By Marcus L. Rowland
"Why are you doing that?"
Dexter spun round, scalpel in hand, victim forgotten. A blue woman in red leather watched him with unblinking eyes. He hadn't heard her come in.
"He killed eight children," he indicated the photographs, "and..." Without warning he slashed at her. The blade shattered against her hand.
"Unwise, but you serve a higher purposes. I am Illyria. Soon you will be my minister of Justice. Meanwhile, continue." She vanished.
"Hallucination," thought Dexter, returning to his victim.