"What happened?" Jack was unaware of what had transpired.
Hotchner briefly recounted their experience: Chester Hardwick, a serial killer, was about to be executed and decided to take advantage of a prison riot to lure two FBI agents to kill him.
This way, given the country's lengthy judicial and investigative processes, he could potentially live for several more years.
According to the execution procedure, he had been placed in 24-hour isolation since the court's notification, an isolation that would continue until he was taken to the execution chamber.
Although the prison was leaky, it hadn't completely severed his contact with other prisoners, such as obtaining intelligence about the riot from Gunnar Card.
But that was all; the solitary isolation policy prevented him from taking action against other prisoners.
"So, you killed him?" Jack glanced at the motionless death row inmate on the ground.
"No, I just strangled him unconscious; it wasn't even as bad as the damage Dr. Reid inflicted on him."
Perhaps it was the narrow escape that allowed Hotchner's tense nerves to relax for a rare mont. He shrugged, smiled, and pointed at Reid.
"Just when I was about to lose control of him, Reid let out a scream like a little girl and then kicked him between the legs."
"That wasn't a girl's scream. A martial artist always makes that sound before he attacks, to intimidate his enemies!" Reid tried his best to defend himself.
"Forgive him, Dr. Reid. Hotchner obviously watched martial arts movies. Never believe those Ching Chong shit."
Jack suppressed a laugh, and said.
The three of them chatted and laughed as they walked out of the prison building. Rossi, along with JJ and Emily, were already waiting for them outside.
"Wow, Hotchner, you should try this wild style more often. I swear Haley will love you."
Emily reached out to straighten Hotchner's disheveled shirt, boldly flirting with her boss.
JJ comforted the still-shaken Reid, ruffled his ssy curls, and then gave Jack a sweet smile.
"Jack, here's your gun and gear." Two SWAT team mbers carried the injured Carlita out on a stretcher, followed by Hondo and Vice-Captain Deacon, each carrying Jack's rifle and his discarded SEAL gear.
"Hotchner, I think it's ti to push for those weapons we requested." Rossi took the HK417 and weighed it in his hand.
"We'll get on it." Hotchner nodded solemnly. Jack had complained about the lack of a dedicated sniper rifle, and he and Rossi had jointly submitted an application.
Of course, they didn't just request a sniper rifle; they wanted an armory and planned to add an extra equipnt cabinet to the Gulfstream business jet.
This way, the BAU mbers wouldn't need to borrow equipnt from local offices or police stations when carrying out missions.
"Thank you, Jack. You know, such seamless cooperation is rare between us and the FBI,"
Hondo said, extending his hand to shake hands with each mber of the BAU. As a SWAT team under the LAPD, they were often outmaneuvered by the FBI's SWAT teams.
While there wasn't much resentnt, being constantly relegated to a subordinate role in an elite unit was bound to breed resentnt.
Jack, an LAPD veteran, had garnered considerable attention, but the operation was still primarily led by their two teams, which were a resounding success.
The LAPD had gained both prestige and glory; both Hondo and his superior, Jessica Cortez, were beaming with joy.
However, their good mood didn't last long, as an annoying fellow appeared.
"You guys really did a huge favor, officer." prison contractor Ash Jones said, quickly approaching Hondo with several reporters.
The man seed to have regained his energy, becoming quite invigorated.
"Actually, I'm a superintendent." Hondo said, completely ignoring his outstretched right hand.
"Ah, my apologies, superintendent." Ash Jones said awkwardly, glancing at the reporters' caras and trying to appear sincere and enthusiastic.
"Thanks to your and your n's efforts, justice has been served. Thank you."
Hondo, his face contorted with rage, tilted his head back, blazing at him.
"What are you thanking us for? Thanking us for saving your sweatshop? For helping you suppress those prisoners so you could continue cramming four or even six people into one cell?"
[A/n: Shitty arc dude, shitty arc, First check your own country before pointing at others, you urine pot carrying fools.]
Ash Jones, enraged by this rciless sarcasm, retorted, "I don't know what you're accusing, superintendent."
The previously listless reporters behind him instantly perked up. They had only been brought in to report on a boring prison riot, but now, after hearing Hondo's words, sensational news headlines like "dark secrets," "sweatshops," and "prisoner human rights" flashed through their minds.
Ash Jones glanced uneasily at the increasingly agitated reporters behind him and uttered a threatening remark.
"You'd better watch your mouth. Defamation is still a cri in this country. Think carefully before you make these accusations, unless you want to deal with my lawyer."
Hondo, enraged, ignored his female boss Jessica Cortez's gentle tugging at his sleeve, trying to stand up for him, and stepped forward to confront Ash Jones head-on.
"Bring it on. I'm ready for your lawyer's letter. I'll tell you what I'll do."
"I'll go to the Departnt of Prisons, I'll go to the City Council, and show everyone the evidence. The warden's death, the nun's suffering—it's all because of you, because of your greed. I'll make you pay for it."
A series of crisp footsteps sounded, and several beautiful figures appeared behind the crowd in high heels.
"Councilor Anderson!" The dia reporters who had been watching the drama began to whisper among themselves, recognizing this rising star in California politics.
"There's absolutely no need for all that trouble. You can just provide with the relevant evidence."
Zoe smiled sweetly, standing gracefully before everyone. Her smooth, fair skin and curvaceous figure made it impossible to believe she was a woman in her thirties, nearing forty.
"Harrison, long ti no see."
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