"Give me the bag, and we'll head out right now," General Whitworth said, his tone almost unnervingly gentle.
Chad Brown, trembling, started to remove the backpack strap from his shoulder, intending to hand it over.
But just then, the sound of an approaching train echoed through the tunnel. The tracks clanged loudly as the train drew near, and a rush of air surged out, sweeping over everyone.
Chad Brown flinched and looked past General Whitworth and Hotchner at the soldiers standing behind them, watching him intently.
Unaware of the sudden shift in Chad's demeanor, General Whitworth continued to ask, "Are there any other samples?"
"No!" Chad Brown suddenly stepped back, clutching the backpack tightly to his chest.
"You're lying to me! You're all liars!"
"You don't understand! You have no idea how fragile the world is in the face of this!"
Before he could finish, his foot slipped, and he staggered. At that moment, Jack, who had silently approached from behind, deftly snatched the backpack from Chad's grasp.
"No! Give it back!" Chad Brown screamed.
"Stand down! General!" Several of the general's aides drew their weapons.
"Careful, Jack!" Hotchner, still holding his gun pointed downward, shouted a warning.
Chad Brown lunged at Jack in a frenzy, but Jack, clutching the backpack, easily sidestepped him. Not only did he avoid Chad's attack, but he also subtly tripped him in the process.
With another scream, the small, thin man with glasses tumbled off the platform.
"Argh~~~"
The approaching train let out a short, sharp whistle as it neared the station.
"Help me! Pull me up! Help!"
Chad Brown, ignoring his fallen glasses, clung desperately to the edge of the platform, but his weak arms couldn't pull himself up.
Jack, holding the bag filled with anthrax bombs, could only watch, helpless to assist. Hotchner took a hesitant step forward, but it was too late.
Jack had heard of a particularly brutal form of execution called "waist cutting," where the victim was chopped in half at the waist with a heavy axe or guillotine. In some versions of this grisly punishment, it was said that if the blade was sharp enough and the executioner skilled enough, the victim could use their own blood to write seven large characters on the ground before dying.
Chad Brown's current predicament was even worse than that. His lower body was trapped between the subway car and the platform, and despite the train's emergency brake, it continued to move slowly forward due to inertia.
Caught in between, Chad Brown's upper body twisted round and round as the train continued its crawl until it finally came to a stop.
He was certainly going to die, but it wouldn't be immediate. No emergency personnel could save him under these circumstances.
Everyone, including Hotchner, turned away, unable to bear the horrific sight. The scene was too gruesome—one that could haunt their nightmares.
Jack handed the backpack to the approaching HAZMAT team, who carefully sealed it in a bag marked with a yellow and black biohazard symbol.
The panicked passengers on the train were quickly evacuated, and within ten minutes, only a few bewildered and helpless paramedics remained on the platform.
Jack briefly considered the idea of using a healing spell to prolong Chad's suffering, but decided against it. Instead, he walked away from the platform.
Enough was enough. Any further meddling might result in an unintended miracle, which would be a disaster.
Although Jack felt that for someone who had taken 24 lives, including six innocent children, being flayed alive wouldn't have been too harsh, he chose to leave it be.
As he ascended the steps and emerged from the subway station, he saw Hotchner and General Whitworth preparing to part ways.
"Was my performance too over-the-top?" General Whitworth asked, his expression somewhat uneasy.
"You almost had him. He was completely convinced," Hotchner assured him with a straight face.
The entire act had been planned back when they left the command center.
"The profile indicated that he craved recognition, especially from someone high up at Fort Detrick. What happened next was just an unfortunate twist."
"Of course, when it comes to giving credit, I won't be stingy," General Whitworth said, his statement carrying a double meaning, as he extended his hand to Hotchner.
"I'm very glad I took your advice, and you—good job, son," he said, turning to Jack, who quickly shook his hand as well.
As they watched the general leave, Jack couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. He noticed that Hotchner, too, looked as if he had just sent off a troublesome guest.
"So, what now?" Jack asked.
"We're going to the hospital to pick up Reid. Dr. Kimura says he's out of danger," Hotchner replied.
"I think we should let him stay in the hospital for another day, confined to bed and unable to go anywhere," Jack suggested.
Hotchner raised an eyebrow, not quite following Jack's reasoning.
"Don't you think he needs to learn a lesson? If possible, I'd even consider bribing Dr. Kimura to keep him tied to the bed for three days," Jack said with a sly grin. Honestly, if he hadn't pulled Reid out of that lab in time, Reid might have ended up dead.
Anthrax is no joke. Even if you survive, the long-term effects can turn a healthy person into a half-invalid. Sure, they eventually found the "antidote" and could use healing spells, but Reid wasn't some gorgeous, slender beauty with a small waist and long legs—Jack had no interest in being his nurse.
Jack knew that everyone in the BAU had a main character's plot armor, especially someone like Reid, who was highly unlikely to die. But given how TV shows often played out, it wouldn't be surprising if Reid ended up with PTSD or a drug addiction storyline.
If Reid kept making reckless decisions, one day he might actually spiral into one of those scenarios. And by then, even a healing spell might not fix it. While others might tolerate working with an addict, Jack would have no qualms about kicking him out of the BAU.
"I think a day will suffice. I'll have a serious talk with him when we get back," Hotchner, despite his tough exterior, couldn't help but soften a bit.
"Okay, you're the boss. You call the shots. Let's find a good bar. Drinks are on me tonight," Jack suggested, eager to unwind after the exhausting week they'd had, from Wyoming to Maryland.
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