A/N: So here's my attempt at a Season 3 AU. It's basically what would have happened if I ran the show. This is more or less a complete AU. Some ideas may overlap with canon, but events will play out very differently. Daniel Shaw does not exist in this AU or, if he exists, he plays no part in this story. But a different character will be written in who will serve in a somewhat similar "mentor" role to Chuck.
This is, in some sense, a more traditional fanfic than what I've done before (i.e., Sarah is alive). The biggest, most original twist that I haven't seen in previous writings, is my take on the Ring. I've always preferred complicated, morally ambiguous villains to cardboard mustache twirlers.
Also, I will need help to finish this story - if there's not demand, I may not continue. Beyond that, I've got the general plot lined out but may need help filling in some details and would appreciate ideas. And, if anyone wants to volunteer to beta read something, wonderful!
Separately, if someone would post to the Facebook group, that would be great! And I see there's an author Q&A going on. If someone wants to ask me something, send me a PM and I'll be happy to reply.
Needless to say, I don't own Chuck, I don't own these characters, and I'm not making any money from this.
"So what happens after the End of History?" – Sarah Walker
"Guys, I know Kung Fu," Chuck declared. He spoke, scared but triumphant, as he towered over the unconscious bodies of six defeated Ring agents, inside the destroyed Intersect room. Casey and Sarah looked on in shock.
"Chuck, what happened? Are you ok?," Sarah asked. She ran towards him and gave him a small hug.
"Yeah, I think," Chuck responded, then stammered "um. . ." He tried to finish his answer, but couldn't. His eyes twirled inside his head, then circled towards the ceiling. He collapsed. Only Sarah's embrace prevented his body from crumbling to the floor. She captured him in her arms, and gently let him down.
Her eyes zoned out, transfixing themselves on Chuck's crumpled body. It could have been minutes. But it was probably only fractions of a second before Casey jumped in. "Walker! Snap out of it."
Sarah shook her head and regained focus. She checked his pulse, then his breathing. She learned her head upon his chest, placing her ear by his heart to confirm a steady beat.
"He appears fine, for the moment. Just passed out. But we've got to get him medical attention." Sarah explained.
Casey shook his head no. "We can't, not now. Too risky. You know that."
Casey peered across the room at the knocked-out Ring agents, then turned his gaze towards the corpse that used to be Bryce Larkin. It was slumped against the wall. Just then, Casey heard a grunt. It was Miles. The traitorous scum who betrayed him, killed his unit. Miles was stirring to life from unconsciousness.
Casey walked over to Bryce's body. He opened Bryce's jacket and grabbed Bryce's pistol.
"No witnesses." Casey announced coldly, formally. He fired, and put a bullet in Miles' skull. Then Casey marched methodologically around the room, executing the unconscious Ring operatives one-by-one.
"Casey, is that necessary? We need information." Sarah asked.
"No one must know what happened here." Casey barked back. He looked down tenderly at the unconscious Chuck, resting in Sarah's arms on the floor. "For the kid's sake."
Casey continued. "Walker, this facility is beyond top secret. Look around. There are no cameras in this room. No surveillance, no record of what took place. The CIA, the NSA, couldn't risk footage leaking, exposing the project. So we can write our own story."
Casey spun back towards Bryce, wiped off the gun, and placed it in Bryce's still warm hands. "Walker, here's how it went down. Whomever they were, they got the drop on Bryce. Heroically, he was able to destroy the Intersect to keep it from them. He killed six of their agents. But, unfortunately, he got shot in the process. He died a hero. The two of us walked in, found this mess."
"Ok," Sarah said softy, also dismissively. She had already refocused her attention on Chuck. She sat, absorbed in his motionless body. She massaged his forehead with one hand, while instinctively playing with his hair with the other.
Casey barked. "Walker, cut it. We need you sharp. He needs you sharp."
Sarah shook her head, trying to suppress the worry in her heart. She knew Casey was right. Righting herself, she picked Chuck up, and supported him on her shoulders. "Casey, help me with him." Hearing her, Casey came over and the two agents supported Chuck between their shoulders.
"Castle?" Sarah asked.
"Can't. It's compromised. Miles, the scumbag, he killed my men there. We have to assume his people know about it. We need to go to ground. Fast. Sort everything else out later."
"Not without getting Chuck help." Sarah responded. Casey nodded affirmatively.
Supporting Chuck, they dragged him to the facility's parking garage. They grabbed one of the company cars - a two-year old dark grey Honda Accord. The perfect getaway car. Far less conspicuous than a Porsche or an old Crown Vic. They sped towards Echo Park. Once on the way, Sarah called Devon. It was a risky move. The lines weren't secure. But he was one of two doctors nearby that they could trust. And the other one didn't know her brother was a spy.
"Devon, it's Sarah. Grab Chuck's father and your medical bag and meet us out front in five minutes." Sarah exclaimed frantically into the phone.
Devon ducked into a corner of the courtyard, out of earshot of anyone.
"Whoah, Sarah, you realize it's my wedding night, right? The reception's still going on."
"I know. I'm sorry. It's Chuck. Make up an excuse for Ellie, she can't know."
Devon stared across the courtyard at his wife, then spoke into the phone. "This is about his other life then?"
"Yes," Sarah responded.
"And his father too?" Devon inquired.
"Yes. Him too." Sarah replied.
"Roger that." Devon answered, then hung up the phone.
He ran towards Ellie and told her the first lie that crossed his mind. "Babe, I'm so sorry, I've got to go to the hospital."
"What? It's your wedding night. It's our wedding night." She answered, bewildered.
Devon grasped her arms affectionately. "I know. But a heart just became available for transplant. If we don't do it now, the patient ... we'll lose him."
"Isn't there another heart surgeon on call?" Ellie pleaded.
Devon verbally fumbled, trying to expand his lie. "Yeah, um, he just had a heart attack. Ironic, I guess. But there's no one else Babe. I've got to go. They're already sending a car to pick me up."
Ellie looked into his eyes, wrapped him in a hug and said "Go."
Devon dashed towards Stephen Bartowski, whispered a few words into his ear, then ran into the apartment to grab his medical bag. Stephen, in turn, sped towards Ellie.
"Ellie, I'm sorry, something has come up," he exclaimed.
"You too?" She asked. Stephen nodded at his daughter and scampered off. Ninety seconds later, he and Devon were waiting at the curb.
Ellie noticed the spectacle. "Why are Devon and my father leaving together? And to go to a heart transplant? And why did Devon grab a medical bag to go to the hospital?" she asked herself. As the pair entered the car, Ellie observed the bizarre scene from the distance. And, from the corner of her eye, she could swear that she saw Sarah Walker sitting in the front passenger seat.
"Devon, Mr. Bartowski, get in," Sarah exclaimed, "Chuck's in the back." Devon and Stephen saw Chuck resting comfortably in back seat behind the driver. He looked like he was sleeping. Devon, the doctor, entered first, taking the middle seat next to Chuck. Stephen followed quickly behind them. As soon as the door closed, Casey immediately hit the petal and sped off.
"Where are we going?" Devon asked.
"NSA safe house, about 90 minutes out of town. We'd prefer something more anonymous, but there are medical supplies and equipment there, in case you need it. What's up with the Nerd?" Casey responded.
From the back of the car, Devon did what he could — checking his eyes, his ears, his pulse.
"From what I can tell, he seems fine. Just sleeping. But I don't have the right equipment, we'd need tests. Can you tell me what happened?" Devon asked.
"Need to know, Devon." Casey replied.
"I need to know." Stephen answered, jumping in.
"And if I'm going to be treating him, I do too," Devon answered.
"He — downloaded something." Sarah said. Casey immediately interjected. "Walker, don't."
"He downloaded the 2.0, didn't he?" Stephen asked. Casey grunted affirmatively.
"Downloaded, what do you mean, downloaded?" Devon asked, dumbfounded.
Sarah tried to explain. "There's this program, it downloads information directly into your brain. Chuck's has it for awhile. He got a new version tonight. It . . . It taught him to fight. He took out six guys singlehandedly."
"Chuck? Chuck did that?" Devon inquired, stupefied.
"Yeah, but right after he finished, he just collapsed. He's been like that since."
Devon stared blankly. "Um, guys, this is a little out of my league. I'm a heart surgeon. Don't you have somebody who knows ... this stuff?"
"That's why we asked you to get Chuck's father." Sarah answered.
"Mr. Bartowski? What's he got to do with this?"
"The program ... I invented it." Stephen said.
"Um. Awesome. Or not awesome. I'm so confused." Devon muttered.
A little less than 90 minutes later, under the cover of dark night, the Honda Accord pulled into a nondescript ranch house outside of San Marcos, California.
"Help me with him." Casey asked, as he opened the driver-side passenger door and lifted Chuck out. Devon quickly emerged from the car and supported his brother-in-law. Together, they carried him into the house and gently rested him on the bed. As they laid him down, Chuck began to squirm to life. He opened his eyes.
"Whoah, guys. Where are we? And why are Devon and my father here?" Chuck asked, befuddled.
Hearing his voice, Sarah felt the worry and fear dissipate from her. "Chuck," she exclaimed, almost giddily.
Casey ignored her and focused on his just awakened friend. "Easy now, solider. Let the good doc and your dad have a good look at you. You gave your lady a scare."
Devon and Stephen immediately went to work examining the patient. After about twenty minutes, they reported their findings.
Devon spoke first. "Chuck, do you want everyone to leave?"
Chuck, now fully aware of his surroundings, shook his head. "They can stay."
"Ok," Devon answered. "So the good news is that, from what I can tell, you just fainted. The bad news is that I don't know what caused it. Maybe it was just the shock of everything. Or . . ."
"Maybe it's this new program stuck in my head?" Chuck stated, finishing Devon's sentence. Devon nodded softly in response.
"I can't be of any help, not yet anyway." Stephen said, frustratedly. "They made changes to my original design. I don't know what this program can do . . . or what it's doing to him. But I'm going to find out. . . No matter what."
Chuck looked at his father quizzically. "What do you mean, Dad?"
Casey saw Stephen beginning to answer, but jumped ahead of him. "We were hoping to give you an out, Bartowski. From the CIA, the NSA, from all of us. But your dad can't fix you without knowing what the NSA knows. So we had to come clean with Beckman about what happened. And your dad, he's going back."
Stephen shrugged a acknowledgment. His eyes conveyed regret.
Chuck nodded his understanding. Then putting on a faux smile, tried to reassure his worried friends and family.
"Well, I feel fine now." Chuck said, bouncing off the bed. "And Devon, I'm sorry I ruined your wedding night."
"Don't worry about it 'bro." Devon responded.
"That said, can I have a moment with Sarah?" Chuck asked.
"A moment." Casey answered. "We've set up a secure call with Beckman in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, I'll escort the civilians out of the safe house and find them a ride back to L.A."
With that, Casey, Devon, and Stephen left the room.
Sarah sat down on the bed, and rested her left arm on Chuck's leg. "Hi Chuck." She leaned in as if to kiss him on the cheek, but instead took the opportunity to whisper in his ear "it's not safe to talk here. Follow me. We don't have long."
Chuck got up from the bed and, together with Sarah, quickly but calmly exited the door to the room, which led to a small porch and backyard area. Once they got a suitable distance away from the house, Sarah took out a small electronic device and swept the area.
"No bugs. We can talk, but talk softly. How are you doing?" She asked.
"Honestly, I don't know. Bryce is dead. Really dead this time. Not pretend, spy dead. Then I downloaded that thing, kicked those guys assess, passed out, and now I'm freaking terrified. What the hell do I have in my head? What the hell am I capable of? What if I hurt someone? What if I hurt Ellie? What's it doing to me? Beyond all that, I feel horrible. . ."
"Horrible, why?" Sarah asked, grabbing his hand for comfort.
"Because as much as I should be focused on Bryce, and his sacrifice, I can't get his last words out of my head. They were the first things on my mind when I woke up. And they're just spinning and spinning around in my head, and consuming my every thought."
"What did he say?" Sarah asked, inquisitively.
"He said . . . he said . . . you weren't going with him."
Sarah broke her eye contact. She glanced down, not quite able to look at him. She gave the slightest nod of her head. . . a yes.
"You we're going to stay here, with me? And give up the CIA? Give up everything?" Chuck inquired quietly, almost inaudibly.
Sarah put her hand on his cheek. She caressed it slightly, and looked into his eyes.
"It doesn't matter now," she replied, pausing a few seconds, "you're the Intersect, again. And I, well, I don't know what I am now."
"Walker, Bartowski, get in here! Beckman." Casey screamed from the porch of the house.
Sarah nodded. She took Chuck's hand briefly, then let go, and guided him back towards the house.
Ninety seconds later, Sarah, Chuck, and Casey huddled around the speakerphone of an encrypted landline in the safehouse.
"Am I to understand that Agent Larkin is dead, and that the Asset downloaded the Intersect 2.0? And that the Asset then destroyed the Intersect computer?" General Beckman blurted in anger from the phone.
"He did it to save us, and to prevent the Intersect from falling into the hands of . . . whoever they were." Sarah protested.
"The Ring," Chuck added, "Bryce called them the Ring."
General Beckman spoke, sternly: "I'm not questioning the Asset's motives, just expressing my frustration. Mr. Bartowski, do you realize what you have done, and what it means for your future?"
"I . . . do, General," Chuck responded. His quivering voice radiated with terror and a lack of confidence. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into.
General Beckman continued: "You were essential to our national security before. With what you now have in your head, your value has increased one-hundredfold. I told you before that it was time for you to become a real spy. We cannot put it off any longer. Stay where you are. A transport will arrive in the morning to take you to one of our secure European facilities, to begin your training. You will be gone a long time. Think of a story to make up for your friends, your family. "
"No!" Chuck exclaimed. He turned towards Sarah for reassurance. Sarah looked back, conveying an expression that mixed reassurance, sympathy, and sadness.
"General. You are making a mistake." Casey interjected.
"Tell him Casey!" Chuck added.. Casey has my back, Chuck thought.
"He's an emotional cripple." Casey went on.
"Hey!" Chuck jumped in, offended. Just then, he felt a soft hand gently touching his right shoulder. He turned. Sarah smirked him a half-smile. "Chuck, listen," she whispered. She had a good idea where Casey was going.
"Take him away from his sister, or from his obsessively co-dependent friend Morgan, or from Agent Walker and his puppy-dog love for her, and the kid is going to shut down."
Chuck looked at Casey, then at Sarah, then at the speakerphone. His face glowed with terror at Casey's mention of his feelings for Sarah. For her part, Sarah tried to compose herself, to avoid betraying any emotion at all. She half-succeeded. Despite her best efforts, subtle vibes of fear and embarrassment permeated the air.
"I don't. . ." Chuck tried to add.
"Your feelings for Agent Walker are not a state secret, Mr. Bartowski." General Beckman responded, cutting him off.
Casey continued: "What I'm saying, General, is that if you ship him off to god-knows-where for god-knows-how-long, and cut him off from the people he cares about . . . you aren't going to get an Agent. You're going to get a catatonic little boy, hands wrapped around his knees, sobbing in the corner for his mommy, or his beloved fake girlfriend."
Chuck got the message. The offense he felt departed from his face within fractions of a second.
"I see your point," General Beckman responded, "Colonel Casey, what do you propose?"
"Keep him in Burbank. Let Sarah and me train him. Let him keep enough of his life to remain the same moron he's always been. You won't get the Agent you expected. But General, our results over the past two years speak for themselves."
An uncomfortable silence filled the area. General Beckman was deep in thought. Then she spoke: "Agent Walker, do you agree with Colonel Casey's assessment?"
"I do, General." Sarah responded.
General Beckman continued: "All right then. Here's what we're going to do. Mr. Bartowski, your principal training will be in Burbank, with Agent Walker and Colonel Casey. But first. . .,"
The General turned towards Sarah, then resumed talking, "Agent Walker, my sources tell me that, shortly before the Asset downloaded the new Intersect, he invited you to take a vacation with him. Is that correct?"
"Yes." Sarah replied, her mind riddled with concern. Had the CIA been bugging me? Been bugging Chuck? Even after the Intersect was removed?
"And you declined, correct?"
"Yes," Sarah answered. Her tone expressed relief but, looking at Chuck, her eyes betrayed the faintest hint of sadness.
"Well, I am now ordering you to reconsider the Asset's proposal." General Beckman responded.
"I don't understand, General." Sarah inquired.
Sarah and Chuck exchanged looks as Beckman spoke. Their shared glances reflected mutual feelings of confusion and hope.
General Beckman studied the silence in the room. A video monitor would have been better for her purposes. She'd have preferred to gage facial expressions. But the safe house didn't have the technology. Still, she could read tone of voice. And she had chosen her words carefully: their ambiguity designed to ferret out the nature of Agent Walker's feelings towards the Asset. Having heard enough silence, she continued: "What I meant is, the Asset's romantic interest and your pre-established cover relationship provide the perfect opportunity for both of you to take an extended, explainable absence from Burbank. Given the Asset's new condition, there are certain preliminaries and tests that must be done off-site. I would have preferred Europe, but Camp Peary in Virginia will do well enough. Agent Walker, you will accompany the Asset to Camp Peary. Given the Ring's actions tonight, please travel incognito, avoid airports and other heavily monitored locations, and stay below the speed limit. Agent Casey will wait a few days to defer suspicion, and then join you."
"General, when I return, then what? Am I going back to the Buy More? You keep saying 'Asset.' Am I still an Asset?" Chuck inquired.
"Hell, if I know. It's 4:30 in the morning where I am. We'll figure out an appropriate cover and status for you while you are gone. For now, please excuse yourself. There are certain matters I must discuss with Colonel Casey and Agent Walker alone."
"One last question, what's Camp Peary?" Chuck inquired.
General Beckman responded sharply. "I'm surprised you didn't already know, Mr. Bartowski. It's the principal CIA training facility. Chuck, you are going to the Farm!"
Beckman waited a few minutes, until Casey confirmed that Chuck had left the room and absconded himself far out of hearing range.
"This message is for both of you," General Beckman howled. She directly her attention curtly towards Sarah, "Agent Walker. I agree with Colonel Casey's concerns about the Asset's emotional condition. That is the only reason your place on this team is secure, for now. But please know, I am not an idiot. I didn't buy for a second Colonel Casey's preposterous story about you only pretending to go AWOL. You ran away with Chuck. You placed your Asset's well-being above the interests of the United States. Charitably speaking, you committed what might be considered light treason. I can only assume that your romantic attachment to the Asset drove such insanity."
"But why. . ." Sarah interrupted, terrified.
General Beckman stopped Sarah mid-sentence, and explained: "Why didn't I mention it earlier? Why did I appoint you to head the new Intersect project? Well, frankly, as Colonel Casey said earlier, the results speak for themselves. But, more importantly, the threat to your loyalties had passed. Mr. Bartowski was no longer an Asset, or even an Analyst, just a competent computer repairman. Whatever you did with him on your personal time was none of my business. That's not the case anymore. Whether it happens in Europe or Burbank, in the weeks and months ahead, we will be asking Chuck to do things he won't be comfortable doing. His days as an overgrown man-child are over. Chuck **WILL** become an Agent, with all the moral muck that entails. His new role also means placing him in more danger than he ever has been before. And I need to know that, when the time comes, you will do what is best for the U.S. Government, regardless of your feelings for the Asset."
"I will, General." Sarah replied.
"You better. We will be watching," General Beckman warned.
General Beckman then turned her attention towards Casey, her voice just as stern: "As for you, Colonel Casey, you also need to know that I am not an idiot. You were ordered to reacquire Agent Walker and the Asset. Instead, you disobeyed orders from a superior officer. You joined them on a rogue operation, then you lied to my face about your and Agent Walker's behavior. The success of that operation is the only reason you are sitting comfortably where you are, instead of rotting in a hole. In short, Colonel Casey, you are just as compromised as Agent Walker. Perhaps not romantically - although I don't know your preferences –" Casey grunted as Beckman continued, "but compromised nevertheless. My god, when Roan Montgomery retires, I'm tempted to have Chuck replace him as the long-term seduction instructor at the Academy. That man single-handedly turned the CIA's top enforcer into a love-sick school girl, and the NSA's premier agent into his loyal lap dog." Casey grunted again. Sarah frowned.
General Beckman continued: "In any event, both of you are safe from a 49B, for now, because the Asset has developed a bond with you. Whatever your motives, your assessment, Colonel Casey, is correct: for Chuck to become the Agent we need, we need to keep his life as normal as possible, and surround him with people he trusts."
General Beckman continued: "But I also need people that I trust. Right now, I don't trust either of you to properly handle the Asset. When you get back to Burbank, I will be sending in someone objective to oversee your training of Chuck."
"One more thing," General Beckman added, "You've both spent the last two years defending Chuck Bartowski from the world. You must now protect the world from Chuck Bartowski. "
"Is he dangerous?" Sarah asked.
"Very. Both to himself, and to others around him. On that note, I think it is best, both for the safety of everyone involved, and to preserve his cover as he commences his training, that he leave his sister's apartment. Ordinarily, Agent Walker, I would order you both to buttress your boyfriend-girlfriend cover by moving in together. But the Asset has previously indicated that it would be too emotionally complicated for him to do so. That's the last thing we need right now and, I suspect, the last thing you need. Instead, once you return from the Farm, the Asset will move in with Agent Casey. That is all. Dismissed."
General Beckman hung up the phone, leaving a flummoxed Sarah and Casey to stare at each other.
"So, you and Chuck? Roommates?" Sarah teased.
Casey grunted, then replied. "When are you going to tell Chuck the good news?," he asked.
"I don't understand." Sarah responded. Nothing sounded good to her. Chuck was still, functionally, an Asset. He would be trained to become just like her. To be just what she hated. And her own career was circling perilously close to the toilet. General Beckman had made that very clear.
Casey quipped back: "You realize that the General just ordered you to take Chuck on a cross-country road trip, from California to Virginia, away from surveillance? Don't you?"
With that, Sarah grinned. Shortly thereafter, a small smile emerged.
The Chamber of the Ring (Ring HQ)
At the center of the Ring's operations stood the Chamber. It was a room - an expansive, circular room. White, limestone walls combined with effervescent lighting to give it the feel of a stately mausoleum. Most of the Chamber stood dark. Not quite black. More like a darkish grey. Around it's interior, towards the walls, were the alcoves - 163 in total. Each alive had its own somber, soft light perched above the space. From the top of the room, the lights, the alcoves, formed a giant circle: a Ring.
Each alcove was reserved for a Revered Delegate – an elected representative of a regional or national branch, chosen by that branch's Electors, whom in turn were admitted as Electors in a Dutch Republican fashion similar to that of various fraternal or religious societies.
Some of the Revered Delegates, a select few, manned their alcoves themselves. Others staffed their designated spaces with aides, agents, or trusted advisers. Still others, the majority at any given point, stood empty — save for a telescreen or holographic projector. The size and scope of the Ring made it difficult for most of the Revered Delegates to attend in person.
In the center of the Ring stood the Chair. And upon the Chair sat the Chair. The Chair of the Ring. The personal epicenter of its operations.
They called the Chair's seat the Chair, but it was more of a throne. At least physically. Structurally, it was not a throne in any traditional sense. The Ring's Chair was not a monarch, or even a dictator. Just as the regional or national branches elected the Revered Delegates, the Revered Delegates elected the Chair, who served at their pleasure. So the role itself, the Ring's Chair, was more akin to that of the American Speaker of the House, or the leader of a European Parliament. But the Chair itself, the physical chair, still resembled a throne in the visual sense. To sit on the Chair required climbing eight marble steps. The Chair itself was made of a marble that, in better light, would have had a blueish hue. On its left armrest stood all sorts of buttons and communication devices. On its right armrest was a gavel.
The Chair of the Ring sat upon the Chair, wrapped in a grey cloak. The cloak's hood extended below her hairline. It half-covered her green eyes. She looked out across the Chamber, banged her gavel, and called the session to order.
One of the 163 soft yellow lights in the alcoves turned green. The Chair nodded towards the green light. She spoke. Her language was Esperanto, the invented international tongue created by the Polish ophthalmologist L. L. Zamenhof in 1887. But it's meaning was simple. "The Chair recognizes the Revered Delegate from the Western United States. You have the floor."
From under the green light, a man's voice began speaking. The man himself was hidden in darkness, his features obscured by the Chamber's dimness.
"There have been some developments in the Intersect matter," the Revered Delegate said, in English. As he spoke, an Esperanto translation of his words boomed across the Chamber.
The Revered Delegate cleared his throat. By his side, stood an empty tumbler glass. The Revered Delegate poured himself a club soda, garnished it with two olives, and took a sip. He continued speaking.
"Unfortunately, our sources indicate that Miles and his team were unable to acquire the Intersect. Our sources further indicate that the previous Intersect, Charles Bartowski, downloaded the new version, before destroying the hardware."
Gasps peppered across the Chamber.
"Options?" the Chair asked, calmly, again in Esparanto. Several yellow lights above the alcoves flickered to green.
"The Chair recognizes the Revered Delegate from Brazil," she said.
"This is a disaster," the Brazilian R.D. exclaimed, "we must act quickly. Capture Bartowski, find a way to extract the information." As with the previous speaker, the Brazilian R.D. spoke his native language, in this case Portuguese, while a nearly simultaneous Esperanto translation boomed across the Chamber.
Another yellow light flickered green. "The Chair recognizes the Revered Delegate from Persia," she said.
"Bartowski destroyed Fulcrum, killed Miles and His team. He's too dangerous to be left alive. Kill him, and wait until the Intersect is rebuilt."
The Chair interjected. "In a sense, Bartowski did us a favor. Fulcrum were hyper-nationalists, borderline fascists. They were nothing more than useful idiots to our Great Cause. We would have needed to deal with them eventually. And Miles? A senseless extremist, and a fool. I've read the report from our American friends. He slaughtered his own team of Marines inside their Castle, for no reason. We are better off without him."
The Revered Delegate from the Western United States' light flickered again, and the Chair recognized him.
"I'm forced to agree with the Chair. But in a broader sense, Bartowski and his team are our adversaries... not our enemies. Back in the day, people used to know the difference."
A green light across the Chamber flashed, and the Chair recognized the Revered Delegate from South Korea.
"What do you mean, Revered Delegate?," the representative from South Korea asked.
"Think of Jimmy Carter . . . " the Revered Delegate from the Western United States replied.
"America's greatest monster!" cried a voice from the Chamber, interrupting.
"I don't disagree with our Rhodesian friend's remark," the Revered Delegate from the Western United States commented, "but Carter's failings were due to his foolishness, his naivety, not any maliciousness. Back in the day, the U.S. and the Soviet Union were enemies. People like Carter were our adversaries. Here in the United States, and elsewhere, we've forgotten that."
The Revered Delegate paused to take another sip from his club soda, then continued.
"Revered Delegates, Madame Chair, I'm familiar with Mr. Bartowski and his team. He might oppose our means. But I believe we can convince him, convince them, of the justness of our goals. With the right persuasion, perhaps we can turn him from an adversary, to an Asset."
The Revered Delegate from the Western United States finished speaking, and then took yet another gulp of his club soda. He fished out one of the olives and swallowed it.
"And what do you suggest?" The Chair inquired.
The Revered Delegate from the Western United States answered her promptly. "Circumstances have dealt us lemons. Let us make lemonade. We only get one shot at this. We do not want our Great Cause to fail because of buggy software. Fortunately, Mr. Bartowski has volunteered to beta test the new Intersect for us. I say we let him do so. Work out the kinks in the program, as it were."
A different green light flashed, and the Chair recognized the Revered Delegate from Russia.
"So you are suggesting that we leave Mr. Bartowski unmolested?," he asked, in Russian.
The Revered Delegate from the Western United States waited for the Esperanto translation to finish, then answered. "Not entirely. Through our sources, we leak that we believe their tale of the Intersect being destroyed. We let Mr. Bartowski get his team back up and running. Then we watch and observe. With luck, maybe Mr. Bartowski and his team will take care of a few baddies for us. Less for us to clean up later. Once we're confident that this Intersect does what we need it to do, we reassess. Perhaps Mr. Bartowski's interests will align with ours. Perhaps not. Until then, we defer a discussion of appropriate action ... and we try to stay out of his way."
The Chair interjected. "From prior reports, we understand that Mr. Bartowkski's team has largely confined itself to the Los Angeles area. Are you, in a sense, suggesting that we give Mr. Bartowski Los Angeles, while we take the world?"
The Revered Delegate from the United States downed the second olive in his tumbler, and took another sip.
"In part, Madame Chair. We should avoid Los Angeles if at all possible. But be careful. . ."
The Reverend Delegate took a step forward towards the Chair, emerging into the Chamber's light, and revealing himself as Roan Montgomery.
As he spoke, Roan grinned mischievously:
"Some people have a habit of showing up where you least expect them."
Roan lifted us the remainder of his club soda, as if to make a toast, and commanded the Chamber's attention.
"Revered Delegates, Madame Chair, fear not. Our goal remains within our grasp. To victory! To triumph! To the End of History!"
The Revered Delegates answered, in unison, their chorus voices thundering throughout the Chamber:
"To the End of History!"
A/N: Thoughts, comments? Worth continuing?