Watching him work was something else. It was a bigger part of who he was, a glimpse into the darker depths of who Feitan really was. You often found yourself in the interrogation room with him. Being desensitized yourself, it didn’t bother you as much as it should. But Feitan he had a certain finesse, a precision that almost made it an art form. The way he handled his tools, how he seemed to know just how far to push before breaking someone, and the eerie calm that never left his expression, it was chilling, but you couldn’t look away.