The following story is the result of one very bored Cadao...and I owns nothing. Not getting any money either. Just borrrrrrrrrred.

This one's a bit longer than normal, and I hope I do Greg justice. So here's to Karmine, my faithful reader and reviewer. Since with out you reviewing I would never have updated, leaving it to be one little story to rot at the bottom of the CSI pile, this one's dedicated to you.

THE WAR a short story in a parallel universe by Cadao

The plunger was the most brilliant weapon ever conceived. Greg Sanders knew this as he dived forward, barely missing the toilet but catching his shirt on the sink. He didn't know how he managed to do that, but that little mis-hap cost him the battle (and gave him a sore neck). One full-of-its-self fly buzzed around our hero's head.

"Why you no good poop-eater!" Greg thundered, leaping up. He let out a war-cry, charging forward (can you charge in a one person bathroom?), and bringing his beloved plunger down on the fly. Flushing the toilet instead, Greg groaned as he realised he was showering himself with his own crap.

Deciding to forfit the battle to the Bathroom Fly, Greg tossed the plunger to a corner.

"I'll be back for you!" he warned. "Or in the case of coming back to this bathroom tomorrow, I'll be back for your kids!"

The door did not shut as our hero left, but the sounds of the fly cackling could be heard for miles. A few minutes later, Greg realized his pants were down...

CSI CSI CSI CSI

Greg Sanders was only one soldier in the War Against the Flies. Any human within the Las Vegas area was fighting an endless battle it seemed, and more than one weary recruit had backed down. Our story focus' on one group of intrepid warriors : the CSI's.

Lets meet our heroes.

First and foremost, the leader of our brave fighters : Gil Grissom. Serious. Shy. Thoughtful. His abnormal intrest in bugs (insects, actually, before he konks me on the head for my obvious mistake - oh, pardon me, not all of them are insects...HELP!) have come in handy during this time of need . . .

Next is his right hand man (well, woman, but that doesn't sound right, ya know...) Catherine Willows. Resourceful and intelligent, the woman with raven hair used to be a stripper. How she survived that is a testament to how tough she really is, and flies are nothing to the men she used to fight off . . .

Warrick Brown, a confessed gambler with a heart ready to help those that need it. Though he loves to bet, if need be, he will forsake his game for the good of his people. Warrick is the one you go to if you need help, fast.

Our resident Texan is Nick Stokes, a man of many hidden talents and a great fear of any small place. This is due to the fact he was buried alive a few years ago. However, he does not let his fear get in the way of justice - or in the way of his junk food.

Sara Sidle, the bane of our hero's existence but netherless an important part of our heroic team. She refuses to leave Greg alone, and some might say she has a crush on him, but others know better : she is simply jealous.

Finally, Greg Sanders, our brave and mighty hero. You know, the one who can't kill a fly with a toilet plunger . . . I mean (cough), Greg Sanders, brilliant see-es-eyeist, the one who we shall follow through this most terrible time. He loves loud, head-banging music (which to him is any music he may play loud, be it country or heavy-metal) and he also hates, HATES, flies. But loves anything that may kill the little mutants.

Which brings us right back to the bathroom incident.

Greg finally clued in his trousers were down as Sara laughed at him, pausing in putting up her latest weapon idea. Sara had brought in those sticky-roll things you hang from the ceiling, in hopes that it would catch the little beasties of the air.

"Your pants, Sanders!" Sara informed him. Greg glanced down., and what he was going to say was lost in the biggest, stinkiest fart this side of the cosmic belt. Even Greg rushed away from the gas site.

"Uck. I quit from farting!" Greg declared. "Not that one may quit, it will just hire you again when the time comes." With that sentence done, Greg pulled up his trousers. Sara gave him a highly disgusted look before turning her attention to Gil, who had just stepped out of his office.

"For two people who hate each other, I sure catch the both of you together with someone's pants down a lot," he hinted. Sara gagged, then made a run for it. Greg grinned.

"Nah, you just come in on the wrong time. Last time was an accident - I snagged my pants on a nail that was sticking out of the wall. Remember?"

"Yes, your blood was mixed in with the killers because of it. But what about this time?" Gil wondered.

"Erm...flies." Greg shrugged, and for one fleeting second he was embarrassed - a fly! - but then he thought, 'why?'.So he simply shrugged.

"Right. Well, get back to work and stop hounding Sara," Gil commanded. Greg saluted Gil, then marched towards Nick. The two shared a conversation on painful ways flies could die while heading for the lunch room. And, again, a few hours later...

"I lost me!" Greg gasped. While looking around he told the other three occupants of the room : "No one panic!" After a moments thought (and a strange look via Catherine Willows) he declared, "Okay, I found me. Go back to your normal day activities, the crisis is over."

Sara shot a rude remark Greg's way, and Nick replied in kind - which resulted in Nick's hair becoming the resting place for Sara's lunch.

A few hours later (my fave phrase at the moment) Greg almost ran into long, gluey strips hanging from the ceiling. The traps Sara bought. The theory was that the flies would, well , get trapped. No dice - the black demons avoided it. At first they thought the creatures were simply missing the traps, or they did not have enough traps up, so Warrick bought some more. You would have thought that they would catch flies. Nope. What they caught was a Nick Stokes : the idiot ended up with a head full of fly traps glued to his hair. He was speaking with Catherine and in effect was not watching where he was going - and forgot to duck when he came to Fly Trap Forest. A.k.a the door to the break room.

It took an hour to get all of the sticky glue out of Nick's hair. No one in the lab new how many swears the normally calm and mild tempered Texan knew - but after that, everyone vowed to stay on his good side.

Finally, all traps were out of Nick's hair.

"DUCK!" Catherine bellowed from somewhere. Everyone in the room dropped like heavy bags of water (which, if you think about it, they were) and the terror began.

Flies! Diving, buzzing, landing, barfing, and dropping their secret weapon down: poop.

"Ugggg," Nick moaned from his place at the desk.

"Get away you little rats!" Sara screeched.

"No, don't call any rats! No rats!" a young, new member of their team yelled. Her name was Nellie, or Sally, Greg couldn't remember.

Glancing quickly around, Greg spotted a can of DieFly laying on its side. Inching forward to grab the can and use it to save his friends (and Sara), Greg yelped as the flies turned all their attention to him. Throwing all thoughts of safety to the wind, our hero leaped up and ran. Snatching the canister, Greg sprayed everywhere, shouting to his conrads, "CLOSE YOUR EYES AND DON'T BREATHE!"

When the mist cleared, a field of dead flies laid on the floor, and the humans were coughing in agony.

"Great Sanders. Kill us and the enemy," Sara snarked.

All of them stayed in the hospital that night. Greg and Sara ended up in the same room, which of course was a bad combination. By the time the CSI's left, the hospital staff was threatening the pair to stay healthy and far away from them. Also, the unfortunate room Greg and Sara had stayed in was smoking for the next few days.

Upon returning to the CSI lab, they decided the day had dawned bright and hopeless. Killing the wave of little devils the night before seemed to do zip in stopping the flow of winged menaces.

They were everywhere. The CSI's that held reign when our cast was not there were swatting at the pests with almost everything - even other people. Our group rushed into the fray, and for once our city had no crime. Everyone was too busy fighting off the Flies.

Which left as they had come - quietly, without a warning, and overnight. Leaving the city of Las Vegas covered in now-useless fly traps (and fly poopies), stinking like pesticide, and above all , weary of the next summer.

THE END

There. Hope this story was to you what it was to me : a fun, unrealistic, entertaining boredom buster.