It's five to eleven, a cool breeze begins to descend from the night sky. It doesn't bother him, as he exits his vehicle with his camera in hand. He grabs his kit and walks towards the crime scene, spitting into a small puddle. The song he was listening to in the car continues on in his head, though it finally ends as he speaks to the officer on scene.

The crime scene is a wide, open area. He begins to focus on the "body," laying out the evidence markers and taking photos.

"Have any idea how long it's going to take you to get this stuff out of here?" the officer asks, as the putrid stench of body parts lingers in the air around them.

"Well, I can't move the, uh...the "body" until the coroner releases the scene. It's a busy night. It's probably gonna take a while, man."

The officer asks to step away, obviously perturbed by the smell. "Take your time," he told him. He's in no rush, which means the officer shouldn't be in any rush. He takes out some gum and begins to chew. It's going to be a long, slow night, what could possibly go wrong?

The world is dark, but the sound of tires on pavement and the purr of a car engine hums beneath him. His head rolls, and he can feel the soft fibers brush against his lips. A red tint glows through his eyelids. He finds the energy to open his eyes for a brief moment before they fall shut again. He feels heavy, time seems to move slower. He feels like he has lost time, has it been hours, maybe even days since he was last at that alley?

He tries to sit up, but is unable to use his hands for leverage. They are bound together at the wrists, his fingers only seem to touch the other hand. He tries to break his wrists apart, but a thin band-maybe a zip tie is binding them together. He tries to look behind him, to get a better look at the situation but is unable to. He looks at his surroundings, the blur in his vision is starting to fade. He's in the trunk of a car, possibly an SUV based on the space he's allowed to move in. He tries to quiet himself, limit his movements as the car begins to slow down.

Using his legs, he turns his body and is able to lift himself up against the back of the seats. The car comes to a stop and he hears the opening of a door. He lifts up his feet, if his abductor opens the trunk door, he'll try to kick him away and escape.

He waits, counting down the seconds as the beep of the "door open" alarm ticks away. He can't hear any movement or see any figures through the back window, where could the abductor be-

He begins to stir once again, the sounds of the car are gone. A soft whirring noise waves through his right ear. He lifts up his arms, which are no longer bound together. He lifts up his head, but it almost instantly bounces against a hard surface. He drops his head back down, touching his forehead with his hand. He tries to sit up again, and is again stopped by the hard surface in front of him. There is a faint green glow surrounding him, but it is hard to make out his surroundings in the dim light.

He pauses for a moment, trying to focus but his vision is still blurry-he must have been drugged again. He again tries to move, to sit up, but the space surrounding him is tight. His arms and legs meet the same block that his head did. He winces as he searches for the source of the green glow, and feels something move against his armpit. The glow was right next to him, he picks it up and uses the glow stick to examine his surroundings.

He lifts his chest up to look towards his feet, there seems to be a round circle between his feet, and another one that has a grated cover to his right.

He glances at the watch on his wrist, it's half past midnight.

He lost almost an hour and a half, he groans as he uses his hands to find what lies on his left side.

It's his gun. He checks his ammo, still fully loaded. He re-assembles the gun and sighs in relief that it wasn't used.

He continues to observe his surroundings, as the effects of the drugging continue to fade away. He seems to be surrounded by the same surface, his knuckles knock against it and it feels like glass, but tougher. He waves the glow stick closer to the surface on his left side, and can see what lies behind the surface.

His heart sinks to his feet, his breathing becomes faster, deeper. Dirt lies behind his left side, his right side, the top of the box, the bottom near his feet, all sides of his enclosure are surrounded in dirt. He's been put in a box, presumably underground.

His chest rises quickly as adrenaline begins to flow through his body, he sets down his right arm, and find that something was left there, too. His hand fumbles around, trying to grasp it. Using the glow stick, he is finally able to find the object and bring it closer to him for examination. It's a tape recorder.

He examines it, to see if there is any sort of label or indication of what the tape might contain. Has somebody been recording his panicked breathing, his movements? Was Nigel Crane released from prison, or did he escape? Is the tape blank, with the intention that he would use it to document his experiences? Or is there a message on the tape, someone telling him who took him, why he's here, maybe that this is some sort of prank or cruel test?

He presses the play button, and stares at his green reflection as he listens. He doesn't recognize the voice.

"Hi, CSI guy. You wondering why you're here? Because you followed the evidence. Because that's what CSIs do. So breathe quick, breathe slow, put your gun in your mouth and pull the trigger. Any way you like, you're going to die here...Okay."

The tape finishes with a click, and his whole body begins to shake. The full gravity of the situation begins to set in, the drugs have completely worn off. He needs to find a way to escape-and fast.

He struggles against the top of the box, maybe it will budge if he uses both arms.

It doesn't work.

He flips his body over, maybe the bottom of the box has some sort of latch.

It doesn't work.

He tries to lift the top of the box again, maybe the dirt is an illusion and he's not actually underground?

It still doesn't work.

He begins to cry out, maybe someone can hear him if he screams loud enough?

But as his screams turn into sobs, he knows he could be buried anywhere in the vast Nevada (hell, maybe even beyond Nevada?) landscape, and there's a good chance nobody will ever find him. The man on the tape is right, he is going to die here.