Chapter 1:

"Please, just let me go!" the woman cried, hands and feet bound and all. Despite her pleas, she knew there was no chance. She was a pretty, young blonde—and he liked blondes. She looked down at the man in front of her. He took of his jacket. His ID read SSA Aaron Hotchner—Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. She screamed. Now, there was no way she was getting out alive. The man was an FBI agent!

"I don't think so," Hotchner replied smugly. He got on top of her.

"No, please, stop! I won't tell anyone. Just let me go!" the woman cried. Hotchner knew better than that. He was a profiler. He could read people. He glazed the knife down her chin.

"Beg me not to," he snarled, thrusting himself upward. He wrapped the nylon around her throat and felt the life squeeze out of her. When it was over, he began to clean up. All of a sudden, the phone rang. It was Penelope Garcia. They had a case. He figured it was about the "DC Rapist," as he was called. He smirked to himself. They would never figure it out. He drove to Rock Creek Park and dumped the woman's body in the river. Then, he drove to the FBI headquarters becoming the stoic Unit Chief again.

Chapter 2:

Penelope Garcia presented the case, just like she always did.

"Three women in the DC area have been raped and strangled to death," she explained, "they are all young blonde women in their twenties and they were each strangled with a piece of nylon."

"Marsha Johnson was the first victim and Liz Cole was the second victim. The third victim was her sister, Mary Lou," SSA Hotchner stated, trying to hide the smirk on his face.

"Do we know what the unsub does with his victims?" asked Derek Morgan.

"Yes, I do," said Garcia, "and now I am going to look at baby kittens."

"He shows up in the dark and ties them to the bed," started Jenifer Jareau, former media liason, now profiler, "he explains in graphic detail what he is going to do—and then he does it." JJ cringed. This guy was bad—probably the worst they'd ever seen.

"He clearly likes asserting dominance over the women," replied Hotchner, "we better not waste anytime. Wheels up in thirty." The rest of the team left for the jet. Hotch stuck around for a few minutes. He looked at the dead bodies of the three victims. He smirked. He was working with a bunch of profilers. They'd never figure it out.