Hey guys! I think you'll like this story. Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or Glee, or any of their characters. Currently rated T for violence and language, rating may change. Pre-established Blaine/Kurt and Finn/Rachel, no other ships. WARNINGS: Language, Character Death, and Violence.

It was raining when Will Schuester walked into the chorus room. His choir group, the New Directions, were going on a field trip to Cleveland to the Rock and Roll music Hall of Fame. They would be leaving in less than half an hour, and the students could hardly wait.

They've earned this, Will thought. They worked so hard for this break. It's really too bad it ate up all our funds. We'll have to hold another bake sale, and they hate those.

"Okay New Directions!" Will said, barely containing his excitment. "Who's ready to go to Cleveland?"

Cheers erupted from the classroom. Rachel turned to Finn.

"Isn't this amazing!" Rachel whispered. "We get to go to the best music museum in Ohio, and we get to miss a day of school, too!"

Finn nodded, before frowning. "If you want to hear Mr. Schuester talk about Journey for a weekend, then yeah.

"Oh, come on, Finn. It'll be fun. Ooh! And think of the great times we'll have. Just three days to spend with the people who I love best , and no slushies to be thrown in my face either!"

Finn shrugged, and walked to the wall against which their overnight bags were stacked. Picking up his own, single bag and Rachel's bag as well, he glanced at his watch. Two minutes until they could board their bus.

Suddenly, Will called for the group to settle down.

"It's time, guys! Let's get on the bus and go to Cleveland!"

The New Directions had only been on the road about 45 minutes when they suddenly stopped.

"What's going on?" Kurt asked Blaine quietly. The trip would be less than three hours and they weren't planning on stopping until halfway through.

"I have no clue," the other boy replied.

They got their answer soon enough.

A quiet voice from the back that sounded like Santana's or Brittany's murmured "Oh my god," and it didn't take a genius to see why. A masked man had boarded the school bus brandishing a gun. Eyes wide, Kurt glanced out the window to see at least four more gunmen surrounding the bus. Terrified one of them might catch him staring, he snapped his head back to face the seat in front of him. Kurt felt Blaine's hand reaching for his, and grabbed it, welcoming the comfort.

Mercedes had noticed the gunmen, yes, but she was more concerned by Mr. Shuester's prone form on the floor of the bus. The first masked intruder had hit both him and the bus driver as soon as they had stepped aboard. Mercedes turned away, feeling sick. Puck was sitting next to her, and he didn't look too happy either.

"Do something," Mercedes whispered frantically. "I am NOT dying on this bus!"

"What do you expect me to do?" Puck replied. "They got guns. I only have a paper airplane with 'Gunner' written on the side."

Mercedes sighed. She had just opened her mouth as if to say something when she saw the gunmen putting on gas masks. and hen her view went dark.

Garcia pointed to a picture of a bright yellow school bus on the projector screen.

"This bus was found earlier today near Lima, Ohio with only the bus driver, Christina Phillips, and the chaperoning teacher, William Schuester, inside. All eleven students are missing. I have set their names and pictures to your tablets already."

Prentiss glanced at her tablet.

Missing Students:

Abrams, Artie

Anderson, Blaine D

Berry, Rachel B

Chang, Michael R

Cohen-Chang, Tina

Hudson, Finn C

Hummel, Kurt E

Jones, Mercedes

Lopez, Santata M

Pierce, Brittany S

Puckerman, Noah

"Didn't another bus go missing about a year ago?" Rossi asked.

"Yes, it did, sir, in Colorado. We didn't work that case because one the kids, Lina Heights, was found alive and confessed to murdering the others. She's currently serving a life sentence in the Colorado State Prison."

Hotchner nodded. "Right. Garcia, I want you to find out everything you can about that case. We may be dealing with a copycat. See if you an arrange a visit with Ms Heights. The rest of you, grab your go-bags. Wheels up in thirty."

Artie awoke in a dark cell. He scanned his surroundings, but all he saw was a bare bed, a grimy toilet, an equally grimy sink, and a humming lightbulb dangling from the ceiling from an exposed wire. Artie shuddered. The door to his cell looked like a jail door to him; it was covered in thick iron bars that ran from floor to ceiling, preventing escape but allowing full view to outside the cell.

Craning his neck, Artie noticed with mounting horror that there were at least a dozen more cells just like his own, arranged in a half-circle facing some sort of stage. Feeling sick, Artie called for someone, anyone to help him. He didn't get much reassurance when Mike yelled back that all of the New Direction were in cells just like Artie's. A noise from the ceiling cut off their panicked correspondence.

"Attention Contestants! You've been selected to play on "Sing For The Win," America's hit game show! The rules are simple: every day, you will sing and dance to a song of your choice. Our talented panel of judges will rank you all. The winner of each day's competition will get to sabotage someone's performance the next day. The loser of each day will be executed on stage. Survive to the end and win the show, and you get set free! Assistants will be coming around to take your music selections and give you food. Happy singing!"

"Well, fuck." Artie stared at the floor dismally. How would he possibly survive? He couldn't choreograph an entire routine in one day while in this cell! Artie began to console himself with the fact that the others would be at the same disadvantage- before realizing that for him to survive, everyone else would have to die.

His ethical dilemma was cut short when one of the voice's 'assistants' came up to him.

"What song will you be singing, sir?" She asked, looking for all the world like a schoolgirl and not someone deciding whether someone lived or died.

Artie racked his brains for what he would sing. Something simple. Something easy to dance to and sing. Something- then it clicked.

"I'll be signing 'YMCA' by the Village People."

"Good choice sir," she said, and handed him a tray full of what appeared to be mashed potatoes and gravy, but Artie couldn't really tell. "I'll be right back with the sheet music."