Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. I don't know the creators of Chuck. I don't know any real people mentioned in this story, so depictions of them are entirely fictional.

Chapter 7

As Nicolas Cage strode to the stage, Chuck rushed over to see Sarah. There was a gash on her head, but she was conscious. "Chuck, get out of here!" she groaned.

"I thank everyone for their kind attention," Cage said, once he reached the stage. He took the Oscar from the producer, and waved it around at the audience. "It looks like the show is finally about to get interesting!" He stepped to the podium. "I'd like to thank the Academy for giving me this wonderful opportunity to blow it up."

Chuck knew he needed to do something, but he saw that the place was full of television cameras. Keeping his cover would be tricky. After a moment's thought, he ran outside into the hall, and headed to the storage room that they had used to enter the theatre.


"Look at you people!" Cage said, gesturing grandly to the crowd. "In your fancy dresses, your jewelry that costs as much as the Gross National Product of Uruguay. I mean, how wasteful!"

"Don't you take a private jet to go the beach every weekend?"

"Shut up, Clooney! My friends and I," he gestured to the other four Black Armada agents, who had joined him on stage, "are doing the world a favor. No one will ever forget…"

Cage paused in an effort to comprehend the site in front of him. A man dressed in replica medieval armor and helmet was heading up to the stage. "What is that?" he heard one of the other Black Armada agents say behind him.

The knight climbed onto the stage. Cage studied him, and then smiled. "Why is that you, Agent…Seuss?"

"I can't let you get away with this," Chuck responded.

"You do realize that armor's fake, and isn't going to protect you from my fist, much less a bullet."

Chuck swallowed. "I'm aware of that. But I can't let you do this. Don't you think you terrorized people enough with 'The Wicker Man'?"

"So is that your plan? To insult me?"

"Hey, it's paid for a lot of movie critics' kid's educations."

Cage rolled his eyes, and pulled a gun out of his tuxedo. "I think this show has gone on for long enough, don't you?"


Sarah got up slowly, and studied the scene being enacted on stage. "Casey!" she whispered in her brooch.

"Walker, what the hell's going on? What's Bartowski doing up there?"

"I'm not really sure," Sarah admitted. "Can you get in here?"

"Oh sure, now I'm welcome."

"Just shut up, and get over here." Sarah got to her feet. Cage was now standing in front of the podium, pointing his gun at Chuck, and Sarah felt a panicked feeling in her stomach. She had to do something quickly. "If only I had my knives," she muttered to herself.

"Here, take mine," Sarah turned to see a woman seated on the aisle, holding out a large knife.

"Uh, thanks…"

"Angelina."

Sarah nodded to the other woman as she took the knife. Aiming precisely, she hurled it at Nicolas Cage. It missed him, but caught his tuxedo jacket, pinning it to the podium. As he struggled to get free, he dropped the gun and the detonator.


Chuck dove down, grabbing the detonator as it fell. He turned around to look for the gun, only to find it in the hands of the fake 'Summer Geraniums' producer, pointed at him. "Give me the detonat…" he began, until Steven Spielberg punched him.

"That's for taking a producer's credit you didn't deserve," Spielberg muttered.

Unfortunately, the other four Black Armada members were also armed, and Chuck and Steven Spielberg found themselves surrounded. "I hope you have a plan, son," Spielberg whispered to Chuck.

"Uh, not really. Big fan, by the way"

However, at that moment, there was a loud thump, as several burly men fell from the sky, landing on the armed enemy agents. As the strange men tackled the remaining Black Armada members, Chuck saw Sarah and Casey climb onto the stage. "Hey Casey, who are these guys?"

"Just some friends of mine." Casey frowned at Chuck's reaction. "Yes, friends of mine. They're stuntmen."

One of the stuntmen got to his feet, with his hand tightly gripping the shoulder of a Black Armada member. "I believe these guys are yours, Casey."

"Thanks Jack. That was quite a jump. Those rafters are pretty high."

"Hey, it's what we do."

"Well, I guess you guys got the exposure you wanted after all," Casey commented, gesturing towards the auditorium. The various attendees were on their feet, applauding.

Jack shrugged. "About time."

Sarah put her hand on Chuck's shoulder. "Nice outfit," she said with a smile. "Maybe you'd like to hand me the detonator?"

"Oh god, yes." Chuck's handed Sarah the detonator, and wiped his sweaty palms on the fake armor.

Several armed NSA agents had now entered the theatre, and were taking the five Black Armada agents from the hands of the stuntmen. As Casey watched them go, Steven Spielberg came up to him. "Aren't you the guy from the People's Choice Awards?"

Casey sighed. "Yes. But don't worry. You're OK. 'Saving Private Ryan' is my favorite war movie. Well, that and 'Full Metal Jacket.'"

They both turned to Cage, who was still pinned to the podium. "Would you mind?" Casey asked Spielberg.

"Be my guest."

"Thanks," Casey said, right before slugging Cage. "That felt good."


Ellie, Devon, Morgan, and Anna stared at the TV, dumbfounded. Once all of the strange men and Nicolas Cage had been led away, Steven Spielberg had walked to the podium, and said, "Well, uh, that's our show tonight. Good night everybody!"

"That was…" Ellie began.

"Awesome!!!" Morgan responded, before shrugging at Devon. "It's about time they brought some excitement to the show! I mean this was all a bit too '24' for my taste, but still very cool!"

"So it made up for your bad night?"

"Are you kidding?" Morgan dropped his picks sheet in the trashcan, and grabbed one last Oscar cookie. "The only bad thing is that Chuck missed it!"