It only took three chapters, but the BAU finally arrives at the scene of the crime. Can they outwit the unsub? Find out tonight on...CRIMINAL MINDS

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"Oh jet lag, jet lag, why dost thou persecute Penelope Garcia? Hello, good morning…good afternoon…my body's telling me it should be the middle of the night…"

She lurched into the private dining room, dressed in the hotel's complementary white robe. She was a bit surprised to see the rest of the team, kneeling at the breakfast table, similarly attired; gone native overnight. Morgan was looking especially fetching with a triangle of his hairless chest showing. He clicked his chopsticks at her.

"Wakey-wakey, babygirl, eggs-n'-baccy. Or, whatever this is."

"Tofu, grilled fish and miso broth," Reid provided, and, taking a bite, spoke around it: "S' good."

"Fish? For breakfast?"

Unable to sleep last night in spite of her fatigue, she had stayed up perusing her guidebook and, perhaps unwisely, tucked into the room's minibar. She'd passed out at eleven in the morning, full of scotch, and her stomach roiled at the smell of burnt fish.

Hotch looked the most Japanese of the group, sitting properly cross-legged and holding the bowl close to his mouth. Rossi for his part had spilled crumbs of tofu and drops of soy sauce down the front of his robe, and showed no signs of improvement.

"Oh, dear…" Garcia knelt beside him. "Sir, give me those…see? Hold them like this."

He wiped his beard and grumbled: "We gave these people firearms and they took to them just fine. I don't see why the fork never caught on."

Grimly he impaled a chunk of tofu on the end of his chopstick, and got most of it into his mouth.

"What time is it?" Garcia asked Hotch.

"Two forty-five. We're scheduled to meet Superintendent Hasekura in the lobby at three, so we're running a little behind, but I'm confident…"

Even as he spoke, two silhouettes appeared behind the large rice-paper door on the opposite wall. It slid open.

Rossi looked up, mortified. In a rather feminine gesture Morgan cinched his robe shut. A tall, beefy man sauntered in, trailed by an extremely apologetic-looking Sasaki. Behind the other man's back, he set his teeth and made a half-bow to Hotch.

Hotch quickly got to his feet. "Superintendent Hasekura? Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, FBI. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Oh, yes, of course! So sorry to ah, intrude. But I am not like, ah, clockwork, sometimes I get a little early. You like this Japanese food, yes?"

Hasekura was a handsome elderly man, jowly, with a mane of silver hair and gold cuff links on the sleeves of his glossy suit. His English, while much inferior to Sasaki's, was impressive; but when he spoke he seemed to be constantly pushing excess air from his lungs. He bowed to Hotch.

"We say, hajimemashite. It means, for the first time. Like your name, eh, Hajime? He is the first-boy! To be in charge of his department. But I make a joke with him, he is a very good boy. Isn't that right, Sasaki-kun?"

"Hai," muttered Sasaki.

"Now you say after me, Agent Hotchner: ha-ji-me-ma-shi-te."

Hotch replied with precision: "Hajimemashite." Then, for good measure: "Yoroshiku onegai itashimasu."

Hasekura pretended to applaud. "Ha, ha! Very good. Oh, and you are using ah, chopsticks! Very good, you will get on very well here."

"Superintendent, on behalf of the team, I'm privileged to be consulted in this case. We can't provide you with a silver bullet, but, as I'm sure your own men have, we will do our best. Our only concern is preventing…"

"Yes, yes," Hasekura waved one large hand. "Don't let me disturb your meal. Take time; go-yukkuri. I just wanted to ah, check on you. You will have a pleasant stay here in Tokyo. You must come, tonight; we have good food, and very pretty girls." The thought compelled him to peer near-sightedly around, and he added: "These women are…secretaries?"

Painstakingly, Hotch introduced each member of the team, concluding with Special Agent Emily Prentiss.

"Oh, yes, of course," Hasekura said a little vaguely. "Very good to meet you ladies. You must come as well."

"As a matter of fact," said Hotch, with a glance at Sasaki for support, "while I am honored by your hospitality, I feel that some of my team should begin work right away. I personally accept your generous invitation-along with Agent Prentiss."

Prentiss shot him a look. "After being so kindly volunteered by Agent Hotchner," she said, "I must accept."

Hasekura clapped his hands several times. "Excellent! I hope the rest of you don't push yourselves too hard. Agent Hotchner, Sasaki-kun here will fill you in on the details. So sorry the rest of you can't make it. We will have to enjoy ourselves ah, some other time."

And, distributing little waves, bows and smiles, he went back through the door. Sasaki gave one more helpless bow before shutting it behind them.

As their figures receded down the corridor, they could hear him speaking rapidly in Japanese.

Morgan caught Reid's eye. He whispered: "You get any of that?"

Reid strained. "He seems to think a lot of you, Hotch," he said after a moment. "But Rossi? Apparently you eat like a wild boar? And Prentiss…"

"I'd just as soon not know, thanks all the same," she said, then mock-glared at Hotch. "Nice going, by the way."

Hotch took a sip of his tea. "I thought you might appreciate it."

Akihabara, Akihabara desu. Keihin-Tohoku-sen, Chuo-sen ni onorikaeru. Ohashimoto, gochuuin kudasai.

The JR aboveground station, a relic of the postwar years roofed with rust-darkened corrugated steel, stood quaint in the heart of the district. On either side waterfalls of neon poured down, pink, yellow, blue; smiling faces on billboards peered through the windows of the train, eager to greet new arrivals. Fresh-faced girls in school uniforms against a backdrop of cherry trees; a rugged space marine in his armor. A rank of men in suits waited to board.

Except for a baby screaming at the sight of Rossi's bearded face (the mother hurried it to the other end of the car) the journey had been uneventful. They squeezed out onto the platform into damp, cool air. It was already getting dark. So far, Tokyo seemed like a city where the sun never rose, and the only light came from blinking advertisements.

In a few moments the platform was relatively empty. Those disembarking vanished down stairs and escalators; the train doors slid shut and it trundled off again, the muffled, sweet feminine voice inside announcing the next station, Kanda. Sasaki and the team were alone, gazing out over Akihabara. The platform stood at least four stories above the street, while overhead, the buildings stretched up to devour the skyline.

Rossi whistled.

"Have you ever been to Electric Ladyland?" he asked softly.

"I'm sorry?" said Reid.

"Title of a Hendrix album. Before your time."

A poster two stories long hung off the building across from them. It showed a girl leaning over a water fountain, well positioned to show her delicately rounded posterior in a flannel skirt, and the water splashed her soft cheeks and ran down the open neck of her crisp white blouse, and sparkled in star-like drops in the imaginary air. She was the size of a massive Buddhist statue from medieval times.

"And close your mouth," said Rossi to Reid.

"I-I was overwhelmed by the spectacle!-Besides, look at Garcia!"

Garcia had turned to the right where a rectangular billboard featured what appeared to be three shirtless werewolves, tangled together and eating grapes out of a golden chalice. She whirled around.

"Sorry, sir? Sorry. I was distracted."

Sasaki was speaking Japanese into his cellphone. Presently, he looked up and waved at two men in dark suits walking across the platform.

"Detectives Kimura and Hata," he explained, "officially this is their case. Kimura's the short one, Hata's the tall one. I'm afraid neither speaks much English."

Stocky, crew-cut Kimura looked friendly enough; Hata, bald, with a long dour face, was more stand-offish. Kimura shook Rossi's hand; Hata made a slight bow. Neither said anything.

Morgan had taken several steps, looking around. "No cameras."

Sasaki shook his head. "Few stations have them. And we've combed the eyewitness reports, but no one admits to having seen anything suspicious. It was a big crowd. Everyone had their mind on their own business."

Kimura caught his attention, and spoke to him quietly. He raised his eyebrows.

"Doctor Reid? It appears your hunch was correct. The establishments at which Mei Oda and Ayumi Tosaka worked were dedicated cosplay cafes. Maya Asano's was…normal, but it did host monthly cosplay nights. I'm sorry. We should have attached more importance to that information."

"Well, see…here's where it gets tricky. If there is a connection through cosplay, it might be a question of one specific character common to all three victims. And that could be very hard to determine without knowing the meaning of the unsub's ritual."

"We should talk to their bosses and co-workers," said Morgan.

Rossi nodded. "That's a given. But say I profile this like I've been tempted to…" He began to pace, eyes probing the ground ahead of him, thinking as he spoke: "The unsub is a shy, antisocial young male. No success with women. He may be impotent. He attends these…cosplay cafes to act out some kind of romantic fantasy. But either it isn't enough, or he tries to make the fantasy real…suffers rejection…but the trouble is…"

"If we give that profile to the cafe proprietors, it could describe half their clientele," Morgan finished.

"Correct. There's a difference between the ordinary customer and somebody who would take it this far."

"Or it could be something totally different," said Garcia, then covered her mouth. "Sorry."

"No, no," said Rossi. "You're right. This is a working hypothesis, that's all. We need to get into these places and figure out what's going on. Maybe we're lucky, and a regular customer has been behaving strangely, or even disappeared. It could be our best shot. But to me, all this behavior looks abnormal.-Captain Sasaki, what do your detectives think?"

Sasaki consulted with Kimura and Hata. After a minute, he turned back: "Kimura agrees we're dealing with a serial killer. However, he's confident that if we police the area, he can be apprehended. He's curious to see your methods but he doesn't think they're strictly necessary."

"That's fair enough."

"If the killer-I'm sorry, the unsub? sticks to pattern, we have two or three days before the next attack. There will be heavy police presence during the evening. If we can't catch them, we should deter them."

"Why not just shut down the station?" asked Morgan.

Sasaki shook his head: "Sadly not possible. This is a major point of transit. Agent Morgan…this city is like a big, well-oiled machine. Typically, it works well. But if a single part is thrown out, the results could be…well. Catastrophic."

"This platform isn't very large," Rossi agreed. "Police should be able to pick up on anything suspicious. Unfortunately…"

"If his or her hunting ground is disturbed," Reid picked up, "they could lose control, and escalate. So far the unsub shows caution, even an aversion to violence. That could change."

Morgan had another suggestion: "We could at least give the media the victimology, or put up posters in the area. Warning young cosplay waitresses to stay off the train."

At that, Sasaki thought for a long moment, hands in his pockets. He sneezed again, blew his nose. Then he looked up and said: "I wish I could do what you suggest. I would do anything to protect these women. But you see…it's difficult to explain…right now, there is a low-level consciousness a serial killer could be at work. People are nervous. But if it was publicly linked to otaku, we could have a moral panic on our hands."

"Tsutomu Miyazaki," said Reid, "dubbed the Otaku Killer because of a few videotapes in his closet. It opened decades of prejudice, only partially stemmed when the Minister of Finance himself gave a speech in defense of otaku culture."

"I'd prefer not to make that announcement until we're sure of it. The basic victimology should be obvious enough from the media coverage, and I trust women will use their discretion. Besides, many of those at risk probably knew the victims."

"Understood," said Rossi. "Well, let's get moving. Sasaki, you said you'd gathered some related persons at the local police station?-Morgan, I'd like you to do the interviews."

"Are you sure about that?"

It wasn't the first time Rossi had asked him to step into a situation where, to be honest, his race might put him at a disadvantage. Sasaki had delicately warned him, and he'd gathered his share of odd looks on the train.

"I know what you're thinking, but this has nothing to do with that. You do the best interview of anyone here-no offense Reid, Garcia. If people are scared of you, they'll get over it pretty quickly."

"Alright."

"Reid, why don't you and I go with Captain Sasaki to meet this local guide he mentioned. Of all of us, you've got the best chance of understanding this place."

"Ah, that reminds me," said Sasaki, "you are in luck! We've found a little sister cafe that once employed Mei Oda, and one of the workers speaks English. Perhaps you could question her while Doctor Reid and I investigate other establishments."

"Swell," muttered Rossi, avoiding Reid's eyes.

"And me, sir?" said Garcia, a faint hope in her voice.

He smiled. "Take the evening off, kid. Be on call in case we need to run a quick background check. You can do it from that gizmo in your purse, am I correct?"

"You mean my tablet?-Oh, oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You shall have your reward in heaven, although don't ever call me kid again, that's a Morgan privilege, thank you! Ta-taa!"

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, sweetness!" Morgan called as she made for the escalator.

Detectives Hata and Kimura were peering after her in befuddlement.

Rossi meanwhile was scanning the faces as the platform began to fill again. A young kid with a pierced ear, wearing a red baseball cap. Plenty of businessmen and women. A white tourist with a camera around his neck. The unsub could be there at that moment, discreetly observing them. But if so, nothing made him or her stand out from the crowd.

Reid, as he moved down the street between Sasaki and Kimura, was besieged by maids. They pressed coupons and packets of tissues into his hands that he was too flustered to refuse.

Kimura laughed and said something to Sasaki.

"He says you are very popular, Doctor Reid."

"So much for keeping a low profile."

"You should stick out. You have to get to know these people, and curiosity is one way of doing that, don't you think?-Ah, there on our left is the Radio Kaikan. It's been there since World War II. It used to be a center for the black market in electrical goods."

Under another great neon sign, peddlers flogged their wares of mouse-pads, electrical cords, memory cards and laptop cases. A few patrons vanished up a narrow escalator. No sooner had Reid craned his head than Sasaki was pulling him the other way.

"And there is the famous five-story Gamers, an otaku hangout. Tell me Doctor Reid, are you a, what do I mean…an aficionado?"

"You could say that," he admitted.

Gamers' mascot, a large-headed girl in a maid costume festooned with yellow cat ears, was not unfamiliar.

Sasaki chuckled. "I can't say so for myself, but I have sympathy with those who are. It is all rather…spectacular. Ah, we've arrived!"

He led Reid by the arm to a narrow building around the corner from Gamers, looking dingy and out-of-place. It was only illuminated by the neighboring buildings, and the signs looked vintage nineteen fifties. They went down a hallway lit by a single bulb. Reid peered around with interest; but Kimura looked uncomfortable, and when they reached a small lift able to accommodate two, he signaled to Sasaki that he would wait downstairs.

When the doors closed Sasaki said: "The shops in here are very, what's the word. Core? Hardcore. Now let me tell you about the man we're going to meet. He calls himself Johnny B. He's a military otaku."

"Military? As in militant?"

"Ah, I see you are not as knowledgeable as all that. Model guns, mock battles; that sort of thing. But he's been around a long time and he knows everybody; he knows about anime and all that. He's helped us out in investigations before."

The lift creaked to a stop on the fourth floor, and Reid followed Sasaki cautiously out.

It looked like an army-navy surplus store. The walls were hung with combat boots, camouflaged satchels and water skins, and in several glass cases stood model-at least presumably model-knives, and pistols on glass racks. The air smelled like cigarette smoke.

Through a grime-stained window, the streets of Akihabara looked quite different. It was as if the time machine of an elevator had transported them back fifty years.

Three men sat on folding chairs around a card table. Two were drinking beers and the third calmly smoked a cigarette in a long holder. They all wore green-gray fatigues, and while the smoker was slender and young-looking, the other two were large middle-aged men. One, bald, had a striking pockmarked face. He grinned when he saw them.

"Evening, Johnny," said Sasaki. "Cap'n! What can I do for you?"

"You can tell your friend to stop violating the fire code, to begin with."

Reid could understand most of what was being said; although Johnny B spoke in a guttural, old-fashioned accent.

Johnny laughed, and the young man made no gesture toward putting out his cigarette. They all gazed at Reid with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"What's this, auditioning for an American sailor in our Pacific Battle league? He's not going to put the fear of god in anyone, I tell ya."

"This is the first time a white boy set foot in this shop in twenty years," said his stocky friend, "and that one got lost. Hey, little boy, are you lost?"

"Quite teasing him, he's with the Captain."

"Allow me to introduce Doctor Spencer Reid. He's with the American FBI, and he's assisting us in an investigation. You probably know which one."

Johnny leaned forward, squinting. "You putting us on?"

"That kid's barely old enough to shave, let alone be a cop," said the young man in a nasal voice.

"Aw, you should talk.-I believe you. Okay, Doctor Reid, pull up a chair. Can he understand?" said Johnny, pointing quite rudely directly at Reid.

"Enough," said Reid in Japanese, and Johnny nodded approvingly. The young man, betraying no ill will, got up and unfolded another chair, which Reid took. Sasaki remained standing. Johnny offered Reid a beer; he politely refused.

"Well," said Johnny, after a long pull on his own, "since you're not much to look at, you must be really smart. I hope you've got the brains to catch this asshole, cause he's not doing us any favors. Pretty soon folks will be too scared to come out here. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to scare off the tourists; but if I had a daughter, I wouldn't let her within ten blocks of here. So. What do you want to know?"

Reid looked to Sasaki. The Captain took the initiative.

"Certain information in the case was not made public. Specifically, notes left on the bodies. Each one read the same: Dear Yu, perhaps we really did kill ourselves that day six years ago."

Johnny scratched his head. "Well, shit," he said. "You should have come to us first thing."

The others had adopted attitudes of deep thought.

"That day six years ago…" whispered the young man, and took a pensive drag. "I know I heard that somewhere."

"The truth is," said Reid, "I could swear I've it somewhere, too."

"A video game," said the middle-aged friend.

"You sure?"

"I get the feeling. Not one I played, but one I heard about."

Trying to recall, Reid let his eyes wander around the shop. They settled on a bright patch in the drab fatigue pattern of the merchandise. It was a small manga-style painting, like a Russian ikon, of a sweet-looking girl in a yellow dress. Pointing, he said:

"Celeste from Legend of Summer Days?"

"Huh!" Johnny's eyes widened, and he burped. "Good eye. I guess you know about this stuff. That's right. She's my personal good luck charm." He took another sip of beer. "I been with real women. Plenty of them. But they let you down. They can hurt you, bad. Cele-chan would never do that to me…"

The other two nodded, seriously. Then the young man slapped the table.

"Night Train."

Johnny put a hand to his forehead. "Goddamn Night Train!"

Reid wanted to shout it at the same instant. It came rushing back to him. When Sasaki looked at him quizzically, he got to his feet before explaining: "It's virtually unheard of in the states, but it has a cult following here. It was one of the earliest dating simulators on the Playstation One."

He had begun to pace in a circle, his face going pale, horrified at his own faulty memory. When had he ever been at a loss for information?

"A fated meeting on the coldest night of the year," he whispered.

"Yes! Yes!" said the young man. "I must have played it fifty times!"

"But that's it," and Reid almost grabbed Sasaki by the lapels of his coat, "you're not supposed to see that message! That's why I couldn't remember. It's one of the Bad Endings. If you make enough mistakes, the heroine leaves you that note…before committing suicide."

Sasaki looked him in the eyes.

"What's the name of this heroine?"

Reid shook his head.

"Rei Nakamura," said the young man.

Sasaki took out his cellphone.