A/N Keller shows up, but he was kind of lame in canon and isn't much more use here. The Lensmen, the Dustbin Patrol, and the Janitors all take their positions to support our heroes, but I didn't want them to do too much. I've never been a big fan of OCs taking over. Chuck had great characters and S3 in particular had a strong story, so I kept their parts small but meaningful. Except for Leader, of course, but the show sort of forced my hand there. The Ring Elders in canon were even more lame than Keller, so I had to come with something better, and a better evil plot to boot.

"We're lost, dude."

"We're not lost, Awesome," said Morgan peevishly. "We just don't know where we are yet. Take that next right. Or was it a left?"

Alex leaned forward from the back seat. "Morgan, you did find a Ring base, didn't you?"

"Of course we found one, Alex," said Morgan, spreading his hands to indicate the darkness and everything else beyond the windshield. "But that was by daylight, and who knew one city could have so many warehouse districts anyway. Yeah, this is looking familiar."

"It looks familiar because we've been down this street three times," muttered Devon.

"We were going the other way before, going this way I recognize things better. There! Go left, go left!"

"I can't, dude, there's no lefts allowed here."

"Didn't stop Casey."

"It didn't?"

"No, it didn't. And right after you turn you'll see a rusty sign for Edison Oil, I remember 'cause it reminded me I had to order more light bulbs for the restaurant."

"Okay, but you better be right, dude." Awesome turned.

Morgan pointed at the sign in the headlights. "Huh? Huh?"

Devon smiled. "Awesome. Finally something's going right."

A police car started flashing its lights behind them.

"Dude, you're paying it," growled Devon as he pulled over.

Morgan stared at his shoes, and he couldn't even see them. "Fine."

Devon didn't wait for the tap on the window to roll it down. "Evening Officer." He had his paperwork ready to hand over, too.

The policeman didn't quite shine the light into his face, but Devon still had to squint. "Are you aware that there's no left turn back there, sir?"

Devon grimaced. "That's what I told my navigator, sir."

The policeman had heard it all before. "You're the pilot, sir."

"I am, officer," said Devon, nodding, "And I accept the responsibility. All I can say in my defense is that our mission is critically urgent, and we're already running behind schedule." Or they would be, if they had a schedule.

The policeman heard that story too, but there was just something about this driver that had him almost believing it. He aimed his light more directly. "Let me guess, a matter of life and death."

Devon looked up into the light, unblinking. "It could very well be."

"If they haven't been killed already," muttered Morgan.

"What was that, sir?" asked the policeman, bending to shine his light on the passengers.

"Nothing."

"Raise your head, sir, if you don't mind."

Morgan complied, and the policeman stared at him for a second.

"Wait right here." The officer walked off with Devon's ID.

Carina left Casey's house, feeling in her pocket for…Sarah's keys. With no trace of Sarah's car to use them on. Great. She got out her phone, selected a contact. It almost rang twice.

"This is Lensman One. Sorry, Two. I'm Two, he's One."

Wonderful. Now they can't even tell themselves apart. "I don't care which one you are, I need a pick-up." Casey'd been called off his search for Chuck to intercept Morgan, so the Lensmen had been detailed to watch the house in case of some activity there.

"Negative, Stampede. Our subject has left his house in the presence of another male, fitting the description of Daniel Shaw, and we are following."

Carina froze, remembering Chuck's urgent voice: 'Shaw and Carmichael, they're working together.' "Shaw's dead." I killed him. Or did she? Had Shaw ever really died? Did he think Chuck was still Carmichael?

"Then it's either his twin, his ghost, or a zombie."

"I vote for zombie." Lensman One's voice was clearly audible.

"I told you, zombies don't drive."

Carina sighed. "Can you get a car sent? I'm at Dirtnap's place."

"Will do, Stampede."

Officer Murphy went back to the car and gave Devon his papers back.

"Your record's clean, Doctor Woodcombe, so I'm gonna let you off with a warning this time, and some advice. Don't try going any further down this road, there was some kind of industrial accident in a warehouse, major structural damage, possible sinkhole, the whole thing's blocked off. You got some place you need to be quick, turn around and go some other way."

"Major structural collapse?"

Morgan pounded his head on the dash. "No wonder we're all turned around, it's the wrong warehouse! We wanted the second one, not the third one!"

"Where's the second warehouse?" asked Alex.

Morgan answered automatically. "Four-five-nine Darella Street, but I don't–" His head lifted in shock.

Devon glared at him. "Dude, it's a good thing I'm a doctor, 'cause when this is over and everyone's back safe, I'm gonna hurt you real bad."

"You have no time, sir," said the policeman. "Darella Street's quite a way from here, in a bad part of town. You sure you and the young lady'll be all right?" He sounded dubious.

"Backup's already been called, officer. Thank you for your concern." Devon turned the car around and went the way he'd come in, as the officer watched.

Once they were out of sight he got on the radio. "Be advised, the subjects are headed to four-five-nine Darella Street. You guys know what to do."

Orion stared at the recording of his global scanner. Manoosh is right, it's really quite pretty. He'd never paid it much attention before, his concern always with function over aesthetics. He'd created the Intersect, but not this newest version. Only his daughter and Manoosh had made that version the workable thing it had become. He was sorry to lose Manoosh.

But even as the young man was saying he'd only report his new findings to North Star, he'd been reporting his latest finding to Orion. His graphic on the screen over his shoulder was the clue Orion needed to save his son. Not from whoever had kidnapped him from the psychiatric facility, but from the Intersect itself.

Manoosh had seen what he'd had no time to see, no interest to even notice. A fifth wave in the scanner, so small it looked like a simple line on the bottom of the screen, a regular repeating pattern that looked nothing like a normal brain wave and had been ignored by everyone, until it wasn't there. Manoosh had found it, found everything.

Orion turned away from the recording, back to the graphic. Manoosh had the idea to normalize the other waves, transform them until they looked the same. Once that same transformation was applied to the hidden waves, they all turned out to be identical, as he'd suspected they would. A regular, repeating pattern that looked nothing like a normal brain wave, a resonant form of the miniscule wave that had been there all along.

Or at least, since Chuck was nine. When he'd snuck into his father's lab and triggered the first upload of the first Intersect prototype, its files empty of content, nothing but the signal itself. Chuck's brain had absorbed that signal, adapted to it, in a way that no adult's brain ever would. Even Chuck's brain shouldn't have done it, but his son was special.

Stephen J. Bartowski had never known such horror as he did that day, finding Chuck sitting slack-eyed and drooling in his chair. Never known such surprise as when his son has rubbed his eyes and asked him what he was talking about. He had known his son was special, but then he knew how special, and Orion felt his doom settle on his shoulders.

He had to save his son. And now he knew how.

"Can you…turn off the lights?" asked Sarah, touching a hand to the cloth over her eyes.

Ellie looked at the door. "I don't see a light switch."

"Can you take the bulb out?"

Ellie looked up, at what appeared to be a standard light fixture. "I can try." She pulled over the other gurney to stand on. She moved the shield to one side and fumbled with the bulb, unable to see how it fastened in against the glare. Rotating the bulb, she felt it slip out of the fixture and come loose in her hands. She lay the bulb down carefully on the gurney and hopped down, making a loud crunching noise as her feet hit the floor.

"What was that?" asked Sarah.

"I stepped on something." Ellie picked it up as Sarah removed the cloth in the dimmer light.

Sarah looked at what was in her hands and smiled. "Better than I expected."She hopped off the gurney, swaying a little at the sudden movement.

"What?" asked Ellie, steadying her.

"I knew they were watching us." Sarah pulled a pin from her hair and snapped it in half. "That's why I wanted the lights off, but you took out the camera and the mike too." She knelt at the door with her makeshift loockpicks in hand. "We have to get of here now."

"Why?" asked Ellie. "They can't come in to replace it without admitting it was there to begin with."

"The next agent to come through this door won't be coming to replace the bulb, Ellie. They wanted to know what you knew about Shaw. If we'd told them anything they would have killed us then. Since we didn't–"

Ellie took a sharp breath. "They're going to 'jog our memories.'"

Sarah nodded. "Torture us, then kill us." The lock clicked. Beat that, Chuck.

"Did your eyes really hurt?" asked Ellie as Sarah opened the door and looked for guards.

"A little," whispered Sarah. "I played it up a bit, and you really sold it. Now let's go."

Carina raced from the car, knowing the driver would wait on her return. She reached for her lock picks and touched Sarah's keys instead. Opening the door, she turned and placed her hand on the plate to disable the security. A first glance noticed the page on the table, a series of numbers that would become coordinates if treated properly. At the top was note, "The best and the brightest", with the initials DS. She took a photo with her phone's camera and sent it to Beckman, then ran into the bedroom.

She saw nothing, no drives, no discs, no open laptops waiting for input. Dammit. She sat down on the bed, and paper crinkled. Paper? Chuck?

Lifting a corner of Chuck's robe, she found a notebook with a note, "Going with Shaw to find the Ring. He wants to kill Sarah."

She ripped off the paper and ran out of the house. In the car, she turned to the driver and said, "We need to contact the Lensman, find out where they are, Mr.…?"

"Call me Showtunes, Agent Miller. Everybody does."

Leader sat back at last, all the necessary reports carefully filed, each analysis of current data made and logged against intended results. Plans plugged into plans, and all plans led to one final objective, just as all Leaders were subordinate to Leader.

One last item in the inbox. Ah yes, the Bartowski file. One look at its properties and Leader moved it to the main screen.

It was far too small. Leader knew both the minimum and average sizes of a CIA personnel file and this one failed to meet either parameter. Bartowski, Charles I. Formerly employed at a Buy More, five years. No signs of advancement. No raises. No duties. A blank slate.

Lived with his sister. No details on her either.

Married to a waitress at a yogurt shop, moved to DC when she got transferred, so it was clear who wore the pants in their family. No other details on the wife.

Performance history…apparently the only difference between him and the fungus was that he had the scraper. How on Earth did he get a job as a CIA janitor? Even they should have higher standards than that.

Last came the photo. Bartowski appeared to be as dull and characterless as his description, his face unlined, his expression…bovine. Leader passed the image to the facial analyzer, a standard part of the process that had apparently not been followed in this case. Justin's name was removed from the list for the front lines, the most forgiveness he would receive, and the data tech's name was added.

A window flashed red on the console. The photo had returned, with the analyzer's verdict: Composite. "Force Leader, Operations."

When leader stayed up late, every Force Leader stayed up late. "Yes, Leader?"

"Put the Bartowski woman under level one watch, and send me a current image."

John Casey two blocks away from Darella Street, the most his concern for his daughter would allow his instinct for security to delay him.

His nose wrinkled as he got out of his car, locking it down. He'd been in third-world nations that smelled better than this. Even the Ring should have turned up its nose – literally – at this location, but he couldn't assume that. Even if they had, this area at this time of night, was dangerous in its own right. A full tac team with flamethrowers would feel threatened.

Movement! Hairtrigger senses picked up something, a flash, a smell, something that didn't belong in the alley he was passing, and he turned to deal with the threat.

"Aah!" someone shouted.

John looked down. A bum in a cardboard box, threat assessment zero. The bum was staring at his gun, even though it was pointed safely away.

"You want my shoes?" yelled the guy in panic. "You want my shoes? Take 'em! Take 'em!" He started fumbling with his feet.

"No, I don't want your shoes," said Casey in disgust. Sarah was right, even Grimes' pathetic aspirations were better than this. He left the alley, continuing his advance.

The warehouse looked like a crumbling wreck, isolated in a yard full of debris. But the gate was new, and the sensors clearly visible to those with eyes to see. Which Grimes didn't have.

Where the hell are they?

Upstairs, a door closed.

They're already inside!

He raced across the yard, risking the stairs, but like everything else they only appeared ready to collapse. The door opened on an empty hall, with half-opened doors leading to empty rooms. He checked each room and closed the doors as he went.

On the other side of the last door, something made a snapping sound. Casey kicked the door in and led with his gun.

A man sat at a desk, calmly putting something in his mouth. "John Casey," he said with smirking satisfaction in his voice. "I've been expecting you." He held out his hand, with a plastic case in it. "Tic-tac, Colonel?"

"Keller," snarled Casey. The urge to kill the man who'd destroyed his daughter's life was strong but he had to know she was safe first. "I'm not going to let you threaten my daughter any more."

Keller looked surprised. "You have a daughter? Good to know." He surged up, tipping over his desk, and Casey jumped back.

Alarms started blaring, taking both men by surprise.

A trap!

John fell back, closing the door as a partial shield against Keller's gun, and ran back down the hall. No shots were fired. No doors opened, no squads of goons jumped him. Casey reached the front door in safety, and pulled it open.

A bum stood on the stairs, reeking. He fired twice, and Casey felt the tingle of the tranq darts. "Should have taken the shoes, Colonel."

Casey sank to his knees, trying to lift his gun.

Someone pushed his arm down again. "Still with us, John?" asked Keller. "Hit him again. Then find me his daughter, she's gotta be around here somewhere. I warned you, John, you have to cut those ties. Now it's gonna cost you."

The 'bum' fired a third and final time.

When the red alert went off, Leader was as surprised as any underling, but not for long. "What has occurred, Force Leader?"

"The two women are gone, Leader. A security patrol has been found disabled. We assume one or both are armed and dangerous. Images are being distributed."

Leader looked at the files as they came in. The brunette was unfamiliar. The blonde was…"She is asleep?"

"She was brought in unconscious, Leader. Practically the first thing she did on waking was complain of the light and cover her eyes."

Not her eyes, thought Leader, or not just her eyes, bright blue as they were. Her face. Not that it would do her any good. Leader knew that face too well, and now the name to go with it. "Miss Walker. Mrs. Carmichael. How nice to make your acquaintance."