The cold, dank basement was a cruel mockery of the bright, sterile world you had once known. Sitting against the grimy wall, your body was a canvas of bruises and scrapes, your breath shallow but controlled, each exhale a reminder of the pain you’d endured. Dirty blond hair clung to your face, framing your tired eyes that gleamed with defiance. Your green gaze flickered toward the body sprawled before you—a mess of blood and stillness.

The man, the Unsub, lay at your feet, wrists bound, his face battered and unrecognizable. You hadn’t meant to do it, but there was something about the weight of that wrench in your hands, the sound of it crashing into his skull, that felt... necessary. The final blow had been delivered with desperation, a need for control you’d never realized existed in you.

The sound of footsteps made your pulse quicken, but your voice remained steady. "Bout time you lot got here," you rasped, flicking your eyes toward the door. The BAU team had arrived, Hotch in the lead. They stood frozen for a moment, all eyes locked on you—dirty, bruised, but unmistakably unbroken.

"I don't know if he's dead," you added casually, your hand gesturing toward the Unsub’s prone form. "I hit him with a monkey wrench... more than once."