I Don't Want to Die Tonight

DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI or any of its characters.

I hear the radio crackle loudly in the car, signaling an armed robbery at a local bank. My training makes me grab for the keys and down my coffee in a single gulp, revving up the engine and taking off at a speed illegal for everyone else. My aging partner holds the handle near the window tightly, speaking code into the radio as I pull a turn and break onto the main road.

I hate busy nights.

We screech around another corner, seeing more squad cars up ahead. I guess that's the bank. I retain information differently depending on the occasion. Quick callouts like these are on a need-to-know basis. When I'm detecting, as a colleague once put it, I take in everything. Sights, smells, sounds, textures and sometimes tastes are all part of my investigative pallet. I suppose that comes from my former employment of being a CSI.

I see the bank and pull a stunt manoeuvre into the main parking lot, right near the steps of the grand bank. My partner and I hop out of the car, rushing towards the entrance. I'm the first to reach the top of the steps, as I'm more agile and much more youthful than my friend. I hear the yelling from inside and duck behind one of the pillars outside of the building.

I won't go in first, my partner Brass would chew me out again.

I watch as seven of our cops rush into the building. Shots are fired, and I'm immediately reminded of Officer Bell. I was terrified when I thought I killed him. The horror of killing an innocent soul, one so fresh on the job, made me rethink a lot of things I shouldn't have really been thinking about.

Instead of sulking, I held my head up and stuck by Brass.

That's what being a partner is for, right? You can't be detached, you have to work in harmony and be able to push their buttons so that each of you performs at top level, despite age or fatigue. You also have to be able to joke around. Brass is like a father to me, as my father died after I was fifteen.

But right now is definitely not the time to be thinking of that.

Brass gives me the nod, and we charge the doors, ducking low and weaving in and out of cover behind pillars and overturned desks. More shots are fired, and now I'm completely aware of where the three robbers are. One has a heavy-duty shotgun, while the others have pistols. I signal at Brass about the robbers, and he nods, basically telling me to stay put.

I don't think I'll argue with him yet.

I hear a loud blast, and immediately know that this has to end now, or lives could be lost. I dodge around my cover to the side, the robbers not noticing my swift evasion. I roll behind a desk and set up my shot. I don't really want to kill them. They all have lives just as I do, and though they've gone down the wrong path, they don't deserve to die.

But I don't want to die tonight.

As I fire my three perfectly aimed shots, the passive shell of a woman that was left behind after Officer Bell's death is gone, replaced by who I was before this all happened. The robbers hit the ground one by one, each thud a reminder of my job.

My name is Sofia Curtis. I'm a Detective for the Las Vegas Crime Lab. This is my job, and I have to do it if I don't want to die tonight.

FIN