Hi. My name is Charles Irving Bartowski. I am kind of really special. I have a secret, one that is different from the usual fare. I am strong, very strong at that.

Cliche, maybe. But I need to get some stuff off my chest.

In comic books and the new craze in anime, protagonists start off in pretty normal ways. They have humble beginnings. Kind, honest and more often than not, they are losers in many ways. People who start off with mundane jobs, not much going on with their lives... I can relate to a certain part of it. I definitely do. Though I must say, things tend to be really complicated in real life.

Long story short: My dad Stephen used to be a super genius, sort of like Q from the James Bond films. He was working on complex principles of Organic Computing and subliminal memory retention with a lot of help from Doctor Hartley Winterbottom, a scientist from the National Science Foundation who was also a well known expert in the emerging field of neural engineering and a brain surgeon. I don't know how they managed to pull it off but from what I managed to figure out these past two years, they must have found a way to make the human brain function like a computer using encoded images and audio specifically crafted using the studies of complex brain motor cortex signals. Unfortunately, Hartley Winterbottom died in an accident (that's stated in official reports, dunno whether it's true or not) and my dad... well, he just disappeared off the face of the earth. That's all I've managed to learn about him so far.

Two years ago, I used to fix computers for Buy More. Not anymore. Now I have one in my head, built by Hartley and my dad, which they were supposed to turn over to the government... but they didn't. That decision changed my life in many ways. Mind you, I am no Mitchell Hundred.

If you are asking me to explain scientifically – there's a portion of my brain labelled the motor cortex, which is the region of the cerebral cortex involved in the planning, control, and execution of voluntary movements. This portion is now 'wired' with a number of highly sophisticated algorithms, granting me various skills and abilities; like performing kung fu, speaking and understanding languages I've never heard of (let alone spoken), deactivating and disposing of bombs, and even doing surgery. They happen in the form of temporary body reflexes which are not only random but also difficult to control. Still, I can do some pretty crazy things – things people couldn't do without years of training. Which makes me really excited and scared at the same time. I am all for kung fu but surgery... nah. That's something only a doctor should do. I don't have the patience to... let's just say endure being elbow-deep in blood and guts like they do. There is a reason I chose engineering over medical studies despite being placed first in Biology in my high school. So kudos to Ellie and Awesome. In a way they are super too. It sucks that I can't tell them the whole truth but I haven't really lied to them either. As far as my sister is concerned I am currently working for the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency as an Information Assurance Engineer who also does analyst work at times. Which is something I really do when I am not busy busting my ass on the training grounds.

Anyways, after opening that damned case that fateful day, I found myself recruited by the NGA director. The agency pulled some strings to get my degree back (after I passed a very thorough polygraph) with a very public official apology issued by the same provost who kicked me out before I could even say, "Bryce, don't sleep with my ex-fiancée". I am still not okay with what happened in Stanford but now that I have regained some of my honor, I may find it in myself to go and return that book some day.

I work in NGA campus east alongside other 8500 employees, which includes government civilians (like me), military staff and contractors. Needless to say it's a pretty huge place to work in – it's the third largest federal facility in the Washington, D.C. Metropolitan Area (2.77 million square feet) after the Pentagon (6.5 million square feet) and the Ronald Reagan Building (3.2 million square feet).

An average month in the NGA's employ goes like this – during the first half, I work with people in GEOINT and learn from the so-called Cyber Security Professionals about solving problems, testing approaches and researching solutions. At the same time, I try my level best not to show I already know 70% of the things they are trying to teach me. The other half is divided between finishing my 37-week Federal Agent training program (it's 20 weeks for regular recruits, but I needed 17 weeks to get to the usual starting point), improving my mastery over the 'computer' and helping a few handpicked scientists understand the thing inside my head. That sorta makes me feel like a guinea pig but these tests also make sure that I don't develop dementia or any other mental disorders from using my so-called skills.

So this is it. I have brought you all up to date about everything.

...xxxxx...xxxxxx...

Tap... tap... tap...

Chuck kept bouncing his pencil on the table for the umpteenth time, drawing ire from his colleagues. He paid them no heed though. Over the past four hours his eyes were glued to the computer screen in front of him, showing various images of Chinese personnel entering and leaving a hotel in New York. He scribbled a few things in his notebook. On the surface it appeared to be a business exhibition, with corporate giants such as Google and Microsoft involved. But something felt wrong. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

He ran background checks back and forth with nothing to show for it. Still, the way certain people walked... they didn't seem like nerds. Not to mention the servers who walked with a disturbing amount of… spine, for want of a better word. It wasn't like attendants couldn't be confident but these guys seemed a bit too sharp for their own good. Furthermore, the caterers used thirteen transport containers for this function. A perusal of previous records showed that bigger functions had taken place in that venue but the company never used more than six.

The database showed a DSO facility in the outskirts, just a few miles from the hotel. It was often used by the NSA and DIA for classified purposes; the corresponding details were apparently beyond his pay grade as he couldn't access them with his passcode. The facility itself was undoubtedly well protected; the driveway, on the other hand, was possibly cause for concern. A police officer working in that area recently complained about traffic cams not working properly and having trouble with some unusual noise while communicating with his precinct. Even with the paucity of information available to him, Chuck was sure that some form of advanced surveillance tech was being utilized. However, he didn't know whose it was.

Is there anything wrong? Or I am just imagining things?

The brown-haired youth sighed in frustration. Finally, he noticed something... or rather, someone who made him stop his incessant tapping. That happened to his boss, Richard Stone. One of the senior executives in GEOINT. Once he spotted his boss, Chuck immediately jumped to his feet and dashed towards the middle-aged man before he could pass him by.

"Richard." Chuck began only for his boss to interrupt him midway, flaring his nostrils.

"For the last time, Mr Bartowski, it's either Mr Stone or Mr Richard. Not just Richard. If you feel so obliged, I can make the chief work too." He spoke a mile a minute.

"Fine." Chuck shrugged the comment off. "I have something to discuss about a report. One that involves the event in Hotel Avenue Park."

"You know how this works, Bartowski. You send your findings to headquarters in an email and if they think it's important enough for me to look at, then I will. I am your boss, after all. Not the other way round, right?" Richard said with a condescending smile. "Now, my computer has crashed for the third time today and those tech support guys don't know a damn thing. Why don't you be a nice employee and see what's wrong with it?"

Chuck took a long breath, trying to maintain a neutral look on his face and keep a lid on his skills. It wouldn't do to punch the jerk in the face (or anywhere else), regardless of the transient satisfaction it would bring.

"I will see what can I do." He calmly retorted.

Richard initially made to leave but froze in the doorway to deliver Chuck a piece of advice. "Just try to be careful. This place isn't like the shitty retail store you used to work at so your usual bullshitting may not work."

Chuck grit his teeth in frustration and annoyance before returning to his desk. There were all these stupid rules and whispers from his fellow techies didn't help him with his anger issues.

"Just got the job because he's chummy with the Admiral..."

"Self-entitled prick... Thinks he runs this place..."

"Got a work in progress in our hands..."

"Chuck. Hey, Chuck." Chuck shook himself out of his funk and quickly turned his attention from the useless chatter around him to the familiar sight of a friendly Indian guy sitting next to him. It was none other than Manoosh Deepak, a brilliant analyst and software genius, recruited from MIT in his last year. They took their analyst and cyber training together so more often than not, they were placed in the same workspace.

"Don't worry about those dunderheads, buddy." He replied with a smile, exchanging a fist bump with Chuck. "They feel threatened by people like us. That's all. Some guy half their age with more talent in his pinky, then they have in their entire body... Not everyone can stomach this fact easily."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Chuck laughed heartily. He put his findings inside an attachment and emailed the Admiral like he was officially supposed to.

"You're welcome, Charles. So, wanna go to this new club?" Deepak asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Not really. I mean, I have other things to do, you know."

"Dude, I'm trying to get you out and you're saying you'd rather read some damned books on Neural Engineering and the human brain. Seriously Charles, what gives?"

I have a computer in my head and I am trying to understand how it works.

"I'm really glad you are so concerned with my lack of social life rather than my pursuit of knowledge..." Chuck cocked his head.

"Dude, I am trying to get us noticed out there in the world." Deepak stated with a frown. He began to type on his computer, albeit a bit slower than usual as he was still focused on Chuck. "We geniuses gotta live our lives to the full. Our reputations are at stake here."

"Geez! Fine, let's do this." Chuck's shoulders slumped in defeat; he knew all too well how stubborn his friend could be.

...xxxxxxx...xxxxxxxxx...

Located near Dupont Circle, The Heist was the sort of club people like Bryce and Cole used to go to. Only the most fortunate could get in – like those in the employ of certain government agencies, as Deepak claimed. Chuck stretched his arms with a yawn; even standing next to the building, he could hear the music thumping to a frantic beat. At least Deepak had dressed out for the evening (like most others looking to get in); Chuck, on the other hand, stuck with his work getup and felt completely out of place.

"This is the best nightclub in DC and they play the best dash music. We are going to have drinks and have fun." Deepak began with an excited grin.

"Yeah, yeah... I heard you the first time but let me remind you – none of us have Bond or Bourne in our last name and girls don't dig nerds." Chuck rolled his eyes in irritation. He was damn sure Morgan and this guy would be fast friends the moment he introduced them to each other. No doubt about that.

"First things first – look at yourself in the mirror. You're too big to even remotely resemble a nerd." Deepak sighed in annoyance but gave him an easy smile as both of them walked towards the door. "Besides, those Bond guys you're talking about have no lives. They would kill to have the sort of freedom we enjoy."

"What do you mean by that?" Chuck asked out of curiosity.

"We are practically Agents but not Props. I mean proper intelligence. Once you go down that route, the government basically owns you for life." Deepak explained, adding with a confident smirk, "You and me, we can get out whenever we want. Build a software company, form a band, go to our families for birthdays and thanksgivings... anything we want to do. We have that freedom. They don't."

Chuck briefly glanced at the red neon sign. He had spent the last two years undoing the mess his life turned into after the Stanford fiasco and did his hardest to impress his NGA superiors. Especially Admiral Kernan, who brought him into the fold in the first place. Still, Deepak's little speech got him thinking a bit.

The Admiral never told me I was government property and never treated me as such... but with the computer in my head and being my father's son...

Then the words his best friend Morgan told him before he left for Washington came to mind.

Enjoy life! We are too young to stay mopey all the time.

Chuck smiled, wondering if that was what he had in mind all along. Both friends nodded at each other and took out their special IDs for the bouncer (a body builder in his spare time, no doubt) to examine. He took a quick look and threw them a fearful glance while stamping 'legal' on their hands.

He paid their cover charges and both of them went inside.