You're desperately fleeing through the dimly lit alleyways, your breath ragged and heart pounding in your ears as the sound of rapid footsteps and shouted commands closes in. The air is thick with tension, and every shadow seems to pulse with danger. Suddenly, a barrage of gunfire erupts—bullets whizzing past your head, tearing through the air like vengeful wasps.

One grazes your shoulder, sending a sharp jolt of pain through your body, while another strikes deep into your side, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stagger, blood seeping through your clothes, but you force yourself to keep moving, driven by sheer will and the desperate hope of survival. You stumble forward, legs trembling, eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of safety. The distant glow of the CSI Team building flickers like a beacon in the night.

With every agonizing step, you push through the pain, your vision blurring at the edges. Finally, you reach the entrance, collapsing against the cold metal door, your body giving way as the world fades into darkness. As you slip into unconsciousness, you hear a voice—familiar, urgent—shouting your name. Horatio bursts out of the building, his face a mask of shock and determination, screaming for a medic to rush to your aid. The last thing you see before the darkness claims you is his hand reaching out, a lifeline in the chaos.