It was a bloodbath.

Virginia University.

A bloodbath.

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Virginia University was renowned for it's head of philosophy, and Spencer Reid-still off-handedly attempting his BA in the field-was mildly excited for Dr. Renald's lecture. Enough so that he took one of his rare days off, set it aside so he could sit in on the class. Then he would go home and read one of his many volumes. Then he would sleep. Then he would deal with the bloodbath.

On his day off, Spencer Reid witnessed the greatest bloodbath in the history of the Eastern states.

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It began with a poem.

Wordsworth, a writer Reid had familiarized himself with in the hallways of his senior year of high school. It had been suggested to him by his overly enthusiastic American Literature teacher. "The World" was something about human's discontent with what they are given, their constant need to destroy. There was a bitterness in the elderly professor's voice as he recited it, a darkness that Reid couldn't recall from the last time he had heard him speak (albeit, last time he didn't spend twenty minutes singing poetry, either). After the first ten minutes the mumbling began. And the worry. And before any one knew it, Renald had crossed the room and shut the door, never ending his hypnotic recitation.

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I want to do something for you. Those who care enough about the world and those who inhabit it to attend this lecture.

I want to free you from the false, the fracture of what was once beauty. I want you and I to liberate ourselves. Repression of those unaware they are repressed.

I want you and I to be free.

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The first shot rang out.

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"Virginia University?" Derek Morgan sputtered. "Phillip Renald's lecture?"

Gideon looked at Morgan, at the case file in his hands that he himself had just distributed. He looked at the utter shock, the agony in the young man's face.

"Yes. Does this mean anything to you?"

"Reid was attending that lecture."

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Penelope Garcia watched the door close from the VU corridor security camera, over and over and over, replay through replay, the soundless lock of the doors ringing through her ears. It was like a bullet in and of itself.

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The BAU team arrived much too late.

There was no flying required, the university a mere twenty minute drive from the FBI headquarters. But by the time they had fallen out of their cars and ran up to the towering entrance, they were told they were no longer required. There was no longer any behavior to analyze.

It's over, they said.

Any survivors?

We just broke down the doors. It's hard to say-hey, you can't go in there.

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A class of thirty nine is what they found.

The first in, it was a tie between Morgan and JJ, peddling headlong through the broken doors and into the bloodbath, into hell.

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They're job was to sift through the bodies and find a living one.

The room, once pastel, was now a spatter of the deepest of reds. There were no people, just small depressions in the sea of crimson.

And there was Reid.

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It was obvious he had been the one to try and defuse the situation, his gun held loosely in his lifeless hand. Prentiss turned him over and promptly flew two feet in the air to vomit behind a vacated desk. Sobbing, she cried, "Oh my god."

"What?" JJ called from down the steps, at the podium where Renald had blown his brains out after promptly blowing the rest of his class' brains out. She saw Prentiss, curled in on herself and dry heaving and screaming in agony, right beside a lump with a gun in it's hand and she knew, and she froze.

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It was a bloodbath.

A university was the bath, Spencer fucking Reid was the blood. He was all that mattered, in a class full of sons and daughters and sisters and brothers they knew Spencer Reid, genius, was all the blood that mattered.

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