Thank you for reading and/or reviewing!

Reid shielded his eyes against the light as the door opened. He had completely lost track of time; he couldn't tell whether he'd been waiting for hours or days.

"S-sam?" Reid called; at this point, he didn't care who it was, just as long as he didn't have to sit alone in a dark basement for any longer.

Sam closed the door behind him, then switched on the light bulb.

"Ah!" Reid squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hands to his face. The bright light did nothing to assuage the migraine that had slowly but surely been building for the duration of his stay in the basement.

"Sorry I was gone for so long," Sam said, completely oblivious to Reid's pain, "I had to take care of some things."

"How…how long have I been down here?" Reid asked, trying to adjust to the light. "What time is it? What day is it?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I've only been gone for four hours," he said, as if speaking to a child.

Reid blinked. "Only…only four hours?" He had to be lying.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You don't like the dark much, do you?"

Reid shook his head. "There's…there's an inherent absence of light," he muttered, trying not to sound embarrassed.

Sam laughed. "Well, sorry I had to leave the light out, but you were pretty disrespectful to me."

Reid opened his mouth to retaliate; but then closed it, deciding that there were probably worse things Sam could be doing to him.

"Anyways," Sam said, "Does your previous offer still stand?"

Reid frowned. "Um…what previous offer?"

"To help me fix the computer," Sam said.

"Oh," Reid said. "Yeah, I…I could take a look at it." He held out his handcuffed arm, giving Sam an expectant look.

Sam laughed again. "Nice try, Sherlock," he said. He bent down, picked up the computer, and carried it over to where Reid was sitting, plugging it into a closer outlet.

"Listen," Reid said, "I've got a doctorate in engineering, not computer science, so I can't really guarantee—"

"Do you like water?" Sam interrupted suddenly.

"Do I…?" Reid trailed off, slightly confused. "Um, yes. Yes I do."

"Then fixing the computer is a good idea," Sam informed him. Reid felt a sense of foreboding pool in his stomach. Sam got to his feet and crossed the room, climbing the stairs. "See you soon, Spencer," he called, closing the door behind him.

Reid gritted his teeth and set to work, his throat feeling strangely dry all of the sudden.

"Project X," Teddy said, "Was created by Dr. Robert Stadler." The young intern seemed very nervous to have the attention of five FBI agents. "Um," he said, "It's kind of like…a weapon."

"In what way?" Hotch asked sharply.

Teddy glanced at the ground, scratching his neck nervously. "It's basically…the equivalent of an atomic bomb. A weapon of mass destruction. Except…well, it uses sound waves. In the book, there's a certain vibration that it reaches which causes the destruction of anything within a 100 mile radius."

JJ had begun to look fearful. "That doesn't actually exist…does it?"

"No," Hotch responded firmly.

Teddy took a step closer to the table, gaining a bit of confidence. "In the book, Dr. Stadler is originally one of the good characters. He's…a genius scientist; one of the best of his time; and he's trying to use sound waves to build the first ever automatic digital computer. But one of his staff members; Dr. Ferris; betrays him, and gives his secrets to the government. The government then uses the secrets to make…well, Project X."

"So the government takes credit for his work?" Hotch asked, wondering how Reid fit into all of this.

Teddy was already shaking his head. "Quite the opposite, actually," he said. "The government forces Stadler to take credit for the invention; threatening to shut down his State Science Institute if he refuses. So, although he is disgusted by the invention, Stadler is forced to take credit for it on National Television. The public thinks the whole thing is his idea. After that, he's forced onto the side of those who are singlehandedly working to destroy the things he loves most; intelligence and innovation. Ironically, it is this that actually leads to the demise of the State Science Institute; which was the one thing he'd been trying to protect."

"If the unsub is John Galt, then Reid is Dr. Stadler," Rossi said. "This guy thinks Reid's selling himself to the government. It fits perfectly."

"What happens to Dr. Stadler?" Hotch asked.

Teddy gave a nervous laugh. "The State Science Institute gets taken over by thugs," he said. "Stadler returns to reclaim Project X. He gets into a fight with the leader of the thugs; Cuffy Meigs; who is unaware of the power of Project X, and is threatening to set off the machine. During the fight, Stadler pushes Meigs onto the lever, setting the machine off; and so, because he sold himself and his beliefs to the government, Stadler is ultimately destroyed by his own creation."

"Project X is all that awaits you," Morgan muttered. "This wasn't a threat to Reid at all; the unsub was trying to save him."

"What about the rest of the note?" Hotch asked. "The damndest and guiltiest among us are those who had the capacity to know, yet chose to blank out reality…"

"Yeah, that—" Teddy nodded, "That whole note is a quotation lifted directly from John Galt's speech."

"Speech?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah, John Galt hacks into a radio broadcast in order to address the country .The speech lasts about 60 pages," Teddy said.

"Jesus Christ," Morgan muttered, looking slightly overwhelmed, "The same character talks for 60 pages?"

Teddy shrugged. "Many readers saw the speech as a summation of Ayn Rand's philosophy; a manifesto, of sorts. Of course, in later, nonfiction works, she—"

"Okay, fine," Hotch said, waving his hand. "This whole note is from the speech?"

"Except for this last part," Teddy said. "The part in capital letters. These aren't quotes; they're paraphrased. It doesn't sound like her writing. I think the…" he swallowed nervously, "The killer wrote that part himself."

There was a knock on the door, and seconds later Garcia entered hesitantly. "Hotch," she said, "We just got a phone call from the local police department. They found another body."

By the time they had made it to the crime scene, it was 8 o' clock in the morning.

"Unsub's been busy," Morgan muttered.

"It's in a graveyard again," Prentiss said. She turned to one of the CSI technicians. "Have you got anything?"

The technician shook her head. "No fingerprints, footprints, hair or skin fragments…we're still looking, but based on the care taken with the other crime scenes I doubt we'll find anything."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "You may say he's disorganized, Hotch, but this guy is smart. He hasn't made a single mistake. We haven't learned anything about him that he hasn't wanted us to learn."

Hotch shook his head. "I don't get it. What he did with Reid profiled as disorganized…but this…"

"He wasn't killed by strangulation this time," the technician interrupted. "A single .357 caliber bullet wound to the head. My guess would be a revolver."

Hotch felt a rush of anger and panic swelling inside his stomach. There was a beat of silence before he voiced what they were all thinking.

"He's using Reid's gun."

Reid's headache had gotten worse. It was becoming difficult to see, let alone think, but he was certain of one thing; there was no possible way to fix the computer. Not only was it almost thirty years old, but he was pretty sure it was also missing at least half of the parts necessary for its functionality.

"Sam!" he moaned. "Sam, come back!" Once he had given up trying to fix it, he had taken to picking up various parts of the broken computer and throwing them at the door, in a desperate attempt to gain his captor's attention. He felt a chill run up his spine, then licked his chapped lips. "SAM! Sam, I can't fix it…"

When was the last time he'd had water? He tried to think back to the day he'd been abducted. He'd had a cup of coffee at three…but he'd had nothing for dinner. They had been too busy working the case. Reid moaned, pressing his head against the wall. What time was it now? Well into the afternoon…it had to be. Reid was pretty sure he hadn't had water in at least twenty-four hours; probably longer.

What if Sam never came back? What if he decided to leave him here to die? What if his team killed Sam, but never found out where he was keeping Reid?

Reid knew what was going on here. He knew that the quickest possible way to make a hostage feel dependent was to deprive them of four things; human contact, light, food, and water. Sam wanted Reid to feel like he needed him.

Of course, Reid knew that, but all he could think about was how goddamn thirsty he was and how he would give his right arm if only Sam would come back downstairs with something to drink.

It was already seven o'clock at night and Hotch was in a very bad mood.

"Listen, Teddy, I asked for a book summary," he snapped, "And in most cases, the summary is shorter than the actual book."

Teddy turned bright red. "I…of course, sir," he said, "I'm sorry. It's just, every part is important, and—"

"I'm sure, Teddy, on a literary level, every part is important, but seeing as one of my agents is being held hostage by a delusional serial killer I'd really appreciate it if you'd—"

"Hotch?" JJ poked her head into the office.

Hotch turned around. "What?"

"Um…CSI just informed us of a note left at the crime scene."

Hotch blinked. "What do you mean, 'just informed us?'"

"Well—it was hidden in the victim's pocket, it took them awhile to find it; and they wanted to take it to the lab to get it analyzed for prints, so apparently—"

"Do you have a copy of it or not?" Hotch snapped.

"Yes," JJ said hurriedly, handing it to him. "Do you want me to call the team?"

Hotch shook his head. "No," he said. "Get copies to them, but just—tell them to keep doing what they're doing."

"Alright, sir," JJ said softly. "Do you need anything?"

"No," Hotch said stiffly, turning around.

"Hotch?"

"What?" he asked, spinning around in his chair again.

"This isn't your fault, you know. Just because he called you—there wasn't anything you could have done to—"

"I know, JJ," Hotch said wearily. "Thank you."

JJ nodded, then closed the door quietly. Hotch turned back to an increasingly intimidated looking Teddy.

"Wh-what's it say, sir?" he asked.

Hotch unfolded the copy of the letter and spread it out on his desk.

To the FBI,

There might be some sort of justification for the savage societies in which a man had to expect that enemies could murder him at any moment and had to defend himself as best he could. But there can be no justification for a society in which a man is expected to manufacture the weapons for his own murderers. No human being can hold claim on another demanding that he wipe himself out of existence.

DR. REID IS NO LONGER YOUR AGENT. HE IS JOINING US IN OUR STRIKE, AND IS REFUSING TO BE A VICTIM ANY LONGER. YOU WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN. YOU MUST SURRENDER NOW, OR YOU WILL ALL BE DESTROYED.

~JG

Thank you for reading everyone. Reviews make the world spin happier! I'm an insufferable narcissist, and therefore I love to hear what you think.