Author's Note: This is the chapter that DID NOT WANT TO BE WRITTEN! I had to do research, then write it which took a pretty good amount of time. Then editing over the holidays was delayed...then after I finally got it edited my internet decided to be difficult. So here FINALLY is Chapter V! For the love of all things holy - Read, Enjoy and if you have time leave a review or whatnot!

Chapter V

Sawbones and Code Monkeys

Dr Kyle Porter was suturing up the latest in a very long line of nasty gashes. Hundreds of scrapes, cuts, stab and gunshot wounds had overwhelmed him. The steady flow of suffering and bitching had slowed to a trickle. His small on-site medical ward had filled to it's maximum capacity within the first ten minutes after the guards had finally brought the riot to an end. He and his small staff of three orderlies, a nurse and physicians assistant, most of them called in on their day or shift off, had been forced to convert the mess hall into a triage center. The first doctors from nearby WBR Hospital, arrived an hour after the riot had ended. He'd already lost three critical patients by then. Even with the official riot over there had been several dozen more patients that had desperately needed medical attention.

Porter had been in the bottom quarter of his class at medical school and had only barely completed his residency and internship. Despite his grades and less then stellar showing during training, his father had welcomed him to the family practice with open arms. Three years and four charges of malpractice later his father hadn't been so enthusiastic. His career had started to truly flounder when his uncle and sister started to loan him out to volunteer clinics. That had also when Jillian, his first wife, had decided that being married to a doctor wasn't all brunches and . Everyone, Jillian included, had assumed he would be giving breast enhancements and tummy-tucks to celebrities, not lancing boils for welfare cases and crack heads.

Then there had been wife number two, Miriam. She, at least, hadn't cared about money and prestige. All she cared about was his prescription pad and whatever chemical escape it had given her. After Miriam had trashed what little reputation he had left and damn near cost him his medical license, he divorced her. The ink hadn't even been dry on the divorce papers when the help found her face down in the bathtub. He suspected it had been an accidental overdose, but hadn't cared enough to follow up on the matter.

The job at Ely had been the absolute bottom of the barrel. It paid the bills, both his and Alimony Bitch Jillian's, but that was about it. He punched the clock, took care of the scum of the earth at the tax payers expense, and then he punched out.

He hadn't signed up for real-life MASH. That show hadn't even been that good and Kyle wasn't a GI Joe sort of guy. Guts and glory were for heroes, he was a Doctor for God's sake, not some idiot with delusions of grandeur. He swiped his forearm, well above his latex glove, across his sweat-drenched forehead. He couldn't t remember the last time he'd worked so hard or had so many patients in such a small amount of time. He had better be getting combat pay or something because the situation was getting ridiculous. He was exhausted, he ached and he could barely make his fingers do the simplest suture work, it had to be over soon.

"DOC!"

Three EMTs, sweaty and covered in grime, carried a litter into the makeshift trauma center. Porter tied his last suture up with three quick knots and ignored the hiss of pain his actions caused. They were a little sloppy, but it was only a prisoner. He looked over at the guard. "Go lock him up."

Kyle shed his bloody latex gloves on the already littered and dingy linoleum floor. He reached for the nearby box and pulled a new pair out with only a few seconds of wasted time. His smock, already splattered with blood and fluids, needed to be changed. From the amount of blood dripping from the litter and onto the floor,though, such niceties would have to wait.

He looked down at the patient and felt his heart sink. He recognized the dust and blood coated face. Familiar features peeked out from between the collar and straps that held the man's neck and head still. Glazed eyes stared up at the ceiling above and blinked closed sporadically Tyler Goodsong was as good guard, a good man, and one of the few prison employees that Kyle considered a friend. The day had been so hectic, so wild and full of blood and death, that he hadn't even spared a thought for the man. Tyler had a wife, Kyle had attended the ceremony. He had a pretty wife and a full life ahead of him. He wasn't a murderer or a tweaking junkie, he was a good man. A good man who looked very close to death. His legs were a torn and twisted mess of blood, burnt flesh and shattered bone. Kyle observed and categorized the injuries automatically and felt dread settle over him like a wet wool blanket.

He had been in over his head since the very first gunshot. He had known that in his head and his heart but had worked anyway. It had been the only thing he'd known how to do. His skills, though, only stretched so far. He couldn't do this. He couldn't fix Tyler. He didn't have the ability, the equipment and even if he did there wasn't enough time. Panic and adrenaline poured into his system and his heart thundered in his chest. A cold sweat trickled down his neck and back and Kyle felt helpless. He felt powerless and when he looked at Tyler's face he knew that there was no hope. Kyle's hands froze, his everything froze. He couldn't do it. He couldn't save Tyler. The young guard was already dead, his brain just hadn't figured it out yet.

Drake Bishop LPN harbored no delusions of grandeur. He wanted to put in enough hours to qualify for a real job at a real hospital and the hell out of prison. He didn't like tending to criminals, but he was good at it and took pride in that fact. He wasn't surprised to see Kyle Porter freeze. Drake was disgusted but not especially surprised. Dr Dumb-Ass, as the staff called him, was utterly useless. Drake was surprised that the man had lasted as long as he had. He pushed past him, unconcerned that Porter was technically his boss. "We need to get fluids and blood into him now." Drake looked at the EMTs, but only one of them nodded.

"The other two are Rescue Squad, but I'm IV trained."

Drake scowled, An EMT and a nurse were hardly qualified to handle this case."I need one of them to go down to the hallway and get the doctor down there."

The woman, young and blonde, nodded and ran towards the interior door that would take her to the makeshift morgue.

"There's another."

Drake snapped his head to the right. One of the guards, he didn't know his name, nodded his head. "He's been tending to the civilians. He's some kind of professor but he's also a surgeon."

Drake didn't have look back at Tyler's broken body to make the decision, "Get him. Now."

Al Robbins always planned his Saturdays weeks beforehand. He used his precious Saturdays to spend time with his sons, rehearse with his band, watch terrible movies, and make love to his wife. Working in a war zone had not been in his plans, but he could hardly say no. He had been handed an opportunity. It could easily be the crown jewel of his career or the beginning of a fast slide into forced retirement.

The prison had a room that could loosely be called a morgue. It only had two coolers and one ancient autopsy table. It would have all fit into one of the storage closets at the lab in Las Vegas.

The victims were laid on the floor of a single long hallway. Only about half of the dead men had been given the dignity of being in proper body bags. The rest were simply covered by sheets and curtains and whatever other scraps of clothe that had been laying around. Guards, prisoners and civilians alike lay shoulder to shoulder along each wall. There was only a narrow walkway between their carefully placed feet. Robbins weaved around the corpses, coroners, CSIs and techs, directing traffic and giving directions in a calm, patient voice. His crutches tapped against the concrete and he shifted his weight with the expertise and ease that came from years of experience. His steps were like his work needed to be, quick and careful. Identification was the main priority at the moment, followed by establishing time of death. It was a daunting task that was proceeding at a snail's pace. It would be much easier if he had a list of inmates and employees but one of the computer kids was still working on that. Technology was very useful when it worked but right now it wasn't. So they would take fingerprints, photographs and keep records and notes cohesive and intact. It was going to take a minor miracle to keep everything strait.

"DOCTOR!"

A young woman, one of the many rescue workers, barreled into the hallway at a sprint. She skid to stumbling stop just shy of the lines of bodies. She was filthy, covered in dust and soot and someone's blood. Her blonde hair was in a tangled mess and her face was flushed scarlet red. She was bent over nearly double, trying to both catch her breathe and speak at the same time.

"A guard." Her words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush. "He's hurt-" She stopped to suck in breathe and her wheezing made Robbins wonder if she might be asthmatic. "Hurt bad." She continued disjointedly, "And we need your help to save him."

That was all Albert Robbins needed to hear, the living trumped the dead every time. He handed his clipboard to one of the many CSIs, from Reno if he wasn't mistaken, and worked his way around the many corpses and down the hall.

The trip to the cafeteria didn't take long. He looked around and saw only one patient. Kyle Porter, the only staff doctor at Ely, was standing stock still in the middle of the room while two other men were trying to save the patient. Robbins pushed past him and looked to the male nurse"What do we have?"

The young man in blood-splattered blue scrubs and a a sweat bead covered bald head looked up from the patient momentarily. "Tyler Goodsong, guard. He's approximately twenty-seven years old and in bad shape. They pulled him out from under a lot of rubble. His legs look really bad."

Really bad was one of the biggest understatements Robbins had ever heard. He felt two acute and sharp pains in his legs. It was phantom or sympathy pain because he had lost his own legs years ago. He clenched his teeth against the pain, psychological or not it still hurt and started a basic examination.

"How's his head?"

The new voice made Robbins look up from his work for a moment.

The man was African American, and in his late forties, give or take a year. His face, made noteworthy by pock-marked cheeks and sharp, intelligent eyes, was interesting but not conventionally handsome. A neat and probably properly pressed at some point suit, complete with tie, sat comfortably over a well built frame. Robbins thought that he might look familiar but had no name to go with the face.

"We can't do anything" The man continued in a pleasant but firm baritone, "about his legs unless we address the head trauma."

He offered Robbins his hand, "Dr Ray Langston." Al shook it briskly, "Al Robbins, ME. Now that introductions are out of the way let's see if we can't save this man's life."

They each moved to one side of the crude operating table.

"Head and neck was immobilized and it looks like we have two lines going in. Ringers and O Negative blood." Robbins scowled, "Neither does any good if he keeps losing it out of his legs."

Langston checked Tyler's eyes with a small flashlight, "Pupils are sluggish but equal and reactive. I think we have some brain trauma but we might be able to get it under control."

"What do you have in stock for that?" Robbins directed the question over his shoulder at Porter. He had brought his medical bag, of course, but that was more for coroner's work or the occasional lab cut or burn. He had nothing for a full out field-surgery.

No answer came and both men turned, Robbins balancing his weight on his crutches, "PORTER WHAT DO YOU HAVE FOR A HEAD INJURY?"

Porter, who still looked completely dazed, stuttered a moment, "All I have is Manitol."

Langston moved from the man's head and to his chest, and probed the ribs carefully expert's fingers. "Not the best choice by a long shot but it'll have to do. Go mix up a bag."

Porter didn't move.

"NOW PORTER!" Robbins's patience had obviously worn thin. "And" he added, "Get a bag of antibiotics ready, the strongest you have."

Robbins and Langston, with the Nurse and EMT's help, pulled on paper smocks over their clothes and latex gloves over their hands. There were no masks available, but neither gave it too much thought. Infection wasn't going to have time to set in if they let Tyler Goodsong die.

Grim and stoic in the face of a very bad situation, Robbins worked down the left leg and Langston the right. They had never worked together, but as doctors they had to trust in each other's skills. A wrong diagnosis or missed sign could be deadly right now. There were both open and closed fractures, that much was immediately visible, but the extent of damage was still in question. The human body was strong, often stronger then one could fathom, but hours under hundreds of pounds of concrete wasn't exactly a normal situation.

Even if, by some miracle his legs hadn't been broken, they definitely were both broken, crush injuries were a problem in and of themselves. At the very least they had compartment syndrome and deadly swelling to deal with. At the worst, well the tissue of the legs could already be dead and rotting.

"I have no pedal pulse."

Robbins looked across the table at Langston. The coca-skinned man had both hands on Tyler's right foot. Both of them, Robbins especially, knew what that meant. The right leg was the worst case scenario. The damage was extensive and there was not allot of hope. There were broken bones and ripped flesh, crush damage and blood loss. There was no pulse in the foot, no blood flowing all the way to the toes. Necrosis had already set in. The leg was dying and there was no saving it.

"I've got a thready one here."

The leg that Robbins was working on was certainly less damaged, but it too looked horrific. It had burns covering most of it and two bones poked out of the charred skin of the shin.

"If we don't stabilize him now, he will never last until the next evac 'copter arrives." Langston's face was set in stern lines and his voice was almost a whisper.

"They may be able to save the left if we set the bones and soak it in bactine here. The right though-"

Both doctors knew what had to happen.

Parker returned with two IV bag of Manitol mix and hung it on the IV stand with shaking hands. The nurse batted him away and smoothly hooked a line into the bag so it too would drip into the patient's bloodstream. It would, hopefully, lessen the swelling in Tyler's brain. They had neither MRI or CAT scan, but knew it was better to be safe then sorry when it came to possible brain injuries. The antibiotics came next, but if they couldn't get the man stabilized it was going to be a waste of fluids.

"Porter we need two cut down kits and a bone-saw."

He blinked, "A bone-saw?"

Robbins nodded and without missing a beat carefully put a hand on either side of the open wound.

"Quickly, please."

Langston's words were terse, and he didn't l bother to look up. His eyes were locked on his hands and their delicate work. He carefully pushed the tibia back inside the skin and tried to line the snapped pieces of bone back up. The fibula came next and Tyler jerked against the movement as Langston had to manipulate the smaller bone with more force to get it back inside of the muscle and into the more or less proper position. Robbins, closer to the leg, wrapped a pressure bandage around the freshly re-aligned leg while Langston wrapped rubber tubing around the upper thigh of the right leg.

They were trying to prep for one of the most dangerous field surgeries in medicine. A trans-femoral amputation was highly technical and very dangerous in a prepped and sterile operating room. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even heard of someone attempting an emergency on-site trans-femoral amputation. Vietnam, maybe, he had never done anything like this.

"Have you ever done this before?" Robbins had to ask, if only to break the tense silence.

Langston looked up and smiled, a prominent gap between his two front teeth made Robbins think of Sara Sidle for a moment which was actually somewhat comforting. "No, I'm mostly in research and research pathology these days, and the occasional pro-bono surgery. I haven't done anything like this since my ER rotation, and no, I've never specifically done this.

Robbins smiled despite the situation, "A fellow sawbones and a fellow pathologist. I'm with the Clark County Coroners Office."

Langston tied off his crude tourniquet two inches above where the healthy flesh of the man's thigh ended. "So I'm guessing you haven't done any amputation lately either." His eyes slid, on purpose or accidentally, to the Robbin's obvious prosthetic legs.

"No."

The first and most important step was to clamp the femoral artery. It was one of the biggest blood vessels in the body and when transected it could lead to bleed out in mere minutes. Tyler didn't have any blood to spare which is why they had used a tourniquet as well. Once the clamps were in place on the femoral and two large arterial branches, they began the real work.

The next thirty minutes were long and grueling for all the men in the cafeteria. Tyler's guttural screams echoed wildly while they sliced through his flesh and cut through the bone of his leg. Though the limb was dying, his nerves had not yet stopped working. Robbins and Langston grit their teeth and continued. Pain now, no matter how horrible, would be worth it if Tyler saw tomorrow. Amputation, Robbins knew, was intense but they could not give him any painkiller. They were working in a prison environment there were no narcotics on hand and even if there had been any first year medical student knew better then to mix head injuries and morphine. Neither doctor had ever imagined a more hellish procedure and Tyler Goodsong probably felt like he was actually in Hell. The doctors sweated and the patient bled and the time blurred.

Finally, hands shaking and nerves jangled, Robbins and Langston had stabilized the patient. They wrapped the fresh stump with clean gauze and pressure bandages before the trained emergency crew came in and wheeled Goodsong off to the helicopter.

"They're transporting him to Desert Palms I think." Langston sounded as exhausted as Robbins felt. The black man pulled off his bloody gloves and let them fall to the littered floor. "They have a good orthopedic team there."

Robbins, his own stumps aching with both real and sympathy pain, nodded then took off is own gloves. "I have to get back to the hall."

Langston stripped off his bloody smock, "Need an extra pair of hands?"

Robbins chuckled and motioned for him to come along. Despite the less then spectacular way they'd met, he could already tell that he and Ray Langston would get along just fine.

It was creepy, there was no other word for it. It was definitely, totally and completely creepy. It wasn't even normal prison creepy either. She was in and out of prisons all the time. Well not in prison, not her personally. She had never done anything illegal in her life. Well unless you counted a joint in high school, which she didn't. A little weed couldn't hold up against rape and murder. No, she went between all of the Nevada correctional facilities and worked on their computers.

She had a Masters Degree and a resume that rivaled most of the industry's heavy hitters and she was working 100 hours a week freelance just to pay her rent. It was all thanks to good ol' Dad. Jason Rickers had been a great father, a phenomenal computer programer but he had never been known for his ethics. The Industry had never forgiven her dad and everyone knew that Kaylie was a chip off of the old block. Daddy's Little Girl had left Silicon Valley for Las Vegas with dreams of running casino systems and doing groundbreaking security algorithms. Programers talked, though, and their circles were small and tight. Kaylie Rickers was persona-non-grata, the sins of the father had condemned her to mediocrity and free-lance scraps.

The only reason she had landed the Prison IT job was because she had slashed her fee down to the bone. So she had spent the last three years of her harried and helter-skelter life bouncing between each of Nevada's prisons like some kind of felonious tennis ball. Ely had always seemed like the safest. It had the tightest security and the most well trained guards. It had fences and monitoring systems, it was a fortress. The fortress had been ripped apart brick by brick and set on fire. Howard Skolnik had personally called her and told her to get to Ely immediately and when the man who signed the paychecks said jump she pulled out the trampoline. They wanted tape and logs and lists and everything her pretty little system could give them and they wanted it yesterday.

It was hell navigating her bug around the roadblocks and then security. There were more cops at the prison then she had ever seen in her life, and she'd lived in L.A. for five years. It was like someone had declared that it was free doughnut day or something. Not that all cops ate doughnuts. They were good thought, doughnuts not cops. Well of course cops were good, most of them. All the cops here were good of course. About that time the cop had told her to shut up before waving her through the barricade. Kaylie still wasn't sure if he had been laughing or growling at her. A man in camo with a really big gun had escorted her across the devastated parking lot and to the front door. It had been visiting day and there were still people, normal people who had just come to visit family members who had gone astray, milling about. Most of the people were women and children. Really scared women and children. A wave of disgust rolled through her. These were family members of the inmates: their wives, mothers and children. Apparently there was no honor amongst thieves. Robin Hood movies were full of it.

A cop with a rumpled khaki uniform and a bad haircut came to escort her through the prison. She was pretty happy to see that he had a gun and a Taser hanging on his belt. She knew that the prisoners were locked up again but it made her feel safer. The first stop was, as always, at the desk. Her messenger bag had been searched several times already but she let the desk sergeant look through it anyway. She had checked in with Luke Howard almost every time she came to Ely. Today he looked exhausted, his face was grim and his usually impeccable uniform was disheveled and covered with soot and what looked like blood.

"You going to check the systems, huh, Kaylie?

His voice was always gravely, but today it was rougher then usual. There were large bruises, deep purple and red, across his neck and jaw. He had helped stop the riot and had apparently went right back to work. She couldn't imagine what he had been through. Well, she had watched Oz on HBO so she could probably try but she didn't think that would be a pretty idea.

Howard checked over her laptop, PDA and other tools of the trade that she carried with her the same way he always had. His hands shook a little, but he didn't miss a beat. If she wasn't a teensy bi afraid of Howard she would give him a hug because it looked like he needed one. She was more then a teensy bit afraid of him, though so she smiled at him instead.

"Yeah, and The Boss wants me running point on the security system."

Howard turned his head and sent a long glare at the cop with her. "Well you be careful, Little Lady, stay with the nice officer at all times."

The cop, his nameplate identified him as D. Pierce, rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, "I thought all of the inmates were um" He paused and his eyes darted around, "contained."

Kaylie winced at his statement. Apparently all of the good cops were off doing other things. Maybe Howard would go with her instead.

She was walking through a war zone with a man who was probably more likely to pee his pants then help her. It was okay, though. She was okay. Everything was totally and completely okay. She had to keep telling herself that and ignore the naggy voice that reminded her that she didn't get paid nearly enough for this job.

The Administrative Wing was quiet and most importantly secure. As secure as any prison area could be. The muscles in her back and shoulders relaxed a bit and she breathed a sigh of relief. The only way into the Ad Wing was by key card access and four digit pin number. Pin numbers could be figured out, especially by smart con-men but even the slickest cons couldn't get their hands on a magnetic imprint machine in the joint. In fact the cards were issued at the Head Office in Carson City, and all of the personnel's cards had been, according to Officer Pierce, accounted for.

Kaylie slid her card through the machine and waited for the tone before quickly keying in her pin number. The whole system, one she had installed only a year and a half ago, was a relatively simple set up. All the computers were networked together in a nice, neat, user friendly Windows XP package. All of the prison workers, from the Warden to the janitor had an alpha-numeric access code and password. The computers in the Ad Wing, however, were the only ones in the entire complex with full access. The best place to work from would be the server room, but at the moment that room was inaccessible. Inaccessible as in it was all the way across the building where all the convicts were being kept. The closest and most comfortable office was Ellen's. It was on the right and the door was closed. Then again Ellen had probably left hours ago and had closed the door behind her.

Kaylie balanced her bag on her hip and fished Dave, her laptop, out of the bag. Dave was her baby, built from scratch and dreams, he was the closest thing to a steady boyfriend she'd had in the last five years. She opened the computer up and punched the button to power it up.

"That's a nice computer."

Officer Pierce smiled at her, "I have one like that at home."

Kaylie forced a smile, she hated it when people compared her computer to an off-the-shelf piece of junk. "I'm sure."

She opened up the door and bumped it open with her hip, "C'mon Officer, you can help me plug some of the wires in if you're a good boy."

The first thing that hit her was the smell. There are some things that stuck with a person. Certain songs, specific textures, and smells, the brain cataloged them the same way a computer cataloged data. Somethings a computer never deleted and some things a person never forgot. She smelled death and her stomach turned sourly. It hit Pierce next, and despite her first thoughts about him, he threw his arm out to stop her.

"OH MY GOD!"

Her voice drowned whatever he was saying out.

Ellen Powers lay on her own office floor, spread eagle and as still as a statue. Kaylie didn't need an EMT or a doctor to tell her that Ellen was dead, it was painfully obvious. Hot bile rushed up her throat and she clapped her hand over her mouth. She pushed past Pierce and retreated to the hallway. She knew that Ellen's body was still on the floor and knew that the smell would quickly reach her nose again. Her movement had been futile at best but she needed the space even if it was just a few feet. She had to kill her gag reflex and wipe the tears from her eyes, she had to get herself back under control. Pierce keyed up his radio and called for backup or whatever. She put her back against the far wall and hugged her laptop to her chest. She had worked with Ellen, spoken with her every time she'd come to Ely. She had a son who had just started college and was planning to go on a cruise with her husband. She had been planning to go at least. Now she would never go to Jamaica. . It was okay, she was okay, it was going to be okay. It had to be okay. Kaylie wiped at her eyes furiously, she couldn't let herself breakdown. She had a job to do and crying like a baby wasn't going to get it done.

More cops came into the hallway, some of them were in uniforms and others were in plainclothes. Someone else, a coroner or something, came in with a gurney and body bag. Another man followed with a camera and a small suitcase. His black vest told her that he was a Clark County CSI. He was from Vegas too. His shaggy hair and very casual clothes marked him as one of the many who had been called in on their day off. Another thing he had in common with her.

Shaggy and Sort of Sexy turned to one of the cops that had rushed into the room. "Hey Sofia, what's the situation?" The blonde, Sofia she assumed, had a gold shield clipped to her belt and a gun riding on her hip. If TV had taught her anything about cops then this was the Detective. The uniformed officers all turned to listen to her when she spoke. Everyone paid close attention to Detective Blonde and Serious's words.

"Assistant Warden Ellen Powers. Apparently only one warden is here over the weekends and this was her turn. The prison's computer tech-"

All eyes turned to her and Kaylie felt another wave of nausea roll through her stomach. She would rather be somewhere else, anywhere but here.

"-found her when she came up to run the computer systems for us."

Sexy Shaggy nodded then turned back to Kaylie, "You didn't touch anything did you? You or Officer Pierce?"

She shook her head, "Just the door knob. I left the room when I saw Ellen."

He looked tired but smiled at her anyway. "Well that's good." He quirked his eyebrows, "Hey can you clear one of the other offices for her, I bet-" He smiled again, "I'm sorry I didn't get your name."

Kaylie pushed a stubborn strand of hair back behind her ear again, "Kaylie Rickers, code monkey for hire."

He smiled again and held his hand out to shake, "Greg Sanders, CSI and uh all around awesome dude."

Kaylie smiled despite herself and shifted Dave to one arm. "Nice to meet you, Greg."

The lead cop, Sofia, cleared her throat a little louder then necessary. "Greg if you'll see to Ms. Powers, I will set Miss Rickers up in the Warden's office."

It was, Kaylie decided, the nicest shut up and get to work she'd ever heard.

Sofia unlocked Warden McDaniel's office and left her to her work. Kaylie smiled at her as she left. The blonde detective was way tense and personally Kaylie was glad she wasn't going to look over her shoulder. She wouldn't mind Greg, though.

"Wow, Kaylie" she mumbled to herself, "focus already."

An hour passed and Kaylie did her best to ignore what was going on just a few dozen feet away. It was actually easier then she thought it would be. She had her own problem to deal with. A big fat jack ass of a computer that wasn't cooperating with her.

"Hey."

Kaylie looked up from the computer and was relieved to see that it was Greg the CSI and not Sofia the cop at the door.

"How's it going in here?"

"It's going, not great or quickly, but it's going. Dave, Jerry and I still have a lot to do."

Greg waggled his eyebrows, obviously amused, "Dave and Jerry?"

She patted the laptop and lifted the PDA she had in her left hand. "Tools of my trade."

Greg wandered across the carpet and over to one of the chairs in front of the desk. He glanced over his shoulder and then sat down with a sigh, "No rush, Kaylie, we are going to be here the rest of the day and all night and probably into tomorrow."

"Yeah," Kaylie sighed, "Me too. This is totally not how I planed to spend my weekend."

She watched the readout on her PDA and typed one handed. Dave hummed away as it ran through the files.

"What are you doing that's going to take so long?"

She looked up, "Dave is pulling up a digital copy of what the mainframe should look like. When it's pulled I will sync Jerry." She wiggled the PDA in her hand, "To both computers and it will search for inconsistencies. Or it should at least, I'm running into problems. Probably because of all the alarms and chaos. The system is just freaking out."

Greg stretch his arms above his head and his legs out in front of him and grunted when something audibly popped, "Freaking out? Is that a technical term?"

"Smart ass."

She would have said more, but something on the screen caught her attention. She read through the information, but it didn't make any sense. "Okay."

Greg came around the desk to join her, "What did you find?"

Kaylie abandoned her own equipment and focused on the Warden's computer.

"It's what I'm not finding that's worrying me." She scowled and quickly typed in a string of commands then another. She attacked the mouse with the same vigor. She alternated back and forth and while he knew his way around computers, Greg had no idea what she was doing. He had skills but the woman beside him was some sort of computer magician.

"None of it is here." She hit the desk with a clenched fist, "How can it not be here?"

Greg shook his head, "What's not where?"

She sighed and pushed a copper strand of hair out of her face, "The entire system is wiped."

Greg blinked, "I-um don't follow."

She tapped in a few more commands, "Something-someone has wiped the entire program. It's like they hit the big factory re-set button."

Greg ran his hand over his already disheveled hair, "Which program?" Greg asked, knowing enough to be concerned and confused at the same time.

Kaylie paled, "Forget the button, it's a dumb comparison. It's the big program. It's corrupted, the whole enchilada and guacamole!" I can't pull up a single file, not a single name, nothing."

Greg still didn't follow exactly, "So this is bad?"

She sighed, "Bad doesn't even begin to cover it. This is the princess of all bad shit and shenanigans. This is a prison without a functioning list of it's inmates. I can't pull up prisoner GPS coordinate, security feeds, video, nothing. I mean I have nothing here. Ely went all digital two years ago. We are flying blind."

Greg's eyebrows flew up, "Someone hacked the prison system?"

"No." Her face was grim and her fingers stopped moving on the keyboard. "When I say this system is unhackable, I mean it is totally unhackable. There are no outside access points. The internet-enabled system is running off a completely different server and it can't even be accessed from this computer. The Administrative staff were all issued laptops for email and internet use. This is a closed system. It's a fortress, an island, it is untouchable. All the prisons run on closed systems which is why I was hired to travel back and forth to keep them running. There is no remote access point. Whoever did this, whoever destroyed the program not only knew exactly what they were doing, they had to be here to do it."

"You mean in the prison?"

Kaylie stood, "No, I mean in one of these offices. The computers in the Ad Wing are the only ones that have the ability to load anything to the system the rest are only networked in for use."

She rested her head in her hands, and let out a long suffering sigh, "My boss is not going to like this."

Greg sagged against the wall behind the desk and Kaylie's chair. 'Neither is mine."

Understatement did not even begin to cover it.

Author's Note Part II - This chapter had several nerd refrences in it, and I own none of them. Another intersting note is that this marks my first use of Langston as a charecter. I'm actually pretty pleased with the charecter especially since I can only catch CSI every once and a while these days. Another intresting note is that while I usually don't base my original charecters on any one person, I have to admit that Felicia Day's Codex from the Guild had a pretty heavy influence on Kaylie. Also yes, Kaylie is indeed named after the Firefly charecter.