CSI universe short prompts

111- Gil Grissom/Warrick Brown

The Las Vegas night was thick with tension as Gil Grissom raced through the dimly lit streets. His heart pounded, the weight of the news heavy on his chest. Warrick Brown—his friend, his colleague—was in trouble.

Grissom found Warrick's parked car, the engine silent. The rain began to fall, each drop echoing the urgency of the moment. He pulled open the door, and there lay Warrick, blood staining his shirt. Grissom's hands trembled as he checked for a pulse. Warrick was still alive, but barely.

"Warrick," Grissom whispered, cradling his head. "Stay with me."

Warrick's eyes fluttered open, pain etched across his face. "Griss," he rasped. "It's too late."

"No," Grissom insisted. "We'll get you help."

But Warrick shook his head. "Listen," he said, his voice fading. "I need you to know something."

Grissom leaned closer, raindrops mixing with tears. "What?"

"Warrick dies in Grissom's arms," Warrick murmured. "I'm sorry."

Grissom's chest tightened. "Don't talk like that," he pleaded. "We'll find who did this."

Warrick's hand reached for Grissom's. "You were my mentor," he said. "My friend. I owe you everything."

Grissom's mind raced, memories flooding back—the late nights in the lab, the shared pursuit of justice. "You don't owe me anything," he whispered. "You're family."

Warrick's breaths grew shallower. "Remember," he said, "the cases we cracked, the laughs we shared."

Grissom nodded, his voice breaking. "Always."

And then, in the rain-soaked darkness, Warrick's grip weakened. His eyes held Grissom's, a silent farewell. "Tell Catherine," he murmured, "I'll miss her."

Grissom pressed his forehead to Warrick's. "Rest now," he said. "You're not alone."

And as Warrick's breathing slowed, Grissom held him, their friendship a lifeline. The city whispered its secrets, and Warrick slipped away, leaving Grissom with echoes of laughter, determination, and loss.