It was getting late. Marcus checked his watch as he was hurrying off campus to his car. The wind was blowing a bit harder than usual and tossling his dark hair like a wild black halo. Days like this made him imagine what it must have been like in more primitive times. Such a gust would have been a precurser to great magic. He knew of a few spells that required high winds.

It was a travesty that witches were forced to practice their craft in private. The glories of the past were long gone, but that did not mean that the witches were gone. Even now he was doing research, spending good money to track down some grims that weren't in the hands of the government. If the grims contained even a small portion of what they were claimed to contain, they would be a valuable asset to the others (and of course himself).

He was feeling a bit more wound up than usual, too much stress. A student had been arguing with him in class and that always tended to leave him in a foul temper. He was tempted to pay a visit to the unnamables and single one out for a little while, but he was trying to curb that. It wasn't something the others always agreed with and he preferred it when everyone was with him, rather than against him.

Those he passed on the way to the parking lot he thought of as puppets. They were pawns in a larger game who did not realize what their role was supposed to be. In the end they were little more than fodder. They were bystanders standing in the way. If they got in front of his gun, he shot them.

Marcus realized he had a problem. He rarely looked at a person without imagining how he would kill them. However, recognizing a problem and bothering to do something about it were two different things. He saw his 'problem' as an asset. He wasn't one to get soft or to shudder at the sight of blood. He felt it made him stronger that he could bypass the boundaries of morality.

And yet most of the pawns and tools around him would never know that was what he was thinking. He could hold a conversation with the home ec teacher with the sagging breasts and imagine squeezing her wattle of a throat until she fell limp on the ground and that was why there was a smile on his face, not because he truly enjoyed speaking with her.

The teachers who taught Supranatural Parascience were rather high on his list. He knew where they lived and sometimes drove by their houses on occasion. One of them had even been abducted once. He wore a hood when he conducted 'business' with the nameless. They would never know that he was the one behind it.

He had followed that man home several nights in a row, watching as the bruises and cuts faded away. Eventually the limp was gone too, but Marcus was certain the memory remained fresh. After all... that was the point.