He wears no mask a sign that sets Morgan's already fraying nerves on edge. 'Who are you?' Morgan demands, tracking the man as he makes his way into the room.

The door swings shut loudly, and Reid jumps in his chair as he tries to maneuver his head to view the man entering behind him. 'Well, hello, agents,' draws a voice that is both deep and modulated. Morgan has to squint at the suddenness of it. The solitary door opens with a loud creak, light spilling into the room from the world that exists beyond these walls. 'I don't either.' Morgan lets his gaze travel around the room again, looking for any clues or points of weakness. Spencer's eyebrows knit together in confusion. 'You don't remember anyone breaking in, or leaving your apartment at all?' Carl Sagan wrote a scientific research paper on experimental demonstration of the production of amino acids from basic chemicals by radiation-' Reid nervously wets his lips, eyebrows pulling together. 'Do you remember anything?' He questions quickly, hoping to get that genius brain rolling. Reid doesn't need to go through something like this again. Morgan can see the rising panic under the kid's skin, and his heart constricts. 'Ye-yeah.' Reid shakes his head, wincing at the motion. 'I am?' Morgan cocks his head to the side. Reid's eyes jump back to Morgan's, widening impossibly larger as he scrutinizes Derek's face in the same way he'd just done to the room. I'm here.' Morgan yanks almost idly on his bindings. His attention jumps around the room, drinking in the horrifying situation they've somehow found themselves in. He doesn't know who, or why, but regardless how dare they raise a single finger against Reid. Immediately, Morgan's fury rises at the sight of the wound. There's a thin line of blood trailing down his cheek from a gash on his temple. Slowly, in a way that feels like an eternity, Reid lifts his head and meets Morgan's gaze with blurry, unfocused eyes. If Reid won't respond, if Reid is-Ī groan calms the ever increasing panic lancing through Morgan's veins. 'Reid?' Morgan tries again, fear slicing into his heart. He's still struggling to adjust to the dim lighting of his current quarters, twisting his arms fruitlessly against the rope.īetween them is a small rectangular table, high enough to meet Morgan's midsection. The kid's shaggy brunette hair obscures his face, but Morgan would know his sweater vest and mismatched socks anywhere. Reid is slumped over, his head hanging awkwardly in the position he's been forced into. The agent sitting across from him, bound in the same exact fashion. It's directly behind the most terrifying aspect of this situation. There's one metal door, closed and locked, and it appears to be the only way in or out. The only light that filters into the dank room is from a small cellar window to his left. It's a basement of some sorts dark stone walls and a poured concrete floor. Nor is it a random police precinct he's dozed off in. Worse still, the room he's found himself in is not Penelope's comfortable, yet cluttered dwelling. Both his wrists and ankles are bound in a way that prevents him from moving much at all. He's tied to a steel chair, the metal seeping cold into his bones. His eyes fly open, still bleary from sleep, and he frantically tries to gauge his current situation. That is, until, he feels the telltale itch of ropes across his wrists. So much so, that when he slowly rolls around to consciousness again, he dismisses the dull ache radiating through his body. An odd body ache from falling asleep in places that are not designed for slumber. Derek Morgan is accustomed to waking up to pain.Ī pounding headache from too many mimosas the night before with Penelope.

Mancala strategy going second