A/N: I've had this running through my head for awhile, and I just had to get it down before my head blew off. Seriously, I feel like I have little people in there running around with fireworks threatening to blow it up unless I put this down. Just sayin'…

I have the general plot already, the outline itself is almost finished, and all that's left is to get it all into chapters.

I don't know if I'll get any feedback to this at all, but I would appreciate reviews as to whether or not it would be something people would be interested in. Or constructive criticism. (I would appreciate that quite a bit.)

And—this author's note seems to go on forever, and I apologize—I just wanted to warn you, I do not have a beta reader, and any mistakes you may find are entirely my own. Okay, I'm done.

Rating: T (rating will go up as story continues)

Warnings: Character death, mentions of extreme homophobia, violence, slight gore, language and sexual situations. Alternate Universe, obviously.

Summary: Homicide Detective Kurt Hummel was just called on as Primary for a well-known District Attorney's murder. As the bodies continue to pile up, all traces lead back to one Blaine Anderson, who Kurt can't help but feel is innocent. Something connects this case that just doesn't seem to add up, and when one body becomes another, and another and another, Kurt is running out of time to figure out just what it is.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, nor do I own any of the characters mentioned.

Death was something you never forget. It's always there, in the back of your mind; you know it happens but you try to never acknowledge its existence. But it's there, and it will always happen. When you take a shower, when you're at work, while having sex, or put on your shoes, brushing your teeth, or drink yourself into oblivion. Maybe it's to those thousands of people who you don't even know, and don't really care about. Or, it could affect you personally, a family member or friend, the woman who's always the cashier at the grocery store, or the kid who mows the lawn. And then it's right there in your face, forcing you to accept it. It's still there, twisting inside of you like a snake, trying to make itself known by clawing and biting, ripping at your knotted innards until it's all you can do to bite your tongue until you draw blood to keep your eyes from filling. It's something that happens every day, a common occurrence, and a part of life.

And it was also something you never got used to.

Even though death is one more everyday act in a world where people think of new ways to kill each other, where lives are taken mercilessly and unsparingly, and it's just something else you expect to see on the news. It means nothing to you when there's a report on a little girl who was shredded to pieces with a kitchen knife, a man shot in the head for his spare pocket change, a teenager left bleeding in a hit and run, or even that old man in your apartment complex who died naturally and in his sleep. Sure, for a moment you think something along the lines of, "Oh, how terrible." But it's never dwelled upon just in case the snakes writing in the pit of your stomach decides to make itself known.

Staring down at yet another body before him, Kurt gave a quiet sigh.

Murder was the oldest fashion around, and it never seemed to go out of style.

To an outside observer, they would see a young, flat eyed brunette going about just another scene, another body with indifference. They would assume it was just one more body on a long list, one more death that he was in charge of. They'd see him as slightly cold and slightly hard by the way he would coolly observe the scene and the dead form before him.

But nobody knew the cold rage he felt when he stood for another life taken too soon, or the pity and helplessness when he had to repeat the standard lines to the living of the dead, "I regret to inform you…", "I'm sorry for your loss." Nobody knew of the hard lump in his stomach, and the nonexistent grime on his skin that seemed to take ages to wash away. Not even the officers around him milling about, who knew the aspects of the job and what it entails, nor the CSI officers who knew it as well. They may know the feeling, but they didn't know it affect him. To them, he was cold, calculated, and while slightly frightening, someone to respect, and who knew that he got the job done.

But no, they never knew the rest.

"Body identified as one Santana Lopez, thirty-two, District Attorney with two kids and a wife at home." The officer on the scene reported while Kurt crouched to examine the body sprawled at his feet. "Wit gave her statement, was walking home the same way she always does, when she more or less tripped over the body. Down right hysterical, before during and after she called it in, but says she didn't touch the body. A Rachel Berry, twenty two, goes to NYU and was just coming home from work."

The officer rocked back onto his heels and swallowed nervously when Kurt glanced up at him. And then let out a silent breath when the brunette merely nodded while pulling on gloves.

"CSI's finished?" Kurt questioned.

The uniform nodded, looking a little pale and obviously trying not to set his eyes on the body. "Yes, sir. Scene is also posted after a news crew got word of it."

Kurt nodded again, satisfied if slightly irritated at the mention of the news crew, and instructed the uniform to record the scene, flipping on his recorder while the officer went about every angle. "Victim, Santana Ashlyn Lopez, age approximately thirty-two, TOD eighteen twenty-one. Approximately five-five, one thirty-five. Brown and brown. On scene, Primary Hummel, Detective Kurt, and officer—" he glanced up at the man in question.

"Hudson, Officer Finn."

Kurt relayed the information. "Victim was found nude, face down. Slight bruising found on shoulders, upper back, ankles, and back of forearms, indicating defensive wounds on the latter. Lacerations and abrasions also in various places on victim's back, more towards middle and lower back, back of thighs, and buttocks, with what looks to be grit and dirt in them. Hudson, help me turn her over." He nodded towards the body, and ignoring the fact that the gangly officer was more green that white now, they carefully moved her so she was on her back.

Hudson took a small step back and audibly gulped when they saw the front of the body. Kurt's eyes were flat, and jaw tight as he continued to take note. "Bruising around wrists, finger shaped. Facial features unidentifiable." Since it was broken into pieces, and all. "Head wound, circular, on left temple, rounded, like a puncture wound. Unknown as to how deep wound goes." He lifted her bloody hair and saw a hole the size of a pencil, like he could slide it right on through. "No other head wounds can be found, as of this moment COD is determined as the puncture in her temple." Blood dripping from her mouth caught his eye. He used his gloved fingers to gently pry her mouth open, and with hardened eyes, spoke into the recorder. "Victim appears to have had her tongue cut out. Before she had died, as the amputated part has bled. More bruising along shoulders, upper arms, and knee caps. Carved into victim's torso is the word 'DYKE' all caps, block letters, with looks like a dull object by the jagged edges. Post mortem." Thank god for small blessings. "No signs of molestation or sodomy. Victim's knuckles are bruised, blood and skin not belonging to herself has been found under her finger nails. Got a few swipes in, didn't you, Santana?" he muttered. "Good for you. You okay there, Officer?"

Hudson, pale and sweating slightly, nodded firmly. "Yes, sir. I'm fine."

Kurt stood and let the taller man gather his bearings. "When she's bagged, have her set as priority with Doctor Fabray as ME. Get me the address for next of kin while I talk to the witness, and I'll inform them."

"Yes, sir."

…

Rachel Berry was the weepy type. This was nothing to be ashamed of, considering the girl had just happened across a traumatizing situation, but well. She was very weepy. And she wailed.

With grueling patience that he wasn't aware he had, Kurt waited until she finished sobbing and whimpering into a tissue. "How about you start at the beginning for me?"

"O-okay. Okay." She drew in a shuddering breath, sitting straighter and tucking her hair behind her ear. "I was w-walking home, like I do everyday from work. I don't—I don't live very far from here, and school is within walking distance too, so it's just easier. I don't—we don't see the point in getting a car. It's just—you know, just not worth it, really. But usually I'd be home earlier—my roommate and I switch off on cooking and everything because it's only us, and we're both super busy, and we fight a lot but if we switch then we won't fight maybe so much, but I figured I'd try to take an extra shift because she just lost her job and we have to pay the rent. I work—I work over at Deb's, you know, the coffee shop? About two blocks over, in between that new book store and the little market. Anyway. I was walking home, trying to get there quickly because I don't like walking at night, I have this slight fear of—" she hiccoughed slightly in ironic amusement. "Of being jumped or killed. My roommate—Sugar—and I were fighting on my cell because she still hasn't found a job and I was tired of doing all the work. I had just hung up and then I—I saw something laying on the curb ahead." Her eyes started to well up again, and her lip trembled. "I couldn't really see what, it's dark and the street lamp didn't show anything so I got closer and saw—I saw and I screamed because she was there and oh, god." She wrapped her arms around herself and bit her lip. "And I—I kinda blacked out, I think. I think I just stood there. Then I called the police, but I didn't touch anything, 'cause on those crime shows you never touch anything and I didn't know if it was true or not, but I—I didn't want to touch her. I didn't want to, and she wasn't breathing, and there was blood everywhere. God, I should've—I should've done something, seen if I could do something."

He shook his head firmly while she choked on another sob. "No, you did very well. You did exactly what you were supposed to. She was dead, and she had been dead. There was nothing else you could have done except what you had. You did as you were supposed to."

She blinked large brown eyes and then squeezed them shut tightly. "Okay. Okay."

…

He finished talking to the college student and told her he may need to get in touch with her again. After he was informed of Lopez's address he sent a still very teary Rachel Berry off with instructions to Hudson to escort her to her apartment.

After they left he stood for a moment, watching while the crime scene unit bagged and tagged everything, then took a deep breath and turned around, stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked to his car.

He had to go inform a woman her wife was dead and her children had lost a mother.