Title: The Final Frontier

Author: drakien

Rating: T+ for language

Spoilers: None

Note #1: I offer this up in honor of Michael Dorn's birthday…which was December 9th, and yes I am late. If you don't know who Michael Dorn is, you should probably stop reading now.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything talked about in this story…nothing at all! sobs

A/N: This one just kind of snuck up on me…wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it (though school tried valiantly to interfere). I would like to warn people that it would be best to pop this story and add butter before reading, as some of it strikes even the author as exceptionally corny. Apologies in advance, but take it for what it is and have fun!

I live for reviews. They make my day, and with the Semester from Hell (Evolution & Ecology…kill me now, Microbiology, Biochem 2, and a Genetics lab to TA), I'll need all the emotional support I can get!

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He came to slowly, disoriented and not yet aware that these were the last moments of his existence. The last thing he remembered was coming home from the party. He had had a few too many drinks, and had decided to walk the short distance back to his hotel. Nature had called about halfway there, and he had stepped into a side alley to relieve himself. He remembered unzipping, and then everything went black.

His head was pounding, and it wasn't until he tried to reach up and rub his eyes that he realized he was tied up. Panicking, he pulled uselessly against the restraints. He almost jumped out of his skin when a voice sounded from behind him.

"Struggling will only make it hurt more."

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I am the hand of Justice," the disembodied replied. "Here to avenge those whom you have wronged."

"What the hell are you talking about," he exclaimed, fear making his voice quaver. "I haven't done anything!"

There was silence behind him, and then the breath was driven from his body as pain radiated from his back. There was a tearing feeling, and then another fiery burst erupted from the other side of his body, this time lower than the first. The pain was indescribable. He caught sight of a shadowy figure entering his field of view before everything went black.

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"I've got a hair," Greg said with a hint of triumph.

"Bag it," Grissom replied. "Sara, anything?"

"Doesn't look like the door was forced," she said absently. "Maybe he knew his assailant?"

Grissom frowned as he lifted a crumbled up rag out of the trash. He carefully sniffed it, eyes going wide as he recognized the scent. "Or maybe he was unconscious," he said. Sara and Greg turned to look. "Chloroform," Grissom said.

Greg nodded. "There's some kind of stain on the pants near the victim's groin. Looks like urine, but I'll confirm that once we get back to the lab."

"Good," Grissom said. He frowned when his phone rang. He listened for a moment, and then replied, "We'll be right there." He hung up the phone and looked up at Greg and Sara. "There's been another murder. I'll call Nick and Warrick over to finish processing here...let's go."

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From the next crime scene, they had been called out to two additional homicides. As soon as they saw the bodies, everyone knew they had a serial killer on their hands. Each scene had been a near carbon copy of the previous one. There was not much evidence left behind, but they collected what they could and made their way back.

"All right Greggo, play it out for me," Sara instructed. They were in one of the layout rooms going over the evidence.

"Four men dead. All the same age, but from four different states. It seems too coincidental that they were all here on vacation at the same time, so maybe it was some event brought them to Vegas?"

"Good," Sara said. "Go on."

"Well, they were all found tied to a chair, stabbed twice in the back with some kind of knife. Their tongues were cut out too."

"Why?" Sara asked.

"To shut them up, maybe?" Greg put out tentatively.

"Could be," Sara said. "What about the evidence?"

"I can't figure it out," he said. "The chloroform rag was found at each scene, so I think it's safe to say that it was how our killer overpowered each victim. But the rest of the stuff? I mean, we find a long black synthetic hair at one scene, a boot print that doesn't match anything in the database, some kind of metal ring with a piece of black leather attached, and brown grease paint. So how is it all connected?"

"I don't know," Sara admitted, her frustration evident. "Let's see what we can find out about the victims. Maybe it will make more sense in context."

"Yeah," Greg said with a sigh. "I'll let you know what I find."

It was only about an hour later when Sara was paged. When she finally tracked Greg down, he was hunched over a keyboard.

"Got something?" she asked.

"Yeah," Greg said. "All four of our victims were on the football team at Las Vegas High School back in 1985. They were in town for their 20-year reunion."

"Then maybe these killings were personal," Sara mused. "Someone who knew the victims, most likely, and maybe someone who held a grudge."

"I think the killer is probably local, too."

"What makes you say that," Sara wanted to know.

"Well," Greg explained, "If he wasn't, then these guys would have probably been whacked before now. It would make sense that the reunion probably brought back all kinds of memories, and provided an opportunity."

"Okay," Sara said. "So let's look at the class rosters from 1982 to 1988. That should cover anyone who may have known our victims."

"Okay," Greg drawled, tapping some keys. When the query results were returned, he let out a low whistle. "Two thousand and ninety-six names."

"Let's narrow that down to people who are still living in Vegas," Sara instructed. "Plus, our killer is most likely male."

"Male Vegas dwellers," Greg repeated. He paused, and then reported the results. "Down to two hundred and thirty-three."

Sara winced. "That's still a damn big list."

"Okay," Greg acknowledged. "Let's take a step back away from the science…who would be holding a grudge against a group of jocks?"

Both were silent for a minute.

"Geeks!" they exclaimed simultaneously.

"Okay, let me sort the list by GPA…we've got 15 people with a 3.5 GPA or better," Greg said.

They both hunched over the monitor, looking through the list of names.

"Francis Langley?" Sara said. "Seymour Johnson? Who the hell gives a kid a name like that?"

"Not me, man" Greg replied. "Those are names that say 'Beat me up and take my lunch money'."

"Well, fifteen people," Sara said with a sigh. "If we split it up, we should be done quicker."

"You got it, boss," Greg said with a smirk.

"Smartass," she said, grinning. "Catch up with me when you get back…we'll compare notes and see if there are any leads."

Greg nodded, then frowned as he looked over the photos of the victims.

"What?" Sara asked.

"What were the school colors for Las Vegas High?"

"Umm…." Sara said as she flipped through her notes. "Red and black. Why?"

"Oh, no reason, really," Greg said with a shrug. "I just noticed that all of our victims were wearing red shirts. But since they were at their reunion, I guess that makes sense."

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Greg sighed as he knocked on the final door on his list. He'd been awake now for over 30 hours, and it was beginning to take its toll. After only a few seconds, a small man answered the door. He was physically unimpressive, and wore the thickest glasses Greg had ever seen. Behind him, Greg noticed that the house was decorated eccentrically, with posters of UFOs, the infamous Nessie and Bigfoot pictures (both of which were reported to be hoaxes), along with other strange paraphernalia strewn around. After asking the man, Francis Langley, about his whereabouts at the times of the murders, as well as a few other questions, Greg thanked him for his time and headed back to the lab. Maybe Sara had had better luck.

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"Anything?" Greg wanted to know when they met up.

"Not really. One guy was a real nutjob…our Seymour Johnson. The entire house was covered in tinfoil, but he had an alibi. How about you?"

"Nothing concrete," he replied, "but boy are there some interesting people living in Vegas."

Sara nodded, and was about to reply when her pager went off. She read the screen, then looked up with a renewed sense of purpose. "Grissom just paged. Robbins finally got done with the bodies and has a report for us."

"I guess we'd better get going then," Greg replied, enthusiasm evident.