Many thanks to anyone who left a review! To my fellow Americans; Happy Fourth of July! (To everyone else; well, there's no reason why you can't still have a Happy Fourth of July)…well, anyways! Thanks for reading! :)

"This is unbelievable," Garcia muttered, clicking rapidly. Hotch frowned over her shoulder, staring at the computer screen; he had no idea what was going on.

"What's unbelievable?" he asked after a moment.

She turned her chair around towards him. "Sir, these people have…everything. All the information about Quantico, everything on all of the employees, past and present…" She shook her head wordlessly.

"And that was all on Sam's computer?" Hotch asked.

She shook her head. "No, I hacked into the network—Sam didn't have access to any of this," she muttered, "But someone certainly does."

Reid woke with a start; he experienced a moment of extreme confusion before he was brought back to reality. Then, he focused his attention on the noise that had awoken him; it was the same eight year old child he had seen yesterday.

"Your time is up," the boy said, approaching him; he had a very pale face and dark hair.

"What's your name?" Reid asked the boy, hoping to distract him.

The kid ran his hand through his hair, then glanced behind him, as if to check if anyone were watching. "Stephen," he said, eventually.

"What are you doing here, Stephen?" Reid asked.

Stephen eyed him suspiciously. "I live here," he said, narrowing his eyes. "And your time. Is up."

His hands trembling, Reid reached into his pocket and withdrew the piece of paper. He hadn't written anything.

"One moment," he muttered to Stephen, then quickly scribbled two words on the paper. Stephen took the paper and exited.

The next few moments felt like years; by the time the door opened again, Reid had no idea if ten minutes or an hour had passed.

It was Stephen again. He walked up to Reid and handed him another folded piece of paper; then he turned and walked out of the room. This piece of paper had the number two written on the front.

"Wait!" Reid called after Stephen. The boy stopped and turned around. "Does this mean…did I get it right?"

Stephen rolled his eyes. "What do you think?" he asked. Then he slammed the door.

Reid grinned to himself, a wave of relief washing over him; then he opened the piece of paper.

5 + 5 = ?

Reid stared at the piece of paper in irritation; he flipped it around to the back, but there was nothing written there. He blinked, then stared at the piece of paper.

It couldn't really be that easy?

He frowned to himself. Maybe it was that easy. Maybe he was supposed to over think this and get it wrong; maybe they wanted him to obsess over it all night, looking for a trick where there was none.

He stared at the piece of paper for a moment longer. Then again, Dominique Francon would have known that he would know that he was supposed to over-think it; so what if she was really trying to get him to not over think it, when he needed to over think it?

"Shut up, goddamnit," Reid muttered to himself. "It's five plus five."

But his brain simply would not shut up; it continued whirring around, thinking of all of the multitudes of possibilities of scenarios that Dominique had been think of when she'd written the question, and how any one of those scenarios could result in a different answer other than ten, which was clearly not the answer, because it wasn't clever enough, it wasn't poetic enough, there was something else, something he was missing…

Reid could tell that it was going to be another long night.

"I just don't get it," Hotch muttered to Morgan, "Who are these people?"

"It's most likely a cult, Agent Hotchner," Teddy piped up nervously.

"A…what? A cult?" Hotch frowned, turned his head towards Teddy. "Based on a book?"

"Well," Teddy said, "Not on the book, specifically. It's around the…philosophy. It's called Objectivism." Teddy took a deep breath. "Also known as 'Randism…' although Ayn Rand didn't really like that name," he said, pensively. "She wrote a few books on it when she was older."

"But this book was published in the fifties," Morgan said, "Are these 'cults' still around?"

"Oh, yes," Teddy said eagerly. "Actually, sales of Atlas Shrugged have skyrocketed ever since the beginning of the economic recession."

"So what exactly do these…'Objectivists' believe?" Hotch asked.

"Well," Teddy said. "They're basically a very extreme form of Libertarians. They believe in capitalism, individualism, and atheism; but most importantly, they believe in absolute truth. That something either is or isn't—no shades of gray." He nodded once to himself. "They don't have any respect for subjective reality; hence the name, Objectivism. They think that man should value his reasoning mind over everything else—never his emotions. So, they believe that man should be able to use his reason to answer life's moral and philosophical questions."

"So…there's only one right answer to what's ethical and what's not?" Hotch asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Theoretically," Teddy said. "If there is such thing as an objective reality; as the Objectivist philosophy states; and there is also such thing as objective morality; then it would be assumed that we would all come to the same conclusion when evaluating philosophy and reality. That is assuming, of course, that we are all reasoning correctly. If there is a discrepancy in our beliefs, then one side is right and one side is wrong; we cannot both be right, because then that would be assuming a subjective system of morality." Teddy grinned. "That's why she hated Kant so much."

"How many of these cults are there?" Hotch asked incredulously.

"Well," Teddy said, "There are a fair amount; but I mean, compared to the amount of people who consider themselves Objectivists, a relatively small amount of them actually make up the various Objectivist cults. The people who do are mostly…well, they're mostly whackjobs, to tell you the truth. I mean, the novel advocates individualism; so forming a cultseems a little contradictory." He rolled his eyes. "But I've never heard of one of the cults actually issuing threats against the government. Most of the cults just sit in circles and read the book over and over and talk about how they're intellectually superior to everyone else—but they've never been in trouble with the law before. That I know of, anyways." Teddy shrugged. "So these guys are really a special form of crazy, I guess."

"These people must have some moralproblem with what the government is doing," Morgan said. "Or, more specifically, the FBI. And now they see violence as the only way to stop us. We already know they kidnapped Reid because they saw him as a victim—they were trying to save him—or Sam was, anyways. But if they see him as a victim, how do they see us?"

"Evil," Hotch said grimly. "This killer—Sam—was only a small piece of a larger goal. If they are planning an attack on Quantico, we don't have a lot of time. We need to figure out what their endgame is, figure out where their headquarters is, and cut this thing off at its root."

"But once we do find it," Morgan said, "What are we going to do? Attack it?"

"It depends on how evolved this organization is," Hotch said. "We don't know very much about these people in the first place—we can't afford to hesitate once we find where they've established themselves."

"So if we do attack it," Morgan said, stiffly, "How are we going to take it down without risking killing Reid?"

Hotch was silent for a long moment. "I don't know," he said eventually. "But we can't make this personal, Morgan. We don't even know if he's still alive."

Morgan gritted his teeth angrily. "The video—"

"Proves that he was alive when the video was made," Hotch said, grimly. "Once Sam died, the dynamics changed significantly. Hell, they might just be using him asa deterrent for attack, by this point. They might want us to think he's still alive, so that…" Hotch trailed off, then shook his head. "You're right, Morgan," he said suddenly, "We have to assume he's still alive. We'll assume he's alive until we find a body. Meanwhile," he nodded at the group of agents sitting around him, "Let's get to work. We need to find out everything we can about these people, and fast."

Reid had fallen asleep again before Stephen reentered the room. Reid frowned at the boy as he approached with his hand outstretched.

"Stephen," Reid said, "Why does Dominique send you in here? Why doesn't she come in herself?"

Stephen paused, then swallowed nervously. "I offered to," he said. "I like this job."

Reid frowned quizzically. "Really?" he asked.

Stephen nodded shyly, his eyes on the ground. "I like to talk to some of you, a little bit," he said. "I don't get to…" he trailed off. "Well, anyways…I usually end up sad."

"Why?" Reid asked.

Stephen finally looked up, meeting his glance. "People like you," he said softly, "They never last to the end."

Reid felt his chest constrict in panic. Robotically, he reached his arm forwards and handed his answer to Stephen. "How long have you lived here?" he asked Stephen, his voice sounding hoarse.

Stephen paused, then turned around. "I was born here," he said, smiling as if it was a ridiculous question.

"You…you were?" Reid asked. "Are you sure?"

Stephen smiled, then walked closer to him. "You're much nicer to me than the others," he said, "All the others just ask me to set them loose, and then yell at me when I don't." He pouted angrily.

"Stephen," Reid said, "Do you know who your parents are?"

Stephen fixed a quizzical gaze on Reid. "Dominique is, of course," he said, smiling.

"Are there…are there any other kids here, like you?"

Stephen frowned. "A few," he said. "I don't see them much, though. I'm mostly focused on my education—we all are—so I don't—"

"Stephen!" Stephen started so badly that he almost fell over. "I've g-got to go," he stammered, as his name was called again, the voice calling for him sounding none too pleased. He turned and sprinted out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Reid sighed, sitting in silence and staring at the wall. "I hope five plus five is still ten," he muttered to himself as he waited for Stephen's return.

The boy reentered moments later. "You got it right," he said, a large grin on his face. "Here—question three." He dropped the piece of paper in Reid's lap, then scurried out of the room, most likely to avoid being yelled at again. Reid opened the piece of paper hesitantly; he let out a moan of irritation when he saw what the paper read. There were only three words written.

What is love?

Stephen's words echoed forebodingly in his mind.

People like you…they never last until the end.

Reid sighed, then prayed silently that his team would somehowfind him before he made it to the end. He looked despairingly at the dark walls around him; he had to have been missing for weeks by this point; if they hadn't found him by now, who knew if they ever would?

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