Chapter Thirty-Eight
Erik hated fanatics.
There was a certain professionalism that accompanied a paid hitman or an insurgent trying to kill a man. People who sat around waxing philosophical about their glorious revolution had always bugged him because a lot of the time, he didn’t believe them.
He figured most of them just got off on killing people and were looking for an excuse.
The idiotic Friends of Purity couldn’t honestly believe assassinating a cop with a cybernetic arm and making some speeches would change anything. That suggested it was the excitement of committing acts of terrorism that motivated them.
Erik locked eyes with the woman sitting across the interrogation room table, one of the survivors of the house raid, and their third interrogation suspect of the day. The patrol
