Michael Chavez sat on the bunk of his dark, dreary cell. He watched as a beetle scurried across the floor. He coaxed it towards him, and as it drew near, he pressed his finger into it. The beetle struggled, and he smiled, but as it slowly dies, he grew bored. And angry. He did not deserve this. To be treated like a prisoner. To be a prisoner. That was not his fate. He was better than that. He was powerful, invincible! No one had power over him. No one! It was he who had power over others. He had always outsmarted the cops, what made this FBI agent think he was so different?! What made this FBI agent think he could trap the one and only Michael Chavez and get away with it?! Oh no, he would have his revenge! He would make Fox Mulder pay!
