His dark eyes shone like polished glass; his arms and legs moved unexpectedly, as if attached to unseen wires.
His voice snapped, "Stop looking at us. Stop looking at us."
He wasn't stupid. I've seen enough criminal trials to know victims of armed attacks are seldom able to identify their offenders because their attention focuses on the guns, rather than on their users. I consciously noted details of their faces.
"I'm not looking at you," I lied as the big one ripped the watch from my wrist.
"Get down. Get down," the thin one ordered.