We’re Policemen

We’re policemen.

We ride our patrol cars and hunt the streets for those slimy, stealthy, pesky crooks who break our laws — the laws we hold dear. They’re everywhere, these lawless bastards, searching for holes, laying out evil clever strategies so they can get what they want. They’re in every dark, dirty corner, forever waylaying their next victims, which are ultimately us.

So we deal with them. We load our sleek and shiny black pistols with golden bullets that should pierce any goddamn meat and doubt. Our legs are moved by a stronger, wiser authority than our own brains. We are moved by the conviction that we are right. We are right. Our guns are cocked and our decisions are white and black. As sharp professionals, we don’t ever smile.

Every clue pushes us one step closer to the truth. Life begins with a question and ends with the final discovery.

We’re onto them.

They can’t get away now.

We’re gonna collect their disgusting scalps.

There will be blood on the sidewalk.

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