It seemed like Jeff had received the 'Silence of the Lambs:Hannibal Lecter' treatment. After his arrest, he'd been transferred from armored car to armored car, carried all the way across the country and deposited in a small underground cell below the nation's most secure insane asylum. His cell walls were grey cinderblock, which were undoudtedly layered over a steel reinforcing wall. There was a bulletproof glass window in the heavy steel door. Underneath that was a slot which they used to pass him trays of food, and retrieve the empty tray when he was finished. There was a camera in all four corners of his cell, one centered in the ceiling, and one in the hall that looked directly at his window. Jeff figured he was at least 3 stories underground as well.

The food was slop and the cream colored, pocketless clothing they'd given him were not nearly enough to keep him warm in the cell (the thin bedsheets wouldn't help much either, if they could come off of the bed, which they couldn't). However Jeff couldn't care less about his living conditions at the moment. As he paced back and forth across the small cell, he thought only of you. What did they do to you after you drove away in that ambulance? What was happening to you right now? You getting caught had not been a factor he'd considered before turning himself in. He needed to save you, but in order to do that, he needed to save himself.

But how? The safety measures in this place were practically airtight. There was no way he could call BEN, or break down the door. They even made sure to only give him finger foods so he couldn't get a hold of any utensils. Jeff puzzled over this for countless hours before opportunity came knocking on his door.

The speaker embedded in the wall by the window let out a loud beep, which caught Jeff's attention. A man with round glasses, thinning blonde hair and a tweed jacket stood in the window, looking at him with fascination akin to a little boy at the Zoo.

"Mr. Woods." The man spoke into the microphone. His voice quivered with suppressed excitement. "I'm Dr. Hilton. I'm the criminal psychologist assigned to... your case."

Jeff crossed his arms and turned to face the man. "Wassup, doc?" He asked, despite being wholeheartedly uninterested in anything Hilton had to say.

"I'm here to analyze your mental state." Dr.Hilton adjusted his glasses. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Hmm, what was that? I couldn't hear you, hold on." Jeff said, acting as though he hadn't heard the Doctor clearly. He then looked at the blank wall to his left, and angrily hissed at nobody, "SHUT UP. This guy is tryin' ta say something, loudmouth."

Dr. Hilton looked at Jeff with wide-eyed fascination, like he'd just had some kind of breakthrough. "Of course, schizophrenia could've caused it..." He muttered, as if Jeff wasn't there anymore.

Jeff laughed spitefully. "I was faking it, dumbass." He smirked, satisfied with his little prank.

Dr. Hilton looked flustered and adjusted his glasses again. "Yes- yes of course. But there are several types of schizophrenia, so there's a possibility you have it even if you don't experience any illusions. Tell me, do you often feel paranoid?"

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, all the time. I'm paranoid right now actually." He answered sarcastically.

The Doctor made a note and moved on to the next question. "Do you ever have thoughts or feelings that feel intrusive or foreign, like they're not yours?"

"Constantly." Jeff replied, "But that's just the Illuminati lizard people beaming stuff into my brain. Did you know they rigged the last Superbowl?"

Dr. Hilton sighed. "Perhaps you would prefer a written examination, Mr. Woods."

"Depends. How much does it count towards my final grade? Can I do corrections?"

Dr. Hilton, looking a little annoyed by Jeff's witty remarks, reached into his bag and pulled out a stack of papers and a pen. He slid them through the slot in the door, and they hit the ground with a plop. "Please answer these questions as honestly as possible, Mr.Woods."

Jeff picked up the paper and pen and took them to his bed, where he sat down and started answering the questions very 'honestly'. While he bullshitted answers and drew the occasional dick on the papers, a plan started swirling in his head.

About ten minutes passed, and Jeff finished filling out the examination. He got up and pushed the papers through the slot, into Dr.Hilton's hands. He turned to go back to his bed, but Dr.Hilton stopped him.

"My pen please, Mr.Woods." Hilton said, watching Jeff carefully.

"...Of course. Silly me." Jeff replied pleasantly. He picked the pen up off his bed and took it over to the door. Dr.Hilton opened the slot and wrapped his hand around the other end of the pen. That's when Jeff struck. The Killer yanked on the pen and quickly grasped Hilton's hand. By the time the Doctor could cry out, Jeff had yanked his arm further in, gaining a death grip on his wrist and forcing Dr.Hilton's entire forearm through the slot and pushing his sleeve up. With his other hand, Jeff wrenched the pen from his victim's hand.

"Hold on Doc, there's something I forgot to write down." Jeff said. His demeanor had done a complete 180- from sarcastic teenager to a sadistic psycho-killer. Dr. Hilton watched in horror as Jeff clicked the pen open and raised it up, only to jab it fiercely into the man's exposed arm. Dr.Hilton cried out with pain as blood welled up in the puncture. Jeff grinned and dragged the pen through the man's flesh, making a line. Then he pulled out the pen, stabbed him again, and dragged it through again. He repeated this process until he'd carved JEFF into the man's arm in bloody letters. Then he turned Hilton's arm over and stabbed the soft fleshy inside corner of his elbow. The Doctor's agonized scream turned into a wail as Jeff tugged the deeply rooted pen down his underarm all the way to his wrist, leaving a bloody gash.

"Please." The man sobbed pathetically. "Please."

"Analyze this, Doc!" Jeff laughed and stuck the pen sideways into one side of the cut. He pushed the tool through until it poked out of the skin again, all the while relishing in the man's screams.

The sound of boots echoed down the hallway as 2 security officers rushed to aid the psychologist. They yanked on him and Jeff released his grip- but kept the pen clearly visible in his hand. This was too dangerous of an instrument for Jeff to keep in his cell, and they knew it. But there was only one way to get it from him. So while one guard took Dr.Hilton a few steps down the hall, the other prepped his taser and opened Jeff's cell door.

"Put the pen on the floor and back away." The guard commanded, and Jeff obliged. The Killer set the pen down on the ground and took a step back.

The guard cautiously walked forward and crouched down, keeping his taser pointed at Jeff. He only looked down for a second to locate the pen, but that was long enough. Jeff brought his fists down on the back of the guard's head, knocking him out with one clean blow.

"Rookie error. But don't worry, we all make mistakes." Jeff sneered as he collected the pen, the taser, and the keys from the guard's belt. He clenched the pen and keys in his teeth and ran out into the hallway, where he took out the other guard with the taser. Cool, now he had two tasers. He made a point to kick the quivering Hilton in the knee before running to the elevator. He exited on the 2nd floor, where he was greeted by two more guards. He fired tasers, but only one hit their target. Luckily the survivor wasn't a very good shot either, and he missed Jeff entirely. Deciding to go the old fashioned route, Jeff tackled the guard to the floor and stabbed his throat with the pen. He got up and started running through the halls again.

Offices, offices...aha! Offices! Jeff swung open the door to a clean-looking little office space, then locked it behind him and ditched the keys. Inside was a professional looking woman with a name tag that read 'Monica'. She screamed when she saw Jeff, and screamed even louder when he grabbed her and held the bloody pen to her neck. He forced her to sit back down in front of her computer.

"Okay, Monica. Open up my file and any related files, or it's a pen through your neck and I'm moving on to the next cubicle." Jeff growled.

Monica whimpered and shakily pulled up the files. Once they were open Jeff slammed her head on the desk and pushed her unconscious body to the floor. He took her seat and started madly scrolling through the information, searching for any mention of your name. Finally, he found it: Information on his arrest, which included you. The small footnote read, "(Y/N) (L/N) CURRENTLY BEING HELD AT OAKVIEW MENTAL HOSPITAL, (YOUR STATE)."

Jeff smiled and closed the files just as a loud banging on the door indicated more guards had caught up to him. He picked Monica up and held the pen to her throat as they broke down the door and flooded into the room, weapons ready. Monica's limp body served as a shield and a hostage at the same time, creating a stalemate.

"Alright, boys, here's the deal." Jeff addressed the guards with a grin, "I want a transfer."