A/N: So, this is my alternate ending to season 8. I had the idea a few days before the finale aired, so I went with it. I wrote this without even seeing the preview for the finale, so it is completely different.

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Criminal Minds and have no say in the direction of the show, but a girl can dream right?

Warning: I've seen people do this on FF, so I thought it might be a good idea. There are mentions of torture, but nothing too gruesome.

It was a day in the life. Seven people were settled in around a circular table. It had been a rough year, things only just now beginning to reach a level of normalcy. At least, as close to average as the seven of them could get. Blake had settled in, and Reid had finally turned a corner in the grieving process. Though, he had made it quite clear that he still had an expansive journey before him. Dave might have been carrying a little grief as well, at the passing of his ex-wife, but he was Catholic; he was used to guilt. Derek had finally managed to obtain the modicum of closure that he so deserved with Buford. Penelope and Kevin were on good terms, though Kevin had purposefully avoided eye contact with Morgan since bringing a date to J.J.'s wedding. Hotch couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit of relief overall. Even he had a good thing going with Beth, long-distance or no. They had all been through a great deal of turmoil, but it seemed that they were nearing the dawn as a whole.

There was one thing though, something that was off kilter. The Replicator, or so they had taken to calling him, was a threat. They knew he was out there, lurking. There was nothing they could do about it. He was active, they were sure of it, but there was no way to know where he was or who his victims were.

Garcia had set up a baffling technological alert system. Countrywide, if there was a murder that fit the M.O. of any case the B.A.U. had ever consulted on, she would know about it in seconds. They'd been ordered to let the case lie as long as he was dormant. No amount of pleading had convinced Strauss to outwardly undermine direct orders, but she'd given them her blessing to continue off Bureau time. She'd even gone as far as to offer her assistance. The only problem? They had no developments, and they wouldn't. Not until he killed again. As much as it pained them, they only had a shot at catching him if he continued to operate. If he continued to copy cases that they had solved. Making his slight taunts all the more venomous.

They were finishing up a routine presentation when the screen flickered. The flash of the screen almost immediately collected the attention of the room's occupants. All of them, that is, except for Penelope Garcia. She was busily typing at her computer, rather more forcefully than usual. One of the others might have noticed if their attentions had not been solely focused on the wall-mounted television. There, in the forefront of a dark room, sat a hooded figure in a chair. They literally dropped everything, whatever was in their grasps. An image like that would always draw consideration from a room full of cops.

"Garcia?" Hotch sounded gruffly, knowing that he didn't need to finish the question for her to understand. He never looked away from the screen.

She continued to type furiously, shaking her head from side to side. "I don't know, sir. Someone has hacked directly into my laptop. I can't get a trace, or disrupt the feed."

His scowl took on a more severe tilt than usual. "Is it being broadcast over the internet, or only to us?"

"Just us, sir." She replied instantaneously.

"Are you recording?" he asked. She only managed to nod as movement on the screen pulled at everyone's eyes again.

Another figure had entered the frame. Rough shape and size would suggest a male, and not a scrawny guy either. He looked like he could be a formidable opponent to either Hotch or Morgan. He was wearing all black, complete with leather gloves and work boots. He walked behind the immobile captive, moving around them like a hungry lion with it's prey splayed out before it. His face was just above the edge of the camera's field of view.

Being the seasoned veteran that he was, Hotch fully expected to hear a deranged manifesto at this juncture. Instead, their ears were met with a low groan. The room was dead silent as they listened intently. The person under the hood stirred, and then visibly tugged at the leather straps that were binding their arms to the chair. In answer, the UnSub threw a swift strike at the unsuspecting victim's head, a guttural cry escaping from the seated person with the impact. As their head dropped forward, the UnSub walked far too casually toward the camera.

Seconds after disappearing from the screen, text appeared over the bottom portion of the video feed. 'I believe you call me the Replicator. Now that I have your undivided attention, I think it's time you see how I really like to play.'

"Can we respond to that?" Hotch asked, feeling more helpless with each passing second.

"I'm working on it, sir," Penelope started before he even finished the question.

The text continued. 'I'm impressed. You've circled the wagons. Only, you forgot one person.' That was unsettling. They had arranged a security detail for all of their family members and close friends as soon as they had determined the threat. Hotch's brain was screaming, racing to figure out how he had screwed up. Who had they forgotten? It wasn't possible. He glanced around the table, easily reading a similar feeling projecting from each of his colleagues.

When Hotch looked back to the screen, the unknown man was stalking back toward the person in the chair. He was relieved, if only for a short moment, as the man walked past them. Then the overhead lights came on, and Hotch's heart sank to his stomach. It looked to be an industrial space, maybe at one point in time it was, but it was derelict now. There were a pair of chains hanging from the ceiling behind the chair, and tables lined the walls on either side. With his limited view, he was almost scared to think about what else could be at the UnSub's disposal. They'd seen their fair share of torture implements, and he was all too familiar with the things that this man could be capable of. He took in his team again, fairly certain that they were about to witness something that could alter them to their cores. He noticed Garcia's tear stained face as she furiously tried to find a way to communicate with the UnSub. He didn't say anything as he turned his steely eyes back to the television.

The man had a cattle prod in hand, a fairly tame instrument considering what he had to choose from. The surprise must have only added to the pain as the person violently convulsed. Five excruciating shocks later; the man let his hand, along with the cattle prod, fall to his side. In one quick motion, he reached up, grabbed the black hood and pulled it from the person's head.

J.J. let out a brief gasp, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. Garcia sat stock still at her laptop, tears streaming silently, while Dave's features took on a greater level of intensity. Morgan tensed as a huff of air left through his nose, and Reid's expression dropped into that of a sad puppy. Everyone was acutely aware of just how far away they were from actually bringing this man to justice. They had resigned themselves to the fact that there would be more victims before they could catch him. Garcia's crying becoming increasingly all consuming, she was rendered ultimately useless. The only people in the room that were not reduced to tears were Blake and Hotch. Blake didn't know her, and Hotch was far too stoic to break down. There was nothing any of them could do.

Emily Prentiss sat in front of them, bound to a wooden chair and gagged.

A/N: So yes, I still wish the Prentiss character would come back... sue me. I'll be finishing this up before the show airs. Please take a second to let me know if it's cool, or completely dumb!