Note: "All I got, 12 people comments for my fanfic, I thought there will be at least 25 comments at the end of the chapter, it seems my readers list is very small like my Luck."
Gideon, eyes sharp, rallied the BAU team in Seattle's FBI office, the clock ticking on the Seattle Strangler case. "I'm hitting the latest body dump for clues—motives, anything," he said.
"Reid, Hotchner, check the hostage victim's house for leads."
Raja, lounging with a coffee, caught Gideon's nod. "You and Morgan stay here, dig into the dump sites—patterns, distances, isolated spots."
Raja grinned, "On it, Gid—let's map this creep."
MAYA: "Master, you're way too chill for a manhunt."
Raja sipped, "Chaos keeps me zen."
While Gideon trudged through muddy dump grounds and Reid-Hotchner duo scoured the victim's home, Raja and Morgan pored over maps and photos in the office. Raja's brain, humming at 25%, traced body sites—alleys, warehouses, wooded lots—clocking distances and vibes.
"All isolated, no cameras, near prisons or guard routes," he muttered, circling spots. Morgan raised an eyebrow, "You're buying your own prison guard theory?"
Raja smirked, "It's not a theory—it's math."
Reid called in: the victim was nabbed test-driving a used car, likely the killer's. Morgan whistled, "Kid's 30% less crazy now."
At 4 PM, Gideon delivered the profile: White male, 20's, prison return, disciplined, psychotic, intelligent, calculative, control freak, methodical. The Bureau scrambled, pulling names matching the mold.
That night, Elle Greenaway went undercover as a babysitter, knocking on suspect Richard Slessman's door his grandmother Opened it. "Hello, I came for babysitting job next door but the door is unlock and lights are off can you send any one to check the house with me."
Richard Slessman, lanky and nervous, followed—big mistake. Elle flipped him like a pancake, cuffing him as SWAT stormed his place, hunting for Heather, the fifth victim. No dice—house was clean, no girl.
Raja and Morgan swept Slessman's room, baffled. Metallic Music Cds, posters, a kid's vibe—not a killer's den.
Morgan frowned, "This ain't a man's room—profile's off."
Agents tinkered with Slessman's laptop, locking it with a six-try password limit. "Genius move," Raja snorted.
Gideon and Hotchner, back from finding the killer's car, noted Slessman's scrawny frame—no defensive wounds, too weak for a fight.
"He doesn't fit," Hotchner said. In the attic, Reid uncovered Slessman's Go board—self-played, aggressive moves.
"He's no mastermind," Reid mused.
Raja, flipping through a book, found a newspaper clipping of Gideon's old case—dead officers. Tension spiked; Gideon's face darkened, storming off to grill Slessman.
In the bedroom, Morgan called tech support for the laptop—dead end.
Raja sauntered in, shaking the machine like a maraca.
Morgan snapped, "Yo, kid, that's evidence—not a toy!"
Raja's grin turned wicked, sending chills down Morgan's spine. "Watch and learn," he said, flicking a pin from nowhere—sleight-of-hand, not magic—and popping the CD drive.
A disc slid out. Morgan, Reid, and Elle gaped, stunned by the parlor trick.
MAYA: "Showboat."
Raja eyed the CD case, smirk growing. "Sandman," he muttered, strolling to the interrogation room.
Gideon, fuming at Slessman's taunts about his past, didn't notice Raja nudge him aside.
"My turn," Raja said, plopping down, laptop open.
He typed "Sandman"—bingo, it unlocked.
A live feed flickered: Heather, caged, alive, struggling.
The team buzzed—angry, ready to pounce.
Raja leaned in, voice low, eyes piercing Slessman. "Listen, Richie, I don't care how you involved in this—you're no killer just pawn for some one. You're just helping some Fucker thinking you Owe him something but you don't, I know a Prison Guard helped you form Bullies in prison, and I don't play nice when women or kids are involved. So my patience is limited, Name Of the guard and give me Heather's cage Location—now."
Slessman squirmed, Raja's glare boring through him like a laser. "Tim Vogel," he choked. "Shipyard."
Raja stood, smiling, "See, folks? That's how you crack a pawn."
Gideon clapped his shoulder, impressed. The team split—Gideon, Raja, Elle to the prison for Vogel;
Morgan, Reid, Hotchner to the shipyard for Heather.
At the prison, confirmation came: Heather was safe.
Raja strutted up to Tim Vogel, a burly guard, and grinned. "Yo, heard the psycho killer's got small-dick vibes—is that true?"
Vogel flinched, bolting. Raja moved—ninja-swift—tackling him, one punch lights-out.
Elle cuffed Vogel, shaking her head, "Kid's unreal."
Back at the office, Morgan grinned, "Quantum thinking, Raja—how'd you crack password 'Sandman'?"
Raja shrugged, "Richie's Metallica obsession, insomnia vibes—'Enter Sandman' was his prayer we have 5 more chances if I fail so I got lucky I guess." The team laughed, toasting his smarts.
Raja peeled off to his hotel, buzzing from the win. In the lobby, a woman caught his eye—curves defying gravity, hourglass perfection.
Raja tailed her to the bar lounge, memory tingling. "Seen her somewhere…"
He slid up, ordering a martini, "Shaken, not stirred," winking like a budget Bond.
She laughed—score. "Drink?" he offered.
She nodded, and they settled in a VIP room, sipping cocktails. "Raja Wyllt," he said, "billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. And you, sexy oneesan?"
She smiled, "Courtney Leopold, businesswoman, art lover."( pic on comment)
Raja's brain pinged—liar. He clocked her as a con artist, solo, and no partner yet. Game on.
They chatted, Courtney spinning tales of paintings and condos, angling to fleece him. Raja played along, nodding at her economic jargon, then upped the ante. "Let's talk deals in my penthouse—better vibe."
Her eyes gleamed, catching his drift, and she agreed.
As they entered his penthouse suite, he hugged her from behind, squeezed her tits, and started to kiss her aggressively, and she also showed the same aggressiveness back by kissing him.
They ripped each other's clothes and started to touch each other's assets, and when he saw her heavenly, curvaceous, hourglass body, he couldn't control himself and started to fuck her hardcore in every position he knew.
He even mixed an energy potion in her drinks for extreme durability and even made her work on his pole with her mouth and curves.
Next afternoon, Courtney woke to a maid holding coffee and a letter. Her gut sank as she read Raja's words: "Good afternoon, Courtney—guess it's late. Hotel's paid, no worries. Last night was fire—few women match my vibe, and you're one. Forgot to mention: I'm a part-time P.I. with billions. My skills say you're a con artist, and Courtney Leopold ain't your name. No judgment, but you've got skills—real business potential. This letter's got a card for Beth at Shadow Corp. Meet her. She's tough, but prove yourself to her, and you're set—no more cons, no criminal life. Your call. —Raja Wyllt." Courtney's jaw dropped, stunned by his read and his offer.
Raja, already out, dialed Beth. "Yo, Sugar Mommy, got a prospect—Courtney, con artist with best persuasion skills. Test her for Shadow Corp. If she's really prove herself, hire her."
Beth sighed, "Stop calling me that—but fine, I'll check her out, I bet she has Big Tits."
Raja grinned, chaos sown, ready for the next adventure.
To Be Continued…