The weight of his decision immediately constricted his chest. He swallowed against a lump in his throat, unable to tear his eyes from the back of Keuer's jacket, until a flourish of movement drew his attention. Doctor Hurwitz turned from the table on his heel, eyes cold and emotionless, a stony scowl etching his features. His hand hovered at shoulder height, holding an intimidatingly large syringe filled with amber-colored liquid.

A shudder ran through his body. Oh my God.

The doctor approached with the syringe, his footsteps measured and mechanical.

"What—what is that? What's in the syringe?"

The doctor flicked his eyes to Chuck's briefly, then dropped them to the IV line in Chuck's arm. Chuck automatically tried to pull away, but his wrist flexed harmlessly against his restraints. The doctor lifted the tubing and inserted the needle into the IV port.

"You—you're just gonna—are you not gonna answer me? Do you talk?"

The doctor lifted his eyes again and fixed Chuck with a menacing glare as he injected the unknown contents on the syringe into the IV line.

"Is—is that a 'yes,' or—or a 'no'? I've never been good at reading people, and—wow, that tastes funny—"

"The first thing I will have you look at," Keuer interrupted, "is a photograph."

Chuck immediately fell silent as his eyes snapped back to Keuer. He had retrieved the black portfolio and proceeded to pull out a single sheet of paper, glossy for effect. He regarded it momentarily with an expression of contempt and snapped the portfolio closed again. Chuck swallowed involuntarily.

"This was taken on a security camera at one of our warehouses in Vancouver. The Americans and Canadians paired together for a raid to capture a shipment of weapons we were moving into the states for distribution, led by this man."

Keuer flipped the photograph around and held it forward for Chuck to see, and Chuck immediately felt his eyelids flutter as he saw the man's face.

Mason Locklear, NSA; cover-named John Massengill; code-named Senator; age thirty-two; munitions and explosives expert; recruited out of the Naval Academy at age twenty; originally from Holly Springs, North Carolina; avid fan on the Carolina Panthers; married September 27, 2014 to Elise Overby Locklear, data analyst for the NSA; currently resides at 8909 Sherman Wilson Road, Apartment 13, Roseboro, Washington; currently on leave following a gunshot wound; witness in the NSA investigation of the raid; currently under protection with his wife at 278 Whitewater Lane, Burlington, Oregon; formal deposition to take place at NSA Headquarters on May 22.

Chuck gasped as his sense returned with a greater force than usual. His head was spinning with information, the images cycling in his mind again and again. The flash was over, but it was all he could think about. The rest of him felt…numb. He huffed out a breath and let his head fall backward, praying that this was all a horrible nightmare.

"I see you have now acquainted yourself with our patriotic friend."

Chuck lifted his head to look at Keuer. Keuer glanced at the photograph again, then back at Chuck, his signature smirk remaining in place. He swiftly opened the portfolio again, putting the photograph back in its place, and tucked the portfolio under his arm.

"I want you to tell me where he is."

Chuck let out a slow breath as Keuer stared him down. A very long, very strange moment of silence hung between them. Chuck's mind was still spinning in overdrive, but he found that he could quiet it somewhat by focusing on a Keuer's tie pin. It had a delicate design of silver and what looked to be sapphires.

I might be high, he realized. He traced his eyes back to Keuer's face. Keuer raised his eyebrows expectantly and slid his free hand leisurely into his pocket, as though he had all the time in the world.

And he probably does.

Doctor Hurwitz suddenly appeared from behind Keuer, another syringe in hand.

Chuck felt his eyebrows pinch together in confusion. "Wait…wait, you already did that, remember?"

Keuer and the doctor chuckled simultaneously.

"That was only a preparation," Keuer said, turning away. "An appetizer, if you will."

"An appetizer?"

A deep voice broke the air as the doctor finally spoke. "A cocktail of propranolol, anxiolytics, antiemetics, and vitamins."

The only part Chuck understood was 'vitamins.'

"So…so what's that, then?"

"This," Keuer said, "is the main course."

Chuck glanced down in time to see the doctor depress the plunger on the syringe, then immediately turned away. The spinning in his head accelerated, the psychological panic reaching a peak. He knew he should be fighting. He should be doing something. But what was the point? As the strange taste returned briefly to his mouth, he knew the drug had entered his veins, and he felt resigned to the fact.

"There," he heard the doctor say. "It should only take a few moments for the compound to take effect."

"What effect?"

Keuer chuckled again, and Chuck's eyes flicked back to him.

"Why ruin the surprise?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Yes, we all know you're the smartest person in the room," he snapped. "You have all the answers. You hold all the power. We know, okay? So just stop already."

Keuer raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Losing our inhibitions, are we?"

Chuck opened his mouth to retort, but he never got the chance. His breath hitched in his chest as a wave of pain rolled through his torso.

It was a dull kind of pain that built up, like an ache, but so much worse. Chuck screwed his eyes closed and bit down on his lip to keep himself from making any sound as the pain mounted. It began in his chest and moved quickly to his upper back; then rolled down his arms to his wrists; down his spine, one vertebra at a time; through his lower back and abdomen; and finally settled in his thighs. He was acutely aware that the entire process took only a few seconds, and after it had plateaued for a second or so, the pain slowly lessened and retreated to his solar plexus before disappearing entirely.

Chuck let go of the breath he'd been holding and let his head fall back as he panted for air, trying to regain his bearings. A shiver ran the length of his body; he couldn't tell if he felt hot or cold. He'd never felt anything like that before. He was just grateful that it was over, if only for the moment.

He suddenly realized that the room was completely silent. Summoning his strength, he lifted his head and forced himself to open his eyes. Keuer and Doctor Hurwitz both stood before him, arms crossed, wearing similar expressions of interest. Chuck cleared his throat, feeling vaguely nauseous, and looked away from them. He didn't know why, exactly, but he felt embarrassed and ashamed.

Finally, Keuer's voice broke the silence.

"So," he said, his voice softer than it had been only moments ago, "it begins."