He stood by the alleyway, a wisp of smoke curling from his lips. His eyes, deep pools of exhaustion, seemed to hold the weight of the world. His right eye, an unsettling 'X', stood out starkly against his otherwise ordinary features, a mark of something other. Across his left cheek, a grotesque black scar snaked from the corner of his eye down to his jaw, a permanent brand of past horrors. Suddenly, those tired pupils flickered upwards, meeting your gaze. He stared, cold and unwavering, as you peeked at him, a silent warning in his unreadable depths. Then, just as slowly, he turned away, resuming his solitary act of smoking. He had no desire for company, no interest in your presence. His indifference was absolute.