141 | | ash

➳ one

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A/N: there will be a brief description of the murders. I tried not to go into much detail, but it can be nasty for some people to read so viewer discretion is advised. Other than that, enjoy :)

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 “I’m confused,” the blonde one whispers.

“Why won’t anyone tell us what’s going on?” The tan-skinned one says.

“Why the fuck are we in here?!” The red-headed one yells.

“Oi, don’t swear! We’re in America now, and apparently, you’re arrested for the littlest of things,” the curly-haired one snaps.

I sigh and fold my arms across my chest. “How many times do I have to tell you? You’re not being arrested.” This gets them all to shut up, but I know in five seconds, one of them is going to come back with witty banter. We’ve been doing this for a good ten minutes now.

Ever since 5 Seconds of Summer walked into the police station and were brought into the interview room, I’ve wanted them out. They’re only in here because they’ve been getting death threats, but not just any death threats. An unsub (unidentified subject) sends the band letters with disclosed information about a body and how they won’t stop killing until they’ve killed the band. Apparently, it has to do with the band being a “fake, wannabe 90’s punk rock band," which they don’t take offense to.

“Can you please tell us why we’re here?” The blonde one speaks up again. He’s quiet, and I like him because he doesn’t piss me off like his mop-for-hair friend over at the other side of the table eyeing me down.

Just as I’m about to explain, the curly-haired boy opens his face again. “Are you even supposed to be in here?”

I let out a deep breath and rolled my eyes. I’m young, and many people ask me this question, to which I respond naturally. I’m twenty-four and in the FBI. I’m a genius, if they ask. I have two PhD’s. However, this kid was really pushing my buttons, and I did not want to respond in that tone of voice.

“Yes. Did I not come in here and introduce myself as Supervisory Special Agent Hannah Hart?” I respond keeping my voice monotone. One of the boys cracks a laugh, but I keep eyeing curly instead of turning to see who did it.

“How can I believe you? You didn’t present any identification. Just because you have a fancy title doesn’t mean you’re legit. I know my rights.”

“You’re not from here, how do you know your rights?” I huff as I slide my Quantico I.D. from my blazer’s inner pocket. I hold it up showing the boy my photo identification, as he asked for. He stares at me and then at the photo.

“Fine,” he grumbles folding his arms angrily across his chest, cross. “But you still need to tell us why we’re in here. It’s not fair for us to be locked up without knowing why.” There’s a smirk across his face. He knows he’s getting a rise out of me, and I immediately hate him even more.

“You guys freaked out the minute we brought you in here. I couldn’t tell you what was going on because every time I told you that you aren’t being arrested, you picked another topic to scream at me for.” I glare at them, and only blondie seems genuinely sorry. Maybe even the tan-skinned boy, I’m not sure.

I take a deep breath and push the case file forward. They all hover around the one file passing out the various papers. As they read, their eyes widen, and curly looks up at me again. His face is less angry, but now, confusion is plastered all across. “What the hell is this?”

“Someone is killing your fans to somehow manage to kill you. Have you not been receiving the letters?” I say a little concerned they don’t know what’s going on in their lives.

“No,” the red-head says. “Our mail goes through our manager. It has to be cleared before we can read it. It’s precaution for something like this.” He looks like he’s going to be sick, and for once, I don’t blame him.

“Well, this person has been writing you guys both expressing his or her love and hatred towards you. Some of the letters say they’re killing because they think some of the fans are way too obsessed. On the contrary, some of the letters express their distaste towards you and your music claiming you’re ‘fake’ and ‘wannabes.’ However, all of the letters have a disclosed location where the bodies are, so that’s the signature.”

“Signature?” The tan-skinned boy asks.

“Sorry. Signature is something unique to the killer. This unsub – unidentified subject – has a distinct signature both in their writing and killing. In the writing it’s the location, but the location is encrypted in some sort of poem. I was able to crack the code. On the bodies, however, your band logo is carved into the victims’ wrists, post-mortum.”

“That’s sick,” curly says. He leans back in his chair and shakes his head. “Is this, uh, unsub supposed to be a fan of ours?”

I shrug and unfold my arms. Curly isn’t pissing me off as much, anymore, so I can be as polite as I can towards him. I don’t know how long this is going to last, though.

“We’re not sure. We suspect the unsub is some level of fan. They have to know enough about you to form such hatred and to know where to contact you guys.” I sigh. Each of their faces are clearly confused and stressed.

“How did they die?” the tan-skinned one asks averting his eyes from the photos. I don’t blame him; they’re not easy to look at when you’re not used to them.

I sigh. “They were taken from daily routines such as running patterns or job locations indicating the unsub stalks his victims. Once he has them, he tortures them by stabbing various locations of the victims’ bodies and chest. All the victims died from a final laceration to the throat.” All the boys cringe at my words. I know I’m scaring them, but I think they’re all old enough to understand the circumstances. Plus, their lives are in danger because of this unsub, and they’re lucky no one in the photos are them.

“We need to keep you guys here until we catch the unsub. If you want to go home, an agent has to be with you at all time.” I say leaning back in my chair, unamused. I know it’s going to be me, and I’m not excited.

“And, is that going to be you, sweets?” Curly snickers. I stand up immediately causing his smile to fade and his face to drop.

“People are dying, and you’re joking with me?” I stare him down, and I see his Adam’s apple bob. “You’ll be lucky if it isn’t me. We haven’t gotten the rooming situations figured out yet, if that’s okay with you.”

Curly just shakes his head and looks down. I go for the door. “Wait,” I hear his voice call for me. Something in me turns my body around to face him.

“Yes?” I say keeping my teeth grit.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“And you’re in the FBI?!”

“I’m kind of a genius.”

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A/N: guys im so excited for this story you have no idea. thank you for the reads and votes on the intro blurb thingy :) im soooo excited uGH ive written chapter 2 already i need to control myself!

also happy new year sunshines! i hope your new year is going to be amazing like you :)

- lauren xx