Behind the Mask by WikedFae
Summary: Drabble. First impressions can be wrong, but the ELE figured they could tell this man by his costume.
Disclaimer: NOT MINE.
I'm glad the lenses are black. At least that way, they can't see my eyes twitch when they plot murder and mayhem during meetings. I'm relieved the rubber of my gloves is so thick; they don't notice my fists clenching and my fingernails digging into the congealed polymer. Instead, they see a cool, detached villain with sterilized condescension for hands and blackened mirrors for eyes—the tools of the craft, designed to meticulously extract the tumors of society and to sear the images of reflected fear into the last memories of those lost souls. To them, it's a shrewd costume, carefully considered to exploit the worst side of Horrible. They even think my coat is a symbol for all the bloodshed to which I 'aspire.' How wrong they are. It's as red as her blood; and as hers stopped flowing, mine started. It's good they don't realize my heart hasn't stopped bleeding. All they see is the red lab coat that soaks up each new swelling drop. In the end, that's all they see: the chaos, the determination, and their own darkness staring back.