Foyet leans over Aaron, knife gleaming in the low light. Aaron wishes, for what feels like the first time, that he couldn’t see the desire blowing Foyet’s pupils wide. It turns his stomach.
“Hello, Aaron,” he drawls. “Are you ready for step three?”
Aaron doesn’t want to know. He really doesn’t want to know what step three entails, but he’s already seen the trial runs. The bodies.
“I think you are,” Foyet continues. “You know, I read that book once, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? I loved it. Really intriguing stuff, but I always wondered: what do cyborgs dream of? I suppose you’ll be able to tell me when you wake up, won’t you?”
The knife goes in and Aaron begins to scream.
They’re on their way home from work when they find the guy in the ditch. He’s half-dead, apparently, because he makes a noise and tries to turn over when Penelope rather loudly asks if he’s whole-dead.
He’s not.
And he has a robotic arm.
And a robotic side-of-his-face. And… oh, God, probably lots of other things, but Penelope isn’t emotionally prepared to think about that right now.
“Oh, my God, Derek. What do we do? Do we call nine-one-one?”
That gets robo-cop’s attention. “No,” he croaks, pushing himself upright. Penelope gasps again upon seeing the cuts on his face and neck. He’s maybe closer to three quarters dead, actually. “Don’t. Just- ow.” He collapses back into the muddy bottom of the ditch and Derek lurches forward.
“Penny, get your phone out,” he barks, clambering down into the ditch. “Hey, dude, are you alright?”
Ditch Cyborg looks up at Derek with the wildest eyes Penelope has ever seen. A chill runs down her spin. “Derek, who do you want me to call?”
“Not the police,” Ditch Cyborg insists. “9856552500.”
“What? Dude, I think you need a hospital,” Derek says, crouching down beside him. “You’re all kinds of fucked up. What happened?”
“9856552500.”
“Man, I really think I should-”
Ditch-Cyborg’s cyborg hand, covered in ditch mud, shoots out and grabs Derek’s wrist. “ No. Dangerous. 9856552500.”
Penelope flinches at the sudden movement, but Derek stays calm, putting his hand over the metallic one and pulling gently. “Derek, who do you want me to call?” she repeats.
“98565525-”
“Emily,” Derek interrupts. “Call Emily and tell her to meet us at our place with everybody else.”
“Can do,” Penelope says, but she doesn’t move. She can’t tear her eyes away from Ditch Cyborg’s newest attempt at movement. He’s flailing weakly, rolling around in the mud and trying to sit up again. Derek puts a hand on his shoulder and he flinches.
“Hey, man, chill out. We’re taking you back to our apartment, okay? No cops. We’re gonna help you.” He presses a bit harder on the guy’s shoulder, pinning him on his back. “Do you understand?”
Ditch Cyborg’s eyes roll back, and for a moment, Penelope thinks he’s passed out. Then, he refocuses and fixes Derek with an intense, albeit foggy stare. “9856552500.” With that, he passes out for real.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Derek, what do we do now?” Penelope rambles, following him into the apartment.
Derek wishes he had an answer. He wishes he knew why he’s carrying a guy who may or may not be a cyborg (A cyborg? Does the technology for that even exist?) into his apartment, or what they’re going to do next. All he knows is that something about this doesn’t feel right and their highest-ranking friend is Emily’s mom, and they should probably get her involved sooner rather than later.
Ditch Cyborg hasn’t so much as stirred since Derek picked him up (carrying him bridal-style because, if the blood on his shirt is anything to go by, there’s something seriously wrong with his stomach), and Derek would be worried that he had died if he couldn’t feel the guy breathing. He carries him through the kitchen and into the living room, stopping in front of the couch.
“Penelope, can you get me some towels for the couch?” Getting towels fulfills two goals simultaneously, one being getting Penelope calm enough to be of assistance and two being preventing this guy from covering their poor couch in mud and blood and rainwater and God only knows what else.
Derek’s not really sure what to do in the interim, though, and standing there, cyborg in his arms, dripping water on the floor, he’s suddenly struck by the ridiculousness of the situation. He’s got a cyborg (?) in his house. A cyborg he found on the side of the road who looks like he got hit by a fucking car and maybe the mafia. Cyborgs are really heavy. It must be the enhancements, because this guy is skinny as hell.
What does he do now?
The most logical answer would be to call the police, but Derek’s arm is already bruising from their last attempt at that and he really doesn’t want to find out how much that arm can do. More than that, though, the guy was genuinely scared when they mentioned cops. If he’s on the run from something and it’s got him fucked up that bad, maybe calling the cops would only make it worse.
As Penelope walks back into the room, Derek decides to call Emily’s mom. She’s an ambassador with connections out the asshole; surely she must know what to do in a situation like this. Maybe she’ll even have answers as to where the tech for this guy’s arm and face even came from. Stuff like this isn’t supposed to exist.
“I come bearing towels,” Penelope chirps, laying the towels out over the couch and patting them once before stepping back. “Is he still, like… breathing?”
Derek sets the guy down, propping his head up on the arm of the couch and letting the cyber-arm dangle over the edge. He can’t quite bring himself to touch it in order to move it. “Yeah, he seems stable. We should probably see what’s going on under the shirt, though.” Derek gestures to the guy’s front, which is still a mess. That blood looks fresh.
Penelope nods. “I’ll get a washcloth and some warm water. We should probably… clean him up, I guess. Just so we can see what’s going on and maybe put some bandaids on him.” She hurries off to the bathroom again, leaving Derek to stand guard against a backdrop of running water and frantic muttering.
The guy’s probably a bit older than him, mid twenties with a shock of dark hair over a pale face. The part of it that’s not cybernetic, that is. The metal plating, complete with articulating joints and flashing lights, is fused rather clumsily with his skin, creating a jagged edge of metal on flesh running from his left temple, under his eye, and across his cheek, ending at his jaw. Hair’s grown around it, though, so it must be at least a few months old.
He’s tall and thin, clad in a loose grey tee shirt and military-looking black cargo pants. Every inch of him is covered in mud and dirt and blood and bruises, and his clothing is torn. Even his boots, which look tactical, are beat to shit, even though they’re still well-maintained. Everything about this guy screams “danger,” everything except the young, vulnerable look on his face.
Penelope comes back, arms full of whatever medical equipment she’d scounged up from their bathroom, and drops to her knees next to the guy. She’s got a bowl of water and a damp washcloth, and that’s the first thing she goes to work with. Gently as she does everything, she wipes the mud and blood from robo-guy’s face. Derek keeps a sharp eye out for any sign of a return to consciousness, but he seems really out of it.
Satisfied that they’re safe (for now, at least), he pulls one of the kitchen chairs over and sits down next to Penelope, pulling out his phone.
Me: you almost here?
Goth Lez: yeah were like 5 min out
Goth Lez: ive got spencer and jj too
Goth Lez: wtfs going on?
Me: idk how to explain it
Me: we found a guy on the side of the road but like…
Me: you’ll just have to see for yourself
Goth Lez: ....kay…
Goth Lez: should i call the cops or smth?
Me: NO
Me: you should probably call your mom after you get here tho
Goth Lez: okay now im concerned
Goth Lez: jj and spencer say not to get killed by a psycho be right there
“Emily, Spencer, and JJ are almost here,” he tells Penelope.
“Good,” she sighs. “I have no idea how to proceed. This is not something they teach you in Home Economics.” She swishes the washcloth, now reddish-brown, around in the water a few times before ringing it out. “Also, Ditch Cyborg looks way worse without his dirt crust.”
She points to his face and Derek winces. Some of the cuts, free of their scabs, are oozing blood again. There’s a bruise covering the better part of his right cheekbone and running up into his temple, vicious purple and sick yellow-green. Penelope takes his flesh hand in hers and starts cleaning it off, moving up his arm and wiping the worst of the filth away. She’s right, the more skin is uncovered, the worse the picture gets. This guy’s nine different shades of fucked up.
When she finishes the left arm, she hesitates. Derek can see the war waging between her instinct to help and her fear of the cyber-arm. It’s clearly a weapon, now that Derek looks at it. He’s not even sure what tips him off to the fact, but it’s evident. Inhuman, but undoubtedly powerful. Penelope picks it up by the hand and starts cleaning.
Before Derek can comment, the door opens. “Hey,” Emily calls. “You guys dead yet?”
“No, not yet,” Derek responds as the three new arrivals enter the living room. Spencer does a double take, nearly running into the doorframe.
“What the fuck?” he sputters, just as Emily says, “Did you guys bring the fucking Terminator into the house?”
“Someone needs to explain what’s going on here,” JJ adds.
Penelope stands, dropping the washcloth back in the bowl and the metal hand back on the couch. “Alright, everyone stay calm. We can explain. We found Ditch Cyborg on the side of the road and he was really confused and really hurt, so we brought him back to the house.”
“Cyborgs aren’t real,” Spencer says, eyes wide.
“Evidently, they are,” Emily responds. “More importantly, why didn’t you call the police?”
“Because he asked us not to,” Penelope explains. “Spencer, maybe you shouldn’t do that.”
Spencer, who had been poking at the metal on the side of the guy’s face, freezes. “Why not?”
“Because he might-” the guy’s eyes pop open. “-Yeah, that,” Penelope finishes as Spencer stumbles backwards. “Everyone back up and give us some space,” she orders, kneeling down next to the guy. Derek wants to step in, wants to put himself between Penelope and the danger, but he refrains. If anyone can diffuse a situation like this, it’s her. “Hey. Are you in there?”
Wide hazel eyes search her face, boring into Penelope like he can’t decide between fight and flight. He doesn’t say anything or move a muscle, just stares, whole body tense in a way Derek can feel in his own bones. Beside him, Emily curses under her breath.
“It’s alright,” Penelope soothes. “We’re not going to hurt you. Can you hear me?”
“9856552500.”
“What?” Spencer asks.
“He’s been saying that,” Penelope says over her shoulder. “Can you tell us what that means?” she asks, trying to get the guy’s attention back on her. He’s noticed the other people in the room and he’s not happy.
“9856552500,” he repeats, voice hoarse and quiet. “9856552500.” His eyes are starting to drift closed again.
“Hey,” Penelope says. “Can you hang in there for a couple more minutes? You’re in our apartment, but we need to figure out what happened to you so we can help you. Do those numbers mean something to you?”
“Guys, I think it’s a phone number,” Spencer cuts in. “Ten digits is the right length for an in-country code. Maybe it’s someone we can get in touch with.”
Ditch Cyborg lurches, eyes springing back open and snapping to Spencer as he struggles to sit up. “Call-call it,” he stammers, but the exertion has him breaking off into a painful-sounding coughing fit. “Call it,” he says again as Penelope grabs his shoulders and tries to get him upright. “Call it.”
“We’re going to,” she soothes. “My friends are going to call it, don’t worry. Just try to breathe.”
Derek pulls his phone out. “Spencer, what’s the number?”
JJ reaches over. “Derek, maybe I should-”
“No,” he says, moving the phone out of her reach. He doesn’t want them to be the ones to get in trouble if this is some crazy government thing. After all, who else has the technology for something like this, and the means to hide it? “Let me. Pretty Boy?”
“985-655-2500,” he rattles off, and Derek punches it in. He gestures for quiet and hits “call,” holding his breath as the line rings.
The line picks up. “Hello?” The voice on the other end is female, maybe their age, but it’s hard to tell. She certainly doesn’t sound like an official of any sort. “Who is this? Can I help you?”
Derek can feel Ditch Cyborg’s eyes on him. “Hi, this is Derek Morgan. I don’t know you, and I don’t really know how to explain this, but a guy told me to call this number.”
The response comes so quickly he hardly has time to finish speaking. “A guy? What do you mean? Who is he? What does he look like?”
“I don’t know,” he starts. “My friends and I found him, and he’s pretty badly hurt, but we thought you might be his emergency contact or something.”
Her voice hitches. “What does he look like?”
“Um… mid-twenties, dark hair, tall, skinny.”
“Oh, my God. Is his name Aaron? Ask him if his name is Aaron Hotchner. Tell him it’s Haley.” She might be crying.
Derek pulls the phone away from his ear and turns to Ditch Cyborg, trying his best to ignore the stares of the rest of them. “The girl on the phone says her name is Haley and she wants to know if you’re Aaron Hotchner.”
His mouth falls open. Something comes over his face that lights it up beyond what the injuries can touch, and he nearly falls off the couch with his efforts to get up again. “Yes. Yes, it’s Aaron. It’s Aaron, Haley.” Penelope pushes him back onto the couch, but he tries again. Derek walks over and puts a hand on his shoulder as he talks into the phone again.
“He says yes.”
Haley sobs. “Oh, my God. Put him on. Please.”
He hands the phone to Aaron without another word. Aaron clings to it like a life raft in rough water, bringing it to his ear and cradling it there. “Haley? Haley, it’s me. It’s me. I’m okay.” A tear streaks down his face and Derek is struck by the sudden urge to avert his eyes. “I’m okay.”
Derek, Emily, JJ, Spencer, and Penelope only get to talk with Haley for a few minutes, but what she tells them makes Derek’s head spin.
Her name is Haley Brooks, and she lives in Virginia, which is where Aaron Hotchner went missing from a year and a half ago. She and Aaron had been together for seven years before that. Aaron is twenty-four years old. No, she doesn’t know how he got to upstate New York. Yes, this is the first contact she’s had with him since he went missing.
No, she doesn’t know that he’s been turned into a cyborg.
That’s not something he gets from Haley, but rather something he gathers from the way Aaron moves when Derek tries to tell Haley about his… condition. He doesn’t. They’ll cross that bridge when Haley gets here, which will be some time tonight. She’s on her way to the airport as of right now.
Also happening right now, Emily is on the phone with her mother. Hopefully, Ambassador Prentiss will have something to help them with their current predicament, because nothing Derek has ever seen or heard of has instructed him on how to proceed.
“So, someone tell me again why we aren’t calling the police?” JJ asks from her spot on the arm of the couch. She, Spencer, and Aaron are all sitting facing him and Penelope. Emily’s in the kitchen.
Aaron, who’s bracing himself against the far arm of the couch and somehow looking even paler than before, speaks up. “We can’t. If they know where I am, they’ll come and find me.”
“Who’s ‘they?’” Spencer asks. “And how did you get technology like that?”
“A rogue branch of the American government,” Aaron says, voice flat. “One that captures citizens and turns them into weaponized cyborgs. They’re- we’re used as political manipulators.” He puts a hand to his forehead. “Who knows who’s involved? Anyone we contact could bring them to us.”
“Oh, my God,” Penelope whispers. “Really?”
“What, you think I cut myself apart for fun?” Aaron asks.
“Aaron,” JJ says. “How did you escape?”
Aaron frowns. “Call me Hotch. And I didn’t escape. He- they let me go. Dumped me.”
“Why?”
“I… I wasn’t very good at the job,” Aaron- Hotch admits. “My handler left me there when a job went bad. I think he thought I would just… die.”
Penelope covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh,” she breathes. “So, if we hadn’t found you…”
“Yeah,” Hotch finishes. “So that’s why you can’t go to the police.”
Derek sighs, rubbing a hand over his head. “Well, I can promise you that the person who’s coming to see you isn’t involved in any government schemes.”
Hotch’s eyes snap to him. “Who?”
“My mother,” Emily says, reentering the room. “She’s an ambassador. She has connections and, if anyone can figure out what to do next, it’s her.” She sits on the arm of the couch next to JJ.
Hotch relaxes. “Alright. If you’re sure.”
“I don’t know much about my mother’s job,” Emily admits. “But I do know that she’s not capable of something like… this.” She gestures to Hotch in his entirety, and he cringes. “She’ll be here in about half an hour.”
Hotch nods. “Okay. And Haley?”
“I gave her the address. She’ll be here sometime tonight,” Penelope adds. “I can’t wait to meet her.” She smiles and Hotch does his best to return it. He can’t bring the left side of his mouth up all the way. It twitches and runs up against the metal plate.
Derek points to Hotch’s stomach. “Is that your blood?”
Hotch looks down, pulling at the front of his shirt. “Partially. Mostly, it’s someone else’s, though. I have some old stitches there that opened up,” he says, but he looks away, anxious.
“Oh, yeah?” Derek pushes. “Can I see?”
Hotch raises an eyebrow at him. “Why?”
“I just want to see, man. Make sure nothing’s wrong.” he raises his hands defensively. He wants to ask why Hotch is being so difficult, but he knows a thing or two about trauma, and he knows defensiveness when he sees it.
Hotch looks at each of them one by one, assessing. Finally, he grabs the bottom of his shirt, lifting slowly. “Here. I’m fine, see?”
JJ gasps and Penelope looks away. Derek feels the same. Hotch’s stomach is a mess of bruises and cuts, but the source of the blood is a series of shallow wounds, all of them tracing the lines of older, much deeper scars. Below that, just above the waistband of his pants, Derek sees the top of another cybernetic addition. It’s fused with his skin, just like on his face, and it appears to make up at least part of his left hip.
Hotch drops his shirt back down, smoothing it with one hand and looking back up at Derek. “Satisfied?” Derek doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know what to say.
Ambassador Prentiss shows up just before five pm. Derek and Emily go out into the kitchen to brief her, leaving JJ, Penelope, and Spencer with Hotch. Hotch is much calmer now that he was out of the ditch and no longer covered in ditch things and bodily fluids, but he’s still pretty on edge. Derek would be, too, in all honesty.
“Emily,” Ambassador Prentiss greets. “Derek. What’s going on? Your phone call was frustratingly vague, to say the least.”
“Hi, Mom,” Emily begins. “So I told you that we found a guy on the street.” Elizabeth nods. “And that we didn’t want to call the police.”
“Mm-hm. That part I’m clear on.”
“We didn’t want to call the police because he’s on the run from some kind of government experiment. Like, human experimentation.” Emily bites her lip, ready to engage if the Ambassador got too excited. They’d gone around many blocks with her highly neurotic mother before, but this just might be that biggest.
Elizabeth just shakes her head. “What? Cyborgs aren’t real, and no government organization I know of is doing human experimentation,” she insists. “It just doesn’t exist. He must be schizophrenic. Emily, this is why you just can’t go around bringing strange men into-”
“You can see the cybernetics, Mom. And he was really hurt. We had to do something, and he’s saying that, if the police find out where he is, the people who did this to him could find him again.” Emily crosses her arms, brokering no argument. “So are you going to help us or not?”
Ambassador Prentiss looks to Derek with her eyebrows raised. Derek just shrugs. “She’s telling the truth. What do you want me to do?”
She sighs, rubbing the space between her eyes. “Alright. Show him to me.”
“Right this way.”