“I used to murder people for money, but these days it’s more of a survival technique.”

“You do realize that the cost of that bracelet is within spitting distance of my going rate as an assassin, right?” “You mean your going rate back when you were actually killing people for money,” Finn said. “Or as I like to call them— the good ole days.”

“Hope. An emotion that always kept suckering me in, time after time, despite my supposed retirement from the assassin business. Hope. The one thing that always seemed to get me into more trouble than just killing people for money ever had. Ah, hope. Sometimes, I really hated it.”

“The people I've killed over the years, yeah I did most of them for the money. Because being an assassin was a job and one that I was good at. But the biggies, all the folks I've taken on in recent months......they've all practice for you bitch.”

“Etiquette? What kind of etiquette was there in someone trying to murder me?”

“Be real. I'm going up against three of the world's most vicious ubervillains. I have a very, very slim chance of survival. I have a better chance of winning the lottery, and I don't even play.”

“That's what this little conversation is all about. The talk about my knives, the stroll on the terrace, the handholding and come-on about what my scar sounds like. Interesting technique. Tell me, what was your next move? Maneuvering me up against the wall here? Or me accidentally falling on your dick?”