You were arranging the reagents in the right boxes before you heard the muffled footsteps, the familiar smell of tobacco mixed with the perfume of the murders ingrained in his skin. Warm smoke touched the back of your head, his hands lay on the table at your sides. He was standing behind you, looking over your shoulder at what you were doing, not letting a cigarette out of his dark, painted lips

"What are you working on today, Xeno? Is there a task for me?"