I The bastards...the filthy bastards...

How could they do it? How could they let the killer get away...if it had been /I their I sister who had been murdered, they'd have been working round the clock to figure it out. But instead they let it go cold, and the murderer escapes...

It was the dark of a summer Las Vegas night. Rain pelted down upon the neon-lit streets, capturing the vibrant colours and making it look as though drops of liquid fire were plummeting from the night sky. Cars roared down the roads, ripping through the half-inch-deep water that coated them and spraying it on the sidewalks.

A leather jacket wrapped tightly around me, I made my way from the Rampart casino towards home. My hair, saturated with frigid water, clung to my numb face. Water had leaked inside my jacket, sending a chill down my entire body. As if this was not enough, a car shot past and sprayed me with another shower. Cursing hoarsely under my breath, I continued to struggle towards home...

Suddenly, I heard it: two angry voices rang out from the dark alleyway I was walking past. My head swung to the side to see a man, his face hidden by shadows, shouting his lungs out at a woman before him. She was not giving up without a fight though, returning the shouting with equal ferocity. As a car headlight fell upon the woman's features, I knew who it was.

My little sister Lily.

She was looking rather battered, with a black eye and a minute trickle of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. She had been stripped to her lilac bra and panties. It sounded as though she would not submit to something her assailant wanted.

I was about to step in and intervene when I heard the metallic click. I stopped in my tracks as he pulled out a pistol. Perhaps if I hadn't stopped, he wouldn't have done it...but then a shot rang out and a flash of light filled the shadowy alley. The smell of gunpowder reached my nostrils as Lily slumped to the ground, bleeding from a bullet-hole in her stomach.

I roared in anger and ran toward the murderer, but he merely pointed his weapon at me and pulled the trigger. But the gun did not fire; it had jammed. He cursed loudly and disappeared into the shadows.

I was ten years old. At ten years, I was scarred with a memory that still gives me nightmares to this day.

But now I have my opportunity for revenge. I've found a friend. One who can sympathize with me. And I can use him to my advantage. To get back at the bastards who let Lily's murder go cold...

They are going to pay. Perhaps, if they find out what it is like to lose someone close to them, they might see things in a better light. See things my way...

And if not, the persuasion will continue until they do.

A sharp sound reaches my ears, that of knuckles upon hard wood. "It's open," I say without taking my eyes from the sharp bowie in my gloved hands. Well, it's not really open, but my meaning gets across.

The door slowly swings open and in enters my faithful servant. He is masked, and also wears a pair of black leather gloves. "You said tonight," he says.

"Yes, and my mind is made up," I say, my eyes still fixed upon the dagger. "Their first will die tonight."

"How shall it be done?"

I motion to the fearsome weapon in my hand. "Take it," I say, and he obeys. "His neck."

"Slit his throat."

"No, do not do that. Stab him in the side of his neck. It will hurt more."

"Tell me where," says my friend, pocketing the knife.

I look at him for the first time in our conversation. I smile, satisfied to know that my assassin is so eager to do his job, and tell him where to go. /I

---

Archie's head bumped against the taxi window, waking him up with an unpleasant jolt.

"Sorry," grunted the driver, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "Speed bump."

"Thanks for the heads-up," said Archie grumpily, rubbing the back of his skull.

"You were asleep," said the driver. "Didn't want to wake you up.

I Yeah, whatever, /I thought Archie.

Suddenly the taxi lurched to a halt, and the CSI's kit toppled from the back seat of the taxi onto the floor. "Careful," he said, picking up the little briefcase and opening it to make sure nothing was damaged. "Delicate equipment."

"We're here," said the driver, taking no notice of what his passenger had said. "That'll be thirty bucks."

Archie dug a twenty and a ten out of his wallet and handed them to the cab driver, who snatched them and stuck them in his pocket without delay. "Have a good evening," he said without any sincerity, as Archie opened the door and disembarked. He didn't return the comment to the surly driver.

With that, he shut the door and began walking home towards his apartment. It was not the most pleasant of nights...the dark blue sky was stricken with grey clouds which threatened to unleash their precipitation at any moment. Archie would be glad to get back to his place, read some Popular Science, maybe watch the Discovery channel for a while...

As he neared the front door of his apartment building, Archie heard footsteps. He turned around, and looked about him. There was no one to be seen. How odd.

He turned and walked towards the door when the attack happened. A heavy weight smashed into Archie's left, causing him to drop his kit and fall over onto his right side. He felt a searing pain shoot through his arm. He was sure he had not only scraped the skin right off it, but broken it as well.

As Archie flipped himself onto his back, he saw his attacker begin his next move. He hardly had time to register before the assailant had leapt upon his chest and winded him completely. He drew a vicious bowie knife from a sheath on his belt and held it high, holding Archie's right arm down with his other hand.

"Help!"

The knife was thrust into his right forearm, then lacerated his chest, causing Archie to scream with pain. The attacker reared up for the final blow.

Archie did the only thing he could do. He grabbed the attacker's knife arm with his left hand and tried to push him away with his feet. But he was much stronger than Archie was, and the young CSI could feel himself being overpowered. The dagger was getting closer and closer to his neck...

"Hey!" A voice pierced the night, and both Archie and his assailant's heads snapped upwards. A woman's head was protruding from a window on the second floor, observing the scene with a terrified look on her face.

Without another second's hesitation, the attacker sliced Archie's calf and was gone. Archie screamed as the knife pierced his flesh, and then pushed himself up into a sitting position with his uninjured arm and just caught a glimpse of the shadows lighting up his heels before he vanished into the darkness.

Suddenly, the woman who had witnessed the attack burst out the apartment door.

"I've called the police and ambulance," she said as she reached Archie, who noticed despite his pain that she was very attractive.

Five minutes later, sirens were heard and a few minutes after that several police cars and an ambulance arrived on the scene. Jim Brass disembarked from one of the squad cars and rushed over to where Archie lay.

"He's losing blood fast!" shouted Brass, and a pair of paramedics leapt out the ambulance's back doors with a stretcher. Archie was not only losing blood, he was losing consciousness as well. From both bleeding out and the shock, he was starting to black out.

The last thing he remembered of that night was being hoisted off the ground onto the stretcher before everything went black and silent.