Chapter 35: The Fallout Part 4

Unknown Location, Unknown Time and Date

The spy from Fulcrum grinned broadly, showing pearly-white teeth. "Yes, Mr Bartowski, we know about Sunnydale. And the Initiative."

"What?" Chuck blinked, then had to struggle not to sigh with relief. They didn't know about the Intersect! Then he gasped. But they knew about the supernatural!

"Yes. We know that the CIA used your hometown to conduct top-secret research into human augmentations."

Oh. They didn't know, then. "What? You think I'm a cyborg? I'm not! I'm a normal human being!"

"Oh, no, we don't think that you were augmented - you left Sunnydale before the project's second phase started, and your life afterwards is well documented. However..." The man's grin turned noticeably evil, in Chuck's opinion. "...it is interesting that you would know what kind of augmentations a top-secret research project developed."

"What?" Chuck gasped. "Everyone knows what augmentation means - did you never play Cyberpunk?" Well… not everyone played that role playing game, Chuck realised. Or read the novels. The spy looked a little too old, anyway, to have been a teenager in the 80s or 90s.

The man frowned for a moment, then chuckled. "You do try to play the harmless nerd, I'll grant you that. But as I said - we know the truth. And so do you. You weren't a test subject - but you are a friend of the test subjects."

He must mean the Scoobies. "Test subjects?" Chuck tried to sound ignorant.

Judging by the man's scoff, he failed. "You're not a very good liar, Mr Bartowski. You're a friend of both the first and second generation of test subjects."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He was honestly confused - the Initiative had been shut down in 2000. What did the man mean, 'second generation'?

"Really? Your friends Buffy Summers and Faith Lehane were the first generation test subjects. The survivors of the first generation, to be exact - the project leader claimed their failures as 'combat casualties', but it's obvious that with something as cutting edge as cybernetics, it'll take a lot of experiments and failures until you've refined the process to get actual results. The second generation produced over a dozen viable results in 2003."

The man actually thought that Walsh's human experiments were sane? Chuck didn't have to fake his horrified expression.

"Really? Don't give me that look. Did you never wonder why only two of the first group of test subjects survived? Why so many people disappeared in Sunnydale? Oh, wait, you left before that wave of missing persons started. Were you warned in advance, perhaps?"

What? Oh. Fulcrum thought that the death rate in Sunnydale had spiked after the Mayor's death. They didn't know that this had been normal but kept hidden by Richard Wilkins. "I left after graduating high school so I could go to college," he said.

"A wise decision, in hindsight." The spy laughed. "Although the CIA had to pull strings when you were at Stanford - the main office almost recruited you, did you know? But that would have threatened the secrecy of the project. Oh!" He grinned again. "You did know. At least, you found out at some point in the past."

Chuck berated himself for failing to hide his reaction. He really wasn't a good liar.

"Were you planning to become a computer expert working for the project? Before it was destroyed in that 'tragic sinkhole incident' and all records were lost."

If Chuck weren't tied up and at the mercy of a ruthless, brutal enemy spy, it would almost be amusing to see how a paranoid secret agent interpreted the information available about Sunnydale. As it was, though… "If you know all that, why did you kidnap me? I was never involved with any secret project in Sunnydale!"

"But you knew about the project. And the surviving test subjects trust you. Were you one of their handlers? Like your friend, Mr Grimes?"

"Handlers?"

"The people commanding the test subjects. We've seen them at work. Is that why all surviving test subjects are female? Are they easier to control? We thought it was a physical reason - perhaps women could adapt better to cybernetics than men."

The man was crazy. "I'm not a handler or whatever you call it!"

"No, you aren't." The Fulcrum agent stood and stepped closer, leaning forward until his face was almost directly above Chucks. "But do you know what you are?"

He couldn't resist: "What?"

"You are the key to controlling the test subjects."

"What? Do you think you can use me as a hostage to order them around?" That was… well, not completely stupid, but still stupid.

"Of course not," the man told him. "No matter the test subjects' feelings, it's a CIA operation. If we tried to use you as leverage, then you'd suffer an accident - probably in a way that frames us for it. Everyone mourns the tragic loss of a friend, the handlers in their experience help the test subjects cope with it - and strengthen their ties to them as a result."

Chuck gaped at him. He thought that the CIA would go as far? That was… Uh. Dad had feared they'd use Ellie and Chuck to force him to obey them. That was, probably, not as far-fetched as Chuck would like.

"Ah! You've realised that I'm telling the truth, hm? You're not as dumb and naive as you look, Mr Bartowski."

Hey! He was a spy! He wasn't that naive. Just a little too much. "But if you don't want to use me as leverage, how am I 'the key to controlling the test subjects'?" If his wrists weren't tied to the bed, he'd have made air-quotes.

"Simple. Now that we know about you, you've become a liability. The CIA team will realise that. Unless you manage to suborn the test subjects for us and sabotage this operation, you will suffer an accident." The spy shook his head, sighing with mock-sympathy. "You don't really think people who conduct experiments with humans are nice people, do you? I guess they used you as some emotional anchor for the test subjects. Something to ground them so they don't go crazy. But now that we know about you, you've outlived your usefulness."

"That's crazy!" Chuck protested. It was. But he couldn't help wondering what the CIA would have done if they had managed to reconstruct the Intersect and the Council hadn't gone to bat for Chuck.

"Is it?" The man laughed again. "You say so, but you're doubting. Wondering. Worrying."

Well, that was true. Kind of. Chuck still worried far more about Fulcrum's plans than the CIA's hypothetical treatment of a non-Council-affiliated Chuck. "But why would I help you? I'd be a liability for you as well, wouldn't I?" Wait… that wasn't something he should've pointed out.

The man's grin grew wider. "Oh, you are learning. But don't worry - you will have a very good reason to help us, and we'll have a very good reason to trust you."

Now Chuck was worrying. A lot. "I don't suppose you're talking about a very generous financial offer?"

"That would usually be our preferred approach, but… you don't seem to be the greedy type." The man from Fulcrum sighed with another expression of mock-sympathy. "Nor do you look like the kind of person who'd sell out their friends."

"That's normally the hallmark of a trustworthy person," Chuck pointed out.

"Indeed. But not the sort of trustworthy we need. Do you know the saying 'trust, but verify'?"

Uh. That really didn't sound good. Chuck grimaced.

"Oh, you do, don't you?" The man patted his cheek. "Let's just say once we're done, your life will be in our hands."

His life would be...? Oh, no! "You'll implant a bomb in my head?" A cranial bomb? The guy claimed he had never heard of cyberpunk!

"A bomb in your head? Please. The CIA would detect that quickly. No, no - we like to be a little more subtle than that."

"A poison in a shell that will start to degrade without the proper counter-agent taken regularly?"

The man blinked, looking actually surprised. "No, but that's a very interesting idea. Is this part of the current project?" He suddenly frowned. "Has that been done to you?"

"What? No!" Chuck shook his head frantically. If they thought he was already compromised like that, they'd cut their losses and kill him. "It's from a book I read. Years ago."

"Ah. A pity." The man shrugged. "No, as I said, we prefer to be more subtle. We'll implant something in your mind, Mr Bartowski."

Chuck blinked. "You said you wouldn't implant a… Oh. You said, 'mind', not 'brain'." He gasped. "You're talking brainwashing me! Some… some… hypnotic suggestion with a trigger."

The spy seemed almost proud of him. "A little reassurance, so to speak. My group doesn't have access to cybernetic augmentation, but we're quite advanced when it comes to manipulating the human mind."

That was really, really bad. Chuck started to hyperventilate. This was…

This was probably related to the Intersect!

California, Burbank, The Castle, February 18th, 2008

Sarah couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. It was silly - this was going to save Chuck! - but she had expected the locator spell Brown-Smythe was casting to be a bit more… impressive. All the older man was doing was burning a few herbs, staring into a bowl of water and chanting under his breath. Replace the bowl with a crystal ball, and he could've worked as a fortune-teller at any medieval fair.

Perhaps she had been spoilt by having seen Willow Rosenberg perform magic. The witch was obviously one of the most powerful magic-users the Council had access to. The number of times Grimes and Brown-Smythe said 'I'm not Willow/Miss Rosenberg, but…' only confirmed that.

Suddenly, the Watcher leaned back, sighing and interrupting her thoughts. "I've found him."

He'd found Chuck! Sarah barely managed not to jump up. The Slayers did, though, Caridad all but yelling: "You did? Where is he?"

"That's a little harder to determine," the older man told her. "He's to the South of us, but I'll need a map to narrow the location down."

"Here!" Bane handed him a printed map before Sarah could bring up a map on the screen.

"Thank you, dear."

"Thank you," Sarah forced herself to say. The British Watcher apparently preferred paper to screens. She should've anticipated that herself.

Bane smiled back, acting pleased. Even more so, when Grimes hugged her.

Sarah sighed and forced herself to calm down as Brown-Smythe started to go over the map. After a minute without any comment, she offered: "I can bring up satellite images."

"No need. I've found it. It's here!" The Watcher pointed at a spot just north of San Diego. "In… Bird Rock."

"Let's go!" Caridad was halfway to the exit. "I'll drive!"

"No, I'll do it!" Vi, hot on the other Slayer's heels, yelled.

"Stop!" Sarah found herself saying. "We can't charge off unprepared."

"Indeed," Brown-Smythe agreed. "Chuck wasn't in any immediate danger, nor did he show any signs of having been tortured when I scryed on him. Our chances to rescue him unharmed will be much improved if we take the time to come up with a plan."

Caridad frowned, but Vi nodded - albeit a little reluctantly, in Sarah's opinion. "Sure. Be all reasonable about it." The Slayer's joke felt a little forced, too, but as long as they two didn't dash off…

Bane had brought up the satellite images of the area in question, making Sarah thank her again.

"Looks like they set up well. There's a small warehouse as a cover for deliveries at any time - and for the security," the other spy commented.

Sarah nodded. "And it's connected to the office building. They might even have a legitimate shipping business going."

"Uh. Do you mean they'll have employees who don't know anything about Fulcrum?" Grimes asked.

"It's possible," Sarah told him.

"So, uh, don't maim everyone you find," Grimes told the Slayers.

Sarah wasn't about to risk Chuck on the off-chance that a security guard wasn't working for Fulcrum, but there was no need to mention that. She focused on the images instead. There was a tall fence. Probably guards with dogs, too. And the warehouse and office building would have far better security than usual of course - at least in the secret parts. "There's no time to go in disguised as a legitimate delivery," she said. It would take too long to find the suppliers and set up something. "And the buildings are small enough to make insertion from the air unfeasible," she added.

"No for us!" Vi interjected. "We can parachute in, easy!"

"Yes," Caridad agreed, nodding eagerly.

"And deal with any traps on the roof?" Sarah asked.

"Err… yes?" Vi tried.

But Brown-Smythe was shaking his head. "I think Sarah has the right of it. We might have to go through the fence, or over it."

"Without attracting attention," Bane added.

"And going up against spies who might expect Slayers," Sarah said.

"But Phil's spell worked!" Caridad protested. "That means they don't have magical defences!"

"It just means that they aren't protected against scrying," Brown-Smythe pointed out.

"If they saw you hunting, they might expect you to jump the fences," Sarah added. "That means the real defences will be at the building." And Fulcrum would have set up a lot of nasty defences. Probably mines - they would stop Slayers, too. Jus rushing in through or over the fence wouldn't work. And Fulcrum would have built underground, so the sewers would be covered as well. Quite tricky.

She raised her eyebrows, then moved the satellite images a little. "I think I found a way to enter."

California, Bird Rock, Aston Imports & Exports Compound, February 18th, 2008

Chuck had to escape. Before the agents of Fulcrum turned him into a Manchurian spy. Or fried his brain when whatever they used hit the Intersect in his mind and overloaded his mental capacity, or something. Of course, that was preferable to being turned into an enemy spy and stabbing his friends in the back. And betraying Sarah…

He had to escape!

But he had spent hours trying to escape, after the Fulcrum spy had finally left him, without having any success. Or even a feasible idea. He couldn't get at the locks of the cuffs holding him no matter how he twisted, and breaking them was utterly impossible - he had tried. And no one had answered his questions and demands - not even when he had asked to go to the bathroom - so he hadn't even been able to attempt turning a Fulcrum spy.

Not that hadn't been a ridiculous plan to begin with, but he was desperate. The only silver lining was that he hadn't actually needed to go to the bathroom, or he'd have embarrassed himself.

Small mercies, but he didn't have anything else to cling to. He had to escape. He looked around again, but the room was still dark. Pitch black, actually. Was this already a part of their brainwashing operation? Sensory deprivation? Limited to his eyes? Psychological warfare to weaken his resolve?

If the goal was to make him more desperate, then it was working. He needed to escape. Before he got turned into a danger to his friends and loved ones. Just like a vampire. Worse, though - his friends and family knew how to handle vampires. He wouldn't be able to fool them. But a mindwiped Chuck? They'd check for magic, maybe. But they wouldn't find implanted hypnotic suggestions.

He really needed…

A sudden flash of light blinded him, and he jerked on his bindings tying to shield his hurting eyes. No! They were coming for him!

By the time he stopped blinking rapidly and could see again, two tall men were already at his side.

"Uh… did you finally decide to let me use the toilet?" he asked.

A snort was the only answer he got as the two men started to push the bed towards the door. Apparently, they wouldn't bother untying him for the transfer to the mindwipe dungeon. Damn. Another hope shattered. Did they suspect he was more dangerous than he appeared? Or was this standard procedure, no matter the victim?

"Guys? I really need to go to the toilet." He wasn't entirely lying. "You don't want me to wet myself when you tinker with my brain, do you?"

Another snort. "They usually piss themselves anyway," the man on his right side said, chuckling.

Chuck froze. They had done this before. Stupid. Of course they had - they wouldn't be doing this to test it on him. Was that how they had managed to infiltrate the CIA so thoroughly? Turning innocent people traitor? Anyone could be a victim, even people Chuck and his friends had killed!

Oh my God!

That was… if it was true. No. He tried to force himself to calm down. He couldn't dwell on that now. He had to escape.

The pushed him through a hallway with bare concrete walls. It didn't look even half as nice as The Castle. But it carried that 'dungeon' vibe pretty well.

They passed two doors - sturdy metal ones that looked as if they could hold a vampire prisoner - until they stopped in front of a third. The goon on Chuck's other side knocked on it. Once, twice, three times.

The door was opened by a man in a white lab coat. "Wheel him in," the man told the goons. "He hasn't eaten, has he?"

"No," the second thug answered.

"Good. We wouldn't want to lose another one choking on their own vomit, would we?" The man laughed, though Chuck couldn't see how that was supposed to be funny.

"Emery!" Chuck heard a sharp voice from inside the room. Accented.

The man in the lab coat flinched and stepped to the side. "Sorry, Professor."

Chuckling, the two tall men pushed Chuck into the room. He craned his neck, looking around, and flinched himself. It looked far more like a surgery room than a dungeon. And it had a lot of machines standing around, with attached computers. But he focused on the table with cuffs and straps in the centre, next to a woman in a lab coat, middle-aged…

Chuck flashed.

He saw dead people. An asylum in Russia, burned down in 2004. Faked therapies. Coroner reports about victims being dead before the fire reached them. Suspicions of experiments. Vivisection. Pictures and videos of people drooling on themselves next to the same people looking sharp and alert. Agents. And photos of the woman in the lab coat.

Professor Irina Petrova. Supposedly dead in the fire that destroyed her asylum.

Only she wasn't dead - she was working for Fulcrum.

And she was about to mess with his mind.

He started to hyperventilate. Until he realised that in order to strap him down on the operating table - or whatever you called the table for a brainwashing operation - they would have to untie him.

That was his chance.

California, Bird Rock, Outside Aston Imports & Exports Compound, February 18th, 2008

"You plan to shoot a grappling hook with a line from the apartment building here to the target building and use it to reach the roof? Are you certain that you're not a Slayer?" Brown-Smythe Looked rather nonplussed, Sarah noticed.

"That's a great idea!"

"Hell, yeah!"

As expected, the two actual Slayers were in full agreement with her plan.

Even Bane looked a bit doubtful, but then, she was probably used to sleeping her way into a compound. Sarah shook her head - this wasn't the time to speculate about Bane. She pointed at the building ahead and below them. "This is the quickest and safest method to reach the building."

"If you're a Navy Seal," Grimes remarked. "Or a spy," he added as Sarah caught him glancing at Bane. "But what will Phil and I do? If we don't want to end up splattered against the wall?"

"We'll carry you!" Caridad announced. "Easy!"

"Yes," Vi added, nodding emphatically.

"We need at least one to stay back as a lookout," Sarah said. She'd have preferred Casey as overwatch with a sniper rifle, but he was guarding Ellie and Devon. And most of the fighting would happen inside, anyway, or so she expected, so a sniper would be of limited use. Of course, Casey could have killed the guards outside, then joined them inside… She sighed. You fought a battle with the force you had, not the one you wished you had.

"I think I shall remain here in the car, then," Phil said. "I suspect I would be of limited use in a firefight."

"But you're great with a crossbow!" Caridad protested.

"Which isn't the best weapon to use in a fight against humans armed with guns," the Watcher retorted.

"I told you to buy a repeating crossbow!" Caridad said, pouting.

"That's not the point, my dear."

"You just said it was!"

"I was merely pointing out a fallacy in your argument. No, really, I'll be more useful for this rescue if I am staying behind so you can focus on saving young Mr Bartowski," Brown-Smythe said in a tone that didn't leave any room for disagreement.

Grimes looked a little taken aback himself, Sarah noted. But Chuck's friend didn't say anything, and they were wasting time. "Let's go," Sarah said.

Breaking into the apartment building was child's play - the house had a very basic security system. Just sophisticated enough so the insurance companies would raise their rates, Sarah suspected. But the access to the roof was different.

She smiled as she spotted the hidden camera that wasn't connected to the apartment building's network and therefore wasn't under Orion's control. Fulcrum hadn't missed the weakness the neighbouring buildings presented in their security. She disabled the camera by looping its feed, then nodded to the rest of the group waiting in the staircase behind her. "It's safe now."

They followed her on the roof, crouching as they approached the edge so they wouldn't be visible from below.

Sarah pulled out the grappling hook launcher. The distance was a little long, but still within the device's range. "Check if the guards react," she told the Slayers. The grapnel was padded to avoid making loud noises, but nothing was perfect. As the two dropped on the ground and crawled to the edge, she crouched and aimed carefully, then fired. The hook flew in a graceful arc towards the building below them, landing on the roof.

"No reaction," Caridad said.

Sarah carefully tugged on the line until the hook had grabbed on the railing, then secured her end before addressing the group. "I'll go first, to check for alarms and traps. Then Caridad, then Kirsten, and Vi with Morgan once we're on the roof."

"Alright."

To her surprise, none of them protested. She wasn't about to question her good fortune and waste more time. Taking a deep breath, she connected her harness to the line, checked the friction hitch, then crawled to the edge of the roof and pushed off.

The angle of descent was steeper than she liked, so she had to brake almost constantly, but she reached the other roof without trouble.

Of course, the real work started there. Fulcrum hadn't skimped on security on their own roof. Sarah pressed her lips together as she studied the various alerts she could spot.

This would take her some time to deal with. Time Chuck might not have.

She pushed the thought away, gritting her teeth, and started to work. They couldn't help Chuck at all if they were discovered before they reached him. And Brown-Smythe had said Chuck was safe and unharmed when he had scryed him.

She still couldn't help feeling anxious.

The two men didn't seem to take chances. One grabbed Chuck's left arm before the other undid the strap holding it down. No leverage. And his other arm was still tied down.

"Guys! You don't need to do this! We can still work something out! Just let me go, and I'll forget everything! You don't need to mind-wipe me! I need my brain working, not leaking out of my ears!" Chuck babbled.

Both men snorted in response, and Petrova laughed - obviously, someone who enjoyed her work.

One of the thugs held on to Chuck's left arm while the other grabbed his right arm. Chuck tensed, but… he was still strapped to the bed. Then they pulled his upper body forward and cuffed his wrists together behind his back. Damn.

But they weren't as careful as they freed his legs. One undid the straps while the other held on to Chuck's upper arm. As soon as both his legs were free, Chuck jackknifed, twisting a little so he hit the man next to him with both his feet in the head with a Capoeira move.

The man flew back with a curse and Chuck rolled over and off the bed, landing in a crouch before jumping forward to headbutt the other man, who was just turning to face him. Both of them went down, Chuck headbutting the man again - hard enough so the back of the man's head hit the floor, hard enough to knock him out. That hadn't done Chuck any favours either - the thug's head was hard. As he blinked, hissing at the pain in his forehead, the other thug recovered. Chuck saw the man's hand go for his gun and...

"Don't kill him! We need him alive!" Petrova yelled.

Cursing, the brute reholstered the gun and moved to grapple. But that had given Chuck enough time to recover and jump to his feet. As the man rounded the bed, Chuck let himself fall down on it, then turned on his back, once more lashing out with his legs.

The thug ducked underneath them, and Chuck slid off the bed, taking up a wide stance. He tugged on the cuffs, but they didn't give.

There came the thug again, charging. Chuck managed to dodge the man, whirling like a bullfighter.

But his enemy was quick - far too quick for a man his size - and came at him again. Chuck hopped on the bed and rolled over it again, then mule-kicked it into the other man's path. The spy's speed worked against him - he didn't manage to dodge and stumbled over it, landing on the floor.

Chuck's foot hit his head before he could recover, kicking his teeth in. As the man roared with pain, Chuck hit him again and again. After the third kick, the man didn't move anymore. Chuck whirled just in time to dodge a clumsy swipe with a pipe from the man in the labcoat. A judo-throw sent the overbalanced man into the wall, head-first.

That left… Petrova, who was already at the door. "Help! The prisoner is escaping! Help!" she screamed as she fled.

Crap. Chuck clenched his teeth and knelt down with his back to the first thug. One of them had to have the key to his cuffs.

Patting them down with his hands cuffed to his back was awkward, but Chuck managed to find the keys. He could already hear reinforcements arrive, though, and Petrova yelling about shooting him in the legs.

That was bad. Very bad. But Chuck had his hands free - and the thug's guns. He took cover behind one of the computers - it wouldn't stop any bullets, but they couldn't just shoot him, either. Not if they couldn't kill him.

He was ready to shoot the first person through the door, but instead of an enemy spy, a small object flew inside - a grenade! Chuck threw himself down and covered his head with his arms, eyes closed.

The grenade went off, the blast toppling the computer tower on to him in addition to knocking the breath out of him. He wasn't shredded by shrapnel, though. Flashbang, he realised. That meant they would be coming… Here they came!

He managed to shoot the first person through the door despite still recovering from the shock, putting two shots into the man's chest before he noticed that they were wearing vests. But his next shot hit the man's head, and the spy went down.

Two more had jumped in behind him, though, spreading out to flank him. Chuck didn't need to take them alive, though, and shot the left one as he took cover behind the bed, hitting him in the arm and shoulder.

Yelling, the man dropped his weapon, but the thug on the right side was now shooting at Chuck, and almost hit him before Chuck managed to change his position with a combat roll that took him behind the mindwiping machine. Surely, they would be loath to damage that?

The sound of bullets peppering the case told him he was wrong. And more spies were entering. It wouldn't be long before they flanked him in his new spot - and he couldn't move, or he'd get shot.

Damn.

He had to do something, and fast. But exposing himself was out. So… There was a fire extinguisher in the corner behind him. One meant to put out computers and other electronics on fire with carbon dioxide. Which was stored under pressure.

He grabbed the extinguisher and lobbed it over the console with a grunt, then rose to shoot it before it landed.

It didn't explode, but he managed to perforate it, and the extinguisher started to shoot around, driven by the leaking gas.

And while the enemy spies were distracted, Chuck moved. He jumped over the console, pushing off, and shooting the thug on the right before flipping over and landing on the ground. Two more shots put down the other thug. That left one more, plus however many in the hallway.

Chuck turned to take care of the last thug in the room. Then the extinguisher smashed into his leg, knocking him down.

He managed to turn his fall into a roll forward, but when he came up in a crouch, the leg that had been hit flared up with pain and collapsed under him. This time, he fell flat on his side, screaming with pain.

It saved his life, though, since the shots from the remaining thug passed over Chuck's head as he fell. Before the man could adjust his aim, Chuck shot him twice - one bullet hitting the man's vest, the other hitting his forehead.

He swung around - hissing a the pain that caused in his leg - and fired blindly at the doorway; he had to keep Fulcrum's remaining men from storming the room. Long enough so he could magically heal his leg and dig a tunnel to escape, he added with a snort.

If the floor were steel, he might rig an electricity trap. But the floor was concrete outside, and some smooth plastic inside. Probably to better wash off the leaking blood and brain from test subjects, he thought with more gallows humour.

Then he remembered Petrova's file and winced - that was probably not an exaggeration.

His gun clicked empty, but there were plenty of weapons around now - what with half a dozen thugs no longer needing them. Chuck grabbed another and fired a few more bullets, rifling through the dead man's pockets for spare magazines.

Why hadn't the agents outside thrown another flashbang inside? Chuck would have done so in their place. Probably a couple, to make sure he was down.

Wait… were those shots? His eyes widened. Yes, that was gunfire outside. And not aimed at him. Someone was fighting Fulcrum! His friends were coming! He was saved!

Well, provided he could survive until the arrived - Petrova struck him as the type to go 'if I can't have it, none shall' and burn down the building before fleeing. That was what she must have done in the asylum.

He had to get out of here!

He pushed himself up and started to crawl towards the wall next to the door. If he managed to close the door… but it was on the other side, and to cross the open doorway while he couldn't walk, much less run or jump would be suicide.

Heck, just crawling while dragging his hurt leg was almost too much. He had definitely broken a bone, perhaps two.

He snorted without any humour - there would be another cover story about his clumsiness or kinkiness coming up. Provided he survived this, of course.

Which wouldn't be a bad price to pay, all things considered. Surviving, that is.

Close to the wall, he heard voices from the comm of the dead guy next to him.

"We need to move - the others can't hold them."

"We can't, or the spy inside will get us in the back."

"Idiots didn't notice he was a pro."

He gasped. They thought he was a real spy! His cover was blown! He had to stop them from getting away. Them and Petrova. Somehow.

But he couldn't walk or run - he could only crawl.

Chuck clenched his teeth and wished he hadn't tried to be clever with that stupid fire extinguisher.

"Cover me!"

Caridad, screaming like a banshee, dashed around the corner - jumping high as if she were in one of Chuck's video games.

Sarah followed, leading with her submachine gun. The Slayer was literally bouncing off the walls as she sped towards the two Fulcrum agents holding the intersection ahead of them. Sarah's three-round burst took out the one on the right. She shifted aim, pressing herself against the wall, but it wasn't needed - Caridad had already taken out the other one. Without killing him.

Sarah suppressed the small pang of envy and pushed forward. "Which direction?" she asked.

The Slayer sniffed the air, then dashed left. "Downstairs!" she yelled, already outpacing Sarah again. They needed to work on teamwork, she noted, as she tapped her radio. "We're moving towards the northern stairs."

"Copy," Bane replied. "We've secured the elevator. Moving to the southern staircase."

That would trap anyone in the basement between two teams with one Slayer and one spy, each. And Grimes with Bane's team.

She heard more gunfire ahead, but before she could round the next corner, Caridad reported: "Entrance clear!"

"Don't go downstairs!" Sarah snapped, approaching her.

"What? But Chuck's down there!"

"And the stairs are likely trapped," she retorted. This was a major Fulcrum base, after all. And there had been traps on the roof.

"More traps? Inside their own building?" Caridad blinked. "Would they really do that?"

Sarah looked at her. "Our base's trapped too."

"What? It's trapped? I've been working in a base rigged to blow?"

"Yes," Sarah replied, studying the stairs.

"I didn't smell anything, though! And I passed through dozens of times!"

"Sealed explosives."

"To hide them from a Slayer?

"No. From sniffer dogs." Having your base exposed because of a bomb threat in the area, and the police dogs searching the bomb noticing your explosives was embarrassing.

"Oh."

There. That fuse box was out of place to be easily reached - but perfectly placed to clear the entire flight of stairs. And there wasn't time to defuse it properly. Not after they had been discovered.

Sarah pulled out a grenade. "Take cover."

An explosion? Chuck tensed. Had they rigged the entire base to blow?

"Did you get them?" someone asked on the enemy comm.

"Can't tell. But there are too many of them - they overran topside in a minute. We can't hold them back! We need to evacuate!"

"We haven't received orders to evacuate."

"There's no one left! The professor already left!"

"Damn!"

Damn! Chuck echoed the man in his mind. If Petrova escaped, his cover would be blown. Fulcrum would know he was a spy, even if they didn't know about the Intersect. Although they were already interested in him for his ties to the Council, he suddenly realised.

"We need to move, Gary."

"Gary?"

"Gary?"

"Damn! If they got him…"

"We need to...Urk."

Chuck held his breath. Were both agents down? And were they the ones outside the room? Could he risk exposing himself?

"Chuck?"

He gasped again, That was Sarah! "Sarah!" he yelled. "I'm here!"

A moment later, she stood in the door.

The relieved smile on her face was the most beautiful sight Chuck could imagine.