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Look into his eyes and tell yourself he's just a man. Tell yourself he can't know the things he says he does. He can't know your fears. But he has Alfred. He has your friend. And his eyes... you have studied the human eye. There are six eye movements that reveal motive, then fifteen variations of each one. On everyone else you face - even the most hardened criminals - the pupils contract or expand depending on emotion. Happiness, laughter, affection. The pupils open. Fear, anger, hatred, the pupils close. But not his. His pupils stay fixed, tiny points of blackness, the eyes of someone who hates everything, everyone. Eyes that let in no light, that see through the darkness, stare into you, each pupil a tiny black pearl fixed in space. A bullet coming at you. Eyes that say he's more than a man, eyes that say he knows you. No... you know what he is. Tell yourself the truth. He's just a man who fell in a vat of chemical waste. He's just a man... like you, made of bone and tissue and blood.
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