This is my first fan fiction, so I hope I haven't made any glaring mistakes. One of my pet peeves is reactions which are out of character for the show, so I have tried to stay as close to the show's portrayal of each character as I can. I hope it worked.

I do not own the characters of CSI, they are the sole property of CBS and its subsidiaries.

Greg blinked his eyes groggily, opening them and wincing as blinding light hit his face. He waited while his eyes adjusted and moved his head from side to side, trying to loosen the kinks in his neck. He attempted to move his fingers and was rewarded, though movement and circulation was restricted by the ropes binding his wrists behind him. His ankles were similarly bound to the legs of the rickety chair he was sitting in. While sore, he was grateful to feel no permanent damage or broken bones in his body.

He had a vague recollection of being hit, a searing pain travelling down his spine and then blackness. Muffled voices had reached him through the veil of darkness as he drifted in and out of consciousness. A bumpy ride in a car, perhaps, then nothing.

Looking up, his eyes now adjusted to the sunlight that flooded the sparse room, he spied a ceiling far above him. The light came from a high window, too high to see out of. He quickly dismissed the window as a possibility and focused his gaze on the rest of the room. As he looked around, the fog left his mind and memories came flooding back.

The team was assembled in the break room, ready to receive their assignments. It was the beginning of shift, so their eyes were bright, moods cheerful and there was no need for coffee. Nick and Warrick were animatedly discussing the football season's best and worst plays. Sara was looking over her completed case reports, humming a tune to herself, and Catherine stood rolling her eyes at the boys' heated conversation. Greg looked around at his colleagues and smiled to himself, enjoying the lively buzz of the lab. They looked up as Grissom came to stand in the doorway and turned their attention to him. He adjusted his glasses as he read out loud from the assignments in his hands.

"We appear to have unprecedented carnage tonight. We're going to be spread a bit thin, I'm afraid. Catherine, you have a 419 near the strip. Warrick, you also have a 419 at a strip mall in Henderson, and Nick, 419 at an apartment complex on Seagall Street. Sara, you'll take the 419 at the corner of Dupont and McCray."

Sara raised her eyebrows and whistled under her breath, "Four in one night, that must be some kind of record."

The others nodded in agreement.

"What about me?" asked Greg.

He was jerked out of his recollections by the sound of a key turning in a lock. Greg glanced to his left at the solitary metal door in the wall which was opening, revealing a dark passage, and saw a man step through the doorway into sunlight. He was tall, even for a man, and toned, wearing khaki dress pants and a white shirt with the top button undone. He would not have looked out of place in an African safari, nor did he look like a man who regularly did hard labour. Greg noticed his shoes were dusty. His expression was inscrutable as he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

"Good morning, Greg."

Greg observed him silently, wondering how his captor knew his name.

"A quiet one," smiled the man. "Suit yourself."

The smile did not reach his eyes. They were dead, as if his soul had been removed a long time ago, leaving nothing but cruelty and resolve.

"Let me begin by warning you. I am not your friend, and you cannot dissuade me. Whatever hopes you had of changing my mind, reaching out to the hurt little boy inside, perhaps, will have to be set aside. I will give you the truth right now, and the truth is that you will not survive this ordeal."

Greg's insides froze as the cold words spread out into the room, the warmth of the sunlight suddenly having no effect on him. His stomach was a rolling mass of fear, threatening to engulf him as he silently shook in his restraints. The man's face was impassive as he delivered his pronouncement, but Greg, though fighting with every fibre of his being to negate the thought, believed him.

"If you behave and accept your fate, your final hours will be moderately pleasant. If you resist, as I'm sure you will based on that determined glare you are trying to conceal from me, there will be consequences. I invite you to seriously consider my proposition; once you have decided there will be no recourse."

The man circled Greg and scrutinized the ropes binding him to the chair, checking to see if they were still tight, then looked around the room to make sure there was no debris lying around. Satisfied, he exited the room with a final look at his prisoner.

At the sound of the soft click of the door closing, Greg dropped his head to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the tears and the feeling of despair that first trickled, then broke through and ran shrieking through his mind.