∗ ࣪ ˖༺ violent delights ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

sea, swallow me

as hotchner stood before the group, i found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with emily, watching intently as he delivered the profile. his voice was calm and methodical, but each word carried weight as he described the unsub: a home-grown terrorist, most likely with a scientific background or law enforcement knowledge. he spoke of the unsub's investment in these attacks, how understanding the significance of each crime scene would be the key to identifying him.

the room was silent as hotchner continued, laying out a disturbing possibility to the task force—that this unsub might be someone they knew. someone overly dedicated to his work convinced that he was the ultimate authority. that kind of ego could drive a person to preach about attacking america, believing he was doing the country a favor. paranoid, secretive and consumed by his sense of righteousness.

a general broke the silence. "all due respect, that's a little vague." another officer chimed in, "yeah, what are we supposed to do with something that generic?" before anyone else could object, morgan stepped forward. "sir, we're not finished yet." hotchner, unfazed by the interruption, pressed on. he detailed the unsub's behaviors—logging extra hours at work, religiously taking the full dose of anthrax vaccines and boosters over time, securing a private lab for his work. 

access to industrial-grade equipment would be essential, and he would have most likely written about anthrax, publishing papers that no one paid attention to, further fueling his anger. his breaking point could've come from a significant stressor, such as professional humiliation, a demotion, or even being fired. that shift in his life would have pushed him over the edge, leading him to go rogue, cut off personal ties. he was likely recently divorced and emotionally detached from loved ones. this unsub was watching the news, following every report closely, obsessed with how his attacks would impact the country.

as hotchner thanked the room, overlapping chatter broke out among the military officers, street cops, detectives, and generals. it was clear the profile had struck a nerve, but just as the noise began to rise, a detective stepped forward, catching our attention. "there's something I think you should see." he said, gesturing for the team to follow him.

we moved to a boardroom where the detective pressed a button on the projector. the screen flickered to life, displaying footage from a classified hearing dated january '02. the subcommittee on defense and homeland security. as the video played, the camera panned to a man at the podium. my breath caught in my throat. "dr. laurence nichols," i said quietly, immediately recognizing him. "he used to work at the institute. he retired in '02."

the team looked at me, questions swirling in their eyes. "my father knew him," i added, sinking into my chair as an uneasy feeling spread through me. "he didn't retire," the detective said, his tone grim. "he was forced out." the video continued to play, and dr. nichols's voice echoed through the room. "five people died! if you ask me, we are lucky it was just five. we're lucky that whoever sent these letters used cheap, porous envelopes and not a crop-duster. america's enemies are capable of wiping out entire cities, and we are woefully unprepared."

the camera zoomed in on nichols, his face flushed, wiping sweat from under his eyes. he seemed erratic, nervous, nothing like the man my father had spoken of. in my father's stories, dr. nichols was calm, collected, brilliant. but here, on this tape, he was unravelling. a senator's voice cut in, "i'm looking over your proposal—"

nichols interrupted, his voice rising with urgency. "yes, sir. every household needs gas masks and a two-month supply of cipro for each resident. every major city needs hospitals with biosafety decontamination abilities." "regarding the budget you propose for this operation--" the senator began again, but nichols was already wiping his forehead again, his agitation palpable.