"One tiny boiling tube... well, not that tiny..." Greg Sanders whispered eerily
to himself as he spun slowly around on his chair," What secrets could you
possibly hold?" He scrutinized the glassy surface, grimacing as he wiped a mark
from it, before continuing in mystic revelations (and revolutions).
"Ah, you will not talk, mysterious carbon compound?" Greg glided over to a
bunsen burner on the far side of his lab, "I think I might be able to change your mind
about that. They all change their minds... hahahahahaHAHAHAHA!" With as much
finesse as he could muster, the sandy-haired labtech let the tube slip through
his fingers. It splashed into a conveniently waiting beaker of boiling water, sending
drops of steaming liquid onto his hands.
"Aaaah! You are a fool Mr Compound, if you think your water is any match for
my," he flourished his hands, "Completely safe latex-substitute gloves!"
The boiling-tube sat nonchalantly in the 98 degrees celsius water.
Greg narrowed his dark eyes and leaned in towards the apparatus, "Speak!"
There was not a single noise in the lab, not surprising, seeing as it was around
2a.m.
"No?" Greg grabbed some tongs and made exagerrated jabbing movements near to
the tube,"Aaaah," he mimicked.
"AAAAaaaaaah!" The sound of Greg's mock-scream travelled down the hall to another
lab...
Catherine dropped her elaborately-constructed reconstruction of something very
elaborate and raced out into the Office Corridor before she regained her senses.
Carefully, she removed her gun from its holster (she always armed herself when
she worked nights). There were no lights on in any of the labs, just a distant
flicker in Greg-land.
"Greg?" Catherine hissed foolishly, "Are you there?" There was a whiff of
smoke.
The frightened CSI carefully searched for an alarm button to summon the
police. "Heck," she thought, "I *am* the police!" But the call was too strong,
those newly installed buttons were just so important-looking... so forbidden.
Greg examined the mess of crushed glass on the floor, testing it with a furitive
step of his foot.
*crunch* He made a mental note to never pretend to stab a boiling tube again.
"Dammit... once you were a man, now..." he furrowed his brow and then
swivelled towards his microscope.
*smash*
"What now?" his action had upset the beaker, the one he'd filled with water,
and now it glinted smarmily on the floor, "Sort of like Nick will when Grissom
finds out about this", he thought to himself gloomily.
*CRUNCHSMASH*
"Not agai..." Greg froze, one hand in midair. He hadn't touched anything this
time. Now footsteps were racing towards him, and urgent voices. His mind was
flurry of confusion, he sat dumbly on the swivel-chair, waiting for the end.
Well, waiting for whatever it was he was waiting for. "Please... god... I can
be a theologist and a scientist, can't I? Please make this not the mafia." God
could have granted that wish, for at the same moment a SWAT team burst halfway
through the LAb doorway, illuminating a startled face in torchlight.
"Hi... guys..."
to himself as he spun slowly around on his chair," What secrets could you
possibly hold?" He scrutinized the glassy surface, grimacing as he wiped a mark
from it, before continuing in mystic revelations (and revolutions).
"Ah, you will not talk, mysterious carbon compound?" Greg glided over to a
bunsen burner on the far side of his lab, "I think I might be able to change your mind
about that. They all change their minds... hahahahahaHAHAHAHA!" With as much
finesse as he could muster, the sandy-haired labtech let the tube slip through
his fingers. It splashed into a conveniently waiting beaker of boiling water, sending
drops of steaming liquid onto his hands.
"Aaaah! You are a fool Mr Compound, if you think your water is any match for
my," he flourished his hands, "Completely safe latex-substitute gloves!"
The boiling-tube sat nonchalantly in the 98 degrees celsius water.
Greg narrowed his dark eyes and leaned in towards the apparatus, "Speak!"
There was not a single noise in the lab, not surprising, seeing as it was around
2a.m.
"No?" Greg grabbed some tongs and made exagerrated jabbing movements near to
the tube,"Aaaah," he mimicked.
"AAAAaaaaaah!" The sound of Greg's mock-scream travelled down the hall to another
lab...
Catherine dropped her elaborately-constructed reconstruction of something very
elaborate and raced out into the Office Corridor before she regained her senses.
Carefully, she removed her gun from its holster (she always armed herself when
she worked nights). There were no lights on in any of the labs, just a distant
flicker in Greg-land.
"Greg?" Catherine hissed foolishly, "Are you there?" There was a whiff of
smoke.
The frightened CSI carefully searched for an alarm button to summon the
police. "Heck," she thought, "I *am* the police!" But the call was too strong,
those newly installed buttons were just so important-looking... so forbidden.
Greg examined the mess of crushed glass on the floor, testing it with a furitive
step of his foot.
*crunch* He made a mental note to never pretend to stab a boiling tube again.
"Dammit... once you were a man, now..." he furrowed his brow and then
swivelled towards his microscope.
*smash*
"What now?" his action had upset the beaker, the one he'd filled with water,
and now it glinted smarmily on the floor, "Sort of like Nick will when Grissom
finds out about this", he thought to himself gloomily.
*CRUNCHSMASH*
"Not agai..." Greg froze, one hand in midair. He hadn't touched anything this
time. Now footsteps were racing towards him, and urgent voices. His mind was
flurry of confusion, he sat dumbly on the swivel-chair, waiting for the end.
Well, waiting for whatever it was he was waiting for. "Please... god... I can
be a theologist and a scientist, can't I? Please make this not the mafia." God
could have granted that wish, for at the same moment a SWAT team burst halfway
through the LAb doorway, illuminating a startled face in torchlight.
"Hi... guys..."