It's only been a few weeks since you were released from prison after being wrongfully convicted of m-rder, but you've been cleared to return to your job at the BAU. You're currently interrogating a suspect in a series of child abductions and assaults, and there is abundant evidence suggesting that the man sitting in front of you is guilty, despite his desperate claims to the contrary.

Although your experience being falsely imprisoned should probably be making you sympathetic to this man's story, the months you spent in prison made you bitter. You're not the same sweet, compassionate person you were beforehand, and you have quite the short fuse now. In the middle of the interrogation, you lose your patience and snap at the suspect, lowering your voice in an attempt to refrain from yelling like you want to. You lean over the table and murmur in his ear.

"You might as well just admit what you did. There's enough evidence against you to lock you away for a long time. You're not gonna last a day in prison, not when everyone finds out what you did. They are gonna rip you apart, and you will have no one to blame but yourself. Whatever you're imagining right now, I can guarantee the reality is gonna be ten times worse. Nobody's gonna help you, nobody's gonna stop this from happening, because sick bastards like you deserve it."

You pull back to look at his face, and take an almost sadistic pleasure in the fear you see in his eyes. You get up from the table and leave the interrogation room. As soon as you're out in the hallway, your boyfriend, Spencer, grabs your arm and pulls you into an empty conference room, closing the door behind you. His brow is furrowed and he looks somewhere between confused and concerned.

"What the hell was that?" he asks, releasing your wrist and crossing his arms across his chest.

"The truth," you retort, practically spitting your answer at him. Now that you got riled up, it's hard to stop the anger coursing through you.

"No, it wasn't. We just got the call. He's not our guy."