одиннадцать. what would spencer say
" respect is earned "

TEARING THROUGH THESE men a few days ago made me feel something. Something I haven't felt in forever. It wasn't particularly a feeling I enjoyed, yet it wasn't a feeling I hated. I took advantage of it. Tearing through the bodies of men who payed money to watch others rip through the bodies of innocent people. What would Spencer Reid say? I can't say I care. They all deserved it. I can't deny that it felt good to be hurting the men who pay to hurt others. Revenge is a dish best served cold and trust me, it was delicious.

I wouldn't say death brought me a new appreciation for life. When you live near the cemetery you can't weep for everyone. You reap what you have sown - death is the debt we all pay for life. Faced with our deaths, some hope to live harder, hoping to escape and delay the inevitable, fearful of what's on the other side. Or isn't. When death comes, all we can hope for is that it comes with the peace and dignity befitting how we lived our lives. Death does not take the old but the ripe. And trust me, these boys were ripe enough to take away lives from.

So I'm not afraid to say that tearing through those men a week ago felt right.

Inserting the USB into the laptop in the Apple store, my eyes had looked around to see if anyone was coming over. I didn't know what to expect from the USB - I didn't even have time to see what it was the day I got it after I had received a surprise visit from Nadia, who was there to complete my training for the rest of the week, making sure I don't fall weak. And now that she's gone, I can continue working this case once more. My fingernails made a quiet clattering noise as I tapped them rhythmically against the table, waiting.

The brown wig felt wrong on me, yet it surely felt right to others who didn't even look twice to see if it was a wig and my disguise was working perfectly. After all, I was a wanted criminal now in this city - or a murderer. Yet I like to think there are people out there that are grateful for my actions. Or at least it's what I like to think to keep myself from the breaking point that's waiting for me at some corner I'm bound to turn at one point. My attention had turned back to the laptop that had revealed a site that immediately opened, revealing a list of videos.

Furrowing my brows, I scrolled through the endless live streams.

Trust me when I say I'm a good hacker. In my past, I had been taught by Nadia herself over and over again for days on end until I walked away from that computer with the keys stuck to the tip of my fingers and images burnt in my mind that no twelve year old should ever see. However, looking down at these videos, I knew that this would be a much harder job than I thought because I couldn't find the original stream. They were all just re-uploads from different people, hiding any sort of trace of the real deal. The real livestream.

Besides, I knew how this site worked. I wasn't brain dead, otherwise, these guys would have been caught by now. They were constantly burning all digital traces and restarting all their systems - those allow them to find customers through very secure means. Even if that means finding customers in the real world and giving them a USB by hand.

Slam!

My head flew up to the window that revealed the hand of a twelve year old slamming the window of the Apple store. My fingers wrapped around the USB, pulling it out, yet my eyes were fixated on the screaming twelve year old, my body freezing in shock.

A terrifying, short-haired brunette was trembling out in the cold, screaming for help, slamming the window. Her head kept turning back - as if she was running. As if someone was chasing her. Her pale body was covered in dirt, soaked in water, blood running down her multiple wounds. Her gash on her exposed leg, the cuts on her cheeks and down her arm, her busted lips, her bruises around her body...

It was terrifyingly chilling to be faced with a child who stood, looking as if she had came out of a damn warzone.

And my first thought? Men.

I sprinted away from the laptop, being sure to slide the USB into my pocket before. Everyone had seeming jumped out the way, all as terrified of helping the little girl as the next. But not me. Not me. I knew that as selfish as this sounded, this little girl could be the answer to everything.

I pulled open the door, the sound of cries welcoming me back outside.

"Hey, hey... Look at me," I breathed out, kneeling down and placing my hands upon her bloody and dirty face. I felt the warmth of the crimson, sticky liquid that was already drying beneath my hands but I ignored the feeling, looking into her glossy, tearful eyes that finally found mine.

"Th-they're out there! They're s-s-still there! They hurt me! They hurt me! They... I..."

"Calm down. Who's they? Kid, you gotta co-operate with me! Who's they?"

The hysterical brunette girl let out a mighty cry, her chest heaving up and down, hiccuping. And I knew that this girl wouldn't tell me. Not now. She was going through trauma - a panic attack sort of stage. And so instead, I found myself letting her wrap her arms around me, something that I found to have made my body tense immensely. Yet as she buried her face in the crook of my neck - as she let the tears soak my jumper, I don't think I necessarily cared at that moment. I knew that months ago, maybe I would care. I'd probably make a comment. But not now. That wasn't me.

"Miss, please help me," she cried.

But I stayed silent. She was out of control. And so I did the only thing I could think of at the time.

•••

It was nearing Christmas, yet the spirit wasn't as bright as it could have been. No bauble on the BAU's Christmas tree, or fairy light on JJ's desk, or colourful set of led lights in the office of Penelope Garcia would change that. Things were different now. Cases got trickier, nights, though they were supposed to be shorter, got much longer, crime rates were going up even in the jolly season and Valentizina Alianovna was still a ghost to the world, no sign of life or no sign that Penelope could find. The agents were all drained - all tired with dreams of just getting back their friend and being able to go back home to shut their eyes for more than 5 minutes before being called in for another energy-draining case.

But here they were, sitting around the table of the decorated briefing room that Penelope helped decorate in hopes of lifting her spirits. But not even hers were as strong as they could be to push through.

JJ sat at her desk, looking through cases to accept for the BAU. Her dull eyes were growing heavier and heavier, her eye lids halfway down her eye, not even the coffee on the left side of her desk keeping her awake. It had seemed as if everyone in the BAU has grown immune to coffee, feeling no effect of it whatsoever anymore and that was a problem. Letting out a big sigh, she tossed the file in the unwanted pile, taking another one, opening it.

Yet this time, her brows furrowed, eyelids moving upwards, eyes fixated on the images attached to the file.

A white Porsche, with blood that soaked the dashboard and a dead body beside the car. Another image displayed the hand of a deceased man who died of blood loss with a hole in his hands. Another showed the way he was found, with pale skin and a weak body, a hand that had a sharp stick from the pool table stuck through it. And the last image showed another deceased man with another pool stick pierced right through his heart.

Date: 6/12/19
Information: Three deceased men found murdered in one night, twelve casualties along. Witness' claim to either not want to snitch on 'red oleander', or claim it was a woman with blonde hair and a skill set they've never saw before.
Possible suspects: ________

JJ closed the file gently, yet this time, she placed the file to start a new pile. Or better yet, to show Hotchner later. Because as far as cases go, this one was definitely going to take some time...

•••

Valentizina poured the water in two cups that held a tea bag inside, breathing in the warm steam that left the cups of tea. She had placed down the kettle, moving her hands towards the spoon and sugar, spooning into one of the cups a lot of sugar for the child to regain her energy. Yet for herself, Valentizina had only scooped in three, mixing before untwisting the cap of a milk carton, adding a little amount to both cups.

Her eyes had slightly flew to the side at the trembling brunette girl who was sat on the sofa she sank into, a fluffy pillow against her chest. The blonde-haired woman certainly wasn't expecting any guests - not any younger than twelve either. Yet here she was, making tea for a child she didn't even know who she let into her house.

Her fingers had finally wrapped around the handle of the two cups, turning around and slowly making her way towards the sofa. She made sure to not trip over or spill any of the scorching liquid out of the cup and successfully managed to not do so, handing the warm drink to the brunette girl who wrapped her hands around it, avoiding eye contact.

The blonde, who had finally took off the brown wig, took a seat beside the girl.

"You know, I still don't know your name," Valentine began, raising her brow at the child who didn't bother to spare a glance at her.

"Arabella."

"Ah... So have you figured out what you want for Christmas? Maybe like... A Nintendo? Those are cool... Right? Right? They are... Or maybe... Barbies? They're cool too... They're-"

"You're terrible at talking to kids," she gloomily cut off Valentine who raised her brows.

"That's not exactly respecting your superiors."

"Respect is earned."

"Hey, file down that sharp tongue. You're not giving me any attitude, kid."

But she finally looked up at Valentine, tilting her little head, "You're Red Oleander. You're the one everyone talks about."

Valentine furrowed her brows, eyes flickering from the cup to Arabella. She noticed the look in her eye - the demeanour that changed. The way her dull eyes had finally found a sparkle of curiosity - interest... Perhaps even a bit of excitement if Valentine looked hard enough.

"Red Oleander?"

"You fight the bad guys... The bad guys that took me."

"The has guys took you? The men?"

The nod from Arabella made Valentine lick her lips, looking down onto the ground before leaning down to placed her tea on the coffee table. She had lost a mood for it - or any sort of appetite for tea and food. Because now, her mind was plastered onto the men.

"I may not be able to talk to kids, but I understand you. What you went through. The punching, the shouting, it all hurt. But I need you to know, that you could be the hero in this story."

"But I couldn't even save myself."

"But you can save others."

Valentine took a pause, her eyes meeting with Arabella who had looked up once more, listening intently to the blonde who continued speaking.

"If you tell me what happened, I can put a stop to this so million of other girls like you don't get hurt. All because you told me more. You can save all them people if you remember everything for me. Is that okay?"

"It's hazy...."

The body of a weak, defenceless minor greeted the large, muscular man. A wicked smile sent chills down the skin of the two, much smaller men either side of him. Their eyes struggled to focus on the little girl, whereas the big man's couldn't seem to leave her. A perfect victim. The perfect fit for their next trap. And she looked up at him through her misty eyes, trying to figure him out, her body trembling like a leaf out in the wind on an autumn morning. Terrified. Mortified. Stuck In a state of perpetual fear, she lay on the floor, finding no strength to push herself up.

"They were tall... One of them was bigger than the rest. Not fat... He was just super strong... Like a comic book character. H-he was... They always took me with a bag on my head. I don't know where. But then they tied me to a seat, and... Hurt me. They..."

Valentizina placed her hand upon the shoulder of the young girl, shaking her head.

"You don't need to finish. I know."

"I was so scared. I couldn't do anything. I felt weak."

"You're not weak. Because you're alive. And you're here. Safe. Breathing."

Arabella found herself looking up at the woman, with a spark in her eye. She was faced with the blonde-haired woman who she knew nothing about. Who was nothing but a stranger. But a stranger who took her in, and a stranger who was seeking revenge for the men who hurt Arabella. She was faced with someone whose past was nothing but red. Nothing but misery. And even if Arabella didn't know Valentizina, Valentine was prepared to help in any way. Perhaps something she wouldn't do weeks ago.

"Miss, can I help you find them?"

"No way kiddo, you're staying here."

"Aw come on! I can fight the bad guys."

"You can be the guy on the chair?"

"What the hells the guy on the chair?"

"Language."

"Hells not a swear word."

"But the way you're speaking to me is. Up on your feet kid come on. You need a shower."

"The Prince is throwing a costume party," the little girl sighed as she jumped up, "Do you think I can read about it on your phone? I love the prince he's so dreamy and-"

Valentine's brows immediately drew together, looking at the young girl who began to walk away from her. But suddenly, the spy called out to Arabella.

"Costume party?" she questioned, the younger girl nodding. Valentizina raised a brow, tilting her head forward, "And how does one get an invite?"

"From the prince himself. It's at the royal castle."

"When?"

"Next week Thursday."

•••

Miss Alianovna,
Can I take your hand in marriage?