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His eyes narrowed, but he didn't falter. "I'm not hiding anything, Agent Cross. I need to conceal my skin, or else it will hurt more."
Morgan took a slow, calculated breath, her mind racing to find a way out of this dangerous standoff. She couldn't help but think about how she had let herself become complacent and distracted in recent times. No more mistakes, she promised herself again, even as she feared this one might be her last.
"Does it hurt that much?" she asked, trying to evoke sympathy. "Can't you find another way to cope with your condition without causing harm to others?"
Joe's grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles turning white beneath the fabric of the gloves. "You don't understand," he spat, hatred dripping from his words. "This is my way of taking back control. Of making sure no one else can make me feel weak or powerless ever again."
"Powerful?" Morgan echoed, her tone laced with disbelief. "By killing innocent women? That doesn't make you powerful, Joe. It makes you a coward."
"Shut up!" Joe snarled, teeth gritted as anger flared in his eyes. "You don't know what it feels like to be judged and rejected because of something you can't control!"
But Morgan did know, and she knew that the pain he felt had twisted him into something monstrous. She couldn't let him continue down this dark path, but she was running out of time to stop him.
"Joe," she said, desperately trying to appeal to his humanity. "You don't have to do this. It's not too late to get help, to find a way to heal without hurting others."
"You're wrong, Agent Cross," Joe whispered, cold and unwavering. "It's far too late for me."
Joe's face contorted in fury, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson as he balled his gloved hands into fists. "I'm not a fake!" he screamed, the air around them crackling with tension. "I'm more real than any of those pathetic women I killed!"
Morgan eyed him cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to maintain a level-headed demeanor. She could see the raw pain and desperation behind his rage, but that didn't make him any less dangerous.
"Joe," she said softly, attempting to calm him down. "I understand how lonely it must have been for you. To feel like an outcast, judged by others because of something you can't control." She paused for a moment, remembering her own experiences of isolation, both before and during her prison sentence. "But that doesn't give you the right to take lives."
"Lonely?" Joe spat, incredulous. He paced back and forth, his anger escalating with every step. "You think this is about loneliness? This is about justice! Those women got exactly what they deserved!"
As Morgan watched him unravel, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the broken man standing before her. But she also knew that if she didn't stop him now, more innocent lives would be lost.
"Joe," she said firmly, meeting his wild gaze with steady determination. "No amount of pain or loneliness excuses murder. You don't get to decide who deserves to live or die."
"Who are you to tell me what's right and wrong?" Joe snapped, waving his gun menacingly at her. "You're just a washed-up agent, trying to cling to whatever shreds of authority you have left!"
Despite the sting of his words, Morgan refused to let him see her falter. She needed to keep him talking, to buy herself enough time for backup to arrive.
"Maybe I am," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But at least I'm not using my own pain as an excuse to hurt others."
For a moment, Joe seemed taken aback by her response. But the fury in his eyes quickly returned, and Morgan knew that their standoff was far from over.
"Nothing will ever make you understand!" Joe shouted, his hands shaking with rage as he clenched the gun tightly. "I'm doing the world a favor, getting rid of people who don't deserve to be here!"
Morgan took a slow, measured breath, her eyes never leaving Joe's face. She knew that one wrong move could end both their lives in an instant. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she couldn't afford to let fear take over.
"Joe," she said, her voice steady and resolute, "you can't possibly believe that what you're doing is right."
"Right?" He laughed bitterly, a harsh, twisted sound that made Morgan's blood run cold. "You talk about right and wrong like they're absolutes, like anything is black and white. You don't know anything about my life, Agent Cross."
In a sudden, unexpected gesture, Joe ripped off his gloves, revealing malformed hands covered in scarring. Morgan didn't flinch, although it looked very painful. The skin was a mass of angry red welts and scars.
"Look at me!" Joe screamed, waving his grotesque hands in front of her face. "This is what I've had to live with every single day! Do you have any idea what it feels like to be trapped inside a body that betrays you, that makes everyone around you recoil in horror?"
As Morgan stared at Joe's hands, she couldn't let her sympathy for him cloud her judgment. No matter how much pain he'd endured, it didn't justify his actions.
"Joe," she whispered, her voice heavy with empathy, "I'm so sorry for what you've been through. But hurting others won't heal your wounds. It'll only create more suffering for both you and your victims."
"Shut up!" Joe snarled, the gun quivering in his grip. As Morgan watched him struggle with his emotions, her mind raced, searching for a way to resolve the situation without further violence.
She had to make him see reason, to understand that his actions were only causing more harm than good. And she had to do it quickly before either of them made a mistake that could cost them everything.
"Every day of my life, I've had to wear these gloves," Joe gritted his teeth, tears of rage glistening in his eyes. "My skin burns like it's on fire whenever it's exposed to sunlight. And do you know how people react when they see me?" He spat the words out like venom. "With revulsion! Disgust! Especially women who can't bear the thought of being touched by hands like mine."
