A/N: Well hello there! This is a fandom in which I have spent some time just lurking, and I'm finally taking the plunge and publishing my first CSI:NY fic. Comments are appreciated and will be replied to as soon as possible, which will vary, since I'm on holiday right now. Furthermore, I'm British-Australian, so my Americanisms aren't fabulous.
Note: This is an AU story, set approximately in the region of S3, E5. Emphasis on "approximate", since I screw up the timings beyond belief...

Ill-fated choices

To be saved by something as fickle as fortune is both common and rare. The only thing that really matters is that it happens. And yet, there is a flip-side to every coin: those who have clutched and grasped at something, only to have it snatched from their fingertips resent the Lady. So they learn their lesson, in the hope that next time, Lady Luck has less control. Eventually, they can play a flawless game. In some cases, a deadly one.

"911, what's your emergency?" The operator waited, fingers poised over the keyboard.

"There's... There's a guy. He has a gun. He... He just..." The man on the other end of the line sounded panicked, swallowing audibly before continuing, "He just shot a whole bunch of people. I need an ambulance, and the police!"

"Okay, sir, I need you to tell me what you can, please?"

"It's on the Upper East Side, I don't know the street... Uh, it's called 'the Blue Diner', it's opposite an apartment block and a McDonald's... The apartment block is number 1274... It's next to a book store, and... sorry, that's all I can give you." He sounded genuinely apologetic.

"Thank you, sir. I'm dispatching an ambulance and the police now. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Yes. The guy. He has blonde hair, I think his eyes are blue. It looks like his nose was broken a while back. He was wearing a white vest and dark tracksuit pants. He's a complete maniac."It seemed like the man had calmed down a lot now, since he sounded professional and businesslike, with barely a hint of a tremor in his voice.

"Thanks. Is that all?"

"Yes."

The line went dead.

Over on the Upper East Side, a dark haired, dark-eyed man hung up on his cell phone and got into a car that was parked outside the delivery entrance of the diner, dumping a shotgun in the trunk. He smiled slightly, feeling a buzz as he drove off. Daniel Kadence could get used to this.