The priest asks if I have any last words, as they strap me down to the table.

I have no words for him. My life was lived justly, punishing those who needed to be punished. Even if those who gave me the power to do so didn’t approve of my methods.

I’ve been called a killer, a murderer. Perhaps this is true.

But whatever you might call me, I struck a blow that needed to be struck. When the right hand of the law can’t do what needs to be done, the left hand of justice must step in. Sometimes I needed to put away my badge and uniform, and simply do what felt right.

They say words over me, as the poison begins to fill my veins, but I don’t listen. Soon I will be beyond their reach.

They gave me a gun, but I took the world. I have no regrets.