"I mean, I don't especially like singing?" Cullen said. "Except maybe when I'm in the shower. But beyond that, I mostly sound like a walrus giving birth to farm equipment. It's about as pretty as a vomit-like shade of chartreuse." Which was to say it wasn't pretty at all. "I'm one of the ones who somehow didn't end up gifted with the art of theatre." Put him in front of a computer, though, and Cullen could work wonders, he'd discovered recently.

"Wait, aim for the - hey, no condoning violence or maiming people! That's going to make things worse." Cullen glared at Tarabotti. "Everyone needs to get safe, not get injured. And someone could have a bad knee already. What is wrong with you?"