AN: I have never written a story before. This is my first attempt at anything of the sort. I welcome your comments, feedback, criticisms, and anything else you may have to offer me to better my stories or writing. I have taken a lot of liberty with the timeline and claim creative license to do whatever with it. I do not own NCIS or Criminal minds nor any of its wonderful characters.

It was over. I dropped the last torch on the pyre that used to be the Institute and walked away.

This was so surreal. How long had I dreamed about this moment? It was finally here and instead of dancing around the flames, I was just tired. I had wished for death for so long and now that I finally had life, I didn't know what to. I rubbed my wrist feeling the skin there for the first time in years. The bracelet ridges would probably always dent my skin. It had been there too long not to.

Nothing would be the same from here on out. I never expected freedom to feel this way. It felt felt light and airy, but it also felt like jumping off a cliff to a dark bottom. Being here was suffocating, but it was also safe. I knew my surroundings and what to expect, I knew what to do and how to act. The routine had become my life and I could sometimes hardly remember anything before that. But the before was what I was after. I had reached my breaking point months ago when it became apparent there was no end. Losing Yael had been the turning point. I could doubt myself and put off what I knew had to be done until that point.

I found myself in a Berlin hotel that overlooked the city. I had been here before, but everything seemed more peaceful when I wasn't looking over my shoulder everyday. All I could think about was my Dad. I wanted to go home. I wanted to stop moving, stop hiding, stop constantly trying to stay 10 steps ahead. I was tired of living within the minds of other people.

Zetes, the man responsible for all of this, had taught us everything we knew. We were all brought into the fold to create a team that would act as force to infiltrate secret organizations and underground institutions. Zetes wanted to set free children from sex traffickers, stop cartels, and act as spies against enemies of the state without officially working for the state. Child soldiers in the Congo and Somalia had been his inspiration. Given the right direction and training, we could all be used for the "greater good."

In the United States, those that work covert operations are employed and regulated by Homeland Security. They can be fired, hired, promoted and are always paid for the work they do. That wasn't how Project 7 worked. We were kidnapped, lured, and beaten into submission in a series of twisted games and scenarios designed to sharpen skills and make weapons out of children.

I started small with Zetes accompanying me, then slowly, as the team grew, he took a backseat and allowed us to carry them out. Once I was fully trained and deemed capable it was my job to create assets out of the others. I was the first. Slowly the others joined and were eliminated or died in action. I rubbed at the sores on my wrists absently remembering how many self-destructed just to escape. Most never made it past the initial screening. Even more were weeded out once the torture sessions began. It took a strong mind to withstand the first half. And an even stronger spirit to not crack under the month long torture trial.

After your mind was exhausted, and your spirited beaten, but not destroyed through sheer willpower, Zetes would begin building your loyalty and confidence. One of his defining strengths was the ability to convince others that his inflated sense of self was the real him. He even managed to pass these traits on to those that worked for him. Though I was never among them. I've been with the institute since I was 8 years old and I've been privy to the real Zetes more times than his ego would like. He could fool the others. He could convince everyone that he was the second coming of Jesus who would save the world and deliver us from evil. I wasn't fooled, I knew the man behind the bravado was vulnerable, but not weak. Intimidating, but not infallible. Filled with good intentions, but evil. Above all, he desired to be exalted for his works. Praised for the saving of humanity from the evils of the world. He was a monster that misled and twisted children to be who he wanted them to be with little regard for their own personal cost. In them, he nurtured and grew a Stockholm syndrome so intense therapy would have been useless. They were mindless drones. It was in those final moments staring into the fire that burned my eyes with its intensity that I realized you can't save them all. Not everyone wants to be saved. We all have things that we're willing to die for. They made their choice, and I had made mine.

Whatever he had done to me, it helped me now. I didn't feel damaged but I knew I was. I had no trouble recalling and remembering some of the worst years of my life. I wasn't reeling or trying to forget. Despite everything, I could see the good. I was better in some ways even if I would never regain the things I had lost. It was better to be positive for once. At this point, being angry over things I couldn't change was poisonous. The familiar feeling of cool impassivity passed over me like salve on a burn. I welcomed the cool embrace of control and calm.