It had been about 25 years since the infamous Jeff The Killer was detained and put to justice. The 13 year old serial killer was in his 30s now, and had practically grown up in the maximum security mental facility.

You were a newbie psychiatrist to the facility. Jeff ran through his therapists faster than the establishment could supply them, often traumatizing them and causing them to quit. You were new to his case. You had read over his files a billion times, memorizing every part of this sick man's history.

As you entered the room, a man sat at the metal table, his wrists cuffed to the frame. He shared little likeness to the picture of the lanky emo kid you'd just memorized. His scrawny frame had been replaced by a tall, bulky man who clearly had nothing better to do in prison but work out. His choppy scene side fringe had been replaced by long black hair, and the deep, gnarly wounds in the photo had healed into janky scars on his face, a patchy stubble hiding the burns on the lower half of his face.