Chapter Text
“We’ve got a new case,” Hotch announced, marching into the conference room. He grabbed the remote for the projector while JJ passed the files around the room. “Last night, three men were found dead in an Italian restaurant in Baltimore,” he said. Pictures of the men appeared on the screen. “Vincent DeMarco, Thomas Bianchi, and Luca Romano. They were all shot in the head before the unsub castrated them and gagged them with their own genitals.”
“Initially, Baltimore PD thought this was some kind of gang retaliation,” JJ chimed in. “But this is the third city that’s had attacks like this in the past two months, and there’s no connections between the targeted gangs, so it was passed to us.”
Hotch pulled up pictures of each attack as he continued, “The first attack occurred on April 28th in Camden, New Jersey, with five victims. The second was in Allentown, Pennsylvania, May 19th, with eight.”
“He escalated and then slowed down dramatically,” Prentiss said, surprised. “We don’t see that often.”
“Could be he’s planning to attack again soon to boost his numbers,” Gideon said. “Either way, the rate of attacks point to a rapidly devolving unsub.”
“Which is why we’ve been called in,” Hotch agreed. “These attacks span three states already, which is wreaking havoc with the police, and it’s likely only going to get worse from here.” He picked up his stack of files. “Wheels up in twenty.”
Jason adjusted his aim, swinging the scope of the sniper rifle from Sean O’Conolly to Liam Dunne. The two men had their heads close together and were muttering to each other. They were clearly on edge, leaning away from each other to look around the room every few minutes and clutching their handguns.
A small smirk appeared on Jason’s face. Good. The mission had been going perfectly so far. Black Mask’s men hunted down and punished, the rest sent into a visible panic because they knew they were next, and the police never even catching wind of it until he was out of town. He’d been a bit concerned about that, to be honest. Not that he doubted his skills, but he hadn’t left Gotham in eighteen months. It was easy to fall into patterns, to rely on Gotham’s corrupt, apathetic, and overworked police force and get sloppy.
But that hadn’t happened, and the satisfaction was enough that Jason didn’t even mind that O’Conolly and Dunne were being rude and sitting on the opposite side of the room from his bug. It didn’t matter what they were planning, he’d get them just like he got all the others.
A kid burst into the room, visibly panting and pale as a sheet. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, and he was considerate and talked loud enough for Jason’s bug to pick up.
“They found three more bodies,” he panted. “Last night. Vinnie DeMarco’s group.”
“Fuck!” Dunne yelled, getting up and pacing the room furiously. The kid cringed away and Jason frowned. He may have to advance his plans if that asshole dared touch the kid. It’d be inconvenient, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
“Should we split up?” O’Conolly asked, wringing his hands.
“Mask’s orders were to stay together,” Dunne said, rubbing the back of his balding head.
“And look how that worked for everyone else!” O’Conolly shrilled. “They were picked off like fish in a barrel!”
“Shut up,” Dunne snapped. “I’m trying to think.”
Jason smirked a little. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he murmured, even though they couldn’t hear him.
“We’ll pack up and skip town,” Dunne decided. “Mask never specified where we had to stay. The Antanovs got sent where?”
“They’re all the way in Detroit,” O’Conolly muttered, looking around nervously. “I told you Mask doesn’t give a fuck about about us. Why do you think he scattered everyone all around but we had to stay so close to Gotham? We’re easy pickings.”
“Someone had to stay closer, you fucking idiot,” Dunne shouted, clearly losing his composure. Ah, Jason loved to see it. “We couldn’t all go together, that’s too conspicuous. And what if he needed men, ey? He trusts us to handle it and be nearby!”
Jason snorted. He was with O’Conolly on this one. Mask hadn’t expected Jason to follow his men out of the city, let alone the state, but he’d planned for it anyway. Dunne’s group was definitely expendable. Especially if Mask was maintaining his orders to stay together.
“Well clearly Mask’s tactics to be less conspicuous aren’t working!” O’Conolly yelled back. It was too bad he was having this realization now, Jason mused. He looked about ready to cut ties and run for it. If that happened back in Gotham, before everything went down, Jason would have been willing to give him another shot. Quickly followed by an actual shot if he fucked it up. But it was too late for that. It was too late for all of these sick fuckers.
“Boy, go tell the others,” Dunne snapped, spinning on his heel but not threatening the kid. Good, he got to keep his dick for another few days. “We’re bugging out to the Antanovs.”
The kid ran back out of the room, Dunne and O’Conolly close on his heels. Jason packed away his sniper rifle and swung the case over his shoulder. A small, vicious grin spread over his face as he raced over the rooftops, back toward his current squat. Looked like he was headed to Detroit.
“Any luck with a geographic profile, Mama?” Morgan asked, walking back and forth in the plane. They’d initially planned on driving, since their destination was barely two hours away. However, Gideon pointed out that the attacks so far had happened in three states, and they might need to move again quickly.
“Afraid not, sweet cheeks,” Garcia sighed over the phone. “It doesn’t look like there’s any rhyme or reason to his movements. First he moved northwest, then he turned hard south. I’d need more data to nail anything down.”
“Thanks for trying,” Morgan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“His movements could be determined by his victimology,” Prentiss said.
“There’s no connection between the groups of victims, but the members of each group are connected to each other,” Reid mused. ”He’s taken out Chinese, Mexican, and Italian mob groups so far.”
“Who would call attacks against that many different gangs at the same time?” Morgan asked.
“The Russians?” Prentiss asked. “They haven’t been targeted yet.”
“It would have to be a group that has enough power that they’re not afraid of making a lot of enemies,” Hotch mused.
“So we’re operating under the assumption that this is still related to gang killings?” JJ asked.
“The targets suggest as much,” Gideon said. “But remember, think outside the box.”
They landed half an hour later and were met by a couple of black SUVs and a grim-faced police chief. “Frank Hendrickson. Glad you could make it,” he said, shaking their hands. “What would you like to look at first?”
“We’ll split up to cover the most ground,” Hotch told him. “The unsub will probably attack again soon. Morgan, Prentiss, take the crime scene,” he ordered. “JJ and I will head to the police station while Gideon and Reid examine the bodies.”
“I wasn’t sure we should call you in at first,” Hendrickson admitted as they loaded into his car and headed for the station. “Gang violence isn’t anything new in these parts, especially with there only being three victims. But the state department stepped in, told us about the connection with Camden and Allentown. Any idea why someone’d do this?”
“We don’t have enough information to speculate at this time,” Hotch said smoothly.
Hendrickson nodded. “You’ll be set up in here,” he said, leading them to a conference room.
Jason drummed on the steering wheel, humming along to the radio as he flew down the highway. It was a long drive to Detroit, but he couldn’t risk flying. No matter how good the fake ID, it made you traceable and a suspect. Driving took more time and effort, but he could ditch a car, switch license plates, double back, and enter a city without anyone asking to see his ID.
Jason slowed down as he approached a turn. Just as he suspected, a state trooper was waiting around the bend, hoping to catch speeders. With the arsenal Jason had in the trunk, that wasn’t an option. Secret compartments weren’t foolproof.
He drove for several more hours before stopping for gas. The bell jangled as he entered the store. He grabbed some chips, water bottles, and candy bars before wandering over to the register. Not the healthiest thing for lunch, but he was on a timeline.
He glanced up at the television as he pulled out his wallet and froze. “Hey man, think you could turn the volume up on the tv?”
The cashier glanced up at him and then turned to turn up the volume. “That’s gonna be $10.13.”
Jason handed over the cash, eyes fixed on the tv.
“The murders were initially believed to be gang violence, but our sources say the FBI are now involved in the investigation, as the attacks are similar to those in two other states. The FBI were unable to provide any more information at this time, but warned the public to be on alert.”
“Your change,” the cashier said.
Jason blinked. “Oh, right, yeah.” He grabbed the change and his bag. “Thanks man. World’s crazy, huh?” He nodded at the tv.
The cashier shrugged, probably more interested in getting back to the video game Jason could hear pinging on his phone. “Yeah, crazy. Have a good day.”
“You too.”
Jason got back in his car, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel. Okay. This was fine. It wasn’t the first time he’d run into feds, and there was no way they could predict him going to Detroit next. Hell, he hadn’t even known he was going to Detroit until last night! This was fine, he just had to be extra cautious.
“Okay,” he muttered to himself, shifting the car into drive. “Just a couple’a dumb feds. Nothing to worry about.”
“The head shots indicate an organized killer,” Reid said, folding his arms and frowning at the white board. “The unsub is detached, a motivational killer rather than sadistic. The level of skill required to pull off three head-shots, especially after the first shot when the other victims would have been spooked, points to experience, maybe a history in the military or law enforcement. Could be a hit-man.”
“That fits with the gang violence theory,” Prentiss agreed.
“The castration denotes the opposite, though,” Morgan argued. “Especially with the gagging. That shows emotional connection with the victims, anger, probably impotence.”
“Not sadistic, though,” Prentiss said, pointing out some of the pictures from the autopsies. “The unsub didn’t drag out the deaths or castrate them pre-mortem: It was quick and clean, he wouldn’t have time to enjoy it.”
“He’s making a statement,” Gideon said. “He has a plan and he carries it out.”
“Psychopathic behavior,” Hotch nodded.
“But what message is he trying to send?” Prentiss asked.
The phone rang and Morgan quickly leaned over to put it on speaker. “Morgan.”
“Hey, sexy,” Garcia purred.
“Hey gorgeous, what do you have for us?”
“So I was digging into what could possibly have connected our victims . I’m sending you the files now. Now, on the surface, these look like standard gang members. They’ve all got rap sheets for the usual stuff, assault, possession. But I dug a little deeper and this is where it gets weird. The records don’t go any deeper than a basic scan. I have them in prison, but no doctor’s appointments, disciplinary action, mail, visitors, nothing.”
“It could be that they’re estranged from family and friends, just didn’t receive any,” Prentiss said, but she sounded doubtful.
“The average prison inmate receives about two visits a year,” Reid said, tapping his chin with a pen. ”That fluctuates depending on the location of the prison, type of crime, and how many times they’ve been incarcerated. These men were all imprisoned within 50 miles of their home cities, which is both unusual and would indicate more visits, rather than less.”
“Plus the kind of good behavior that would negate any medical or disciplinary records doesn’t point to someone who’s estranged from family and friends,” Morgan pointed out.
“Did you find anything else, Garcia?” Hotch asked.
“I’m so glad you asked.” They could hear the clacking of a keyboard over the line. “I thought it was fishy that sixteen men managed to have the same discrepancies in their files, so I looked into the file histories.” She paused. “I think their files have been tampered with.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Tampered with how?” Hotch asked slowly.
“There’s evidence of information being replaced. It’s very skillfully done, no one noticed anything. Until me, of course.”
“Yeah, you’re a genius, Garcia,” Morgan said, leaning over the phone. “Do you have anything concrete for us?”
“I’ve got the name of the person who changed the files,” Garcia said. “Frank Boyles.”
“He changed all the files?” Gideon demanded. “Those files were in three different prison systems, how did he get access?”
“Get this,” Garcia said excitedly, getting louder as she presumably leaned into the phone. “Frank Boyles is an FBI agent stationed in Gotham City .”
“Gotham City has the highest crime rate in the United States,” Morgan said. “They’ve got everything: gangs, serial killers, corrupt law enforcement.”
“I’ve got scans of the paper copies from the prisons coming in now,” Garcia said. “How much you wanna bet all our victims have ties to Gotham City?”
“A corrupt agent changing inmate files to hide their connection to Gotham?” Hotch asked. “Why would they do that?”
“It could be gang violence like we thought,” Morgan offered. “There’s conflict between two gangs, one of them’s worried about their men being picked off in prison and pulls strings with the FBI agent in their pocket to hide their connection.”
“Garcia, I want everything you have on Gotham,” Hotch said. “We’ll look for suspects while you work on finding solid connections between our victims.”
“I’m on it.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“There is a disgusting amount of crime in Gotham,” Prentiss continued, flipping her fifteenth file closed.
“Yeah,” Morgan repeated, rubbing his eyes.
The phone rang again. This time Hotch answered it. “Garcia, what do you have for us?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” Garcia said quickly. “But none of these men were ever imprisoned where the files say they were.”
“What?” everyone demanded.
“That’s the information that was changed,” Garcia confirmed. “None of the prisons I contacted had the hard copies of the prisoner files. My buddies in the prisons did some digging and realized that the files were implanted into their systems after the men had all already been released, some of them years beforehand. We tag-teamed to look closer at all the individuals’ personal information, and we found recent tampering there as well. All covering up, as we suspected…” the files appeared on their computers with a ding, “they all have connections to Gotham, specifically the crime lord Roman Sionis, also known as Black Mask. They all worked for him before being sent to prison and probably after as well.”
“So it looks like Sionis had Boyles tamper with the files to make our victims look like they came from Camden, Allentown, and Baltimore,” Hotch said. “And then actually sent them to those cities.”
“It was a rush job,” Garcia added. “Something forced this change.”
“I have a possible connection,” Gideon said. Everyone turned to face him. He tossed a file in the middle of the table. “A string of murders similar to our unsub’s. Victims were castrated and then gagged with their own genitalia. However, not all of them were shot first. Autopsies indicated that some of them actually choked to death on their genitalia, while others report blood loss from extensive torture as the cause of death.” He tapped the table and looked them all in the eye. “These crimes were attributed to the Red Hood, though there wasn’t enough evidence to prove it, and they never caught him to charge him.”
“The Red Hood?” Prentiss asked.
“Gotham City is famous for its vigilantes,” Reid replied. “Most notably Batman, who is well known to avoid lethal force and works with the police department. The Red Hood is a crime lord and vigilante that appeared on the scene a year and a half ago. He’s liberal with lethal force and is extremely dangerous, as evidenced by his overnight takeover of almost a quarter of Gotham’s underworld.”
“Overnight?” Morgan demanded.
“Well, obviously he was putting the pieces in place long before that,” Reid allowed. “But he first appeared on the scene as the Red Hood the same night his plan fell into place. He destabilized the city’s organized crime and then filled in the gaps.”
They all sat in silence for a moment, mulling that over. The Red Hood was incredibly dangerous, that much was obvious, and now they were potentially going to confront him.
“What makes him a vigilante as opposed to just a crime lord?” Prentiss finally asked.
“Now this is interesting,” Reid said, lighting up. “The Red Hood has been attributed with a ridiculously high body count, but every single one of his kills is another criminal.”
“That we know of,” Gideon interjected.
Reid inclined his head in agreement before continuing, “Specifically, he targets murderers, people who deal drugs to children, and rapists.”
“He’s got a cult following of people who insist that he’s a hero,” JJ said. “People don’t usually pay too much attention to what goes on in Gotham because sending reporters in has a 50/50 chance of them never coming back out. But when the Red Hood came onto the scene, it was in the news for weeks. No one had tried such a massive takeover in over 50 years, much less succeeded.”
“And you think this murder is within his M.O.?” Gideon asked.
Reid frowned in thought for a moment. “I’d say so. He has a flair for the dramatic: He introduced himself to the GCPD by leaving a duffle bag of severed heads on their front step. I think sending a message like this would be right up his alley.”
“It looks like he also has a rivalry with Sionis,” Garcia added from the phone. “A lot of the arrests and deaths of both their men seem to be from altercations between their two gangs.”
“Okay, so we’ve got two crime lords, one of whom is also a vigilante. Sionis pissed off the Red Hood and decided to get his men out of town because he knows the man’s reputation,” Morgan summed up. “He hides his men in cities in the surrounding states and alters their records to make it seem like they’ve always lived there.”
“And groups the men by ethnicity to make it less obvious that they came from one larger gang,” Reid added.
“But the Red Hood found out and is taking out the men anyway,” Morgan finished. “He doesn’t clean up the bodies because he’s sending a warning to Sionis.”
“‘Even here you can’t escape me’,” Gideon murmured.
“Garcia, see if you can track down any more of Sionis’s men and find out where they’re located,” Hotch ordered. “The closest city will probably be the next target.”
“Already working on it,” Garcia replied. She made a pleased sound. “Our dear Agent Boyles wasn’t quite as computer savvy as he likes to think. His work computer is spotless, but he left a back door to his personal computer which,” she sucked a breath through her teeth, “is a goldmine.”
“Where?”
“It looks like Pittsburgh would be his most likely next target. That’s where Sionis sent his Irish contingent- oh, hang on….”
“What?” Morgan asked.
“It looks like the Red Hood successfully flushed out the Irish contingent,” Garcia said over the sound of rapid typing. “I’ve got four- no six plane tickets on various flights headed to Detroit.”
“Detroit? That’s much further west than the other targets,” Reid said.
“What’s in Detroit?” Hotch asked.
“Give me one second…the Russian contingent, looks like,” Garcia said.
“Would the Red Hood know where the Irish are going?” Morgan asked. “He might attack somewhere further east, stick to his current geographical range.”
“If he managed to hunt down sixteen of Sionis’s men already?” Prentiss replied. “I think he’ll figure out where they’re headed.”
“Plus that gives him more targets,” Reid added. “We theorized he’d have to kill more or quickly to make up for only killing three in the last attack. This could be his chance.”
“There’s six coming in from Pittsburgh and five already in Detroit,” Garcia reported.
“That’s an escalation,” Morgan agreed.
“Alright.” Hotch grabbed a stack of files and stuffed them in a box. “We’re heading to Detroit.”
Jason woke up early the next morning, the adrenaline of having a mission helping him feel refreshed after his nine-hour drive. He ran through his morning exercises, sticking to the quiet ones that he could do in his room without disturbing anyone. He didn’t need anyone noticing that a very fit young man had checked into the motel just in time for some murders to happen in the city. Not that he was staying anywhere close to his targets, but still. He’d have done it either way, but the knowledge that the FBI were poking around reinforced his decision.
After his shower, Jason strolled down the street and found a nearby cafe. He ordered a coffee and a bagel, grabbed a newspaper, and settled in for a couple hours. The coffee was good, the bagel was mediocre—which he should have expected, not being in Jersey anymore—and the news showed no indication that the FBI actually knew anything. Were they looking? Absolutely, but if they’d made any headway, they weren’t sharing.
Jason allowed himself a smug little grin as he folded up the newspaper and pulled his laptop out of his backpack. Nothing was inconspicuous like a college student. It was the only thing his young features had going for them. He cracked his knuckles and pulled up his hacking programs, making sure he had a few random science articles and a half-filled Word document open that he could flip to if anyone got too close.
It was laughably easy to slip into O’Conolly’s cell phone, even without access to Talia’s tech or… other high-quality hacking equipment from Gotham. Honestly, had the man never heard of secure internet connection? Jason was almost doing Mask a favor, getting rid of him.
Hm. Jason paused, pondering the issue. Maybe he’d let O’Conolly live, just so his incompetence could fuck up Mask’s operations from the inside.
Jason tapped thoughtfully on the table. Nah. O’Conolly had been plenty competent when it came to Mask’s human trafficking operation. He deserved everything that was coming to him.
A bit of digging and bingo, he had the man’s GPS location. Now, if they were smart they wouldn’t have an all-hands meeting. They’d lay low and not group together. But if Jason had learned one thing that had been reinforced by every one of his teachers, it was that fear made you stupid. Mask’s men had already fucked up by not heading to a random city with no connection to Mask or their fellow gang members; Jason had no doubt they’d fuck up again. Probably in the form of a stereotypical meet in some blindingly obvious place that made them feel more at home. Now, Detroit was no clean city. There were a lot of places that fit the bill, but as much as the police records might have changed, people’s memories hadn’t. Mask’s men were intruders in Detroit, and they wouldn’t find friends among the home gangs. They’d be somewhere isolated, ignored, somewhere rundown on the fringes.
Jason scanned a map of the city, focusing on the waterfront, as any good Gothamite would. Unfortunately it looked like Detroit had had more luck in their waterfront renewal programs than Gotham. A shit ton of parks, some factories, and a goddamn renaissance center, whatever the fuck that meant. Jason huffed and turned his attention to the rest of the city.
Finally, he managed to narrow down the likely locations for the meet. He’d bug out before nightfall, scout the locations, and station himself as close to all of them as possible, so he could move in on whichever location they picked. Worst comes to worst, he still had O’Conolly’s GPS location and could follow that.
Jason poked around the man’s phone a little more. There were three calls to an unfamiliar number in the last two days. Probably one of the Antanovs. Jason smiled grimly at the thought. He hoped it was Nikolai. Jason had a special bone to pick with that piece of shit. Don’t get him wrong, all of Mask’s men deserved to die for helping kidnap and sell homeless people—particularly children —but as far as Jason could tell, only one of them ‘sampled the goods’.
The thought sent a fresh burst of rage through Jason’s chest, but he forced it down, taming the rage into something colder, sharper, more focused. He couldn’t risk going in sloppy, not with feds poking around. He’d go in careful and cold. They’d all get what was coming to them, make no mistake. And they’d never hurt someone again.
“Agent Jareau,” the police chief greeted, shaking JJ’s hand. “Detective Patil, we spoke on the phone.”
“Nice to meet you,” JJ replied. “Have there been any updates since we spoke?”
“We’ve put out feelers for any unusual gang activity, especially involving the Russians or Irish,” Detective Patil, gesturing for them to follow her into the station. “We’re coordinating with the chief of police and the mayor to make sure all districts are on alert. We’ve got officers watching all public transportation in and out of the city, but so far we haven’t found anything suspicious. A six-foot tall, fit man isn’t exactly a distinguishing trait in a city this size.“
“We have a more comprehensive profile,” JJ promised. “We’re ready to give it whenever you are.”
Detective Patil’s eyebrows rose. “Great,” she said. “I want this guy out of my city.”
Soon, the precinct was crowded with officers, with phone calls and video feeds leading to the mayor, police chief, and other precincts. Hotch stood before them all with his hands folded behind his back. “We believe you’re looking for the crime lord and vigilante known as the Red Hood,” he began. That alone was enough to get reactions, as officers gasped or blanched. “The Red Hood is originally from Gotham,” Hotch continued. “We believe he’s left his home city as part of a power struggle with one of his competitors, Roman Sionis. The men the Red Hood is attacking are members of Sionis’s gang who were hidden in cities around the eastern half of the country.”
“The M.O. of castration and gagging fits with previous attacks believed to be the work of the Red Hood,” Morgan said, leaning against a desk. “This man is mission-oriented and ruthless, and we believe he won’t hesitate to attack anyone who prevents him from completing that mission.”
“He’s most likely a white male between the ages of 30 and 45,” Gideon stepped in. “The lack of hesitation marks and the skill with which he tracks and kills his targets suggest someone who’s physically fit and talented with sniper rifles, most likely with a military background.”
“He’s also most likely a narcissistic sociopath,” Reid chimed in from his seat next to the white boards. “He doesn’t feel the compulsion to kill - he chooses to do so. He has an overinflated sense of right and wrong and thinks he has the right to be judge, jury, and executioner.”
“The Red Hood was probably a victim of violent crime himself,” Prentiss added, hands on her hips. “His vigilante activity suggests he may have a job involving law enforcement, such as a cop, a judge, someone who works in the courts. Someone who sees the evil of the world and finally snapped.”
“However, due to his other role as a crime lord, this is less likely than other vigilante killers,” Hotch said. “Fortunately, we already know his next targets. 11 of Roman Sionis’s men are currently in the city, with six having entered within the last day.”
“Why did they come here?” an officer asked.
“The Red Hood caught up to them in Pittsburgh,” Hotch explained. “They fled here in the hopes that distance and their greater numbers would protect them.“ He nodded to Detective Patil.
“We’ll be splitting into groups,” Patil said, walking to the middle of the room. “We’ll watch the targets and grab the Red Hood when he shows up to take them out.”
“You cannot allow the targets to know you’re watching them,” Hotch cautioned. “The Red Hood is most likely surveilling them as well. If they spook and change their pattern, we won’t be able to find them or him.”
“We’ll be releasing a statement to the press to throw him off the trail,” JJ added. “Which will hopefully lower his guard and make it easier to surprise him.”
“Talk to your field commander to get your assignments,” Patil said. “Let’s catch this son of a bitch.”