Hunting a new serial killer, FBI criminal profiler Agent Y/N Y/L/N's boss decides that to catch this new threat, she needs to talk to the one person who can help them understand people like him...the cannibalistic serial killer Steve Kemp, currently...
Chapter Warnings: Mentions of death, murder, maiming/mutilation, serial killers, bodies, blood, cannibalism (as well as a discussion of how Steve realised that he enjoys eating people). Also a lot of manipulation. I wanted to show more of how dangerous and narcissistic Steve is, and how he uses and manipulates people to get what he wants, so if you think that could trigger you, please don't read.
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"Shall we begin?" Steve grins. Gulping, Y/N nods. "Have a seat. I'm sorry, I would've asked them for a chair, but they don't listen to me here, or let me do what I want. I wonder why." Steve jokes. Y/N gives a short chuckle and nods, remembering her training and how she's not supposed to aggravate him. Because then he'll close up, and all her hopes of solving this case are gone. But she still feels...strange when she's around Steve. Of course, when your job is talking to murderers all day, it's natural to feel strange when you're at work. There's something about him that she can't understand yet though. In all her years as a criminal profiler, she's never met anyone quite like Steve Kemp.
Y/N peers down, glancing at the cold stone floor of the hallway outside Steve's cell. "Go on. It's alright." Steve presses, gesturing to her through his handcuffs. "Please." Her legs shaking slightly, Y/N does as he obliges. "Good girl." He whispers. As Steve comes closer, peering down at her, his lips twisted into a slight smirk, she wonders if this is what his victims saw last. She wonders how they felt, knowing they were about to meet their end at the hands of someone like The Portland Cannibal. Despite the horror coursing through her veins at the very thought of enduring even a second of what those poor women went through...a part of her feels some kind of excitement about spending her last moments with Steve. About having his face be the last one she sees. About meeting her end at his hands. And that thought makes her stomach churn. "I'm sure you have lots of questions you'd like to ask someone like me. So go on...what would you like to ask me?" Steve asks.
"When did you first start eating people, Steve?" She asks boldly. Steve raises his brows, thinking over the question.
"When I was a teenager." She opens her mouth to ask another question, but Steve continues before she can. "And before you can ask me why I did it...I was curious. I wanted to know what it tasted like." He shrugs, sounding strangely relaxed. It's as if he's talking about tasting a new flavour of ice cream, rather than human flesh. "And it...was nice." She scribbles a few things in her notebook, causing Steve to look her up and down, frowning. "You're writing things down? Really?" She feels heat rise into her cheeks.
"I-It's just so I remember it." She explains. Steve chuckles.
"Why don't you use that big brain of yours, that I'm sure you have, and remember it in there? I hate it when people aren't using their full potential." She picks up on a slight tone of disappointment in his voice. And that makes her want the ground to swallow her whole. Her brain feels like it's on fire trying to understand her feelings. Here she is, listening to him describing what it feels like to fucking eat people, and she's worried that writing the things he tells her into her shitty dollar store notebook is making him embarrassed of her. What the hell is wrong with her?
"...In terms of food or abilities?" She asks, her voice shaking slightly. She feels like she already knows the answer to this. Steve chuckles.
"Both."
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