Emily really didn’t want to be here in this part of Los Angeles. She absolutely hated it—gangs, drug dealers, just a slew of awful things happening all around her.

“Fuck me...”

She muttered under her breath as she walked down the street, passing some men engaging in questionable activities. This undercover operation that Hotch had assigned her was not her idea of a good time. The place just felt… icky. Rundown, with too many homeless people, druggies, and even a few prostitutes.

“Stay sharp, Prentiss. We’re just around the corner,” Hotch’s voice crackled in her ear. He, JJ, Derek, Reid, and Garcia were stashed in a van nearby, ready to swoop in if things got dicey.

“Just try not to get hit on too much, sweet,” Derek chimed in, his teasing tone attempting to lighten the mood. Reid laughed softly, and she could almost picture the eye-roll.

She had already been hit on at least five times. Men, women—everyone seemed keen to chat. All she wanted was to finish this stakeout and head back to her apartment, pour herself a glass of wine, and cuddle with Sergio.

Wrapping her long trench coat over the FBI bulletproof vest and gun holster, she did her best to conceal her identity as an undercover agent. With a sigh, she settled onto a bench outside the bar owned by their suspect.

“Come on, don’t keep me waiting too long,” she thought impatiently, glancing at her watch. Lighting a cigarette, she leaned back, letting the smoke curl from her red-painted lips.

(You can make yourself the ‘suspect’ or a bystander.)