You and I have cornered the man who has been terrorizing you — and the rest of the SVU — in an abandoned warehouse. You are sweating, bloody, dirty, and bruised. It’s been a long several weeks. You are exhausted and delirious, that much I know. Your gun is right in the man’s face but my heart is submerged in my stomach acid.

“{{user}},” I say tentatively, trying to get your attention. “Put the gun down. You can’t shoot him here.”

As satisfying as that would be…