A/N: I've actually had this idea for a super long time, and, well, that's all I have to say. There are a lot of stories out there about What If... Chuck graduated, Chuck joined the CIA in Stanford, etc. Mine is more of a What If... Sarah Walker wasn't recruited by Graham? What If... Sarah Walker was... a bad guy? How did she become that way? How would she 'unbecome' that way? And then I started writing. I can't promise updates very often, but I do have a plan.

Prologue

Life must be understood backwards; but... it must be lived forward - Soren Kierkegaard

Burbank, California

January 13, 2063

2:10

I have a story to tell, a good one; or so I'd like to think. Or, I guess technically, I have a story to write, this story is not mine to tell. I'm only... preserving it. This story is about spies. It's about treason of the worst kind and innocent people corrupted beyond most. It's about passion and danger and action and excitement. It's also a love story, but we aren't quite there yet.

It's a story about Charles Irving Bartowski, and his immeasurable love for computers. It's about Bryce Larkin, who always wanted to do right by those he loved. This story is about John Casey, who definitely had a soft side - he just wouldn't admit it.

It's a story about a government conspiracy and a really really big computer. It's a story about a man who had a plot to take over the world, more or less.

Above all, this is a story about a girl called Samantha, who grew up to be a woman called Sarah, and tried out a bunch of other names along the way. And like I said before, this story isn't mine to tell. It's hers. But I'm pretty sure I'm the only one left to tell it.. so, here goes nothing.

Boston, Massachusetts

May 14, 1985

15:00

Samantha's first memory is oddly specific, as far as first memories go. She remembers, days before her fifth birthday, going to the mall with her father. She remembers her stroller suddenly stopping outside a fancy jewelry store.

Samantha was a relatively calm child, she wasn't close to perfect, no baby is, but she held off her attention-deprived tantrum for a good ten minutes. Which was actually a lot more than her father expected, he was impressed.

The first person to notice was an elderly woman, asking, "Shh, Shh, sweetie, where's your Mommy?" Little Sammy didn't bother answering. It was a well established fact, not a memory, that she was born without a mother. "Excuse me, but does anyone know where this little girl's parents are?"

By then, a crowd had gathered, unable to believe that some cold hearted person could just simply leave this defenseless child in a shopping mall. The elderly woman alerted a nearby mall cop, who began to panic. He'd never actually dealt with a "situation" before.

Then the cavalry arrived. A man pushed through the crowd, looking official in a big fancy uniform. He spoke clearly to the inexperienced cop.

"I'll take it from here," he glanced at the man's name-tag, "Dennis. You can go back to your rounds. I'll take this little angel to the security desk and search for her parents from there"

The unwavering authority in his voice convinced the crowd, easily. As if, for some reason, they would need convincing that this man was in charge. He lifted Samantha into his arms, she began to cry when she bristled against his itchy mustache. She didn't like it. Where was her Daddy?

The man didn't take her to the security desk, however. He took her outside, into the parking structure, and eventually buckled her into the back seat of a car. She was almost too interested in her new surroundings to notice the somewhat alarming situation unfolding in front of her.

When the car pulls out of the shady structure and into unfiltered sunlight, in freedom, the man pulls off the road and removes the uncomfortable mustache. He gives his daughter a playful wink. Little Samantha laughs and squeals and claps her hands. Daddy was playing a trick! Like some sort of sick version of hide and seek, one of her favorites.

"Darlin', that was some job you did back there! Whew, boy I didn't know you had it in you! That performance deserves an award, you know what I'm thinking?"

"Daddy, I can't read minds!"

"Really? I'll have to teach you that trick some time, but for now, how do you feel about some ice cream?"

"Yeah! Rocky Road! Rocky Road, Daddy! Please?"

"Sure thing darlin', I'll even let you get a double scoop!"

Samantha looked out the car window, practically vibrating in her seat with the joy of the impending treat. She noticed her Dad pat the sack sitting next to him in the passenger seat, and she thinks that, even though he's her Daddy, he's a little weird. But she loves him, heck, she'd love anyone who'd buy her a double scoop of Rocky Road.

Hayward, Wisconsin

June 25, 1994

10:25

Katie O'Connel was pedaling her bike happily across the street, on her way to somewhere, when she was hit by an armored car. Which is slightly worse than just a regular car since it's, simply put, armored. This isn't the first time.

As multiple people in multiple places, she's been hit by an armored car too many times to count. Ever since she learned to ride a bike, it's become one of her father's favorite cons. It's simple, it's easy, and it doesn't put him at any real risk. Except, this time doesn't go according to plan.

Just that morning, she'd gotten an unfortunate haircut. It was supposed to be a treat from Daddy, for being such a "sport" about living in a town called Hayward. He promised that she would only have to be Katie O'Connel for another day, so she smiled at him on her way to the barber's chair. Showing off her bright black and gold braces.

Half an hour later, she looked into the mirror and started to cry. She's never been one much for crying, so looking back on it she'll always blame this moment on overactive hormones. Being 14 sucks. Being 14 with a haircut from Hell is unbearable. So, her Dad placates her in the only way he knows how: Rocky Road. As long as she helps pay.

She goes through the ordeal as usual. While carelessly biking across the street, possibly on some adorable mission for her Grandma, a cute little girl is hit by a big ugly truck. People on the sidewalk gasp in surprise, the two armed guards in the truck jump out to help...

"What the..."

"Did we just hit something?"

"I don't know man, go look."

There's a quite murmuring on the street, she suddenly feels awkward. Her arms are too long, splayed out on the street, her bike is too little and too flowery. And her new haircut is the ugliest thing ever.

"It's just some punk kid! Hey, girlie, we got an important load here! Move it!"

A man on the street finally decides he shouldn't just be standing and watching. He runs over and grabs her around the waist with one arm, dragging her bike with the other. She's too shocked to protest. Or pick his pocket. The truck drove off.

"You should be more careful, where are your parents?" He asked, cautiously. She noticed that he was actually expecting an answer.

"Umm. Oh, my Mom is right over there. Uh, thanks," She mumbled, pointing in an obscure direction. She quickly hopped on her little bike and rode away, hoping her Dad wouldn't be too mad. From all the years living on the con, she'd learned many things about being a con man. One of them, that's she'd been forced to learn on her own, is that a good con man doesn't like to be a bad con man. And that there is no such thing as a good con man.

She makes her way back to the hotel, almost too afraid of her father to return. Truth is, she's never failed before. Never. She doesn't want him to see her cry, for him to say that a good con man doesn't cry. She wants to tell him that she's isn't a good con man, she's his daughter! That he should know better, that this is all his fault. She wants to ask him where her mother is, because she learned in her brand new school that Mother's are fairly important in the process of creating a new human being.

She slowly slides her key in the door and turns the handle. Her thoughts dissipate when she sees her father laying on the bed, painting designs in the air with his fingers. An empty bottle of something that was probably really expensive sitting on the table next to him. He doesn't move to acknowledge her presence, and it hurts. She can't.. explain it, but her heart hardens at the sight of him. Of his solution to this small failure.

"It's all right darlin' don't you worry. Itssnot your fault! Itssok. Your hair, itll grow out even... eventually," He slurs, continuing to move his hands about. She steps forward, as if that would somehow make him... pay attention.

"Dad..."

"No, darlin' look, see we'lls just have to do some different jobs now. Itssjuss the hair, you... you're still my lil' girl. Issokay."

She stands there stoically. This... this isn't real. It wasn't her fault. How can he not see that? These things happen, it's life, he should know, he's had much more experience than she has.

"And well, I guess we can't get any ice cream now, that's a shame, huh? No money, no reward. It's a shame darlin', it really is," He mumbles, still paying attention to his absolutely fascinating hands. They fall quickly, and she knows that he has fallen asleep. Because this day has been so so hard on him.

She grabs her room key, turns off the lights, and walks out the door. If he won't get her some ice cream, after everything he's put her through, then she'll get it herself.

San Diego, California

April 20, 1998

14:30

She may hate Heather Chandler with every fiber of her being, but the girl has good choice in music. Jennifer Burton turned up her stereo and bobbed her head to Tubthumping, happy that the day was finally over. Excited that this stage of her life was almost over. Soon, she wouldn't have to worry about school anymore. It would be just her, her Dad, and the con.

Except, when she approached her house, there were too many cars with flashing lights for anything to be normal. Whatever that is. So she keeps driving, holding off on the panic attack that is rising past her throat. Everything is fine. Her Dad was already waiting for her. In that spot. The spot!

She thinks back to what he said, when they first moved to San Diego last year. He brought her to the woods, saying that if anything went wrong, he would leave a message for her here. By some random tree.

As she parks her car on the side of the road, she begins to pray. She hasn't done it many times in her life, but she figures it couldn't hurt to start now. She prays for her Dad to be waiting for her somewhere in the woods, she prays that he hasn't abandoned her now, when she needs him most.

Fear quickly turns to anger as she makes her way through the brush. This wasn't her fault. It was never her fault. Ever since that one incident in Nowheresville Wisconsin, she'd been the brain behind most of the cons. She's navigated her father out of a sticky spot with a "client" after he'd been caught having an affair with the man's wife. She convinced a hostile German businessman to invest in their fake business, even though the saleman he'd been dealing with was a shady character.

Their current con... what could have gone wrong? It was an international operation, dealing with a Russian businessman interested in moving his company to America. They convinced him the best way would be to put down a large payment to reserve office space, and they were planning on skipping town after her graduation. The only way it could have gone wrong... was...

If, somehow, her father changed the plan.

She found the tree, or what she hoped was the tree. Her father was nowhere in sight. She blinked to hold back tears. He still could have gotten away, a good con man can skip town whenever he wants. She laughed to herself. She was being ridiculous, he probably saw the cops and then went to get a haircut. She began to dig at the ground anyway. It was just to double check, she told herself.

She fingers quickly hit a solid object, pulling it out of the ground she saw it was a box. Taped shut. She took one of her favorite knives and cut the tape.

At first she didn't believe it. She shuffled through the papers inside, looking for something else. A clue, some form of guidance.

In Case of Emergency, Love You, Daddy.

And then about half a million, in cash, give or take.

She threw the box down in anger, she wiped the tears from her eyes. Stupid! So, so, so, stupid! Come on little Jenny, you saw your Daddy being cuffed as you drove by! She'd denied it, but no more. She'd denied too much for too long. Her father had screwed up the con, one she had planned so perfectly that they wouldn't have had to con again for a long time! All he wanted was the money, he thought money would be enough for her. That when he was gone, all she would want... that all she would want is this stupid box! She ran her hands through her stringy hair, she tasted blood - realizing that she must have cut her lip on her braces.

She heard footsteps.

Without thinking, she flicked her wrist, sending her favorite blade spinning in the direction of the sound. It lands with a resounding thunk in a nearby tree, followed by a quick intake of air.

In front of her a large man pulls the knife out of his arm. He quickly reads the stunned look on her face. And then he laughs.

"Don't worry, you only grazed me, but this suit... I'll have to see if I can sew up this hole. This suit is too expensive to replace."

She quickly picks up the box, moments ago it was representative of her entire relationship with her father. Now it was her only possession in the world. This man wasn't going to take it from her.

"Who are you?" She demanded, her father had always taught her to take control of every situation. She wasn't about to let go of her training now.

But he laughed at her again, "I'm the man that arrested your father. Saved his life, more like it. Poor Bastard scammed some dangerous people."

She doesn't know what to think. How could throwing her father in prison save his life? What was this man going to do to her? How the hell is she going to get her knife back?

"My name is Ian Stone. I'm a CIA agent, and I want to save your life too."

This was it, she realized. Her final moment of freedom. She couldn't take this man, he was ten times her size, and definitely packing. And he had her only weapon. She slowly put her hands out in front of her, squinting her eyes in preparation of the eventually click of the cuffs.

But then he laughed again. All this man seemed to do was laugh at her. "No, no. I'm not going to arrest you! I'm here to recruit you. Your father has trained you well, and I can see you're adept at changing lifestyles. Here you're Jennifer Burton, in Wisconsin you're Katie O'Connel, in Cleveland it's Rebecca Franco... how do you feel about Sarah Walker?"

He held out her knife, and she looked into his eyes. Was he serious? He wanted her, a con-man's daughter, to uphold the law? She saw that he was serious. She saw that he didn't care. She didn't have a choice in the matter, this was the deal. Her father was going to jail and she was going to be pushed into a CIA shaped mold.

She took the knife.