*snarls at your fleeting shape and takes a figurative stab in the dark (how different can you oogy sorts really be?)* One of your kind killed my wife and destroyed half my city after I called him 'son'. What more could you possibly hope to accomplish? *can already feel a headache developing and wonders whether a sleeping pill will keep the stupid at bay*
*continues striding toward his waiting vehicle, listening to his mafiosi bodyguards chattering confusedly to one another in his earpiece (they don't see you, they have no idea who he's talking to, but then again, he's not sure he really saw you)*