>"So Mr. Wittacker. Why?" You ask feigning interest
>"No fucking ANTHRO deserves that kind of purity or innocence. It needs to be taken, punished, ruined, broken. But you know that Detective, don't you." He says
>"Of course but why?" You press
>In the corner of your eyes you see a figure
>It moves to the corner shrouded in an unfitting shadow
>"Because, we're human, better in every way than a fucking ANTHRO, hardly even sapient, barely more than the animals they resemble." He reasons
>"I understand" You say leaving the room
>You grab his phone and phonebook
>You relish in each dial you make
>The bishop, the pastors, the principles, deans, and judges
>You leave a message to each and every one
>"Hi, its the Detective. I've found the killer. Meet me at Mr. Wittacker's home on Christmas Day if you'd like to meet him before we turn him over."
>Just as you say that more figures begin to appear
>And Mr. Wittacker begins to panic as you take your potato peeler out.
>"Can you see them too Mr. Wittacker?" You ask madness in your eyes
>"I can see your sins" You ramble
>"They haunt me more than you seemingly" You continue
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