From the personal diaries of Father Xavier Perez
March 23, 2074
Just past midnight
Nina,
I didn’t kill the man, the Psy. I had a gun, planned to shoot him without warning because that’s the only way you can surprise an elite soldier, but when I would’ve pulled out the gun in the alley behind the bar, my hand froze in my pocket.
It wasn’t fear, wasn’t cold feet.
It was telekinesis.
As I watched him walk toward me, I thought he was coming to kill me and I’m ashamed to admit I felt relief. Finally, no more pain, no more hurt, no more seeing you jump into the water over and over again.
But when he reached me, the man didn’t kill me. He said, “If you shoot me, you’ll be acting against your own interests. I’m here to stop another massacre.”
I laughed at him but he challenged me to come with him.
“Or would you rather drown in alcohol?”
His words cut me. To be judged by a Psy assassin? No.
I’m going with this Psy soldier, this man who walks like a killer.
Xavier