“I can’t read objects from a distance. Touch my hand. Let me feel what you felt when you pulled the trigger.”

“You’re wrong about one thing.”

Stella nodded toward the corpse below. “He was broadcasting fear. Not his own. He stole it from his victims. Wore it like a perfume. That’s why the block went silent—everyone was too terrified to breathe.”

“And it’s gone now. You killed it.” She paused. “But there’s something else. On your glove.”

“No,” she said, pulling her hand back. “That’s the disease. You’ve been doing this so long you’ve forgotten what it feels like to stop a monster. You don’t even get the quiet joy of a job done well. You just get the quiet.”

Here’s a short story based on your request, featuring “Dredd and Stella.”

“Touch me,” Stella said.