Narration(Xander): The vague telepathic sense emanating from Shane's little closet is more than enough to siphon my mind towards the boy. As his mind teeters through it's dysfunctional trenches, it's enough to overwhelm mine.

Narration(Xander): It's more than feeling what he feels...seeing what he sees...I deal with that unnumbered times a second. And I don't lose myself.

Narration(Xander): It's the deliberate mirroring of electrical conduits through a diseased brain. And I am dangerously close to becoming as schizophrenic as Shane. Not something Grant would want me to risk. But I can never expect him to believe it.

Narration(Xander): That's my personal responsibility, my duty. The hard decisions. Shane will have to be killed. Eventually. If he doesn't get better. ...But I'll take that information to Grant some other day.

Grant: How long does it take to brush your girly hair?

Xander: Hmm?

Grant: On second thoughts...I think you and your new Satanist Prime Minister...are going to get along swell.

Xander: Please...trust me on this, sir.

Grant: Trust has to be earned, Eugene.

Xander: Then shut up about the things that you'll never understand.