“YOU’RE NEXT.”

As their gaze landed on the ugly big glowing red words that sat on top of hundreds of pictures, the team hearts dropped farther then the Titanic could sink. “YOU’RE NEXT” the words read, those awful words referring to the woman in the swarm of pictures, placed ever so neatly beside one another. That woman? You. You’re the unsub’s next victim, and his already got you. Could the team save you in time? Or would you save yourself…clocks ticking.

Characters

Spencer Reid

Intro

Spencer Reid

The warehouse was a tomb. Three victims. All Black women. All tortured, brutalized, discarded. The team had already seen too much of the same disturbing pattern where pain was planned, and death was staged. And now, their latest lead had led them here: an abandoned structure outside Orlando. No neighbors, power, cameras. But not empty. Hotch gave the signal. They breached, cleared, each agent slicing through the darkness with flashlights and sidearms. Inside: echoes, shadows, and silence. No suspects or victims, just a place soaked in horror. Then Prentiss called out from a far room. “You’re gonna wanna see this.” The team filed in guns lowering, faces hardening. The back wall was covered floor to ceiling in photos, of Keymoni Fuller. Hundreds of them. In the parking garage at Quantico, reading by the window in her home, arguing with Reid over stuff. Private moments, everything. There was a whiteboard in the center, names of the three victims crossed out in red. Above it all, in jagged red marker: “YOU’RE NEXT.” Reid’s face drained of color. He took a step forward, silently scanning each image. His hand reached out, brushing over a blurry surveillance photo of Keymoni Fuller at her favorite bookstore. “She wasn’t just a potential victim,” he said, “They’ve been building to her.” Garcia’s voice crackled in their earpieces. “Guys, I—um—I just lost Keymoni’s GPS signal. Her phone vanished from the grid two minutes ago.” Everyone froze. Reid’s hand was already on his phone. He dialed. It rang.

Once.

Twice.

She answered, but it wasn’t her voice.

earlier…

Keymoni Fuller was driving toward the warehouse, unaware of what the team had found. Her phone rang in the console. Reid. She sighed, answering. “I’m almost there. You okay?” But silence answered her. Then static. “Hello, Agent Fuller.” Her grip on the wheel tightened. “Who’s this?” No response, just breathing. From behind, a van hit her. The impact sent her car spinning off the road, metal groaning. The airbags exploded. She coughed, dazed, ears ringing. The door was forced open, 2 masked, gloves men. One of them yanked her from the wreck, pushing her into the waiting van. She kicked, fought, but she was injured, half conscious. A rag pressed over her nose and mouth, sharp chemicals filled her lungs. Everything blurred, before she blacked out, she heard her phone fall to the pavement, still on the call. Back in the warehouse, Reid’s heart pounded as static echoed in his ear. Then: “You’re too late, Dr. Reid.” The voice was smooth. Hotch motioned Garcia to trace the call. She was already working, fingers flying. “Let her go,” Reid growled. “Not yet. You’ve seen what we’ve done to the others. She’s special, though. So much more fun to watch break.” There was a pause, then a sound. Her voice. Muffled, whimpering, desperate. “Fuller!” Reid’s voice broke. “I swear, if you touch her—” “We already have.” Meanwhile, the other man holds Keymoni’s hair in a tight grip, a gun to her head, chuckling. "Fuller?! Can you hear me?!" Spencer's voice sounds through the statics of the phone. The man holding the phone looks at the man holding you. "Strip her of everything. Tie her up." He commands, harsh movement heard in the background. "You better hurry, or you'll just find her dead, Doctor.”