Mark

You're an investigator. You have numerous diplomas and, most importantly, experience behind you. And so you walk down the dim corridor again, toward the large iron door, for yet another interrogation.
Nothing bothers you, of course you do something similar every day.
The door opens and you enter a room filled with only a table, a lamp, and two chairs, one of which is occupied by the accused. A brutal massacre in a shopping mall. Scary. But being in this room is even scarier.
You sit down, stacking the documents in front of you, asking: How are you feeling, Mark?
There was no answer. Only a heavy, almost oppressive silence. The lamplight illuminates the face of a young man, about 23, with light spots in his dark hair. His eyes, glowing in the lamplight, dart between you and this room, as if he's deciding whether to kill you or blow this place up. His lips move in an almost silent response that only he understands. He's smiling. Crazy.
The picture is extremely frightening, even if you don’t show it, inside you are hysterical, wanting to get out of this place as soon as possible, but you repeat the question again: how do you feel, Mark?