Police in America

Jack used all his skills to tactfully hand the old lady over to an officer for a statement. When he wiped his cold sweat and came outside, the others were gathered in a circle, watching Rossi and Hotchner role-play in the center.

"Now you're Francis Goring, a sadistic torturer, and I'm Henry Foster, your slave, a submissive and bewildered 'giver.'"

Rossi paced back and forth in front of Hotchner, trying to immerse himself in the role.

"I need you to control me. Only then does my life have direction and meaning."

Rossi suddenly pointed at Hotchner, who immediately responded, "Living like this isn't bad, but then one day, I blew myself up. I died."

"You died, and I lost you. I also lost my self-identity because my self-identity was tied to you."

Jack found Rossi's current manic state interesting, like he was performing in a stage play. Hotchner, on the other hand, kept a straight face, reluctantly playing along at first, but his eyes gradually brightened, seemingly getting into character as well.

Jack quietly took out his phone to take a sneaky video. Emily and Jie Jie were giggling on the side, as if wanting to say, "those who see this should share it." Reid seemed unsure whether to stop them or if he found it amusing too.

"You already had a dissociative identity disorder, which worsened after losing your lover," Hotchner continued.

Rossi stared into Hotchner's eyes. "Now I'm alone."

"But you hate yourself," Hotchner replied, also staring back.

"Yes, but why?" Rossi muttered.

"Because I brainwashed you with my philosophy. I kept telling you that you were worthless without me."

Hotchner stood with his hands in his pockets, reciting as if he were Francis Goring.

"Exactly," Rossi grew more excited.

"So I went home, destroyed everything that reminded me of who I was. I annihilated myself just to become you. It was the only way I could survive."

The four spectators felt chills. Jack suddenly thought of a term: "possession."

According to Rossi and Hotchner's theory, when Henry Foster learned of Francis Goring's death, he transformed himself into Francis.

In a sense, when Francis Goring detonated the grenade, his soul entered Henry Foster's body, replacing him and achieving a form of resurrection.

"If he thinks like Francis... Oh my god, I know where he's going," Emily pulled out an evidence bag from her bag, containing the photo Reid had taken from the fridge earlier.

"Reid, do you remember those early home videos we found at his place?"

Reid seemed to catch on too. "Francis talked about some king living high up, watching invaders, and mentioned arming himself to protect his territory."

He took the photo from Emily and pointed to the large rock in the picture. "Could it be he's treating this place as his castle?"

"Let's find out," Hotchner called the nearby sheriff.

"Sheriff, do you know where this photo was taken?"

The sheriff took the photo, squinted at it, and then recognized the massive rock in the picture.

"This is Black Hawk Point. The militia used it as a training base until it was banned."

"Sheriff, we must assume Henry Foster will act like Francis. He has a hostage and is armed."

"If he's cornered, he won't just die willingly; he'll try to take as many of us with him as possible, just like Francis did with the fallen officer."

Hotchner started giving orders.

The sheriff, impressed by the BAU team's performance, nodded repeatedly. "Alright, what do you need? I'll do my best to provide it."

"A guide familiar with the terrain, enough people to block the roads, and your best sharpshooter."

Hotchner then looked at Jack. "It's time to bring out your new toy. I hope you're as accurate with it as you are with your handgun."

Jack shrugged, feeling no pressure. His only worry was that his 16-inch barrel HK417 might not be accurate enough at long distances.

The 20-inch barrel HK417 was a proper sniper rifle, while the one he had was only a designated marksman rifle.

Fortunately, he had a box of M118LR sniper rounds and advanced skills, which should suffice for most situations.

However, this made Jack note that now that he wasn't short on money, he could afford to buy a proper sniper rifle and scope. The FBI would cover the cost for future missions if he demonstrated the ability, and both Rossi and Hotchner would help him request new equipment.

The mountain road to the canyon area was rough. After nearly an hour of bumps, they finally arrived near the massive rock known as Black Hawk Point.

From the photo, it looked like a giant rock, but up close, it was more like an isolated cliff.

Standing at least fifty or sixty meters high, it was barren and steep, with no vegetation. Climbing from the back would take a long time, and the front was even more challenging.

Then Jack saw an unexpected familiar face.

"Harris Townsend? What are you doing here?"

"The sheriff said you needed the best sharpshooter here, and that's me," the old white man said, lifting an 8x scoped Remington M700 from the back seat.

"Is this okay? He's a civilian," Hotchner asked the sheriff.

"You asked for the best, and he's the best. A former Special Forces sniper who knows this terrain better than anyone. I vouch for him."

The sheriff took off his cowboy hat, glaring at the cliff. "My men have already spotted him on the summit, on the other side of the ridge. Finish this quickly and bring peace back to this place."

Jack opened the trunk, took out his HK417, checked it carefully, then loaded it with five sniper rounds and another magazine of regular ammo.

"Wow, another German gun. Is it any good?" Harris asked cheekily.

Jack rolled his eyes. "It's definitely better than your .223 Remington. With the wind here, what if you miss?"

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