Las Plagas

Summary: Grissom takes it upon himself to solve the mystery of the strange disease that's infecting Las Vegas. But is his unhealthy curiosity risking his staff? Tiny Resident Evil 4 crossover, but don't let that put you off.

Author's Note: I promised Kegel I'd post this on Halloween. So... here's the prologue. I'll try and keep up with my regular posting. Enjoy. :o)

Resident Evil 4 Note: Please note that if you are familiar with Resident Evil 4, I have completely altered the Las Plagas and Luis Sera to suit the needs of this story. So it's probably better if you aren't familiar with RE4 because otherwise you might kill me for bastardizing it.

Prologue

Gil Grissom put on his glasses, his brow furrowed as he agonized over the photographs of the corpses that had been cropping up all over Las Vegas. The mayor was denying it, even the sheriff told him not to look into it, which made Ecklie nervous every time he walked past Grissom's office and noticed what he was doing. But Ecklie, for maybe the second time in his career, did nothing to stop Grissom from his research, probably because Ecklie knew as well as he did that there was something gravely wrong in this town, a deathly dark rain cloud that hovered on the horizon.

Something was lurking beneath the exuberant surface of Sin City, and it was far from beautiful.

It ate the insides of its victims, at least that was according to Dr. Robbins, before he had taken a mysterious leave of absence. At first, Grissom had postulated that it was some sort of wild animal attack that ripped open the stomachs of these people and tore out their entrails. But the Doc said no, that it was something else, something that left everything but the nerves in carnage, and he couldn't tell Grissom why. But he did tell Grissom that the unsightly stomach wounds had been made from something bursting out rather than burrowing in, "Ala the Alien movies," as he'd put it.

But it didn't make sense. According to Dr. Robbins, they weren't dealing with an animal, at least not with any animal they could recognize. So it wasn't some Las Vegas Sasquatch, it was something far more sinister simply because it had no name. Things were always more frightening when they were nameless, because it showed how little humans knew of it. Humans named things to know them, it was their nature. They had to know, because a lack of knowledge was a thing to fear. Evolution had ensured that the greatest tool to mankind's survival was his mind, and if a nameless predator could outwit him, then he was doomed.

"Gil—"

He looked up and his frown deepened as he saw his friend and colleague, Dr. Albert Robbins, clinging to the doorframe, panting and pale, his eyes sunken in his face. Grissom jumped to his feet.

"What's wrong?" he demanded instantly, skipping formalities.

Dr. Robbins closed his eyes and stumbled into the room. It was to Grissom's utter shock to find that he was deathly weak.

"Al, let me help you…" he began, rounding the side of his desk and gripping Dr. Robbins' arm. He helped the doctor into a chair and frowned. "Where have you been? You don't look good."

"I'm infected," Dr. Robbins explained, and Grissom instinctively took a step back, but Dr. Robbins laughed again. "You don't have to worry," he breathed. "It's not contagious. At least, not by touching me."

"What is it?" Grissom asked, half out of morbid curiosity, and half out of petrified concern.

"Sit," Dr. Robbins ordered. "Before I lose control over my mouth."

"I don't get it…" Grissom began, but sat down nevertheless.

"You've got to keep going, Gil," Dr. Robbins said, his gaze piercing. "I tried, I did, the… the research is at my apartment, but I can't work anymore."

"You shouldn't be working in your condition—"

"I had to," Dr. Robbins insisted. He took a deep, rattling breath. "I had to because… Because Gil, I'm the only living specimen we have."

"What did you find?" Grissom asked. "Is it a virus? Bacteria? Can we fight it?"

"No," Dr. Robbins panted, "to all of the above. Except maybe to the last one. It's a parasite, which starts out the size of a protist organism after it's hatched. It takes up residence in the bloodstream, I…" He closed his eyes and seemed to shake a moment. "I took the liberty of procuring some samples and freezing them for you so they don't progress further. You can see the stages they go through from birth to maturation, it takes about six weeks to complete its cycle, or that's what I've deduced by the way its progressing. I would have brought some things with me, but I could barely get here on my own. You'll have to go to my house, it's all there, it will tell you everything."

"Al…" Grissom whispered, heartbroken. "Al, how did this happen to you?"

Dr. Robbins shook his head and Grissom noticed he was shaking. "Not sure," he said. "I think I was infected when I came in contact with the bodies. Probably the first one that came in if the time line serves."

Chills ran down Grissom's spine. "That was over a month ago…" he breathed.

Dr. Robbins nodded. "I figure I have about maybe a week left," he said. "But in case I underestimated the strength of the thing… I just wanted to… let you know." He began coughing rather violently and quickly seized a handkerchief before covering his mouth. Grissom was a little wary of this extra precaution, until he realized that the handkerchief was covered in blood.

Grissom leapt to his feet again. "Good God, Al, we need to get you to a hospital!"

But Robbins, his breathing labored, leaned back in the chair and slowly shook his head. "There's nothing they can do," he panted. "I can feel them crawling under my skin, Gil…" He straightened up laboriously so he could look Grissom in the eye. "One… important detail you should know, and I haven't worked this out yet, but… But in the last week, you begin to lose basic motor functions. Your arms twitch, your head looks one way when you want it to look the other, and then…" His eyes traveled down to his fingers, which were flexing and unflexing. Grissom watched his hand too. "And then they begin to move on their own. I don't know what is exactly sending the signal out. For all I know, I could be doing it subconsciously, or it could just be a side effect of my deteriorating nerves, but…" His fingers continued to flex, slowly, deliberately, as if they were testing the waters, and Dr. Robbins did not look away. "It has a sort of… calculated feel to its movements. As if… something else is controlling it."

Doctor Robbins wrist slowly turned, and he began drumming his finger tips on the edge of the chair. At first, it was quite disjointed, but eventually he found a rhythm, and his hand seemed to delight in it.

Something occurred to Grissom. "Why do you think the mayor is against looking into this?"

"Maybe it's not our job…" Dr. Robbins postulated, his voice hoarse. "Maybe it's some top secret experiment that real doctors are working on…" He started coughing again.

Grissom smiled sadly. "You're a real doctor."

When Dr. Robbins was finished, he smiled up at Grissom. It was an eerie sight, like seeing a skeleton grin. "But you're not."

Grissom laughed quietly. "We'll fix this," he vowed. "We'll get you better."

But the smile fled Dr. Robbins features. "No you won't," he whispered seriously. "There's not enough time for me. But fix it, before it continues to spread."

Now Grissom was deeply troubled. "Don't give up on me Al."

Dr. Robbins closed his eyes. "I started the research," he muttered. "You have to finish it."

He slowly and painfully rose to his feet, and Grissom helped him. "Please, Al… Go home, get some rest."

"I intend to," Dr. Robbins told him, but there was a strange finality to his tone.

"I don't want to be investigating your death," Grissom said quietly.

Dr. Robbins said nothing for a long time. He frowned and seemed to concentrate very hard. And with much effort it seemed, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope before handing it to Grissom.

Grissom took it and looked over it quizzically. "This just happened this evening. They haven't called it in yet. Send some of your guys over there, or go yourself, but it's a fresh kill, which means a few parasites could still be swimming in his blood stream."

Grissom frowned. "How did you…?"

"I went over to his apartment and found him dead," Dr. Robbins replied quietly. "He contacted me a few weeks ago, somehow knew what I was doing. He wanted me to cure him. But I couldn't."

Dr. Robbins turned and stumbled towards the door. He seemed to be relying on his cane more than usual. He paused in the doorway, Grissom's eyes burning holes in his back. "You… Probably won't see me again," he said.

Grissom's eyes were dry, for the moment at least, but he felt his stomach lurch. "We'll figure this out, Al. We'll…"

But they both knew it was a lie.

So Grissom looked down at his desk, then up again. "We'll miss you," he said instead.

He saw Dr. Robbins nod, slowly, before he disappeared into the dark.