Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, I'm just borrowing it for a minute. I'll bring it right back. I also don't own Kentucky Fried Chicken, or anything affiliated with them.

A/N: I'm making up for the shortness of the previous chapter by posting this one right after it.

Chapter 6: Futureland

In a stark white, nearly empty room, Greg opened his eyes. He didn't' feel groggy, only confused. The thing that perplexed him the most was the silence. He thought there'd be beeping machines, all with their own little noises, as if arguing which was the most important device. But, their chattering was absent. Where am I? he vaguely wondered.

He got to his feet, and walked to the window. Suddenly he stopped. The pain. Where was it? It was gone , as though it had never been there. Though this struck him as odd, he wasn't about to complain.

He pulled the curtain aside, and looked down onto the street. Cars rolled along, happily puffing out exh—Wait. There was no exhaust, no rolling. The vehicles seemed to just float along smoothly.

What was going on? Where was he? More importantly, when was he?

He turned around and headed for the door. As he walked he glanced down at his clothes. He was still wearing his regular clothes, as opposed to typical hospital garb. The only thing that changed was that his shirt was no longer bloody. It didn't even have a hole in it.

"Oh God, I've been abducted by aliens!" he yelled as he ran from the room.

He hurried down corridors as empty as the room. There were no people, no gurneys, no machines, no signs of life at all. At last! he thought when he made it down to the receptionist desk. There was a young woman sitting there who looked up when he approached.

"Finally," she muttered as she handed him a large manila envelope. "They this for you."

"Who?" he asked as he opened the envelope. Inside was a video tape. He stared at it quizzically until she pointed to a nearby door.

"You can watch it in there."

He nodded and went in the room, which contained a TV, VCR, and a handful of chairs. He put the tape in and sat back with growing curiosity.

The screen came to life and showed Sara, looking older and a little nervous.

"Um…hey. If you're watching this it means you finally woke up. They said we should make a tape of the things we wanted to say, to let you know some of what happened in the time you missed. Uh…the current date is June 24th, 2008."

What! Greg's mind screamed. When is it now?

On the TV, Sara went on, "Last October, a victim's family who didn't like the answers we gave them besieged the lab." She looked down at the floor. "Nick was killed. Um…Catherine got transferred to Chicago in January. Now it's just me, Warrick, and Grissom. And you, I guess, depending when you finally see this."

Greg stared at the TV with disbelief, then suddenly realized that there were tears running down his face. Everything he knew was different, people he knew were gone. Everything was just plain wrong. Then he wondered, how long ago was that tape made? How much has changed since then? And when the hell did they start making floating cars!

Next, Grissom appeared on the screen. "I was elected to tell you that your uncle, Colonel Sanders, has died." He paused. "But, there's good news. He left some stuff for you." He picked up a fried chicken bucket off the floor, and started rummaging through it. "Ah, here it is." He held up a handful of wrinkled money. "Forty-three dollars and thirty-four cents. But wait, there's more. Forty thousand tons of fried chicken. And that includes crispy strips and popcorn chicken." Grissom nodded matter-of-factly. "You're a lucky man."

Huh? Greg wondered. Since when was I related to Colonel Sanders? Could I have gotten free chicken all those years?

Then Warrick appeared to say his piece. "Uh…I know you've just got a lot of bad news, but I've got some more. Um…I needed a clean shirt a few months ago, and there was one in your locker. I didn't think you'd need it any time soon…" He looked terribly ashamed of himself. "I—I got barbecue sauce on it. It wouldn't come out. Can you ever forgive me, man?"

Greg just looked at the screen like it, and all that was on it, was completely insane. Maybe I'm the one who's insane, he vaguely thought.

The screen went blue, signaling the end of the recording. Greg put it back in the envelope and walked out of the room. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he had to get out. Maybe he'd go to the lab, see what else had changed.

He wound up walking all the way to the lab, because he was afraid of the hovering taxis. He found the lab, right where it was supposed to be. He didn't see anyone around, but that didn't really surprise him, not today. He went inside, and wandered the halls. Everything was still there, as though the people had just left for the day. Maybe it's a holiday, he thought, since he had no idea what day it was. He headed down to the locker room and opened his locker. Just as he had left it, except…there was a stain on the shirt hanging in there. "Did you try bleach?" he asked no one.

Since it was apparent that there was no one here, he decided to head home. If it was still there, anyway. He set out walking again, trying to find his way home when all landmarks were different. In the years past, someone had gone and added three more streets in the course of his route, and they kept throwing him off. He finally reached his domicile, which looked a little broken down next to all the new buildings around it. When he approached his door, he stopped a moment. Crap, do I still have my key? A little digging in his pockets proved that it was still in his possession.

This was not as he had left it. It looked like someone had cleaned since he had been there, but not any time after that. Things were put away, dishes were clean, but there was a thick layer of dust on everything. He looked around for somewhere to sit down, but everything was filthy. He walked to the couch, flipped one of the cushions over, and sat down on the clean side. He stared blankly at the air in front of him. He felt lost and confused, and he still didn't know what day it was.

He went outside and looked around. Finally he spotted a woman walking…something…with fur. He cautiously approached her. "Excuse me, what is today's date?"

She looked at him strangely, but answered anyway, "July 14th."

"What year?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"2012," she replied and continued to stare at hi warily.

Greg felt his knees start to give out. "Um…OK. Thanks."

She continued on her way and he hurried back inside. He looked in the bathroom mirror, and his jaw dropped. He hadn't aged a day in seven years. He went back to the living room, sat down in the middle of the floor, wrapped his arms around his knees, and started rocking back and forth. Without really realizing it, he also started to cry, out of grief, confusion, frustration, and emotions he didn't even know existed.

Suddenly the phone rang. Who the hell could that be? Greg turned his head to stare it for a few seconds, then he sort of crawled over to it. He picked it up. "Hello?"

He heard a familiar voice on the other end. It was Sara. She was saying something, but she was whispering and he could understand the words. She sounded like she was, or had recently been, crying.

"What?" he asked softly.

She repeated it, a little louder, and there was no mistaking what she said. "Wake up."

What? I am awake. What the—

"Please wake up."