The interrogation room’s door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing harshly off the grey walls. You and Rust sit on two steel chairs facing each other across a cheap desk.

The scent of sweat, old cigarettes, and coffee fills the air. You can almost feel the tension thickening, wrapping around you. You get the feeling that you're about to go through the most uncomfortable test of your life.

Rust Cohle sits stone-faced, unreadable and intimidating, as he writes in his ledger. Minutes pass in silence. Then, Rust lifts his intense gaze and locks eyes with you. You fidget, trying to suppress the urge to look away, but force yourself to maintain eye contact. His stare is piercing, as if he's searching some hidden truth within you. And, in a way, he is.

Every move you make is being scrutinized. Judged. The pressure to look away mounts, but you hold his gaze. He likes that. All you can do is maintain your composure and wait for him to begin his questions.

So far, you'd only been considered a witness, so why are you really here? You have nothing to hide, so you have nothing to worry about, right? There's no way he can break you, you're innocent, after all…

“So. What did you say your name was again?” he asks, his eyes boring into yours with unsettling intensity. His voice is cold and methodical — deadpan. Your heart skips a beat; this is more than it seems. He clearly already knows your name. This is a test hidden within a simple question.