A/N: And now we hear from Bryce. This is one of my two favorite chapters, hope you enjoy it. Oh, and if you want to know what the inside joke was in the previous chapter, do a web search for Groucho Marx and a question that entered into pop culture from a game show he hosted. Look carefully at Chuck's comments and you'll see the inside joke. Oh, and as usual I don't own Chuck.

April 23, 2011

Evening

Location: Unknown

The adjustment to staying awake during the dark hours had been difficult, at first. But his will overcame the limitations of the body. He stood in the shower, allowing the cool water to cascade over him, the scars on his body seeming to channel it towards the drain. The tickling, itching feeling caused by the eightball he had taken earlier warred with the calming effect of the shower.

So close, he thought. A few short hours and the last treasure would be his. The world would know justice because he, the Angel Incarnate, would have removed all obstacles to peace and harmony. The world would rejoice at would he had accomplished. His name would echo in the minds and souls of billions of mankind, as he ushered in a new Golden Age. He would have succeeded in doing what no other has done: casting down the false idols that prevented true harmony.

A tendril of doubt weaved in and out of his musings, faint but unmistakable. What of the Adversary? When would the Adversary rise to attack?

If The Adversary has been activated, The Adversary will have been emotionally crippled by the death of Target Beta, a cold consciousness thought. Emotions will have prevented the download of Intersect 2.0, since the Adversary does not possess an interface capable of masking said emotions. Without an interface to control the Adversary's emotions that result from the death of the Target Beta, there is only a point three seven probability that the Adversary can successfully interdict.

Ah, the lovely Target Beta, he thought. True, she was damaged goods after the Burbank operation was shut down, but still quite easy on the eyes. It had been pathetically easy to manipulate the paranoia of the local jihadist cell into believing that the safe house had held a government death squad seeking to set an example. Of course they had to preemptively strike. They really had no choice.

The reports he monitored had clearly shown that the RPG fired by the terrorists had caused the building to collapse and his probability formulas had assured him that Target Beta was dead.

It was ironic that the very enemy that he had joined the CIA to fight, that the Intersect had been created to combat, he was leveraging in his crusade. But the truth was clear. Despite the horror of the World Trade Centers, those in power had simply used him and others like him, to maintain their own power.

It took the pain of losing Juliette to get the courage to see past his naivete. But when he over rode the safety protocols of the Intersect, and truly began examining the relationships between those in power throughout the world, his faith in the system he served was shattered. Oh, he couldn't prove it in any court of law and no one would believe him. But he knew. He was certain. They had failed to protect Juliette and the other passengers on that flight from Rio to Paris. He had been planning to secretly propose to her in Paris.

Instead, he had been robbed of his love. They said it was an accident, but he knew better. They had allowed the enemy to live. They were inept and corrupt and continued to perpetuate the system that allowed the enemy to flourish.

Since justice couldn't be had within the system, he knew that he had to take matters into his own hands. The symmetry of nineteen targets hadn't escaped him. He still didn't understand why he had to take the items, but they seemed to bring him comfort, as if they were tangible reminders of his progress.

One more target, one more treasure and then he could come out into the open and accept the accolades, the praise, of all that he had accomplished. No one would suffer like he had. No one would ever die like Juliette had.

Live broadcast of the death of the target would be the crowning achievement. Adding in the deaths of tens of thousands would underscore his resolve and determination to free mankind. They would understand that he could bear any decision, any consequence from his actions.

He reached down to turn the shower head off. Pulling back the curtain, he grabbed for the towel.

Procuring the fourth generation nerve agents from the chaos of what passed for the former Soviet Union had been so easy that it validated his crusade. His final task before the scheduled event was to prime the command detonator, since he had already placed the weapon for maximum effect. And since fourth generation nerve agents were not detectable by normal means, he had no fear of it being found early.

Facing the mirror, he stared into his own blue eyes. A trained psychiatrist with a background in criminal profiling would have flinched from the visible madness. But of course, it had been a long time since he had seen a psychiatrist.

"I once was a man named Bryce Larkin. I have died and am now reborn. I am now the Angel Incarnate. I will save you from yourselves. May whatever god you pray to have mercy on your souls because I won't."