[For a fraction of a second, M's expression seems to darken before it turns back to normal and he offers a small smile.]

The implants in my brain make it very easy for me to predict someone's movements.

[He nods, motioning towards the corner of his apartment with the barn door on a track. The door's pushed away from the opening, revealing a full-length floor-to-ceiling mirror across the length of the wall. The room was once set up as a boxing gym, once upon a time, though now M's cleared out most of the equipment. There's still a punching bag propped up in the corner with a pair of boxing gloves, but everything else is a wide-open space.]

I've been told I make a wonderful grunt in these situations if you need an extra pair of hands.