╭──╯ . . . . . VIOLENT DELIGHTS ܴೈ

✧.* ONEERTAXEA . . . . . ╰──╮

february 16th, 2010

we arrive at the crime scene, the chaos of officers, forensic techs, and gawking neighbours creating a dissonant hum. jj leads the way, meeting with the lead detective on the case—detective andrews, a middle-aged man whose weathered face betrays his long years in law enforcement.

andrews introduces himself and gives a quick rundown. "the victims were discovered early this morning. one of them was attacked while exiting his car, likely by surprise. from there, it looks like the unsub used him to gain access to the house." hotch nods, listening carefully before assigning tasks. "rossi, morgan, emily, take the house. assess the scene."

as the three head toward the door, andrews hesitates. his voice, unexpectedly heavy with emotion, catches us all off guard. "i know you're used to this kind of thing, but it's really rough in there." the weight of his words hangs in the air, my mind conjuring grisly possibilities. hotch, jj, reid, and i remain outside, focusing on the evidence surrounding the car and the path to the house.

"did any of the neighbours see or hear anything?" i ask, glancing at the rows of windows overlooking the street. andrews shakes his head, rubbing his bald scalp. "nothing. and we've had doubled patrols here lately because of the vandalism." "then the unsub or unsubs had to be extremely fast and efficient." reid muses, standing beside jj and me. "look here," hotch says, pointing to a pool of blood near the car. "there's a trail leading toward the door, but..." he pauses, scanning the scene. "how tall was the victim?"

"about 6'1, 6'2," andrews answers. "why?" "if he were strong enough to move under his own power, we'd expect signs of a struggle. if not, there'd likely be drag marks." hotch explains. "he was carried." i realize aloud. "and that's a lot of dead weight for one person." hotch says. reid crouches down, inspecting the porch. "there's no pool of blood here, which means they didn't set him down to open the door."

"so either we're dealing with one freakishly strong unsub or a group of extremely angry ones." i quip, earning a faint smile from jj despite the grim situation. we all meet back at the bau, ready to put all our theories into one. rossi, morgan, and emily return from the house with their findings. "same conclusion," rossi says. "this isn't the work of one person."

jj briefs us on the recent spate of vandalism in the area. we start tossing around ideas, trying to connect the dots. "any links between the victims and the vandalized properties?" reid asks. "not yet," jj replies. "but the victims were all part of the new wave of wealth moving into the area. it's possible the motive ties back to resentment." as we hit a lull, notifications came in: the victims' families have started arriving. i take a couple to a quiet conference room to talk.

"we're very sorry for your loss." i say, my voice soft but steady. the mother clings to her husband's hand, tears streaming down her face. "we're trying to determine if your son's murder was targeted or random," i continue. "did he have any enemies? anyone who might want to hurt him or his wife?" the couple shake their heads, the father's voice cracking as he says, "he was a good man, my boy."

"i understand how difficult this is," i say gently. "we're just trying to make sense of it." the mother wipes at her face. "they said i could see his body if i wanted to." "that's not something i can approve, ma'am," i admit, my voice filled with sympathy. "but for what it's worth, i am deeply sorry." i pat her arm lightly before giving them space to grieve. 

after hours of interviews and brainstorming, the leads dry up, leaving us at a frustrating standstill. as the team disperses for the evening, i drive home, the weight of the case pressing on my shoulders. once home, i sit at my kitchen table, papers spread out, my mind racing as i try to piece together a connection. hours slip by, the quiet hum of the city at night outside my window doing little to calm my restless thoughts. 

february 17th, 2010

i sit beside spencer in the fbi suv, the hum of the engine fading as we pull into the parking lot. through the window, the scene is a collage of chaos and tragedy: white sheets covering lifeless forms, blood-spattered like careless brushstrokes on the pavement. the sight pulls a knot tight in my chest, but i don't flinch.

as we step out, the sun glares off the lenses of our sunglasses, a silent announcement of who we are. spencer's crutches click rhythmically against the asphalt as we approach the lead detective, who's standing rigidly over one of the bodies, hands on his hips like he's holding himself together.

"did anyone see anything?" hotch's tone is clipped, his focus already cutting through the noise of the scene. the detective exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "nothing. it was the middle of the night, and the parking lot was empty." "and the security cameras?" i ask, nodding toward a building nearby.

he shakes his head, frustration carved into his features. "offline. this whole area's a dead zone." i scan the scene. officers move methodically, their faces tight with concentration. a woman stands apart, tears streaking her face as she speaks to an officer. the detective follows my gaze. "she's the nightclub manager," he explains, his voice low. "found the bodies when she came in for her shift."

spencer leans forward, his curiosity sharp as ever. "any idea who the victims are?" the detective gestures to a pile of evidence bags. "we found their IDs. the woman was a waitress here. the man—her boyfriend, we think—but his face is so..." he trails off, grimacing. i glance at the beer cans scattered near the bodies. "so they sat here. drank. lingered." my voice edges toward disbelief.

"not just about violence," hotch murmurs, crossing his arms. "this is control. dominance." hours later, as the day stretches on, the case feels like it's slipping through our fingers. the evidence doesn't speak—it whispers. the team stands in front of the gathered officers, delivering the profile like a challenge to the killers hiding in plain sight.

"our unsubs will be noticeable," morgan starts, his voice firm. "they'll look for trouble, provoke it." "this isn't random," spencer adds, his crutches steadying him as he shifts his weight. "it's about the thrill of the violence, not the victims themselves." "they'll likely work blue-collar jobs," hotch continues. "it lets them blend in while keeping their routines flexible."

"and their precision tells us they're organized," i add. "no prints, no DNA—these guys are careful, probably wearing gloves." "they'll be fit," hotch concludes. "a pack mentality, acting as one unit. check local bars and clubs for groups that match this description." as we finish, the room is heavy with tension. the clock ticks louder with every passing second, but we've handed the local force the keys to the case. now, we wait to see if they'll fit the locks.

_______________︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶_______________

author's note

hello, i am alive, yes, just drowning in my courseload. i can't promise i will be uploading consistently but i am on a grind today so who knows how many chapters i will bless you people with. 

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⍣ ೋ disclaimers

this story contains sensitive subject matter, including depictions of violence, murder, detailed crime scenes, and themes of trauma, grief, and ptsd. additional warnings include references to home invasions, child endangerment, vandalism, gentrification, and socioeconomic struggles. this work is intended for mature audiences. reader discretion is advised—take care of yourself while reading.

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