Aaron Hotchner sighed. They had been on this case for three weeks now and were unable to crack it. Crime rates were at an all-time low, making the BAU's job much easier, but that didn't mean they could crack every case.

Crime rates were at an all-time low because of a new program that had been entered twelve years ago. High-risk children and adults were imprisoned before they had a chance to commit a crime. It was very controversial and in the first few years especially, there had been a lot of protest and international pressure. The United Nations had mostly stopped complaining after seeing the success, however, and although Unicef and Amnesty International hadn't stopped, and probably wouldn't stop complaining either, the program stayed intact.

High-risk were those with above average intelligence, certain personality disorders, behavioral problems… there were a lot of criteria, and it was easy to nail someone. Truthfully, Hotch was worried for his own son. Jack was nice and compassionate, but it was very easy to nail someone nowadays. If there was a complaint, the person – a child, most of the time – was nearly always found "guilty".

No one was really sure what happened in those Crime Prevention Facilities, as they were called. It was a bit like Guantanamo Bay, in a way – there were rarely any reports made, but there was suspicion. However most people turned the other way and pretended nothing was wrong. People would turn in their neighbors, school teachers turned in their students.. It was horrifying, in a way. The average university class was fifty-four per cent smaller now than it was twenty years ago.

And that had its consequences, too. The smartest people, the cherry toppings of society, were in those centers. The average age of scientists had never been higher than it was now, with the geniuses being imprisoned. Most that were imprisoned were, after all, teenagers.

Penelope Garcia had been lucky. She had been working for the FBI for a few months when the program was instated. Other "hackers" hadn't been so lucky. Even now, Garcia had been forced to move to Quantico, where it was easier to supervise her, and track her every move. She had to be careful not to move a toe out of line, because that would likely mean imprisonment for her. She was, after all, good at her job.

Jason Gideon had resigned and moved out of the country quickly after the program was first instated. He couldn't live in a country that supported this.

Hotch sighed once again and put his signature on the request. Hopefully, this would help them crack the case.

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"Reid! Here." Spencer Reid immediately stood and moved towards the officer. He was roughly grabbed by the arm and moved to a security room. 'Not again,' Spencer thought. Sometimes, when someone – usually some law enforcement office – requested his presence, he first got a fair beating. That usually meant getting whipped five times in strategic places on his back, restricting quick movements, and his collarbone and a rib would be broken, or at least cracked. And he would get a few bruises, but that was something he got often enough without there being a specific reason. This was said to be for security – after all, outside the Facility, he wasn't as well guarded as inside, and to restrict his movements, they inflicted some damage.

Daily business. Nothing to worry about.

Glancing at the file the officer was carrying, Reid was just able to make out the letters "BAU". Shit. FBI. Those had to be worse than local law enforcement.

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"I can't believe it! These people are dangerous!" Derek Morgan yelled at Hotch.

"Morgan, we have a serial killer out there who is dangerous and we're not close to catching this guy. Reid has worked with Law Enforcement before and solved cases. Perhaps he can help us before we find more bodies. Besides, he has a clean record. Admitted at sixteen after getting his second doctorate. He had never been arrested or suspected before that. He's a genius, Morgan, not a psychopath." Hotch returned.

"Let's just hope this kid can help us," Rossi said. "Who's guarding him?"

"We'll take that over when he gets here," Hotch said. "No arguments. Our team dynamics are effective and the more outside influence, the harder it will be to continue doing our jobs."

Morgan groaned. Jennifer Jareau playfully smacked him on the head, curious about this new guy.

"He'll be coming in an hour. Prentiss, you and Rossi stay here and brief him. Rossi, get him a lot of literature on catching serial killers. I don't mind who the author is," he said with a small smile.

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"Here he comes," Prentiss said quietly. Rossi nodded and turned towards the door. The first impression was.. not good. The kid looked to be seventeen instead of twenty-three and was dangerously thin. He held himself as if injured and his eyes darted around the room. He was chained in the way the CPF-convicts always were: one handcuff around their right wrist with a chain leading to the belt of the officer escorting him. He held his left arm odd, as though his collarbone was injured.

"Here's Reid, Agents. Good luck." The escorting officer chained him to the table (with the end of the chain that led to his right wrist) and left.

"130946 Reid, sir, ma'am." said who was obviously Reid. He didn't meet her eyes, instead focused on her collar. Not knowing what the number he introduced himself with meant, Prentiss asked for clarification after introducing herself and Rossi.

"I'm Emily Prentiss, this is David Rossi. What does 130946 stand for?"

"13 is the number that identifies my facility, 0946 is my personal number inside the facility. Outside my personal number is thus 130946, ma'am."

Rossi looked a bit out of his dept. "How quickly do you read, Reid?" he asked instead of commenting.

"Before being admitted into CPF-13, I was timed at reading 21,462 words a minute. I have not read much the last seven years, so I do not know the exact number at the moment. I'm sorry, sir." He held himself as if expecting to be kicked. Prentiss and Rossi shared a glance.

"No, that's alright. How long do you think it will take you to work through these books?" Rossi asked pointing towards a stack of books, his voice turning just a fraction more friendly.

"About two thousand three hundred pages total? In between one and a half, two, I think, sir. I'm sorry for not being able to give you a better estimate, sir." He appeared nervous and again held himself as if expecting to be hit.

Prentiss and Rossi shared another glance. This boy – a child, really – acted as though he was severely abused. And that reading speed was phenomenal.

Prentiss took over. "Alright, I'll brief you on the case, then you can read those books and make notes of anything you think we might have missed. You can ask questions afterwards or meanwhile – unless you have any questions now?"

Reid appeared to hesitate. "If you have questions, please ask them now." Rossi said a bit impatiently.

Reid flinched. "I'm sorry, sir. I have no conclusive questions at this point."

"Alright. I'm going towards the latest crime scene before it's too contaminated. Prentiss, Hotch will be by in forty-five minutes."

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Reid didn't know what to make of these people. The woman appeared nice enough, but she had a steel edge, he could see. The man gave him the shivers, but most men did that nowadays. He turned his attention towards the woman, who started to explain the case to him.

"Alright. We have twenty-six body's, ten female, sixteen male. Victimology appears all over the place. The length between the murders is around the same time with every kill. Cause of death is blood loss after stabbing. The attacks appear to be blitz attacks. The number of stab wounds increases varies every time, with the most being 89, which has happened twice, on the eleventh and twenty-second kill respectively. The first, second, twelfth, thirteenth, twenty-third and twenty-fourth victim were each stabbed only once. The UnSub doesn't appear to care whether or not the victims are alive, the number appears to be important for him." Seeing as Reid raised his hand, Emily stopped. "Yes, what is it?"

"Ma'am, is the number of stab wounds a repetitive cycle that repeats after each eleventh kill?" Reid asked hestitantly.

Emily nodded, wondering how he knew that. "That's true, how do you know that?"

Reid took a deep breath before starting. "The Fibonacci numbers are a series of numbers with each following number being the sum of the previous two. Eighty-nine is the eleventh number of the sequence when using the Pascal's Triangle-method, which is different from the algebra-method in that it doesn't count the zero as the first number. The first eleven numbers would be one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four, fifty-five and eighty-nine, which I suspect to be consistent with the number of stab wounds. He might repeat the cycle after the eleventh kill because the number eleven means something to him, or because the number hundred, which is the sum of eleven and eighty-nine, means something to him, other than it being the first positive triple-digit number in the sequence of the natural numbers.."

"Whoa, stop," Emily interrupted, shocked. "Can you write that down? Including any other theories you might have?"

"Yes, ma'am," Reid answered.

When Hotch entered half an hour later, Reid was writing his thirteenth page.

"Mr.-" Hotch started, but was interrupted by Reid, who jumped and immediately winced.

"130946 Reid, Sir!" Reid said.

Hotch extended his hand in greeting. Reid didn't appear to know what to do with it, apart from flinching when it was first extended, but after a few seconds he shook it. "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief. Are you injured, Mr. Reid?"

"Yes, sir," Reid answered, appearing unconcerned. "According to the guidelines of CPF-13,I am sufficiently injured to be allowed off the premises. You are, of course, free to extend my injuries."

This rattled Hotch, who, perhaps for the first time in his life, had no idea what to say. Prentiss had no such problems. "WHAT?"

Reid, taking this literary, started reciting the part of the guidelines saying he had to be injured. This only served to rattle both Hotch and Prentiss further.

When Hotch regained his composure and asked Reid if he wanted a painkiller, Reid said that yes, he wanted one, but he wasn't allowed medicines when not on the premises of CPF-13.

"I'm sorry for your injuries, Mr. Reid. I was not aware of the existence of such guidelines. Are you aware of any loopholes allowing your bones to be set or your pain to be lessened?"

"No, sir, sorry, sir," Reid answered.

Hotch nodded, realizing that it wasn't nice, but they had a body count. "Prentiss, have you finished briefing Mr. Reid?"

Prentiss shook her head. "I had just told him the basics when he came up with a theory regarding the number of stab wounds, something about Fibonacci numbers. He was working out the theory on paper when you arrived. I asked him to include any theories he had based on that."

Hotch nodded. "Alright. Mr. Reid, please try to finish your theories within the next two pages. Prentiss, finish the briefing afterwards, then summarize Mr. Reid's works to share with the team. Feel free to share anything Garcia can work with, with her before that. Call me when you're ready for a team meeting," Hotch finished.