Read "Archy and the Moth." It's a poem, and you might want to have some knowledge. Yes, it's being crammed down your throat. Again.

TheChoice

In a quiet office, a phone began to ring.

It began as a normal day. Normal sun, normal trees, normal work. Normal flirtatious bantering between the boss and the subordinate. Normal lovey-dovey mushiness between two agents. Normal quiet observances of human patterns by a silent watcher. It was an altogether normal day. Of course, when things are this normal, things usually become unnormal. No one knew if this would happen, but someone far, far away did. Well, he didn't know per say; it was more of a decision. Did he take the drastic, dramatic route, and play the moth? Or would it be better to bide his time, and stretch out the fun, like Archy? Both sounded okay, but it was a hard decision. A hard decision indeed. He decided to fix a cup of tea and sleep on it for a few hours. He'd make his decision at eight tonight.

At approximately eight twenty, Lisbon clicked off the light in her office. It was time to go home. She made it a rule to go home by eight every night. The only reason why she had stayed was those three last pieces of paper on her desk. It would be a shame to have them sitting there overnight. They might have little paper babies, as Lisbon suspected all these years. So they were dutifully filled out and placed in the out box. A triumphant strut to the elevator followed.

Ten minutes later, a phone rang, breaking the silence of the quiet office. It went to the answering machine, and a quiet male voice could be heard, speaking.

As Jane walked in the next morning, Rigsby snorted. "Jane, someone's left you a message."

"Really?" He paused. Who could it be? No one ever called him. He shrugged, and jabbed at the blinking button lazily.

A male voice was projected from the small phone. As soon as Jane heard the voice, his body began to do many strange things. His teeth clenched, eyes narrowed, and fists curled. Inside his body, his heart beat faster, and his blood pressure shot through the roof. All because of the voice and what it said:

"Hello, Mister Jane. I assume you know who I am." There was a long pause. A dead silent pause. Then it continued:

"I grow weary of all this cloak and dagger business. Therefore, I give you a choice. I plan to reveal myself by the end of the month. There are two ways I can do it. I can kill one person each day until the 31st, leaving a trail of blood in my wake. Or I can kill one person on the 30th, and come to the CBI for capture on the 31st. Except that one person will be you, Mr. Jane. Essentially, I am asking you to sacrifice yourself for ten people. Today is the 17th. To inform me of your decision, please call 800-273-8255. Police surveillance will void the deal. Choose wisely." A click signified the end of the call.

All the activity in the bullpen had stopped, and all were staring at Jane. Jane could feel their eyes burning into him. He wished he could just hide. Instead, he stuffed his trembling hands deep into his pockets and tried to calm himself. Things had officially gone to hell.