The Full Summary: Drowning in lies is a lot like drowning in quicksand, the more you struggle to get out, the faster you sink. For Emily Prentiss, lying comes with the job, not as a criminal profiler- that's a lie too. She soon discovers that while lying is necessary to keep her charge and herself safe, it also makes things a lot more dangerous. And her job is difficult enough, without the greatest minds in the FBI- the one and only BAU team- searching for her as well.

A/N: Okay, I give up resisting. I really wanted to write this story, and if my publicist finds out, she'll kill me, so let's not tell her, okay? Anyhow, this is just the prologue, it's very vague, but I hope you all enjoy this, let me you know if you do!

Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me, except a few, like the Chief.

Emily sighed as she walked through the door of her brownstone, dropping her gun and badge on the table. It had been a long trip, and she had been so sure that she had failed her mission, but they had found him, Spencer, and aside from track marks and a dead unsub, he was no worse for wear. The moment they were back on the plane, she had excused herself to the bathroom, and reported in to the chief, not Hotchner, but another one, who was only known as chief. And after an awkwardly long chastising, she put in her order. Nobody had asked any questions when she emerged from the bathroom on the jet, it had been an overly emotional day, nobody had seen her so much as crinkle her brow, and her face was blanched from the verbal lashing. They came to their own conclusions.

When she returned home, everything she had ordered was there waiting for her, just inside the locked door in sturdy metal boxes. She pried each one open; the state of the art electronics that brought an almost gleeful look to her face. They weren't commercial products, and even someone like Garcia wouldn't be able to get her hands on any of it. She placed all of it gently into a black back pack, and tucked a few extra guns into their holsters on her body. Tucking her Glock 17 into her belt, she left the brownstone, not bothering to look back.

Four years later.

"You have got to be kidding me," Emily groaned, mostly to herself as she fumbled for the key to her garage. Her knees were buckling slightly under the weight of the unconscious man, thrown over her shoulder. With a bright smile and an "aha!" she located the elusive object and opened the garage door. Once inside, she dropped the man, not caring where he fell, and hurried to close the door behind her. It was bare inside, nothing but a chair, a light and a terrifyingly large array of knives. She unholstered a few of her guns, setting them on the table bearing the knives, and her uncharacteristically soft brown eyes flicked to her watch, checking the time.

With a grimace, Emily lifted the man from the floor and set him on the chair in the middle of the room. With a roll of the ever trusty duct tape, she bound his hands behind his back and his feet together before taping him to the metal chair. It would be a good fifteen minutes before he came around, she figured, silently calculating the effects that the drugs would have on him, based on height and body mass. Absentmindedly, she checked her cell phone, thankful that she hadn't received word about new cases, JJ tended to have terrible timing like that. She glanced at her watch again and then left the room; there was no point in waiting there for him to come around.

"Oh well, look who finally decided to wake up," Emily smirked, walking into the garage. The man in the chair had woken up, and although he seemed to be quite dazed, the fear that registered on his face when he saw her didn't go unnoticed. If anything, Emily was grateful for the BAU training she had received, it had only served to make her actual job easier. "You were so uncooperative before, Javi," an antagonizing tone in her voice.

The man growled, "I'm not telling you anything," he bit back quickly, clamping his mouth closed, brows furrowed. Emily just laughed sardonically, her grin uncharacteristically malicious.

"We'll see about that, Javi. That's what they all say after all," She replied simply, lifting a knife from the table and walking over to the chair, a seductive sway in her hips. Emily couldn't help but notice his eyes grazing over her almost appreciatively. Exactly what she wanted, after all, she leaned forward over him, allowing an eyeful of cleavage before sinking the knife into his thigh. He let out a scream and she grinned, they really were all the same. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me anything Javi? We could get this over right now you know," she offered offhandedly.

"You're going to have to do better than that," Javier replied, blood soaking into his faded jeans. Emily retreated, leaving the knife in his thigh. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail, securing it tightly.

"You know, I can do that."

The man let out another piercing shriek, his throat hoarse and dry from screaming. Emily was standing over him, a foot pressing down on his crotch as she cut tiny filet slices in his arm, ribboning the flesh there. "Are you going to tell me who you work for?" Emily asked unsympathetically.

"Fine yes, I'll talk, I'll talk, just stop," the man cried out. Both upper arms nearly completely mutilated, it had only taken Emily about three hours. She pulled the knife away, dropping her foot to the floor. "I work for an Israeli company, Radah Inc. They sent me here, please, I'm just doing my job," he pleaded, black eyes wide with fear.

Emily just nodded in understanding, filing the company away with the list of others she had heard. With clicking heels against the concrete floor, she walked over to the table and picked up her gun, standard issue, Glock 17. She smirked, as he sobbed for his life, for forgiveness. "Any means necessary," she shrugged, placing the barrel against his temple and pulling the trigger. The man slumped against his restraints immediately. She pulled two of her knives out of the man's flesh and wiped the blood off on his jeans. She dropped the weapons on the table and walked out of the garage, he wouldn't start smelling for a few days, there was no need to take care of the body right away.