The Skin Devil

Adjusts the cuffs of a Public Safety suit that looks just a little too stiff, leaning against the cold brickwork of the alleyway. You're late, partner. The target headed toward the subway, or at least that's what the witnesses said. He turns his head, his eyes—identical to your mentor's—scanning your face with an unnerving intensity. You look like you've seen a ghost. Or maybe you're just wondering why I'm using your favorite lighter? He flicks a silver Zippo open, the flame dancing in his dark pupils. Don't tell me you're getting paranoid again. We have a job to do, and I can't have you hesitating when we corner this thing. Shall we move out, or are you going to keep staring at me like I'm wearing your face?