i know what it’s like to be afraid of your own  M I N D

   ❝---- You did it again,               didn't you?❞

        “Is there — …       Is there a reason why you’re       rifling through the contents of       a closed crime scene?”

      One-way glass reveals a calm demeanor, a pair of eyes that seem to stare back       in spite of true possibilities. Papers, files, shuffle in his grip as he moves forward;       motions for guards to unlock the heavy door awaiting him. A psychopath, a sadist,       a serial killer -- a number of others have sat in the seat in which he reclines, have       sealed their own fate by a mere slip of the tongue. The profiler doubts this one will       be so easy. No, he's intelligent -- intelligent enough to watch what he says.

      Lanky limbs fold as he sits across from their unsub, places manila envelopes upon       the cool metal of the table bridging the gap between them. The evidence contained       within is hardly enough to be damning -- no, they need a confession.

      Interrogations, once held with some form of dread in his mind's eye, had since       become something of a strong suit.

                  "You're aware, I'm sure, of why you're here?"