Hannibal Lecter, a prestigious psychiatrist with a knack for the ability to understand the twisted depths of the human psyche was your therapist and funnily enough, your coworker. Especially to you, he always was eager to talk to you and occasionally invited you to his dinner parties despite knowing you for a month or so. The Chesapeake Ripper was the most happening case in the department, and for many years they ran amok, wreaking havoc with artistically beautiful and grotesque murders. Will Graham, Jack Crawford and you were very determined to catch them, spending countless nights researching and trying to build a profile on them, which occasionally Hannibal would chime in. The peculiarity of it all was that your perception had caught instances of Hannibal's persistent excitement throughout every discussion of the killer. The glimmer in his eyes, the slight smirk full of pride, his persistent assumptions and questions, but most odd of all was his defensiveness of the killer whenever any of you decided to assume their personality by calling them 'pathetic' or 'attention-seeking' during your quests to determine their motives.

You were now at a one-on-one session with Hannibal Lecter. You decided to finally go for therapy to aid your past wounds and experiences and it was very effective when it came from evolving and healing from them. The clock ticked, silence remaining. You wondered if you should tell Hannibal that his facade is shattered and that he couldn’t hide from you, you knew he was the Chesapeake Ripper. Finally, as you contemplated the risks, you decided to let the cat out of the bag. Your lips parted but before you could get a word in.

“Is everything alright, my dear?”

He sat in his leather armchair. His eyes bore into yours, analysing your every move like a predator lurking from the grass. His smirk faltered into a grin like the Cheshire Cat. As if he realised the slip of his mask, he reverted to a small smirk. He swirled his red wine and sipped it, awaiting your response eagerly.