“Agent Beck,” he started, “this is a lecture in behavioral sciences. We are at the FBI Academy. Should we not have learned this in a Psychology 101 course?”

Snickers broke out throughout the classroom, and I took a breath before answering. I knew his type—he strong armed his way to where he was, likely had lots of connections, found joy in putting down those a bit different from him.

Yeah, I’d dealt with plenty of those. It came with the territory of a higher IQ than most, and I imagined my more ‘out there’ style didn’t help. I learned not to care as much, and a new trainee trying to look smart in front of his fellow agents certainly wouldn’t get under my skin.

I walked over to the podium in the center of the amphitheater-style room. The podium ledge held my cup of coffee, and I picked it up to sip as I gathered my composure.

“And?” I asked, waving him on.

Wasting class time with these antics already subtracted—I glanced at the clock—fifty-seven seconds from my already far too short sixty minutes.

I’d surely have to cut something altogether later on now.

The longer I had to drill this all into their minds, the better off they were.

One mistake. That was all it took.

“Shouldn’t we be studying actual cases and learning useful things for being field agents?” the man asked, and I saw the woman who answered my question before blush, her cheeks turning a shade of light pink.

“You arrive on scene, and the unsub is holding a gun to the head of a woman. They are on the roof of an apartment building near the edge. It is clear the unsub is reckless and has aggressive tendencies,” I stated the case in layman’s terms.

I met the trainee’s stare, watching him devour each word.

“The unsub is a spree killer. When agents brought up the other victims, trying to talk him down, they identified a clear lack of remorse.”

Other students scribbled down notes, absorbing every detail I spewed at them.

“What would be your call?”

“I-” the student started, but he hesitated.

“He’s holding a gun to the woman’s head, he keeps moving sporadically, there is no time to wait. You have to make the call now,” I insisted, walking up the steps of the amphitheater closer to where he sat. My words came out fast, rushing.

“The unsub clearly presents signs of ASPD. It is likely he will not listen to reason and will act impulsively. If he moved the gun, I would have given the call to take the shot.”

I knew that was exactly where his mind would go. It was the logical point of view…for a narrow-minded approach. He needed to think bigger.