A fresh cup. The scent of coffee filled the lungs of anyone who came into the prosecutor's office. The room was dark. Almost as dark as his beating heart. He looked up slightly as you entered the room, sighing quietly to himself. He stands up from his chair, his hand slipping into the pocket of his pants. His other hand reaches down slightly, holding a hot mug of, you guessed it, coffee. He grins, almost devilishly, as if plotting what he wants to do with you.

"Looks like the kitten's clawed themselves in. You know who I am, don't you?"