It had been a slow week for the BAU. While file after file was piling up, any cases of use were yet to be found. Many employees at Quantico had chosen to take some time off; rightly so, if a workday was to be so uneventful.

There had been some problems with the weather. Unpredictable gusts of wind were constantly appearing; causing the sharp tapping of branches against windows, and the outbursts of one irritated Technical Analyst.

"This is ridiculous!"

Morgan stepped into the room she was in, unable to stifle a laugh. "What's got you all fired up, baby girl?"

"This," Garcia huffed, "This…thing, I can't even begin to tell you how much it's pissing me off." She pointed to the far right computer screen. "The wind is interfering with my connection." She gave him a weak smile. "Can you make it go away?"

"I'm only a god in your eyes, woman."

Her smile turned coy. "I think the many pretty ladies at that bar would disagree."

He let out something akin to a snort. "Don't start that again."

As he walked out she yelled out, "I'm telling you, if you let me give them your email I can prove you wrong-"

"It's still a no, Garcia!" He yelled back.

He was about to walk into the conference room when he noticed Rossi pacing back and forth in front of his office door.

"Rossi, you okay?" Morgan questioned. Rossi's eyes shot up to meet Morgan's, and he gave a thin smile.

"Fine. Do me a favor and get the team in there," He pointed to the conference room. "Hotch has something for us."

"He say what it was?"

"Not yet." Rossi came down the stairs, and clapped Morgan on the back. "But you can be sure that it's going to keep us busy."

A half-hour passed until the whole team was present. JJ was sitting down, fanning through a few photos in front of her while Reid was examining some of the notes he had scribbled onto the dry erase board. Emily was leaning against the wall, stirring her coffee with a straw. It stayed silent until Hotch cleared his throat and started handing out papers.

"…These were sent to us via an unknown source last night. Security checked the perimeter for any signs of forced entry, and saw nothing."

"So the person who gave us these had access to the building?" JJ asked, looking up and taking a paper.

"It's a possibility, but unlikely," Hotch said. "If they had direct access, it would've made more sense to simply drop these in a mailbox or on a office desk."

"Where were they found?" Emily pressed.

"A custodian found them in a folder, right underneath a window."

Morgan arched an eyebrow. "Inside? The windows have been locked shut because of the wind."

"That may be true, but the windows here have locking mechanisms on the outside and inside," Reid said quickly, glancing at the paper he was given before looking to Morgan. "While the inside ones are easier to spot, and thus quicker to use, the ones on the outside are generally located against the sides; practically wedged in between the glass and outer pane, mind you, and if you get your hands positioned correctly-"

"Long story short, the windows can be opened on the outside if you look hard enough." Morgan finished.

"Yes."

JJ studied the paper Hotch had given her. "This doesn't look like anything I'm used to seeing. What is it?"

"Its Sanskrit." Reid traced a finger along the edges of the paper. "Handwritten as well, it'd be hard to accumulate all of these symbols using the Internet, let alone understand them. A lot of what's here isn't used anymore."

Emily tilted her head to the side, flipping her paper over and examining the back. "These are copies, right? So where is the original?"

"All we received were copies with the photos." Hotch said flatly.

The photos were of three men and one woman. Each photo was the same; a slashed throat, a pale body void of clothing, and a branding of a small rose right below each victim's collarbone.

"It seems as though the one responsible for these murders is the photographer." Rossi walked to the table, pointing to each victim and sounding out names. "Richard Floyd, age 37. They found his wallet with him. Jason Bryce, 29. His sister identified him. Zachary Harrison, 34. Was wearing a medical ID bracelet."

"What was his condition?" Emily asked.

"The coroner said an allergy to penicillin." Rossi stated. "And then there was this woman. Elizabeth Fisk, 39."

Reid's eyes widened at the photo. "How was she identified?"

"She was found in her own house."

"Wait a minute," Morgan waved a hand, "Was she the only one at home?"

"Yes," Hotch swept his hand in the direction of all of the pictures. "The others were found in seemingly random areas; public park, alley behind a restaurant, and a summer home."

"Where any of the areas of relevance to the victims?"

"It doesn't seem that way," Hotch admitted, "But there is a very noticeable pattern with these deaths."

"The rose branding." Reid muttered.

"Yes, along with the lack of clothing and slashed throat. This unsub wants his victim's to feel vulnerable. He doesn't want them to put up a fight."

Morgan sighed. "Okay, I get that much. So why the Sanskrit?"

"It's another part of the signature. Sanskrit is an Indo-European language in use since c1200 B.C as the religious and classical literary language of India."

"Reid, what was that, a dictionary definition?"

He stared at Morgan for a second. "Webster's Unabridged, Second Edition. Why?"

"Forget I asked."

"Reid," Hotch got his attention. "Can you read Sanskrit?"

"No, I can't."

He turned to Emily. "Can you?"

She shook her head. "Arabic, yes. Sanskrit, no. Sorry Hotch."

"We can always get a translator," Rossi offered. "We have the sources."

Morgan whipped out his phone and dialed Garcia, putting her on speakerphone. "Hey baby girl, can you do me a favor?"

"Did you make that nasty wind go away?"

"I did my best."

"You so did not."

He laughed. "Can you find us a translator for Sanskrit?"

He heard the spastic rhythm of the keyboard being pummeled into use. "There are eight in Virginia."

Morgan looked at Hotch. "Any requests?"

"We need someone local."

"Local…Local…" Garcia chirped, "Three are closer to West Virginia. Two different ones are listed as away on a business trip. Another one is- that's so sad…"

"What?"

"One just put in prison for counterfeiting currency. I don't think you want that one…"

"No." Morgan agreed.

"Okay. The other two are local, and linguists. Both deal with Sanskrit."

Hotch was silent for a minute. "Who's more experienced?"

"Hold on…almost got it. One is fresh out of college with a BA in foreign language applications."

"The other?"

"This one is still in college; going for a psychology major. But she has more background with foreign stuff."

Rossi mouthed 'foreign stuff' to Morgan, and he simply shook his head.

"What kind of 'foreign stuff', baby girl?" Morgan teased.

Garcia ignored him. "She's done travel to Europe and Asia…let's see…attended Harvard for eight months as a translator for a student who spoke Icelandic…" She paused. "There's a lot of stuff here."

Hotch was in deep thought. "What languages does she speak?"

"It says here that she speaks fluent- it's a big list, how is that even human, anyway?"

"The list, Garcia." Morgan prompted.

"French and German are the main ones; she majored in those. But she studies Asiatic languages too, along with foreign text and symbolism, stuff I can't pronounce…"

"What's the address?"

"723 Bayberry Drive. It's about 4 miles from here."

"Okay, thank you Garcia."

"Anytime, my plushy." She hung up.

"Why did she call you a plushy?"

Morgan chuckled at Reid's confused expression. "It's a joke."

"I don't get it."

"You wouldn't."

JJ smiled. "So are we getting ourselves a translator?"

Hotch nodded. "Reid, you stay here with JJ and sort some of this stuff out. Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi; come with me. Call Garcia so we can get a name."