A/N: I'm gonna miss Chuck. Fortunately I have more good memories than bad about this show and the good ones are really, really good. Even though we won't be getting any new shows, I'll continue to enjoy the stories that appear here and I'll continue to add my own. I don't own Chuck and I'm not making any money when I borrow any of the characters from the show for these little scribbles I post here. All errors are my own cause I'm rockin' it, beta-free. Still having fun and have Jim to thank. JT
Daniel Shaw Vs. Kris Phedack
Agent Daniel Shaw was seeing red. Not literally of course, because that would have indicated some sort of medical problem and he knew for a fact that he was in perfect health. No, the red he was seeing was a direct result of the words he'd just read and he looked down at the small book in his hands and was shocked to find his hands were trembling. Slamming the book shut with a vehemence that reflected the thoughts swirling through his mind, he reared back his right hand and hurled the book across the small room with such force that the monitor that was in it's path was actually destroyed.
"God dammit!" he yelled at the small book that had fallen to the floor and sat there, silently mocking him. The chair he'd been sitting in skittered backwards as he surged to his feet and whipped his Glock from his waistband and emptied the entire clip into the offending book, putting on an impressive display of as each bullet he fired struck the object as it bounced and flipped, almost as if it was trying to escape his wrath.
"What's happening?" a very worried sounding Chuck Bartowski asked while the sound of brass jackets from spent rounds echoed, adding a faint tinkling echo as a counter point to the nerds higher than normal voice. Standing in the open doorway, his eyes locked on the tattered remnants of the small journal that was wedged against the far wall of the small room while bits of paper floated in the air, slowly giving into their fruitless fight against gravity and settling to the ground.
"Agent Shaw? Are you alright? What's going on?"
"Uh, nothing. I, uh, saw a spider" Shaw answered, the look on his face reflecting his lack of concern about how Chuck might react to his obviously lame excuse. Before the only witness to his odd behavior could say another word, he ejected the spent clip from his weapon and slammed a fresh clip in to replace it and , after tucking the still warm weapon back into it's customary resting place, left the room, pushing past the puzzled younger man.
"Shaw?" Chuck called at the other man's back as it moved away from him.
"I have to go take care of something. Clean that mess up" the agent called back over his shoulder before turning a corner and disappearing from view.
"Sure, whatever…wait, I'm not the janitor" Chuck answered to an empty hallway once he'd managed to corral his thoughts and get his jaw back into it's usual resting place, sure that it had left an impression on his chest when it had dropped open moments earlier.
Turning back around, he watched a the final few bits of paper finish their downward journey through the haze of cordite tainted smoky air. "Holy frakking shit, Batman" he mumbled to himself before moving to carry out Shaw's order despite his continued self assertion that he wasn't the janitor.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Daniel Shaw sat at a small table near the back corner of the trendy little café. His eyes watched everything, searching for his prey. He took a sip from the drink in his hand, smiling to himself as the smooth yet bitter sweetness of the brown liquor slid down his throat. He discovered Jaegermeister years before when he been in a small bar in Germany. Thinking back, he remembered that he'd also discovered the woman, who would become his wife, that same night.
The memories, that were once some of his happiest, were now tainted with the information he'd gleaned from the small journal that was now a tattered ruin. The words he'd read were the reason he was now waiting, watching as scores of self important dweebs and dweebettes filled the air with their empty and meaningless conversations.
It had taken him less than ten minutes of searching through government databases to find the most likely spots to make contact with the man who was living on borrowed time and didn't even know it. Following the information, he'd first gone by the soon-to-be victim's Bel Air mansion and, after having a 'conversation' with the man's sometime writing partner that left the man with contusions, broken bones and a counterfeit Emmy statuette shoved into his ass, he'd made his way to the small business where he was currently waiting. He almost smiled, remembering the writer's blubbering pleas for mercy while he pummeled the man. He wondered what the man had been talking about, the first slap reducing the man to a quivering mess, going on and on about how the third season of something called the 'OC' hadn't been his fault.
Looking down at his hands, he smiled as he remembered the whining screams that had lead him here. He flexed his fingers, ignoring the small ache from the bruises on his knuckles. Lifting a hand, he inspected his nails, taking note of the speck of what looked like blood that was under the tip of the tip of the ring finger on his left hand. He was surprised he'd missed it earlier when he'd spent precious minutes cleaning the tears, snot and other bodily fluids that had covered his hands after he'd finished with Swartz, the weakling who'd ratted out his sometime partner faster than a starving starlet would hit the casting couch.
He'd been disappointed when he hadn't found the Hollywood Douche Bag at home but he would simply add his wasted time to the list of reasons for the pain that was coming the weasel's way. Taking another sip from his drink, his peripheral vision alerted him to the entrance of the filthy scum bag who was drawing his last breaths and didn't even realize it.
Watching his prey while trying to keep from laughing, sure that it would come out twisted and evil sounding, he studied the man, He saw the so called writer stare at his server's ass, practically drooling at the departing figure. He watched the puffed up little toad answer his Bluetooth and, after tapping at the display on his own phone, lifted the phone to his ear and listened while his quarry booked a coffee colonic and cleansing for later that afternoon.
"Perfect" Daniel Shaw whispered to himself, a plan already beginning to form. After ceasing his eavesdropping, he used his phone to get the address where he'd implement his still solidifying plans later that day. After finishing with his phone, he slipped it into his pocket and downed the last of his Jaeger before dropping fifty cents on the table and walking out of the café.
"Fucking, blockheaded actor" the young man had muttered under his breath, watching as the customer who had been taking up valuable space walked away. "Kevin Smith definitely cast you in a believable part" he added, still under his breath. Pocketing the two quarters and wishing he'd followed his gut and spit into the man's drink, he finished clearing the table and then struggled to hide his displeasure when the hostess led a new customer his way. 'Great, just fucking great! First the log and now this pretentious little twit' he said to himself while forcing a smile onto his face.
"Hello, Mr. Phedack. Great to have you back with us" the waiter announced, torn between his desire to slip the man his headshot and spitting into whatever he ordered. 'Hell, why not both?' he asked himself, feeling his practiced smile transforming into a real one.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Daniel Shaw opened the door soundlessly and slipped into the small room, taking note of his prey who was stretched out on the padded table, face down and naked except for the towel that was draped across his mid section that covered the apparatus that was currently irrigating his colon. The attendant had slipped out after his customer had fallen into a light sleep, thanks to the small dart that the dark haired man had provided him with, five hundred dollars richer.
Fighting an almost overpowering urge to replace the cleaning tool with his Glock, Daniel Shaw ripped the oddly shaped wand from it's resting place, grinning at the moan that escaped from the now awake man, sure that the sound was a direct result of his less than gentle removal technique.
Before he could move, Shaw dropped his forearm across the back of the horizontal man, applying enough pressure to elicit a wimper.
"Don't move a muscle!" Shaw hissed at the now squirming man.
"Who are you? What do you want? Are you an actor? I can get you a job on my new show."
"Shut the fuck up!"
"Please, it wasn't my fault. My partner screwed up the show, not me. I love all of my fans, they mean the world to me. I…" the voice faded away as the dart that was now sticking in his back took effect.
Daniel Shaw removed his arm and, after straightening up, experienced something that had never happened before, the urge to throw up and shake himself to rid his body of the creeping feeling of 'wrongness' that seemed to permeate the air in the small room and had to be leaking from the very pores of the man now sound asleep on the table.
Daniel Shaw had been an agent for a long time and had dealt with the scum of the earth for longer than he cared to remember but this was the first time he was actually glad that he'd remembered to bring latex gloves with him. Working quickly, he soon had the room completely clean and after a final check, exited the building, making his way to the van that now held the unconscious body of the man that had stolen his most precious memory from him.
After a final look around the parking lot, he climbed into the van, started the engine and slowly pulled out into the slow moving traffic.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Daniel Shaw watched as the man, currently strapped into a chair in front of him, slowly regained consciousness. He almost smiled as the look of confusion was quickly replaced with a look of abject fear.
"Where am I? What's going on? Who are you?"
"Shut up!" Shaw yelled before his hand snaked out and slapped the bound man across the face.
"Ow. That really hurt, you…you…"
"I said shut up!" he roared at the quivering man, the sound of the second slap seeming to echo throughout the room.
"Do you remember this woman?" Shaw asked as he held a photograph up, making sure that it was directly in the now crying man's line of sight.
"Uh…no?"
"You spent three months leading her on with promises and then you tossed her away when she told you she was pregnant! Remember her now?"
"Um…I hate to say it but I see actors all the time and…" he suddenly stopped talking when he noticed the murderous glint in his interrogator' eyes.
"She was my wife, Evelyn, and you defiled…"
"Oh, now I remember, yeah…Evie…she wanted a guest part and I…"
"Liar! You filthy, stinking liar! You worthless, scum sucking deceiver! " Shaw screamed into the man's face, spittle flying from his lips as he struggled to get a grip on the rage that flared through him.
"Listen, Brandon…I, uh, I get it. This is some weird prank for some new type of 'Punked' show and, well, they found a new Superman and you're desperate for work but this whole violence thing…I've got to say that I'm not a fan."
Shaw stepped away and returned moments later with a heavy duty, red Swingline stapler and, after grabbing his captives lips, proceeded to staple them together.
Now you can't tell any more of your filthy stinking lies, Phedack. You seduced the love of my life and then tossed her away when she was no longer of interest to you. Well, I have a special treat for you, you fucking Hollywood douche bag" Shaw railed while dragging a small wheeled table from the side of the room. Sitting on the table was an odd looking helmet that had numerous wires attached to it After picking up the helmet, he set it onto the head of the now whimpering man.
"Did you ever see that movie with Natalie Wood?" Shaw asked while tightening a chin strap. "Well, it was based on an actual experiment the government conducted. The device is real and your going to experience it first hand" he said, giving a light tap to the side of the helmet before stepping back and picking up what looked like a remote control. "Using this helmet, memories can be downloaded into a persons mind, giving the recipient the entire experience that a previous wearer went through. The project was abandoned when it was discovered that the memories would fade in less than thirty minutes which made it impractical as a teaching device however, it's perfect for my needs."
"mmmm… mmm nnn " the quivering lump under the helmet mumbled, the staples making intelligible speech rather difficult.
"That's right. I'm going to let you experience something a worm like you is just going to love. You see, while the government was developing this technology, they experimented on lots of really nasty people and you will benefit from those experiments."
"..mmm"
"That's right, you're going to get to feel everything that these really bad people felt…and you'll smell everything and taste and hear and see. You're gonna get the whole package. You're going to relive the final moments of some of the worlds worst scum bags…should be right up your alley" Shaw said with a snort before stepping back and aiming the small device in his hand towards his captive. "Enjoy the show, Phedack…I think I started it with a wood chipper" he said and jabbed the start button with his thumb. The screaming started after his victim managed to tears his lips open, which is hard to do without being able use one's hands, and it continued to echo off the walls of Castle for hours.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Chuck was sitting between Sarah and Casey when the video link activated and the first thing he thought was that General Diane Beckman didn't look happy.
"Can anyone tell me what happened?" the glaring woman asked.
"Well, ma'am" Casey spoke first, it appears that Agent Shaw used the 'Dreamwave' device and tortured Kris Phedack to death and then used his Glock to commit suicide."
"Colonel, are you sure?"
"Yes ma'am. I'll send you the video from Castle's surveillance system."
"And Agent Shaw tortured this man for hours?"
"Yes ma'am, using every bit of the torture/death experiences in the system. I t appears he may have revived Mr. Phedack several times so he could force him to live through them all" Casey said.
"And he got off light" Chuck mumbled under his breath.
"What was that, Mr. Bartowski?" the General asked with an eyebrow raised.
"I said, that just isn't right" Chuck replied with a cough.
"Oh please, Mr. Bartowski" the General said with a smirk and, more surprising, a wink. "After what he did to The OC and that silly but charming 'spy' show, he got off light. Do we know what triggered Agent Shaw's breakdown?"
"Well, General, I can't be sure but I think he read something in what appears to have been his wife's diary" Chuck answered, holding up an evidence bag that contained the bullet riddled remains of the book he'd seen him 'murder' the previous day.
"And Mr. Phedack's remains?" the General asked..
"We've staged a 'rock star in a motel room with his belt around his neck' to explain his death. I also have the lead coroner on speed dial to insure that everything appears as it should."
"Good. I'll make sure to include a commendation, for valorous service to the citizens of the United States and the rest of the world, in Agent Shaw's records. Dismissed."
A/N: 2 If one reader smiled, I'm happy. JT