Disclaimer: I do not own Chuck, the song, or the band. I wish I did though.

A/N: Here's chapter two of Falling Inside the Black. Set to the song, "Reclusion" by the band Anberlin.

Falling Inside the Black

Reclusion

There's someone inside me that softly kills everyone around
They don't know they're dead to me cause intent never makes a sound
All along they found I strangled lovers who've learned from slower hands
With these eleven minutes I could teach you what I am

Mission # 2

Sarajevo, Bosnia

January 01, 2008

Objective: Infiltration and Information Recovery. Eliminate any terrorists presence.

A light snow falls onto the streets of the city, covering them in with a white blanket. Trudging his way towards the building, he sneaks a peek into the sky, remembering the snowy days in his hometown in Connecticut. The thoughts bring a smile to his face, but it is wiped away as soon as it got there. Schooling his emotions, he slips into his Agent persona, ready for another round of life taking and heart breaking.

Making his way towards the building, he slips into a side alley, and checks his weapons. His Colt M1911 .45 is hidden in the waistband of his pants, and the knives are secured around his ankles. Slipping out of the alley, he falls into the shadows of the adjacent building, the guards in the front not noticing his approach. He quickly dispatches both, cuts across their forearms and neck, severing major blood vessels around their bodies. Their bodies move from view, their bodies hidden in a dumpster outside the building.

Reaching into the pockets of both, he finds identification cards which give him access to the building. He runs it across the scanner, and a beep sounds out, the clicking signifying the door is unlocked. He slips inside, closing the door silently behind him, and moves along the shadows towards the back of the building.

The ghost eventually finds what he is looking for, a room full of computers containing information on Bosnian terrorists. Accessing each computer, he hacks their databases, encoding the information into subliminal images. The slideshow runs across the screen, his brain absorbing all the information. He works with each computer, turning all the files into encoded images and uploading them to his brain. As he finishes with the last computer, a man walks in, and he is greeted with a knife sticking out of his throat. He hides the body in the storage closet and quickly exits the room, melting into the shadows once again.

He finds himself at the end of the line, the last door at the end of the hall. Opening it up, he finds three men, and he flashes on all three. Two of them are grunts, while the other is actually a leader of the cell he is currently infiltrating. Taking out his pistol, he squeezes the trigger three times, each bullet making their way towards the receiver's brain. All three fall out of their chairs, their bodies ending up in giant lumps, blood soaking the tiles below.

Quickly making his escape, he finds himself back in the cold, snowy night. Chancing a look into the sky, it once again brings back memories of his childhood, but those thoughts are quickly suppressed and pushed down to the deepest recesses of his mind. Hopping onto his black Kawasaki Ninja ZX-10R motorcycle, he speeds off into the night without a glance back. The killings just skate underneath him, the sight of dead bodies and blood no longer scaring him. It's a surprise to everyone that a super nerd becomes a super spy in the matter of a few months. He laughs at the irony, only if they knew what he's been doing before. He chuckles to him, a sardonic sound escaping his throat. He takes out his iPhone and dials a number, putting it to his ear.

"Beckman, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Information uploaded, terrorist leader eliminated. All targets eliminated. Returning to base for reassignment."

"Good work, Agent. Be at Langley 1:00 PM tomorrow."

"Thank you, General. Bartowski, out."

There's an art in seclusion. Production in depression
if a stranger turns up missing, this song is my confession
Tell the tales of the trail of dead, lovers learn from slower hands
Losing self in myself, inner demons make demands

Mission # 9

Berlin, Germany

March 13, 2008

Objective: Assassination of Terrorist leader, Aloysius Barnabas.

He finds himself on a rooftop, looking down the scope of an M40A3 sniper rifle, camouflaged back to blend into the night. He watches as his target hustles and bustles in his home, preparing dinner. Waiting for the perfect chance, he takes a second to look at himself. He's successful at what he is doing, he is one of the top in the Agency, and he is living a life he always wanted, traveling the world in luxury. Then why is he feeling so empty? He quickly schools the thoughts, his mind drifting into forbidden territory.

The window of opportunity appears, the man finally sitting down to his dinner. He watches him pray before eating his food, the man not knowing of the death he is about to receive at the hands of an unknown killer. Adjusting his scope for flight time, wind changes, and distance, he pushes a button. It causes a car alarm to go off which provides the cover for the sound of the shot. He inhales deeply and exhales slowly, pulling the trigger as the last ounce of his breath is released from his body.

The bullet flies into the black sky and moves towards its pinnacle before making its descent to its target's head. The bullet arches downwards in a curve, moving silently toward its receiver. Watching through the scope, he sees the impact of the bullet into the man's head, the blood spraying out into the wall behind him, creating a sick canvas of blood and bone. He looks through his scope once more, the man lying dead from a silent bullet shot from a silent killer.

He stands up, pulling the sniper rifle off its bipod and slings it across his shoulder. He makes a hasty retreat, looking for the Porsche he has hidden in the bushes of the forest. He moves towards the car and tosses his guns into the back and drives off into the night and away from the place where he just created new memories. The nightmares occur on and off, never leaving him entirely. He has learned to compensate, and they no longer bother him. Chuck Bartowski has changed from vibrant and happy man to cold and deadly assassin. His eyes always a dark ebony, far from the warmth of his cocoa brown eyes and his eyes shift constantly, scouting for any danger.

Reaching into his pocket, he extracts his phone and punches in a couple numbers.

"Beckman, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Aloysius Barnabas eliminated. Clean shot through the head. Returning to D.C. to await reassignment.

"Good work Agent."

Without a reply, he just hangs up the phone, ignoring the good work Agent he always receives at the end of the mission. He just wants to be on another mission already.

You're suffocating me, so very hard to breathe
My mask is growing heavy but I've forgotten who's beneath

Mission # 21

Bogota, Colombia

June 20, 2008

Objective: Elimination of Terrorist Cell

Approaching the target building, he checks his weapons once more. He holds his MP5 at the ready, in front of his shoulder, head cocked to the right to look through the scope. Moving through the night, he approaches the front and takes out both the guards, bullets stuck in their brains. Moving past both, he keys himself into the building, finding three men conversing at the end of the hall. He shoots all threes, bullets careening through their necks, blood shooting out from the gaping hole. He quickly checks room after room, finding terrorist in each. All of his bullets either fly to their foreheads or throats, the instant kill a natural reaction to him now.

Moving throughout the building he finds a computer room and uploads all the information into his brain and continues his trek of mass destruction. He reaches the end of the building, finding no other terrorist in sight. He quickly moves out of the building and the cool night air. He smirks at all the dead bodies he finds, the satisfaction of the kill playing on his face.

Keying in Beckman's number, he holds the phone to his ear.

"Becman, secure."

"Targets eliminated."

He hangs up the phone, the message short and clear, he finished his mission. He stalks off into the night towards an awaiting car and new mission.

You're sick, sick as all the
Secrets that you deny
Sins like skeletons are so very hard to hide

Mission # 36

Caracas, Venezuela

September 23, 2008

Objective: Search and Rescue for one Agent Sarah Walker

A/N: Sorry to leave you guys like that, I just had to do it for the reactions and the lolls. I gotta go to school, peace!