"Oh, wow, I thought he was dead." –everyone getting my author alert, probably

Well, it took a very long time, but I finally decided to comply with the requests to see exactly what becomes of our contract killer with the horribly bad fortune of drawing Charles Carmichael as his last job. I'm not normally a fan of writing Chuck stories without Chuck, but I think I figured out a way to make it work. Hopefully you agree.

The next few weeks go badly.

It starts with a job falling through – a big one, one I'd been counting on. The contact disappears without a trace, even after I'd traveled all the way to Sydney. Not the first time something like that happens, but the first time in a very long while. The timing is suspect, but I let it slide.

My Swiss bank account goes inexplicably empty. One of many, and I still have my cash reserves hidden here and there, but a year's worth of payments are gone without a trace, and seeking legal recourse isn't exactly an option for someone like me. It's possible this is a coincidence. It's not probable.

Standing on the street in Manhattan with the other onlookers, gazing up at the smoke billowing out of my favorite apartment, the cold reality of my new situation fully sinks in.

Chuck vs the Last Request
Chapter Two
The Offer

In Belize, the moment I shut the door to my hotel room the lights flick on. I freeze, face to the door, clutching bags of toothpaste and soap. This is it, I think to myself. This is how it ends.

"Turn around."

The voice is low. Masculine. Relief floods over me. This will be temporary.

"Turn around, dead man."

I do, and see his large form filling the chair in the corner of my little room. Dark suit, expressionless face. He's government, the bad kind. I can tell immediately.

"You're here about Carmich—"

"Shut up."

I do. I put my bags down on the floor. He rises, slowly, no weapons in sight but full of the assurance that he won't need one.

"You've noticed by now that your little network is starting to dry up. No more jobs, no more money, no more contacts. Yeah?"

"Who-"

"I'm here to kill you." This is the first time in my life I have heard those words. I have conducted my business, my actions, my life in such a way that I have successfully avoided those words up until now. Before this moment, I had no real enemies; no one I killed ever even know who I was. No one ever found me. And now, found, I feel my stomach twist.

He clarifies himself; makes it worse: "I want to kill you. Very badly. Understand?"

I nod.

"That's pretty much my purpose in life," he continues. "Like you, I guess. Only I'm on the… preferable… side of the law." He picks a piece of lint off the arm of the chair, inspects it, and flicks it away. I feel a kinship to it.

"Anyway, from what I've read about you in the official reports, you're smart enough to know that you've made an enormous mistake."

"I… I was… it was just a jo—"

"Shut. Up."

I clamp my lips together and turn my eyes to the floor. He takes a step closer, and I instinctively back into the door.

"The mark, the 'job' of yours? Happened to be one of the most accomplished espionage agents our government has ever had the privilege of utilizing. Happened to be one of the best partners I ever had. Happened to be—"

He pauses; his lips twist. He's having trouble saying the next words. He finally forces them out.

"Happened to be my friend."

A flicker of rage appears on his face, and for a moment I'm convinced he's going to kill me right here and now. But instead he calms enough to continue. "None of that compares to what he was to her," he finally says. He takes a step closer. I can't press myself into the door any harder.

"I wanted to look at you. I've got surveillance photos, passport pictures, that kind of thing. But you, I wanted to see in person. Wanted to stand in front of you. She's called dibs on you, and I'm not going to argue that. She's got more of a right to you than I do. But I want to kill you, very badly. I want to kill you more than I've ever wanted to kill someone in my life, and that's a very long list. So I'm going to make you a one-time offer. Listen carefully."

He leans in close. I can smell cigars and bourbon.

"She's coming for you. She is capable, and dangerous, and unimaginably angry. Every ounce of her talent and drive is now focused completely on one thing. She is single-minded in her determination to not just kill you, but completely destroy you. She will succeed in doing this, because she is infinitely better than you in every conceivable way. That is what is coming for you now. You need to fully understand that before I make my offer," he says. "Tell me you understand the depth of what I'm saying."

"I understand," I whisper.

"Then beg," he growls, an inch away from my face now. "Beg me, with everything you've got, every little ounce of your miserable existence, to kill you right here and now. I'll do it. I'll deal with the fallout from her, for taking this away from her, if you beg for it. She may only break a few of my bones if she likes my story about how you knelt and cried and begged with a runny nose for me to snap your little neck. If I describe well enough the sound it made, the sounds you'll make as you die. If I tell a good enough story of the pathetic little end to your life. It may be enough for her. Beg for that, right now, and I'll do it."

He will. I know this with every fiber of my being. This is not a cruel joke. If I do what he says, this man will kill me.

"I… I don't… I don't want to die," I finally force out, and I hate the whimper in my voice. A strange mixture of disappointment and relief glides over his face, until it is replaced by a sour grin.

"That'll change."

He reaches past me, grasps the doorknob, and flings me into the kitchenette almost effortlessly as he swings the door open. He takes a moment to look at me as I stumble to regain my stance. "She's coming," he says. "Run, hide, do whatever you like. It won't make a difference."

The corner of his mouth twitches up into a cruel smirk. "Seen a lot of very bad things in my time," he says. "Really looking forward to what she does to you." And with that, he's gone.

For now, I breathe a sigh of relief. I do this because I am so very naïve. I have not been educated at this point. I don't know that, in the weeks and months to come, I will look back at this moment and wish I had accepted his offer. Eventually I will come to see this night as the last time I has anything resembling peace. Because it is about to get so much worse. Because my life is about to become a nightmare.

Because she is coming.

This was originally going to be a kind of intermission in the second and final chapter, but I like Casey so much I figured I'd let him have the stage all to himself. And don't worry; Sarah's going to live up to every word. Stay tuned.

Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing. -Nick