"I understand you don't like the food here." Hotch's jailor was standing just inside the door to his cell as he spoke to him. Hotch had already tested the chain fastening him to the cot, as well as the manacle around his ankle, and knew that he couldn't reach the man.
"You do know that I am a Federal agent who is being held prisoner against his will," Hotch began.
"I know – I know," the jailor replied calmly. "And I am the person who gets to oversee that."
"Now," he continued. "My instructions are that you are to be a Breeder. Which, in my opinion, is a total waste. The farm could use a big, brawny guy like you to work in the fields. Maybe, after the women wear you out, there will be enough left of you to do some real work. Although, if you continue throwing your food at the person who brings it rather that eating it - " He shook his head warningly.
"My name is Aaron Hotchner," Hotch began angrily. "I am an FBI agent and my team will be looking for me."
"Not here in you aren't," the man corrected him. "In here you are Number 3751. And, you are right, someone will undoubtedly be looking for you. However, rest assured that you were gone long before they even noticed that you were missing. So, chances are they won't even know where to start looking. Now, I would suggest that you stop struggling, eat the food that is served you, and accept the fact that you are going to be here for the rest of your life."
"By the way," he added. "I couldn't help but notice. Those are some pretty nasty looking scars you have on your chest."
"Those are from the last man who tried to kill me." Hotch growled as he fixed the man with his patented 'Hotch glare'.
"Well, you won't have to worry about that here," the man told him. "Killing you is the last thing we want to do – The very last thing."
"You," Hotch's profiling skills kicked in. "What is your name?"
The man scratched his chin as he replied. "I'm 3415, but you can call me 415 for short."
"You don't have a name?" Hotch demanded. "Just a number?"
"A number can be a name," the man replied. "And, around here, that's all anyone has. It makes it easier to keep track of everyone. So get used to it."
He turned and walked out of the cell, carefully closing and locking the door behind himself.
"Anyone and everyone, he is using plurals," Hotch thought to himself. "Just how many people are involved in this?" Reluctantly, he picked a banana up off the floor and began slowly peeling it.