Summary: AU- Aaron Hotchner, head of the FBI's BAU team, is a smart, cold man that is almost never phased. So what happens when a body is left for the BAU, along with a letter from a very familiar man. (Summary sucks I'm so sorry)
Little warning things: Gideon's a real bad dude, Reid's a bad dude, I've killed off a few characters for this (nothing too bad I don't think), drug abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, and did I mention Gideon's a really bad dude?
Also, I don't own Criminal Minds. If I did this wouldn't be Fanfiction.
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Prologue
When Jason Gideon vanished after suffering from a nervous breakdown, nobody expected to see or hear from him until he dropped dead somewhere. And that was mostly true, besides the fact he didn't drop dead. It was someone else. By the time anyone realised it though, 'someone else' had become several. Criminals, pimps, corrupt politicians. Nine were found shot to death with a large X cut into their chests postmortem. The crime scenes were clean of any evidence or DNA, and since the victims were all not very good people, most of the police and locals turned a blind eye to the killings.
Until the tenth body was dumped on the steps of the FBI with a letter addressed to 'Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner and Team'.
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"What have we got Baby Girl?" Morgan asked, sitting down at the round table and opening the cream coloured file in front of him.
"Well my knights in shining Kevlar, it's not good." All eyes turned to look at Penelope, the normally bright and bubbly woman looking almost shocked. True, the expression was one the team was familiar with, but it usually didn't appear until halfway through a really bad case. Her chest heaved as she drew in a steadying breath, clicking the remote in her right hand as she began the debriefing. "This case was given to us about fifteen minutes ago, and details are being double checked through the system, but so far the body count is ten."
Out of all the profilers seated, Aaron Hotchner was by far the most infuriated. "Garcia why wasn't this brought to our attention sooner? Surely we could have saved someone by now."
"And that, bold leader, is why we weren't. The first nine victims were all criminals of some kind, sick puppies that the new dog 'cleaned up', as some locals reported," the tech commented, making a face as nine pictures came up on the screen. "Their crimes ranged from stealing to dealing drugs and even two corrupt politicians. All different races, different ages, and both genders, though only three were women. The only thing linking them together besides sketchy pasts is the way they were killed; shot once and then cut from their shoulders to the opposite hip." Nine more pictures came up, Garcia looking away while the others took in the bodies.
"So we've got a house cleaner," Prentiss started, flipping through the start of her file. "Might be a woman, since the areas are clean and the method of killing is detached."
"Could also be a young man, physically unable to take the victims down with his hands." Rossi added his own bit. "Lots of rage is needed to make the cuts afterwards, but enough control to not do it when the victim is alive."
"Who's the tenth victim Garcia?" JJ asked, not looking up from the page of notes she was reading.
"Elle Greenaway, 28, a cadet at the FBI Academy in Quantico. She went missing a week ago. Found this morning on the steps of our building, beaten to death and with a letter addressed to you, sir," Garcia said soberly, clicking her remote again as the profiles absorbed the information. The pictures that came up were horrifying in their contrast. On the right, a young Elle, her dark hair long and shiny to match the spark of determination in her eyes. The left one showed her body, laid out on her back. Once flawless skin matted with bruises and cuts, hair crudely chopped short, and the eyes that once shined were a dull lifeless colour and staring blankly at the sky. But unlike the others, there wasn't an X cut into her, and she was laid out instead of just dropped. "The letter connects her to the others," Garcia cut in before anyone else could speak. "There's a copy for everyone to read."
Sure enough, the last page of each file was a letter in a chillingly familiar handwriting.
To Agent Hotchner and Team,
Hello Hotch. I'm sorry to leave you all on such short notice, but I couldn't take it anymore. We weren't doing enough. Stopping enough criminals. Keeping them away from the innocents. That's what was wrong with what we , we could profile all we'd like, and track down the UnSubs, but they don't always stay behind bars. Even if they do they still have connections and can have a certain freedom they don't deserve. That's why I struck out on my own. There's nine filthy excuses of human beings I've fixed already, and the list of coordinates is attached. That new techy girl should be able to track them down easily enough.
They were all evil. Men and women who ruined innocents' lives to make their own disgusting ones. All except for Miss Greenaway. I apologize for the rude delivery of the letter and her, but I couldn't have her rotting away in some alley. She's special. An innocent that was ruined, but still fought to make herself better and to help protect the other innocent people out there. She was training in Sex Crimes, specifically the children's division. Such a strong young woman.
I watched her for a while, and thought she'd be a good candidate to help me, but during she died during the process. It was her stubbornness that killed her, and a too fiery spirit. It's a shame. If she had tapped into her energy right she'd be an almost unstoppable force. Give my condolences to the family if you would.
I apologize, Aaron, because I know this has probably made your job harder. I won't stop though. I have to finish this.
Respectfully wishing you all well,
Jason Gideon
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The killings continued. Every Friday, Hotch got the new file. A criminal of some kind, shot once with a handgun (Gideon's old gun, they found out after ballistics) and cut from both shoulders to the opposite hip. Still no DNA. And there was another pattern. Five criminals would be killed, from all over the country, and then an FBI cadet. There was always a letter that explained why the cadet was chosen and why they 'failed'. The names of the criminals blurred together, but Hotch remembered all the cadets. Elle Greenaway. Ashley Seaver. Grant Anderson. Jordan Todd.
Then, almost twenty weeks after the first letter, it all stopped. The BAU waited nervously for the body of another cadet to be reported, but nothing came. One day turned into two, into a week, into two weeks. Still nothing. The team almost started to relax, hoping that maybe Gideon had died.
One month, two weeks and a day, the next body was found. A small time drug dealer, seemingly tortured for days before shot once in the head. A large X was cut into his torso, and a note was found with four simple words.
I found my protege.
A/N: So I started this because I wanted to read a fanfiction like this, but I didn't find one I liked so I decided to write my own! Yay (let me remind myself that it's two in the flipping morning and I haven't had a full six hours of sleep in about four days). *Sigh* And I'm sorry I'm such a sadist, killing Elle and Seaver and them, but I'm too lazy to think of names and it fits. This story isn't beta read, and it's typed in Google Drive so if you see an error, please don't be an ASparaguS. All praises and flames will be given to my muse, and either turned into fuel for the story or for my fireplace.