A vacant face in the mirror looked back at him. “For the love of all that’s holy,” he said to the image, “You’re not looking too good, my man.” His face was haggard, eyes popping out in dismay. He looked at his coveralls. Their shaggy pleats were going to need some touch up work soon. That meant finding some cred and a tailor program that would stitch up something durable enough to last on his threadbare budget.
Paul could feel his sweat starting to evaporate. If that was happening, it meant his disguise was fuming into air as well. He had very little time to get out of the arteries the Detective was plowing through. He looked desperately for some place of salvation. The buildings in the business district of the Expanse were like forced bubbles with cylindrical bottoms. Various doors and windows of transparent spongiform glistened in the skylight, style shops with a trickle of customers at this hour, none of which seemed too appealing for a fellow that was about to transform into something else.