Yeah, my first CSI fanfic that isn't a crossover with Fullmetal Alchemist, and my first fanfic that doesn't involve the Fullmetal Alchemist characters at all. Of course, I did meet my friend on a FMA fan site, so… -cough- anyway, this will have nothing to do with Fullmetal Alchemist except for maybe some references, so if you have no idea what I'm talking about, then that's okay! Yeah. -cough-
So, um, if you're reading this, I want to 1. Give you a big hug and cookies for being brave and 2. Apologize profusely. See, I got the idea for this when I found out that one of my internet buddies has lived in both Miami and Vegas, and considering her personality… yeah, she's insane and evil. Perfect CSI villain. I'm pretty much writing this for her, so if you don't frolic around our forum and you don't get the jokes… Then that's why…? Yeah.
Hopefully it won't be too weird…
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Vegas. The flashy shiny lights and the big loud things and the buildings that I sure as hell haven't seen the likes of except for those rare occasions in which I get the hell out of that small town in the middle of Colorado and get to a city that isn't Albuquerque (Denver sorta counts, I suppose…) were doing their usual thing, and the less impressive buildings were doing their usual thing as well. Or perhaps I should say, the people within the buildings were doing their usual thing. Yes, that seems to be best.
However, one person in a certain building wasn't doing his usual thing, unless he made it a point to die on a regular basis. However, the only person who has been capable of dying on a regular basis is Kyler, my alternate personality who may or may not appear in this story because his personality and general character is, shall I say, under construction.
Anyway, I really should shut up now, so I'll just get to it. Frank Monroe, an unfortunate twenty-five-year-old who lived a few miles from the Strip, had been walking down the bright city streets, minding his own business, when all of a sudden he was yanked off the street and pressed against a wall. He looked with fear at the monster that held him so high up in the air. He felt something sharp pressing against his throat, and moments later, as the blood flowed from the open wound, he noticed the distinct taste of mustard in his mouth. He heard distant laughter and thought of that creepy show his cousin watched last summer.
And then he died.
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"Well, this is odd," Gil Grissom remarked as he shone his flashlight on the vic.
"What?" Warrick Brown asked from his nearby position.
"He's got 'I… God' written on his face in a dry, crusty yellow substance of some sort."
"I, God?"
"There's a strange symbol between the 'I' and the 'God,'" Grissom explained. "It looks like a sideways V and a 3, or actually…" Grissom tilted his head. "A sideways heart."
"Internet lingo, huh?" Warrick shone his flashlight on the body. "Well, I don't know why someone would write that on a dead guy's face, but it looks like the yellow substance is mustard."
"Mustard?"
"I spilled some on the table before I came into work the other day, didn't have time to clean it up all the way. When I got back, it looked just like this."
Grissom looked behind the vic's head. There was something metal on the ground, and Grissom picked it up with a gloved hand. Warrick shone his flashlight on it.
"Materva."
"It looks like it's got some blood on it," Grissom pointed out.
"Well, there aren't a ton of places that sell Materva around here. It's a Cuban soda, only places that really sell it are Hispanic markets."
"Mustard and Materva," Grissom muttered to himself before looking up at Warrick. "I think our killer might have been hungry."
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And yeah, about the title… it will be explained soon enough. Once again, I apologize if this weirds you out…