?” Claudia asked. “Yeah.”“Don’t do that.” She said.