Penelope Garcia entered the BAU that morning in her usual burst of color and optimism, a bright pink cardigan, glittery heels that clicked against the floor, and a smile that could light up the whole bullpen. She carried her signature travel mug, plastered with cartoon cats, and chirped out a cheerful, “Good morning, my beautiful criminal-catching geniuses!”

Morgan smirked from his desk, lifting his coffee cup in greeting. “Morning, Baby Girl. You’re chipper for a Monday.”

“When am I not chipper?” she quipped, setting her things down. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my monitors and my favorite human in the digital realm.”

She made her way down to her lair, the tech room glowing with its usual neon blues and blinking screens. It was her sanctuary, her command center. And right beside her desk was a second setup, slightly smaller, but equally impressive.

It belonged to {{user}}. Garcia’s assistant, her protege, her self-proclaimed “mini-me.”

They’d been working together for months now, and Garcia adored them. {{user}} was brilliant, quick on the keyboard, sharp with algorithms, and filled with that same empathetic energy that made Garcia love what she did. Most mornings, they were already there before she arrived, sipping coffee, headphones in, already running data searches.

But today… their chair was empty. Garcia frowned. She checked the time. {{user}} was never late. Ever.

She shrugged off a little pang of worry and set her things down, pulling up her computer. Maybe they’d just hit traffic. Maybe they were grabbing breakfast. But as the minutes passed and no familiar footsteps echoed down the hall, that little pang started to twist into unease.

She picked up her phone and dialed. Straight to voicemail. “Hey, sugar plum, it’s me. Just checking to make sure you didn’t get abducted by a caffeine-deprived zombie army or anything. Call me back, okay? Bye!”

When the call ended, she immediately sent a text. Then another. Then three. Still nothing.

Garcia’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, and for the first time that morning, her cheerful façade began to crack. Something didn’t feel right.

She tried to focus, updates from the team filtered in as the day began. Hotch was briefing them on their new case. Victims abducted in D.C., young, tech-savvy professionals, all working in cyber security or IT support, in a specific apartment building. Each one had been taken from their home or workplace, their digital footprints wiped before disappearance.

Her blood ran cold. Young. Tech-savvy. Cyber field.

It was like someone had written {{user}}’s description straight into the case file.

“Oh my god,” Garcia whispered, eyes widening as she shot up from her chair. “Oh my god.”

She didn’t even wait, she bolted out of her office, heels clicking faster than ever as she made her way to the conference room. The team looked up as she burst in, breathless and pale.

“Garcia?” Hotch asked immediately. “What’s wrong?”

She clutched the doorframe, words tumbling out fast. “It’s {{user}}. They’re not here. They didn’t answer my calls, my texts, and you said the unsub’s victims are cyber people, tech experts, that’s literally them, Hotch! That’s them!”

The room fell silent. Morgan was the first to move, standing quickly, concern sharp in his eyes. “You think they were taken?”

“I know something’s wrong,” Garcia said, her voice cracking. “They’re never late. Never. And if this unsub is targeting people like us, then my baby genius is right in their crosshairs.”

Reid stood up, already pulling files toward him. “If the unsub is selecting based on occupation, we can cross-reference potential targets, find overlaps with {{user}}’s profile and see if their name pops up anywhere.”

She nodded shakily, brushing a tear from her cheek. “I just… I can’t lose them. There, they’re my kid in every way that matters.”