I hope no one shoots me when they find out what I'm going to do to poor Greg. Sorry! I love him, don't worry. It's just this ideaI COULD NOT get out of my head! Oh, and I don't own em. bah.

Chapter One: Walking Epidemic

Greg was getting used to dead bodies. They weren't that bad. Sure they smelled a little and yes, it was a little disgusting, but that wasn't anything he couldn't handle. After all, he'd handled his suicidal sister and his drink for pleasure mother for seventeen years and hadn't even gone crazy. Well, maybe a little.
"Greg?"
"Huh?"
"You can go back to your lab now."
"Oh, ok. Thanks. See ya Doc." Doctor Robbins waved.

As he walked, he shook off the feeling he'd been getting lately. This feeling of impending doom. Paranoia, he thought. But it was still there.
He bypassed the lab and went to the break room for some coffee. The news blared in the corner, surrounded by Warrick, Nick, Sara, and Catherine.
"You guys should seriously watch cartoons sometimes. Nobody dies on Bugs Bunny." Sara rolled her eyes.
"Our case is on the news."
"Great," muttered Greg.

"The man recently dubbed 'A walking epidemic' has struck again, this time infecting 27 year old Dana Collins, a young bartender at the Dakota Mourning Bar and Grill with the HIV/AIDS virus. No profile has yet been made."

Greg shuddered. "That's creepy." Nick nodded. "Yeah, and they're all about the same age too, late twenties." Greg turned around, feeling the eyes on his back. It made him sick to think a guy with deadly blood was walking around Vegas, infecting young men and women and ruining their lives. He had to go home.
"Have a nice night Greggo."
"See ya Nick." The night was crisp, clear and Greg still had some energy. He headed for his Jeep, old and dilapidated, but still running strong, and drove to a café owned by one of his friends.

The music was soft and calm. He settled into a seat and watched a young girl singing on stage. She had nice hair, he thought to himself. He himself had quit dying his hair and left it the Hispanic brown he'd gotten from his father. It made his skin seem darker and his eyes a brighter honey-hazel color it seemed, according to a girl he'd gone on a nice date with a few days ago.
Greg walked out if the café and headed toward his car. A smell, like cheap cologne. No warning, a sharp pain in his side. A white cloth over his eyes, the cold dark pavement of an alley. His elbows skidded against the asphalt, and he lay still, clutching his side that still ached. A boot pushed him onto his side. He didn't fight. Fatigue had gotten the best of him, and he was down.
"Good, you don't like to fight. Me either." Greg heard a tapping noise and then felt his jacket and shirt sleeve being pushed up. "This will only hurt a minute." But it didn't hurt at all. The needle. Slid in. He felt a liquid in his arm. A little burning. Then the cloth came off. And the man was gone.

Ooooo…Suspenseful. Sorry. Review, don't hurt!