Reid was still shaking his head, in complete and utter shock. The name of that place had kept him awake at night, tossing and turning in fits in his sleep. For weeks after, he hadn't slept properly, had woken up near screaming on the jet and in hotel rooms as well as at his own place, and, as a last resort, Hotch had even put him through a psych evaluation to ensure he was healthy.
If there was one problem with having an eidetic photographic memory, it was that it retained everything - including the bad, the horrific, and the gorey. He still remembered being trapped in that bunker whilst watching other captives tortured on television screens. He had chalked it up to a nightmare - a horribly realistic nightmare - because that was the only thing his logical mind could do. It was better than the alternatives, which were that it was actually real, or that, worse, it was some sort of... schizophrenic hallucinagenic episode.
But now, he was back. And, evaluating the situation, it did not feel like a dream or a hallucination at all. It felt painfully real. He swallowed, trembling and shaking violently, and rubbed his temples.
"I... I was here before, it... it felt like a dream, well, we-well, it didn't, it felt real, but it... it had to be a dream, it's... this place is..." He swallowed thickly, obviously distressed.
"It-it's some sort of experiment... the last time I was here, they... they locked us in a bunker... t-tortured some of us, and... and we had to watch, it... I, I don't know what they want or... or what they're doing or how they're doing it or how they got us here, b-but..."