A/N: So I finally worked up enough courage to attempt another multi-chapter story. I'm already over halfway done writing this story, so hopefully I'll be able to post updates on a fairly regular schedule. This takes place during/after the fourth season, so they already have the Bionic Academy and all of Krane's ex-soldiers.

Rating Warning: This story is rated T for injuries, some blood, potentially disturbing thoughts, and mild violence/action. But there is NO swearing, mature themes, or slash. I NEVER write that sort of thing into my stories. Also, I went with the T rating more to be safe than anything; I never go overly-gory with my writing.

OC warning: This story contains a few OCs, including one who will be featured rather prominently for a little while. However, there is no need to worry about an OCxCharacter sort of plot, as you will find out soon. This is just a warning in case you don't like stories with OCs (I know there are quite a few people who don't)

Cover Art: by Wintershadow35

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Nightmare Begins

There were sounds all around him. He could hear them everywhere. Some loud and up close, some echoing and distant. The loudest sound, though, was a throbbing coming from his own head. It was pulsing relentlessly through his brain and causing his thoughts to jumble together.

Where am I?

He slid his eyes open cautiously and peered out at the outside world. The surrounding darkness eventually gave way to vague shapes as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. It was a large, empty building. There were some crates scattered here and there. Along one wall, a large pile of lumber smelled like it had been left too long. The floor was concrete and covered in at least one year's worth of dust. This last fact he discovered after inhaling too much of it and having his lungs react with a violent coughing fit.

He was lying with his stomach on the floor and there was broken glass all around him. Placing both hands squarely under himself, he pushed upwards and managed to achieve a position on all fours. His left hand felt oddly numb and almost gave out on him.

Why am I so weak? Why am I in so much pain?

Settling back into a sitting position, he reached up to where that throbbing was coming from and gingerly touched the place with his fingers. With a sharp gasp he retracted his hand and felt his vision blur for a second. As soon as he was steady again, he glanced down at his hand and saw blood on it. That at least explained the pain. Or, part of the pain. He noticed that his left hand remained stubbornly useless at his side. Bringing it up into view, he grimaced at the sight of the battered and burned limb. Blackened scorch marks created odd patterns across the skin on the back of his hand.

What happened to me?

It took quite a bit of fighting to hold back the panic he felt rising inside him. He took a few deep breaths and told himself to think this through rationally.

Okay, first things first. Who am I?

That part came easily after a moment's thought. He remembered the lab, his family, the academy. After another second, he remembered his name, Chase Davenport, and pretty much every other detail of his life. Well, almost. For some reason, he couldn't quite remember his home. He had a vague memory of the mansion, but this memory was clouded with darkness and danger. The harder he tried to recall details about the place, the more he felt his hearbeat quicken with anxiety. The throbbing in his head seemed to increase as well. What was so scary about that house?

Did something bad happen to me there? Is that why I'm in so much pain?

He shook his head at the thought, then grimaced slightly as the movement caused his head to ache even more.

No, his injuries were not recieved at the mansion. He knew that much. So where?

There was a loud sound from behind him. Chase almost toppled over trying to turn around quickly, but there was no one there. He realized that his bionic hearing was picking up sounds from outside the building. Focusing on those noises, he could tell that they were the footsteps of quite a large number of people. There were at least a dozen and they were fast approaching the building.

I need to run.

He didn't know why. He didn't need to know why. These people were here to take him away. If he didn't get out of there quickly, they might even do something worse. How did he know this? It didn't matter. The point was that he did know this, and he needed to run.

The door flew open with a loud bang that echoed off the walls and made Chase's ears ache. For some reason, his body was having a hard time remembering how to adjust to his bionics. He leapt to his feet a little too quickly and had to pause long enough for his head to stop spinning. Unfortunately, this gave the intruders enough time to form a loose circle around the edges of the floor. His original assessment had been correct. There were at least a dozen of the men, dressed in black and each aiming an assault rifle at Chase's head.

The man who appeared to be in charge of them stepped slightly forward and shouted at him, "Get down on the ground with your hands in front of you. Do it now or we open fire!"

Chase had absolutely no intention of doing what they said. Something in the back of his mind was screaming at him to get out while he still had the chance, but he didn't listen to that either. He was staring in stunned silence at the black jackets the men were wearing and, more specifically, the emblem on those jackets. A deep sense of dread filled every one of his veins.

Run!

Springing into action, he took off across the warehouse floor. He sighted another door on the oppposite side of the building and headed for it. Shots rang out all around and he dodged them as best he could. At least the adrenaline pumping through his system kept his fatigue at bay for the time being. More shots rang out and someone was radioing for backup. He needed to get out of here fast. He tried to activate his force field for protection, but it wasn't responding.

A bullet ripped into the crate directly in front of him; Chase quickly veered his path towards the left and then darted back onto his original course after making sure a pile of boxes blocked their view of him. The door wasn't far ahead now. He attempted his force field again and it activated momentarily before sputtering out. Another bullet almost grazed his leg. The men were closing in on him. Chase leapt over a crate and dodged behind the first pile of lumber. Running between the stacks of boards and the wall, he shortened the distance that still separated him from the door by half.

With only a few yards to go, Chase suddenly felt a searing hot pain tear through his shoulder. He crumpled forward in agony and hit the ground hard. He pressed his hand over the bullet wound in an attempt to stop the blood flow. It was his left shoulder and the fresh injury was only adding to the pain in his charred hand.

Take them down.

He couldn't hurt them. It wouldn't be right. These men might have families.

They are the enemy. I don't know why, but they are. They will hurt me if I don't hurt them. I need to do this.

Dragging himself to his feet, Chase tried one more time to activate his force field and, this time, it held. He condensed it into a small orb and hurled it at the nearest man - the one who had shot him. The man fell backwards and crashed through a wooden crate. Chase used his molecular kinesis to pull one of the piles of lumber down onto three more men. Apparently, the wood was a lot heavier than it looked; the men stayed down. The rest of the men - the enemy - stayed at a safe distance and opened fire with their rifles.

Chase turned and dashed through the door, slamming it shut behind him. Using his magnetism app, he crushed the mechanisms in the doorknob; the men inside would have to break down the door to get out this side of the building.

Turning, he surveyed the area with a new curiosity. Nothing looked familiar here. He was in a city, but it was obviously not Mission Creek. Actually, judging by the stars overhead, he wasn't in California at all. A strange sense of loneliness filled him as he took in his surroundings. He knew that he was far from home. And, in some small part of his mind, he also knew that he couldn't go home. Not yet. He had a mission first.

Too bad I can't remember what that mission is.

A loud bang on the door behind him reminded Chase that he needed to get moving. He would have to worry about his current situation later. For now, the only thing that mattered was putting as much distance between himself and this warehouse as possible. His head was throbbing again and he could feel the bullet in his shoulder moving around too much, but he would have to deal with the pain. Stopping right now was simply not an option.

As he took off into the night, Chase couldn't help thinking again about those men who were chasing him. He'd easily recognized the emblems on their jackets back there. They were FBI agents. The FBI wanted him dead.

What have I done?

A/N: Okay, I was re-watching the Bourne movies a few days ago and this idea suddenly popped into my head: What if one of the Lab Rats found themselves in a similar situation? Three days and a dozen rewrites later, this story is born! Don't worry, though, it might be inspired by the Bourne movies, but this story is very different from that one.

If you have any thoughts/suggestions, they would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Next chapter will be posted by Wednesday at the latest.