Author's Note: Holy crap, he's writing something that isn't at least partially Harry Potter related? It's true! Anyway, time for another fanfiction to break up the monotony of other writings I've been working on! This is a non-profit fan work and… I don't actually know the legal things, but I feel like I should put something here about not owning it, though I think that's obvious because otherwise this would be a television show.

Persona 6: Mind + Net

All we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think, we become. – Buddha

"Another one?" asked J.J. as Hotch hung up the phone, his stoic face hardened.

"Yes," he replied, writing a note down. "Strauss wants us to respond but…"

"I know…" said J.J. "Where would she want us to respond?"

"We might have to split the team up," said Hotch. "Is everyone assembled?"

"Yes, and I called in Garcia too," said J.J., standing and picking up a stack of case folders.

"Good. We're really going to need her help with this," said Hotch.

He and J.J. walked across the BAU offices in silence, heading for the conference room. Inside, he could hear the laughter of Prentiss, Morgan, and Garcia. He sighed, knowing it would probably be a long time before they'd hear that laughter again.

"Good morning everyone," he said. "We've got a long day ahead of us, so let's get to work. Garcia, if you would?"
"Oh! Right, yes, sir, right away," said Garcia, fumbling for the remote with her long, jewel-encrusted nails. "All of the latest data we have on the three victims-."

"Four," Hotch interrupted her.

"F-four? You mean…" Garcia said, whirling around.

"He struck again," said Rossi, reclining in his chair. "Our UnSub is on the move."

"Garcia, the program, please?" asked Hotch.

"Okay, so, not counting the one Hotch just got a call from, we have our first three victims," said J.J., as her screen came up. "Halle Arnold, 24, of Clovis, California. George Randall, 28, of Dover's Beach, Michigan, and Ron James, 19, of Meridian, Mississippi."

"You can add Garth Harold, 31, from Wynona, Wisconsin," said Hotch.

"What the…" Prentiss gasped, staring at the photos.

"Are they hanging from… television antenna?" asked Morgan, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"They were found posed like this on early mornings. The police have just made the connection because the press is starting to get ahold of it," said J.J. "They're starting to call it the Rooftop Murderer."

"What was cause of death?" asked Rossi.

"Inconclusive," said J.J. "Though we're still waiting for autopsy reports on Randall and James… and now Harold."

"How the… this doesn't even make sense. The UnSub would have had to kill them, get them onto the roof, and then pose them exactly like that… with nobody noticing," said Morgan.

"Right. Which isn't hard to do in those towns, especially at night. They're small, probably have poor lighting…" said Prentiss.

"But the geographical location is staggering," said Reid. "How is the UnSub able to travel this distance?"

"And what's really weird, that I found out," said Garcia, suddenly. "Halle Arnold and Ron James were both killed on the same night."

There was silence as everyone began to mull over the details they had. Without a cause of death, at the moment anyway, they had to try and figure out how the UnSub could get the bodies up that high.

"Well we're obviously dealing with at least a well-built man, or maybe a team," said Morgan. "There's no way that you could get those two guys up on the roof easily, much less sprawled over a television antenna…"

"And how do you expect they managed to travel thousands of miles in one night?" asked Prentiss.

"Perhaps they work in the travel industry. Airline pilot or maybe a flight attendant?" suggested J.J.

"Even if that was true, it doesn't explain the lack of apparent death," said Reid, as he sped through the files in his hands. "They found no real injuries on Halle Arnold, except that she seemed to be dehydrated, but not to any level that would put you near death…"

"Poisons? Did we get toxicology reports yet?" asked Prentiss, scanning through with her tablet.

"Nothing to speak of… but some of the tests are running behind in that county," said Reid, flipping the pages faster than the computer could compute.

"So, then, Aaron, what do you suppose we should do?" asked Rossi.

"Strauss is already starting to breathe down our necks on this because it's so high profile and the media has started to cause hysteria," said Hotch. "Ideally I'd like to speak to all the families, but that's going to be extremely difficult given the massive geographical location…"

"Might I suggest, then," said Rossi, sliding forward. "Based on our most recent death, we start focusing on the north central part of the country? Dover's Beach and Wynona aren't more than four hours apart."

"That's probably our best bet, in the end," said Hotch. "J.J., contact the police departments in both cities. We'll decide who goes where while on the plane. Garcia, in the meantime, I want full background reports run on all of these people. I know it's a long shot, but there must be something that ties all of these people together."

"Right away, sir," said Garcia, grabbing her objects and running out of the room, her heels clicking.

"The rest of you, wheels up in 90 minutes. I'll see you on the plane," said Hotch.

Airspace Above Virginia

Two hours later, as they were soaring to their destination, the members of the BAU began to go over their victimology, trying to find something that connected the four bodies.

"So we can already rule out race and sex," said Prentiss. "Halle Arnold and Ron James were both Caucasian, George Randall was half African American, half white, and Garth Harold was a mix of Native American and Mexican."

"Jobs don't really match up, either," said Reid. "We've got a model, a student, a garbage man, and an unemployed person who received welfare and food stamps. Garcia's running criminal records, but, so far anyway, the worst are a few speeding tickets and an unpaid parking ticket."

"Could it be age? It's a stretch, but, so far, the victims have been within 13 years of each other," said Morgan.

"It's literally the only thing we have to tie them together, and that doesn't narrow it down at all," said J. J., "And it's not like they were in the same risk category. Introvert, extrovert, successful, quiet… it's all over the place."

"And we won't really know more until Garcia can get us full background reports," said Hotch, frowning. "Morgan, get her on the camera; I want to know what the hold-up is."
Just as Morgan reached for the television monitor, it sprang to life and they saw Garcia, who was in a blind panic, looking at one of her other many screens.

"I know, ma'am, and I understand, but they're probably in flight at the moment, and I imagine that's why he isn't answering his cell! Yes, I was just going to contact them after I finished the original background reports and… yes, yes, I will ma'am, please, just give me a second!"

"Hey there pumpkin, who you chatting with while you're supposed to be on the job," asked Morgan, with a grin.

"Oh!" said Garcia, muting her phone. "Praise all that is holy and shiny; I don't know how Strauss found my direct number, but I'll never forgive the person who gave it to her."

"Do you have our background reports, Garcia?" asked Hotch.

"Well, sir, the thing is…" Garcia said. "I… have the originals… but…"

"But?" asked Rossi, leaning forward in his seat.

"Here, I'll let her tell, you," said Garcia, unmuting her phone. "Hello? Hello! Ma'am! Ma'am, please calm down, I have them here… yes… ma'am I… okay, I'm putting you on speaker in three… two…"

She pressed the button on her phone, grimacing, and Strauss's snarls immediately filled Garcia's office. Everyone on the plane cringed as she ranted at Garcia for a few seconds about being put on hold and proper telephone etiquette before Hotch interrupted her tirade.

"Aaron, just where the hell are you?" she demanded, earning raised eyebrows from everyone but Hotch.

"As my report showed, we're on our way to Dover's Beach and Wynona," said Hotch.

"Well, you might as well turn that plane around and get back to Quantico this instant," snarled Strauss. "We've got three more victims."

Back in Quantico

"Andrea Boyle, 20, of Frederick, Arkansas," said a very subdued Garcia, as everyone hurried back into the conference room. "Harry Barnett, 18, of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. LaRoy Weiss, 35, of Bull's Head, Montana. Same thing. Slung over either a TV antenna or satellite dish."

"The media are having a field day with this, aren't they?" asked J.J., dropping her bag in the chair next to her as she sat down.

"Harry Barnett was found upside down in a really populated section of the city… they got him down before too many people caught on, but…" Garcia said, sighing.

"And now the panic spreads. How the hell did the UnSub manage to do that in the middle of the city, in broad daylight?" asked Morgan.

"Garcia, do you have anything for us, anything at all?" asked Hotch, sitting in his seat and massaging his head.

"Um… well… yes, I do sir, but… you're probably not going to believe me," said Garcia.

"Let's hear it," said Prentiss.

"This has happened before," said Garcia.

"… what?" they all asked, their jaws dropping.

"See? Told you," said Garcia. "But… I'm not sure what it has to do with anything… but it just may… um. Well, you see… there's this small town in Japan, right? It's called Inaba, and about two years ago they had a series of murders and kidnappings…"

"With the same M.O.?" asked Prentiss.

"Yes… I've already printed off everything I could find… there were a lot of Japanese articles that I can't really read well, but only a handful of English releases on it, mostly third-rate papers with questionable morals, I might add."

"That's… so is our UnSub an immigrant from Japan?" asked J.J.

"He at least spent some time there, most likely," said Hotch. "There's no way this could be a coincidence."

"But… you see, sir," said Garcia. "That's what I thought, too, but they caught the guy doing it in Inaba. And he's still in prison."

"… a copycat in America, then?" asked Rossi.

"From something so obscure? Who would have known to even look for that?" asked Prentiss.

"And, please, explain to me how the UnSub managed to get all over the country to murder four separate people?" asked Morgan.

"This… this is impossible," said Reid. "No single person could physically do this. It's impossible."

"What about the possibility of a group? A cult? A terror cell?" asked Rossi.

"If there is a group doing this, they'll leave traces of themselves on the internet. Garcia, I need you to find me those traces! We have to…" said Hotch.

"I… I'm on it, sir!" Garcia said, sprinting from her room Then she turned and called behind as she continued. "Though, if I may, Sir, I just wanted to let you know that sprinting was not ever part of my job description, and I think my calves might walk out on me if I keep this stress up…"

"What's our next step?" asked Hotch.

"Run," said Prentiss.

"Why?" asked Hotch.

"Strauss at twelve o clock," said J.J.

They glanced out the window. Indeed, Strauss was storming into the BAU, nearly colliding with Garcia, who practically threw herself on top of another intern to avoid the aggravated woman. Hotch, for the first time that day, finally allowed a grimace of disgust and stress to cross his face, and he left the room to intercept her.

"I can tell you one thing," said Morgan, as they watched them go into Hotch's office. "You couldn't pay me enough to trade places with that man right now."

Meanwhile

"This is inexcusable, Aaron," snarled Strauss. "We've got seven dead bodies. Seven."

"With all due respect, ma'am, I did pass basic math," replied Hotch.

"Well, then, I'm sure you understand that we're already coming under heavy scrutiny? The Department of Homeland Security seems to think it's a terrorist threat, and we're being inundated with calls from the media, politicians, and… do you even have a lead?" she cried.

"… of sorts," said Hotch.

"Well?" demanded Strauss.

"Our technical analyst uncovered a…"

I am thou…

"Aaron? What did she uncover, Aaron?" demanded Strauss.

"Did… did you hear something, just now?" asked Hotch.

"Only the sound of incompetence, apparently," spat Strauss. "What did your analyst uncover?"

"A series of murders in Japan that match the M.O. of our UnSub. It's our only lead," said Hotch.

"You've got to be joking. We've got dead people all over the country and you're focused on—"

And thou art I…

"—think that Japan has a better—,"

Your eyes will open…

"—results by the time—,"
… and our Truths will be discovered…

"—I might as well have—,"

Come. We will await you where the Many Gods remain.

"Are you even listening to me, Aaron?" snarled Strauss, slamming her hands on her desk.

"Yes. We're going to Japan," said Hotch, standing up. "We will need a translator, supplied from the Bureau, and we will leave tonight. There are strong storms that have been going on all up and down the coast; we need to get out of here before it goes any worse."

"You… you can't be serious!" shouted Strauss. "We've got dead Americans everywhere and—."
"And no leads. Except Inaba, Japan. If it's really a concern of yours, then I will front the airfare, since I know they won't let us take the usual jet out of the country. If this solves the case, I expect I will be repaid. If not, then I will foot the bill," said Hotch, standing up.

"Of all the insolent…" she began, but something seemed to have clicked in her mind, because she stopped talking for a moment, her face blank. Then she looked around the office, grumbled under her breath¸ and looked back at him. "You have seven days. Nine, if you count flight time. If you haven't uncovered anything by next week, I want you back in the United States. Is that understood?"

"Of course, ma'am. I'll be taking Garcia, as well. Kevin Lynch can cover in her absence," said Hotch.

"Don't fail me, Aaron," said Strauss. "I shall send you a translator, it so happens I spoke to a very fitting candidate earlier this afternoon."

"I appreciate that, ma'am," said Hotch, nodding to her.

Pittsburgh, PA

That evening, everyone sat in Pittsburgh International Airport, having caught a shuttle flight from Washington. Everyone was still in minor shock about the entire incident. Hotch had flown in, told them to pack for a week overseas, and to prepare to head to Japan. He didn't stay for any protests, and his mind seemed focused on something else, so his team members did what they were told.

"Do you think the information Garcia received is actually going to lead us anywhere?" asked Rossi.

"I see no harm in trying to figure it out," said Reid.

"I don't see why he wanted to take all of us. I'm surprised he didn't have me stay behind to handle the media," said J.J., idly flipping through a magazine. "They'd have a fit if they knew what was happening."

"Where is Hotch, anyway?" asked Prentiss, who was reading a book with her coat covering her like a blanket.

"He went to the business lounge to get the latest information from Quantico before our flight," said Reid, who was still reading through the case files, his brow furrowed. "Anybody seen Morgan or Garcia?"

"No," said Prentiss. "And our translator isn't here yet, either. We've gotta start boarding in ten minutes, too…"

A few seconds later, they heard Morgan and Garcia's laughter. From down the concourse, they saw them coming. Morgan held his own carryon bags, as well as the pastel-colored suitcases Garcia had jammed full of clothes and material for the flight over. Garcia herself was swinging bags of purchased goods from each arm as she and Morgan rode down the moving walkway, blocking the entire thing with their vast array of baggage.

"Garcia… what did you buy?" asked an incredulous Prentiss.

"Oh, just some things for the flight. I haven't flown commercial in ages, but everyone says they don't feed you, give you blankets, pillows… and this is like an 18 hour flight, so… gotta be prepared, right?" said Garcia, giggling as she took a seat next to J.J., who began to dig through her shopping bags.

"Nice bags, Morgan, really accentuates your overflowing levels of testosterone," Reid said, idly flipping through the pages.

"Well, Boy Wonder," said Morgan, rubbing his hand violently through Reid's hair. "When a lady in need is there, Derek Morgan doesn't let his insecurities hold him back; nothing is too degrading for him."

"My glorious Knight in Shining Armor," said Garcia, blowing him a kiss.

"Always there for you, Princess," said Morgan, kneeling and kissing her hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience, and I apologize for the delay," said the woman at the ticket counter. "We are soon going to begin boarding of Ryze International Airlines Flight 1001, non-stop service to Tokyo-Narita. Please ensure that your carryons are properly prepared and that you have the proper amounts…"

"Where is Hotch?" asked Prentiss, sitting up and pulling on her coat.

"There he is," said J.J., pointing. "He's walking with someone."

"I hope it's our translator," said Reid. "He or she's cutting it kinda close…"

"Have they started boarding yet?" asked Hotch as he and the translator walked over.

"No, just about to…" said Morgan. "Whose this guy?"
"I. Love. Your. Hair," said Garcia, starring at him. "I'm surprised they let you keep it like that."

"Heh. Believe it or not, this is my natural hair color," said the young man, smiling. "Nice to meet you all."

"This is our translator," explained Hotch. "He's a native of Japan and came to the United States to do some special training with the FBI. These are Agents Morgan, Prentiss, Rossi, Jareau, Dr. Reid, and our technical analyst, Garcia."

"What's your name, son?" asked Derek, shaking his hand as everyone moved to head to the line to board the flight.

"Me? Sanada. Akihiko Sanada," he said grinning. "I hope I can help you catch this guy."