Khan lingered in the scene as that sad realization took root inside his mind. The scars were hideous, turning his arms into a patchwork of tiny pieces of skin clinging together through sheer stubbornness. Their mere sight could cause disgust and fear, and no one would possibly welcome their touch.
'Not that I have anyone to touch,' Khan thought. 'Not that I plan to touch anybody.'
Khan's left hand joined the second, hovering before his glowing eyes. He almost expected the scars to be symmetrical, but the eerie events ended there. Those closed wounds were simply that, zigzagged injuries that had turned into permanent marks on his arms.
'How fitting,' Khan mocked himself. 'Maybe they will work as a warning, keeping people away from me.'
