Charles "Chuck" Bartowski had grown used to being invisible.
At twenty-six, he had resigned himself to a life of quiet mediocrity. With his lanky frame, perpetually tousled brown hair, and habit of retreating into his own thoughts, Chuck was the kind of guy people overlooked—at least, on the surface. He was no longer the brilliant Stanford student with a promising future. Now, he was a failed genius working as a tech support guy at the Nerd Herd station of the Buy More, his potential seemingly lost to the mundane.
If anyone cared to look closer, they'd see the exhaustion lining his face, the weight of unmade decisions, the strain of paths he never chose. But no one ever really looked.
Honestly? Chuck didn't blame them. He was average. Painfully, ridiculously average.
"Chuck. Pay attention."
The sharp voice sliced through the fog of his wandering thoughts. He blinked, struggling to pull himself out of the thick cloud of fatigue that had hung over him like a shroud for days. Slowly, the world around him came back into focus—the garish fluorescent lights of the Buy More, the steady hum of malfunctioning electronics, the distinct, overpowering smell of stale popcorn from the snack counter.
Big Mike, his boss, stood over him, an imposing figure. His large frame blocked out most of the background, making it impossible for Chuck to pretend he hadn't heard him.
"Sorry, Big Mike," Chuck muttered, running a hand through his messy hair in a futile attempt to look more presentable. His fingers snagged on a knot halfway through. He winced and dropped his hand back to his side. "Just… thinking."
Big Mike let out a deep, long-suffering sigh and crossed his thick arms over his chest. His face was set in an expression that was somewhere between exasperation and pity. He loomed over Chuck's desk, casting a long shadow that seemed to mirror the one Chuck felt stretching over his life.
"Chuck," Big Mike began in that deep, slow tone of his, like he was explaining something to a child for the hundredth time, "I don't pay you to think." He paused, waiting for the words to sink in. "I pay you to fix laptops. I pay you to smile at customers, pretend you care about whatever tech problem they've screwed up, and get them out the door as fast as you can. And I definitely don't pay you to sit here staring off into space like you're waiting for aliens to beam you up to the mothership."
Chuck forced a weak smile, but his mind was already slipping again, drifting back to the thoughts he had been drowning in moments before—back to the life he used to have, back when he was still someone different.
Big Mike's expression softened just a fraction. He let out another sigh, this one less frustrated, more resigned. "Look, kid, I know it ain't the most glamorous job in the world," he said, his voice lowering slightly. "But it's a job. And now that you're assistant manager, you gotta keep this place running, you understand? You do a good job with that, who knows, you might be running the whole store in a few years."
Chuck nodded, his smile tightening at the corners. The words washed over him without sticking. Store manager? Five years from now? The thought twisted his gut. This wasn't supposed to be his life. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this.
Big Mike gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, his massive hand landing with a thud that nearly knocked Chuck off balance. "Just… focus, alright? You're a smart kid. Too smart to be spacing out all the time."
With that, Big Mike waddled away, leaving Chuck alone again with his thoughts.
Chuck took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, his eyes unfocused as they roamed the chaotic blur of the Buy More floor. Customers moved like slow, aimless sheep through the aisles, picking up gadgets they didn't need, asking questions they didn't understand, and occasionally shooting confused glances toward the Nerd Herd station when something went wrong. It all felt so distant, so foreign, like he was watching it happen from behind a thick sheet of glass.
His mind pulled him backward—back to the days when he hadn't felt so lost. Back to when he was still the brilliant Chuck Bartowski, the star student at Stanford, destined for something great. He'd been on track to graduate at the top of his class, with job offers from some of the most prestigious tech firms in Silicon Valley already lined up.
He had it all figured out back then. His future had seemed bright, golden even. He had a dream job waiting for him at Roark Industries, a cutting-edge cybersecurity firm that was making waves in the tech world. The company was his ticket to the big leagues, a chance to do real, meaningful work in a field that excited him—stopping hackers, safeguarding systems, being at the forefront of the digital frontier.
And he had Jill. Beautiful, brilliant Jill Burton. She had been his anchor, the one person who seemed to truly see him for who he was—smart, maybe a little awkward, but full of potential. They were engaged, living in a sleek apartment in New York, and everything had felt like it was falling into place. It was a life people dreamed of, and Chuck had believed it was his for the taking.
Until it all fell apart.
It started with Mirai.
Mirai was supposed to be just another piece of malware, one of countless digital threats that popped up on the radar every day. It targeted the Internet of Things—devices like wireless routers, DVRs, and security cameras that people didn't even realize could be hacked. Most people ignored it, writing it off as a small-scale nuisance. But Chuck… Chuck was different. He had always been good at seeing patterns in the noise.
At first, the Mirai attacks seemed like a distant storm—massive, yes, but far away. The kind of thing you read about in tech blogs and discussed over coffee but didn't really worry about. That changed when the attack on OVH hit.
A 1.1 terabit-per-second DDoS attack. Unimaginable. The kind of traffic that could take down huge chunks of the internet. OVH, a French hosting company, crumbled under the pressure. It was the largest DDoS attack the world had ever seen, and it sent shockwaves through the tech community. But Chuck… Chuck saw something else.
He began tracking Mirai, following its movements like a storm chaser tracking a tornado. The botnet was enormous, capable of overwhelming any system it targeted. With the help of a few trusted colleagues, Chuck started to unravel its code, dissecting its structure and analyzing its weaknesses. They built a tool—a real-time tracker that followed Mirai's infected devices and intercepted the commands they received
It was a puzzle to Chuck. A game of digital cat and mouse. Until it wasn't.
In October 2008, Mirai hit Ryn, a subsidiary of Roark Industries that handled domain-name-system servers for major internet players. When Ryn went down, so did Amazon, Netflix, , Reddit—all in one fell swoop. North America and Europe were plunged into digital chaos. People couldn't access their accounts, businesses ground to a halt, and the world felt the fragility of the systems they had taken for granted.
Chuck had been tracking it all. He watched in horror as the attack unfolded in real-time on his tracker, pinpointing the command-and-control server that was orchestrating the chaos. It felt like watching an avalanche in slow motion—he could see the disaster coming, but he was powerless to stop it.
And then things got worse. Mirai shifted its focus, targeting Chase Bank. Over the next few days, Chase's systems went down multiple times, locking millions of people out of their accounts. Panic spread as customers found themselves stranded, unable to access their money, and Chuck's tracker lit up like a Christmas tree. The attack was escalating.
But it was what Chuck found buried in the code of the server that made his blood run cold. There, tucked away in the mess of data, was something that shouldn't have been there: a name. Contact information. The hacker running the attack had made a critical mistake. Chuck had everything he needed to track them down.
His heart raced as he compiled the data, his fingers flying over the keyboard. He had the information. He could stop this.
He went straight to his superiors at Roark, expecting them to act. After all, this was the kind of thing Roark Industries was built to prevent. But when he sat in the plush office of Ted Roark, the CEO himself, something felt off. Roark listened, his sharp eyes watching Chuck intently as he explained the situation, as he laid out the evidence. And then Roark smiled—a slow, predatory smile that sent a chill down Chuck's spine.
"Let it play out," Roark said, leaning back in his leather chair, his fingers steepled together. "We'll swoop in after the damage is done. More chaos, more demand for us. The bigger the disaster, the bigger the payday."
Chuck had stared at him, disbelief freezing him in place. "People are losing their money. They can't access their accounts. You want me to just… stand by and let it happen?"
Roark's smile didn't waver. "It's good for business, Chuck. You'll see. Now go back to your desk and let the professionals handle this."
That was the moment Chuck knew his career at Roark was over. He couldn't be part of something like that—couldn't let people suffer when he had the power to stop it.
Taking a deep breath, Chuck composed an anonymous tip. It was extensive, detailing everything he had found, everything Roark was refusing to act on. He sent it to the FBI, hands trembling slightly as he hit 'send.'
That was the moment his life changed forever.
It didn't take long for the FBI to act. The hacker responsible for the attack was apprehended within days, and the Mirai attack that had crippled the internet came to an abrupt halt. The world breathed a sigh of relief as services came back online, and the chaos began to subside.
But Chuck wasn't relieved. He knew that the fallout wasn't over—not for him.
Roark Industries, with its far-reaching connections and powerful allies in government agencies, quickly got wind of the anonymous tip. It didn't take long for Roark himself to order an internal investigation. Roark was no fool; he knew that someone on the inside had tipped off the authorities. And while Chuck had taken every precaution to cover his tracks, to mask his identity, he was painfully unaware of one glaring problem: the tip was too detailed.
Roark's team combed through the list of employees, scrutinising everyone who had access to the data Chuck had used in his report. There was no hard evidence pointing to him—he'd been careful—but there was one thing that stood out. Only one person in the company was brilliant enough to crack the code of Mirai, to track down the hacker behind such a complex attack. Only one person had both the knowledge and the insight to put it all together.
And that person was Chuck Bartowski.
Chuck felt it the moment things started to shift. His once-quiet days at the company began to feel different—colder, more scrutinised. His coworkers were still friendly, but there was an unease in the air, an unspoken tension that he couldn't quite shake. His superiors gave him strange looks now, as if he knew something Chuck didn't. Meetings that Chuck had once been a part of were now held without him, and his workload subtly changed, tasks redirected away from him in a way that was almost imperceptible—but he noticed.
Then came the quiet conversations in the corridors, the whispered meetings behind closed doors. Chuck could feel the walls closing in around him, a creeping paranoia setting in as he realised Roark was looking for him. And while there was no direct accusation yet, Chuck knew it was only a matter of time.
And eventually the day came.
The next morning, Chuck found himself standing outside the imposing glass building of Roark Industries, clutching a single cardboard box that contained the remnants of his professional life. The sky above was a flat, unforgiving grey, mirroring the numbness that had settled in his chest. Everything had happened so fast. For the last four years, he had been a rising star, on the verge of greatness, and now… this.
He should've felt anger, maybe regret, but all he felt was a deep, hollow ache. His dreams of making a difference, of being a hero in the tech world, had crumbled to dust. He had thought he was doing the right thing by going to the FBI, by trying to stop the chaos before it spiralled out of control. But in the end, it didn't matter. Roark had won. Roark always won.
As if on cue, a wave of messages started flooding in. Former colleagues, people he had worked alongside for years, all sending the same terse message:
"I can't be associated with you anymore. Sorry, Chuck."
"Good luck, man. I hope you figure things out."
"I'm sorry, Chuck, but my hands are tied. I can't get involved."
Each one hit him like a physical blow, tightening the knot of anxiety in his chest. They didn't even want to hear his side of the story. Ted Roark's influence was everywhere—there was no escaping it. Chuck was radioactive now, a pariah in the one world he had dedicated his entire life to.
And then there was Jill.
The memory of her leaving played in Chuck's head like a broken record. She hadn't yelled or made a scene—just quietly told him she "needed time to think," as if those words could contain the enormity of what was happening. Chuck had tried to explain, tried to make her see that what he did wasn't just about his career, it was about something much bigger. He'd taken a stand, made a choice to stop something terrible, something that could've hurt countless people. He thought she would understand, that she would be proud of him.
But when he looked into her eyes, he saw something different. Not the fiery determination that once drew him to her, but a cold, distant sadness. She hadn't needed to say much—her silence spoke volumes. When she left his apartment that night, she didn't look back. That was the last time he saw her.
No calls. No messages. Nothing but radio silence. Chuck had expected at least a text, some kind of closure. But Jill's absence was as definitive as her words had been vague. The woman he had planned to marry, the woman he had built his future around, was simply gone. Just like that.
That's how Chuck found himself back in Burbank.
Coming back to his hometown had been an act of defeat. Burbank held memories—good ones, yes—but they were steeped in a past Chuck no longer felt connected to. It was here that he had grown up with his sister, Ellie, and their father, Stephen Bartowski, a man whose brilliance was only matched by his unpredictability. Their mother had disappeared when Chuck was just a boy, leaving a void in their lives that never fully healed. Stephen had done his best, but eventually, he too had vanished, leaving Ellie to raise Chuck practically on her own.
Ellie had always been Chuck's rock. Now a successful doctor, she was everything Chuck wished he could be: driven, focused, confident in her path. Even as kids, Ellie had been the responsible one, always pushing Chuck to reach his potential, always picking up the pieces when things fell apart. Despite everything, she had never given up on him, and for that, Chuck was deeply grateful.
Then there was Morgan Grimes, his best friend since childhood. Morgan had always been the goofy sidekick, the nerdy, awkward kid who stuck by Chuck's side no matter what. If Chuck saw himself as a failure, Morgan never did. In Morgan's eyes, Chuck was still the smartest guy in the room, the friend who could solve any problem, no matter how big. And that belief, unwavering as it was, had kept Chuck afloat more times than he cared to admit.
At first, being back in Burbank was a relief. The pressure was gone. There were no high expectations, no life-altering decisions to make. His job at the Buy More was simple—he fixed laptops, helped clueless customers, and occasionally dealt with the more bizarre requests from the store's eclectic clientele. He had been promoted to assistant manager at the Nerd Herd station, a title that was more a formality than anything else. He was still the same Chuck, invisible to the world, but now with slightly more responsibility. And honestly, that was fine by him.
His days were predictable, and that predictability was comforting. He could coast through work, engage just enough to be polite, but never enough to stand out. At the end of each day, he'd head home, where he and Morgan would dive into their usual routine of video games, bad movies, and takeout. It was simple, safe
But simplicity came with a cost. The sharp, restless mind that had once thrived on solving complex problems, the mind that had unravelled the Mirai botnet, was now dulled by routine. The thrill of the chase was gone, replaced by the humdrum of fixing laptops and resetting passwords. Chuck missed it—the rush of working on something important, something that mattered. But he had chosen this life, hadn't he? A life where he didn't have to worry about things going wrong, where he didn't have to face the weight of his past mistakes.
Still, Chuck couldn't let go of his skills entirely. He kept his hand in the game, albeit quietly. Through platforms like Fiverr, Chuck would pick up freelance gigs on the side, troubleshooting for small businesses, doing security audits, and even participating in bug bounty programs. It wasn't glamorous, but it kept his mind sharp. Every now and then, he'd find himself knee-deep in some obscure vulnerability, his fingers flying across the keyboard in the same way they used to back at Roark. And for a moment, he'd feel like himself again.
And then there were the more... secretive jobs.
Every now and then, Chuck's old friends from Stanford or his contacts in Silicon Valley would reach out to him. But these weren't your typical tech support calls—they were the kind that came with no paper trail, no official invoice, and sometimes not even real names. The people reaching out to him were some of the most brilliant minds in the tech world, individuals who had once admired Chuck for his genius back when he was on the fast track to becoming a legend in their field. They remembered the Chuck Bartowski who wasn't just the awkward guy in the Nerd Herd uniform resetting forgotten passwords at the Buy More. They remembered the Chuck—the one who could dissect the most complex systems, who could read and manipulate code like a second language, who could outwit entire teams of corporate security engineers with just a laptop and a little time
These people knew that the real Chuck hadn't disappeared, not entirely. Sure, he wasn't making headlines or climbing the ranks of the tech elite anymore, but his mind hadn't dulled. In certain circles, whispers still floated around about a man who could solve the unsolvable. He had become something of a myth, a ghost in the machine who could be counted on to fix the impossible. His name never appeared on any official documentation, and those who sought him out were careful to ensure that it stayed that way.
The jobs they offered were lucrative, but they came with a single condition: complete and utter discretion. These weren't small-time problems—they weren't someone's lost password or frozen operating system. The people who reached out to Chuck were high-profile clients: CEOs, venture capitalists, government officials—people whose entire worlds could crumble if the wrong information got out. They couldn't afford to involve their in-house IT departments or trusted security firms for fear of leaks. Too much was at stake. So they turned to Chuck, hoping that the man who had once been poised to lead the tech revolution could work quietly in the shadows to make their problems disappear.
Chuck had developed a reputation, albeit a quiet one, as someone who could handle these delicate situations with surgical precision. No fuss, no noise. Just results. A major pharmaceutical company, for instance, had fallen victim to a sophisticated ransomware attack, locking down their entire system. The ransomware had been traced back to a notorious Eastern European hacking collective known for holding corporate data hostage for millions in ransom. Every hour the system remained compromised, the company lost millions of dollars. Chuck had been brought in through a whisper network—his old classmate from Stanford, now the company's Chief Information Officer, had reached out in desperation. He didn't trust his own team to handle it, and he couldn't go public without causing a media frenzy.
Chuck locked himself in his apartment for an entire weekend, barely sleeping, subsisting on energy drinks and sheer adrenaline. The ransomware's encryption was complex—layered, evolving, adaptive. But Chuck's mind had always thrived on puzzles like this. He tore through the code, dismantling it piece by piece, until finally, by Monday morning, the company's systems were back online, fully restored, without a trace of the malicious software left. The company avoided a crisis, and no one except the CIO and a few key people knew who had saved them.
Another time, a former colleague from Roark Industries—someone who had branched off to start his own company—contacted Chuck in a full-blown panic. His fledgling startup had been targeted by a highly sophisticated phishing attack, resulting in a massive data breach. Confidential client information had been stolen, and if word got out, the company's reputation—and the millions of dollars in venture capital backing—would be obliterated. The consequences were severe, not just legally, but personally. Chuck worked through the night, tracing the attack back to a rogue server in South America. It wasn't enough to simply stop the attack; Chuck had to recover the stolen data and neutralize the threat without leaving a trace of his involvement. He succeeded, and by the next day, the stolen data had been returned, the breach had been contained, and the company's future was secure.
The wire transfer Chuck received for that job was more than enough to cover his rent and living expenses for the next few years . But it wasn't the money that kept Chuck coming back to these jobs. It was the challenge—the thrill. The sense that, for a brief moment, he was back in the game. That he was doing something again, something that mattered. Each new gig was like a jolt of electricity, reigniting the part of him that had thrived on solving the unsolvable.
Of course, Chuck never advertised these jobs. He couldn't afford to. He was already trying to keep a low profile, to stay out of Roark's line of sight. After the events that had led to him walking away from that life, Chuck knew he had enemies—powerful ones. If anyone connected to Roark ever found out that Chuck was still working in tech, still playing a part in these high-stakes operations, the fallout could be catastrophic. Not just for him, but for the clients who trusted him with their secrets.
And the clients, they trusted him implicitly. They knew that Chuck wasn't just some hacker for hire, someone who dabbled in the underworld of cybersecurity for a quick payday. He was ethical. He had a code. He wasn't breaking any laws—at least, not directly. His work skirted the edges of legality, operating in that murky gray area where morality and necessity often blurred. The risks were real, but Chuck wasn't stealing information or committing fraud. He was simply fixing problems for people who couldn't afford to have their issues aired out in public.
Despite the danger, there was something exhilarating about walking that tightrope between the lawful and the forbidden. Chuck knew that every call, every encrypted message that popped up in his inbox, could pull him deeper into a world he wasn't sure he wanted to be part of. But the pull was always there. He could feel it in the back of his mind—a gnawing sense of longing for the life he had left behind. For the version of himself that had once been brilliant and untouchable, a man who had been poised to change the world.
These jobs were like an invitation back into that life. A reminder that he wasn't just Chuck Bartowski, the Buy More employee in a Nerd Herd uniform. He was someone who could make a real difference, even if no one knew it but him. When he was working these gigs, he felt alive again. The old Chuck would reawaken, his fingers flying across the keyboard, his mind working three steps ahead of whatever challenge lay before him.
But then the job would end. The problem would be fixed. The system was restored, the data recovered, the crisis averted. And Chuck would slip back into the anonymity of his day-to-day life, as if nothing had happened at all. He'd return to the Buy More, to the predictability of troubleshooting wireless networks and helping customers reset their passwords. No one at work knew about the sleepless weekends spent saving multi-billion-dollar companies. No one knew that the man they saw fixing their laptops had, just days before, unravelled the work of some of the most dangerous black hat hackers in the world.
And maybe that's how it had to be. Maybe this double life, this secret existence, was the price he had to pay to stay in the game. To keep his mind sharp. To stay alive, in a way. Chuck couldn't let go of the feeling that there was still something out there for him, some higher purpose waiting just beyond the horizon. Something bigger than just fixing tech problems for strangers.
The only downside to this life, aside from the occasional existential dread, was Ellie's persistent attempts to "help" him. Chuck loved his sister—she had raised him, looked after him when no one else did—but Ellie had never stopped seeing him as the little brother who needed saving. If she wasn't pushing him to find a "real job," she was throwing elaborate birthday parties and casual get-togethers, always inviting some potential love interest or another, hoping one might stick.
He could hardly blame her—Ellie just wanted to see him happy, settled. But she didn't understand. She didn't know about the late-night calls, the secret jobs, the thrill of outsmarting cybercriminals from halfway around the world. To Ellie, Chuck was still just the underachiever, the guy who never quite got it together. She didn't know about the part of him that was still alive, still thriving in the dark corners of the digital world. And maybe she never would.
For now, Chuck was content with his double life. It wasn't perfect, but it was his. The quiet anonymity of his day job balanced out the high-stakes thrill of his secret work. It kept him grounded, kept him from getting too close to the edge.
And as long as he stayed under the radar, maybe—just maybe—Chuck could make it all work. The secret jobs, the quiet life at the Buy More, the nights spent playing video games with Morgan. Maybe it wasn't the grand future he once envisioned, but it was enough for now. Or at least, he told himself that. He had become an expert at convincing himself things were fine, even when he knew they weren't. There was always that nagging feeling, the one he couldn't quite shake—that something bigger, something more, was still out there waiting for him.
What Chuck didn't need, however, was any kind of attention. He wasn't just laying low—he was practically hiding in plain sight. The last thing he wanted was anything that might put him back on Roark's radar, or anyone else's, for that matter. And he certainly didn't want any extravagant surprises. His birthday, which Ellie always insisted on celebrating, was just another reminder that another year had passed. Another year of him hiding from the world.
That's why, when he heard the familiar sound of heels approaching his desk, he sighed. Ellie. Of course. Speak of the devil.
"There he is!" Ellie's voice was warm and full of energy, the way it always was when she was up to something. Chuck glanced up from his computer screen just as she came around the counter, her bright smile betraying nothing but mischief. As always, she was the picture of composure—her doctor's coat slung casually over her arm, her long hair perfectly styled.
Before he could say a word, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. "Happy birthday, little bro," she said, her voice practically singing the words.
Chuck sighed into the hug, his forehead resting against her shoulder for a brief moment before pulling back. "Ellie," he muttered, eyeing her warily. "What did you do?"
Ellie straightened, her hands on her hips, smiling down at him with that same sweet, big-sister smile that Chuck had come to recognize as a warning sign. He had known her his whole life, and if there was one thing he could always count on, it was that Ellie Bartowski never did anything without a plan. She had tells—little things, like the way her eyes sparkled when she was hiding something or how she deflected questions with that innocent look.
"Oh, nothing," Ellie replied a little too quickly, her smile widening just a bit. "Just here to give you a birthday hug."
Chuck narrowed his eyes at her, crossing his arms. "Uh-huh. And I'm supposed to believe that's all this is?"
Ellie's expression didn't falter. She gave an exaggerated shrug, feigning innocence. "What? Can't I just come by and give my little brother a hug on his birthday? No ulterior motive?"
"Ellie, I know you better than that," Chuck said, rolling his eyes. "You've got that look."
"What look?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock confusion.
"That look. The one that says you're up to something."
Ellie laughed, throwing her hands up in playful surrender. "Okay, okay. Maybe I did plan something, but it's not a big deal, I promise. It's just a little get-together. You know, some friends, some food, nothing crazy."
Chuck groaned inwardly, already imagining the awkward evening ahead. He had told her, repeatedly, that he didn't want a birthday party. He wasn't in the mood to celebrate or pretend like everything was great. He'd been successfully hiding from the real world for another year, and he'd wanted to keep it that way.
"I told you I didn't want a party," Chuck said, exasperated.
"And I heard you!" Ellie shot back, her voice laced with amusement. "But I'm your big sister. It's literally in my job description to ignore you when I know what's best."
Chuck shook his head, but he couldn't help the small smile creeping onto his face. Ellie had that effect on him. No matter how frustrated he got, she always managed to chip away at his defenses. She meant well—she always did. But the truth was, Ellie didn't understand what Chuck was going through. She didn't know about the secret jobs, the hidden life he was living, or the risks he took. To her, he was still just her little brother, stuck in a dead-end job, wasting his potential. And that was the way he wanted it to stay.
Ellie sighed, her expression softening as she stepped closer to him. "Look, Chuck. I know you're not big on parties, and I know things haven't exactly been easy for you lately. But you can't just hide from the world forever. You deserve to have people around you who care about you. That's all this is. It's just a few friends, a couple of hours. You can even leave early if you want."
Chuck felt a pang of guilt. He knew Ellie was trying to help, in her own way. She had always been his biggest supporter, his anchor through everything, and he hated the thought of disappointing her. But at the same time, he wasn't ready to be "celebrated." Not when he felt like he was barely holding things together.
"Ellie, I appreciate it, I do," Chuck said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I just… I don't know. I'm not in the right headspace for a party right now."
Ellie's eyes softened, her voice lowering as she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "Chuck, you don't have to be in the right headspace. That's the whole point. Sometimes you just need to be around people who love you, even when you're not feeling your best. That's what family is for."
Chuck looked into her eyes. and saw the sincerity there. She wasn't just throwing a party for the sake of it—she was trying to remind him that he wasn't alone. That no matter how lost he felt, no matter how far he'd drifted from the life he thought he'd have, he still had people who cared about him. It was a hard pill to swallow, because deep down, Chuck had always been the guy who wanted to fix everything on his own. But maybe, just maybe, Ellie was right. Maybe he didn't have to hide forever.
"Okay, okay," Chuck relented with a half-smile. "But I'm holding you to that 'leave early if I want' thing."
Ellie grinned, her eyes lighting up with triumph. "Deal. And don't worry, it's going to be fun. I promise."
Chuck watched as she turned to leave, her smile lingering as she walked toward the door. Just before she stepped out, she glanced back over her shoulder and winked. "Oh, and Chuck? You might want to get a haircut before tonight."
Chuck groaned, sinking into his chair as Ellie disappeared through the door. Of course, she had already planned everything. There was no getting out of it now.
As he sat back, staring at the screen in front of him, Chuck couldn't help but think about how much Ellie had done for him over the years. She had been there for him when no one else was, picking up the pieces after their dad left, putting him through school, and always believing in him, even when he didn't believe in himself. She had never stopped being his big sister, always looking out for him, even when he pushed her away.
Maybe, he thought, letting her throw him a party wasn't the worst thing in the world. It was just a few hours, after all. He could survive that.
And besides, as long as he stayed under the radar, maybe—just maybe—everything would continue to be enough
…..xxxxxxxx…xxxxxxx…xxxxxxx…..
Leave it to Ellie and Devon to throw the kind of birthday party that Chuck dreaded the most—one full of well-meaning surprises, friends, acquaintances, and, of course, eligible bachelorettes. Chuck had to admit, they had outdone themselves this time. The house was tastefully decorated, full of soft, glowing lights, balloons, and streamers that managed to look chic instead of childish. Devon, naturally, had turned the backyard into a casual, upscale gathering spot, complete with a bonfire pit, fairy lights draped across the patio, and a table loaded with hors d'oeuvres. The music was perfectly curated—just loud enough to keep energy levels up but not so loud that people couldn't have conversations.
And then there were the guests—an impressive array of attractive, smart, and single women who mingled effortlessly among the small crowd, glasses of wine in hand, chatting and laughing. Chuck was well aware that Ellie and Devon had put a great deal of effort into inviting them specifically for his benefit. Ellie had always been convinced that he needed a girlfriend, someone to help "ground him" and keep him from disappearing further into his shell. But despite their best efforts, Chuck couldn't shake the feeling that these women—all intelligent, charming, and probably wonderful in their own right—simply didn't see him. Or worse, they did see him but weren't interested.
After all, he wasn't Devon—"Captain Awesome"—with his perfectly chiseled features and endless confidence. Chuck was just… Chuck. The awkward guy in a Nerd Herd uniform who worked at Buy More, the guy whose conversations about the latest cybersecurity trends or comic book plotlines tended to leave people politely smiling and nodding before they drifted off in search of something—or someone—more exciting
For the first hour, Chuck had tried to be a good sport. He had made the rounds, engaging in a few polite conversations with some of the guests, half-heartedly responding to the obligatory questions about his work, his hobbies, his life. But his heart hadn't been in it. Every interaction felt like he was acting a part, playing the role of "Birthday Boy" that Ellie had written for him. And the more he talked, the more disconnected he felt from everyone around him.
Ellie had left him in the company of four rather attractive women, each one seemingly more confident than the last. They stood in a circle, exchanging laughs and playful banter, while Chuck felt like an interloper in a world that didn't quite fit him. He couldn't shake the feeling that their presence only worked counterproductively; instead of feeling flattered or excited, he felt more like a wallflower desperately trying to blend in.
He was acutely aware of how he presented himself: the oversized graphic tee emblazoned with a retro video game logo, the slightly rumpled jeans, and the well-worn sneakers that had seen better days. To the outside world, he was a nerd—a bookworm who had once sat in board meetings, yet still preferred the company of comic book heroes and video game characters to that of real people. It was a constant battle between the the version of himself that had thrived at Roark Industries and the one that struggled to make small talk at his own birthday party.
As the women chatted animatedly, Chuck felt like he was being pulled into a high-stakes game of social interaction that he hadn't prepared for. Their laughter rang like music in his ears, but each sound only amplified his self-consciousness. He had once been Division Head of Cyber Analytics, a title that should have commanded respect, yet here he was, struggling to find the right words to join the conversation.
One of the women, a striking brunette with an infectious smile named Julie, turned to him. "So, Chuck, what's your story? Are you just here to be the eye candy for the party?" she teased, her tone light and playful.
Chuck felt his cheeks flush. "Well, I might not be the eye candy you're looking for," he replied, forcing a grin despite the nerves twisting in his stomach. "I'm just here for the cake, honestly. I'm not really great at this social kind of thing."
His admission elicited a collective giggle, and Chuck felt a strange mixture of embarrassment and relief. "Cake is definitely a worthy pursuit," Julie said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But you've got to have more to you than just a sweet tooth, right? I mean, there's got to be something interesting about you."
"Euh," Chuck stammered, searching for the words, feeling quite put on the spot. "I like to read?"
The moment hung in the air, and he could almost hear the crickets chirping in his mind. Not exactly the earth-shattering revelation he hoped for. He mentally kicked himself. Why was he so awkward?
"Read any good books lately?" Julie asked more out of politeness than actual interest.
In his mind, it felt like a stupid question, and he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. From what he gathered so far, Julie and the other women didn't seem to be much into literary pursuits. They looked like they could have walked straight out of a magazine—confident, effortlessly stylish, and bubbling with an energy that seemed worlds apart from his own nerdy inclinations. Still, she was making an effort, and he appreciated that, even if he couldn't shake the feeling of being the odd man out.
"Just finished Lord of the Rings?" He replied with an awkward smile.
" After the movie?"
Julie's question confirmed his suspicion and immediately made him wonder how many of the female guests actually shared his interests.
Julie asked, her brow arched in playful disbelief.
Her question confirmed his suspicion and made him wonder how many of the female guests actually shared his interests. Chuck felt a familiar twinge of disappointment; here he was, trying to engage in a conversation about one of his favorite epic fantasy series, and it was clear she hadn't ventured far beyond the cinematic universe. He hesitated, wondering if he should even bother elaborating.
He felt a hand come to rest on his forearm , It was a light touch, but firm—familiar in a way that instantly calmed the nervous energy running through him. He turned and was met with the sight of Gertrude Verbanski, one of the few people from his past who actually understood the world he had once thrived in.
Gertrude looked as poised as ever, her sharp green eyes scanning the room before locking onto Chuck's with a knowing smile. She was dressed in understated elegance, her tailored black jacket over a crisp white blouse giving her the look of someone always ready for business. There was a quiet power in her demeanour, something she had carried from her days as one of the KGB's most deadliest spies and well eventually a highly efficient double agent working for NSA, when she eventually turned on her own people due to ideological reasons . While many people in the room might not have known it, Gertrude wasn't just another guest—she had seen and done things that would make most of them uncomfortable just to think about.
"Chuck," Gertrude greeted him warmly, her voice low but filled with that confidence that always seemed to steady him. "Fancy meeting you here, of all places."
Chuck blinked in surprise, momentarily forgetting about the circle of women around him. He hadn't expected Gertrude to show up tonight, and her presence was a bit of a shock. He quickly found himself smiling, genuinely for the first time all evening.
"Gertrude," he said, relief evident in his tone. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you."
Julie, still standing next to Chuck, raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and who's this?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity but also a subtle hint of competitiveness.
"Gertrude Verbanski," Gertrude answered before Chuck could. She flashed Julie a smile, one that seemed polite but also hinted that she wasn't someone to be underestimated. "I used to work with Chuck a while back. You know, in the real world." Her tone was teasing, but there was an underlying seriousness that Chuck recognized.
"Real world?" Julie repeated, the confusion evident in her expression.
Chuck chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, uh, back when I had a job that didn't involve fixing printers at Buy More."
Gertrude smiled, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against the kitchen island, her posture casual yet commanding. "Back when he was Division Head of Cyber Analytics at Roark Industries, and probably on the fast track of becoming the company's next Chief Information Officer." she added, as if reminding Chuck that he had once been so much more than the guy people brushed aside at these kinds of parties.
Julie's eyes widened slightly. "Wait, you worked at Roark? That's, like, one of the biggest tech firms in the world. Why didn't you mention that earlier?"
Chuck shrugged, trying to play it off, but internally he felt that familiar discomfort creeping back. "It's ancient history," he muttered. "I don't really talk about it much anymore."
Gertrude tilted her head, studying Chuck. "It's not that ancient," she said with a smirk. "I mean, come on, you were the guy everyone looked up to in the cyber world. Hell, you still are, even if you're flying under the radar these days."
Chuck gave her a look that said, Please don't blow my cover, but Gertrude ignored it. She wasn't the type to let him wallow in self-pity or downplay his accomplishments. She had always been the one to call him out when he was being too hard on himself, which was most of the time.
Julie's interest piqued again, and she leaned in closer. "Wait, so if you were such a big deal at Roark, why'd you leave? I mean, that sounds like a dream job."
Chuck opened his mouth, but Gertrude cut in before he could answer. "The short version? Chuck here walked away on principle." Her eyes flicked to Chuck, then back to Julie. "You know how ruthless and cut throat these tech firms can get—sometimes doing the right thing doesn't line up with what the company wants. Chuck chose the high road. Not a lot of people would have the guts to do that."
Chuck felt a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. Gertrude always had a way of cutting through the noise and getting to the heart of things, and while he appreciated her defending him, he wasn't sure how much he wanted to lay bare in front of Julie and the others.
Julie nodded slowly, her expression more serious now. "Wow, I didn't realise… That's pretty impressive, Chuck."
He forced a smile. "Yeah, well, sometimes doing the right thing doesn't exactly pay the bills."
Gertrude grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "True, but you've managed to survive just fine. Not to mention, you've got people who still come to you for help when the stakes are high."
Julie's brows furrowed. "What kind of help?"
Chuck glanced at Gertrude, silently begging her not to get into the whole clandestine, off-the-books work he did for former colleagues and tech insiders. Thankfully, Gertrude picked up on the cue and changed the subject with a knowing smile.
"Just some consulting here and there," Gertrude said smoothly. "Nothing too crazy."
Julie seemed to sense that there was more to the story but didn't press further. Instead, she offered Chuck a genuine smile. "Well, it sounds like you've had a pretty interesting career. I guess there's more to you than I thought."
Chuck didn't know how to respond, so he just nodded, feeling both relieved and awkward at the same time. Gertrude, sensing his discomfort, pushed off the counter and motioned toward the patio. "Mind if I steal the birthday boy for a bit? We've got some catching up to do."
Julie waved them off, her attention already drifting back to the other women in the group. "Go ahead. Happy birthday, Chuck."
Chuck mouthed a silent thank you to Gertrude as they stepped outside into the cool night air. The patio was quieter, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a warm, golden hue over the space. A few people mingled near the bonfire, but for the most part, it was a peaceful reprieve from the chaos inside.
"I owe you one," Chuck said, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "I seriously thought I was going to combust in there."
Gertrude chuckled, crossing her arms as she leaned against the railing. "I could tell. You looked like a deer in headlights."
Chuck groaned. "Why does Ellie always do this? She means well, but these parties…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "I'm just not cut out for this kind of thing."
Gertrude raised an eyebrow. "You're cut out for a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Chuck. You just forget it sometimes."
He smiled faintly, grateful for her words. "Yeah, well, thanks for the rescue. And for not spilling too much about… you know, the side work."
Gertrude waved him off. "Please. I know better than to blow your cover. But seriously, Chuck, you should give yourself more credit. Not everyone can walk away from the tech world and still be in demand like you are."
"Nevermind!" Chuck shrugged nonchalantly, clearly eager to put the topic behind, "How are things at Verbanski Securities?"
Gertrude glanced at him, her sharp green eyes softening slightly. "Things are... busy," she said, a slight smile playing on her lips. "But you know how it is—always another mission, another crisis, another contract to fulfil."
Chuck nodded, understanding all too well. He had heard about Verbanski Security's ever-expanding influence in the private security and risk management world. It wasn't your average security firm—it was a global player, handling high-risk operations and delicate negotiations that required a unique set of skills. And within a short span of three years it had became one of the Roark's most profitable investments as he happened to be one of the major financers behind this venture. Gertrude had traded in her KGB/ NSA schtick for something just as dangerous, but with a lot more autonomy.
"I heard you guys picked up a few more Pentagon contracts," Chuck said, trying to sound casual but genuinely curious. "Must be some pretty intense work."
Gertrude let out a low chuckle. "You could say that. There's a lot more happening behind the scenes than most people know. We've got operatives deployed in over 20 countries right now. Asset recovery, dignitary protection, even a few counterterrorism ops. It's... hectic." She leaned against the railing, her gaze briefly shifting to the firepit, her expression thoughtful. "But you know what? I like it. Keeps me sharp."
Chuck raised an eyebrow, impressed but not surprised. Gertrude was always the kind of person who thrived in high-pressure environments. She lived for the challenge, the adrenaline, the sense of purpose that came from knowing she was making a real impact.
"Do you ever miss the old days at Roark Instruments?" he asked, an amused glint in his eye. "You know, when you weren't flying halfway around the world to chase down fugitives or whatever it is you do now?"
Gertrude chuckled softly, shaking her head as if the thought amused her. She straightened up, her sharp green eyes scanning the fire pit where a few people lingered, chatting in low tones. "Babysitting a bunch of nerds, you mean?" She gave him a playful smirk, the corners of her lips turning upward in a way that softened her otherwise serious demeanour. "I miss parts of it, sure. Like those Krav Maga sessions I used to run in the evenings. That was fun—teaching you tech guys how to throw a punch."
Chuck laughed, the memory sparking a mixture of nostalgia and embarrassment. "Fun for you, maybe. I remember getting my ass handed to me more than once." He rubbed the back of his neck, recalling the sweat-soaked evenings spent in Roark's state-of-the-art gym. The fluorescent lights had buzzed faintly overhead, and the thick, rubber mats had cushioned more falls than he cared to count.
Gertrude raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "You weren't the worst," she teased. "But you definitely had some learning curves. You kept leaving your left side wide open, remember?" She demonstrated the move, throwing a quick jab into the air, her form fluid and precise. "Made it way too easy for me to disarm you. I think I took you down five times in that first lesson alone."
Chuck winced, but he was smiling. "Yeah, I remember. You didn't hold back, either."
"I wasn't supposed to," Gertrude replied, her tone playful but underpinned with the same no-nonsense attitude that had always defined her. "Roark may have been a tech company, but we were dealing with some high-stakes security issues. You guys needed to know how to defend yourselves. Half the people in those sessions thought it was a joke—just another corporate perk. But not you." Her voice softened slightly, and she looked at him with a hint of something like admiration. "You took it seriously. Even after I knocked you down, you got back up every time. Most people don't do that."
Chuck felt his cheeks flush slightly. He had always prided himself on being resilient, even if the odds weren't in his favour. "Well, I wasn't about to let you be the only one getting a workout," he said, trying to downplay the compliment.
Gertrude let out a soft laugh, but there was a sincerity in her eyes that Chuck hadn't expected. "You were different, though. Most of those guys were all brains, no heart. But you… you had heart. You weren't just there to punch the clock and collect a paycheck or even to make a pass at the sexy Russian instructor like many others, " She added with a playful wink, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia and warmth, " You wanted to learn, to understand. That's why you were one of the few I actually enjoyed training."
He let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Honestly? At first, it was more about proving to myself that I could handle it—handle you," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "Everyone in the office used to talk about how you could take down anyone, and I guess I wanted to see if I could hold my own. You know us men, ego stuff."
Gertrude raised an eyebrow. "And how'd that work out for you?"
Chuck laughed again, the sound more genuine this time. "Well, let's just say my ego took a beating, along with the rest of me."
Her expression softened as she looked at him, a hint of admiration in her eyes. "You took it better than most. A lot of the guys who came to those classes never came back after the first session. But not you. You kept coming back, even when I knew you were sore and probably thinking about quitting." She tilted her head slightly, her gaze unwavering. "That's what I liked about you, Chuck. You never quit. Even when things got tough, you just pushed through. And you didn't complain or make excuses."
Chuck shrugged, trying to play it off, but the compliment hit deeper than he expected. He hadn't thought of it that way before—how those sessions had been about more than just learning how to throw a punch. They had been about testing himself, proving that he could do more than just write code and solve problems behind a screen. And Alexis had seen that in him, even when he hadn't seen it in himself.
"Well, it helped having a good teacher," he said with a small smile, glancing over at her. "Even if that teacher seemed to enjoy making me suffer."
Gertrude laughed, a low, warm sound. "I wouldn't say enjoy. But you had potential, and I wasn't about to let you take it easy. Besides," she added with a sly grin, "I knew you could handle it. You were always tougher than you gave yourself credit for. You just needed a little push."
Chuck raised an eyebrow. "A little push? You practically threw me across the room half the time."
Gertrude smirked, not bothering to deny it. "Well, I had to keep you on your toes. If I didn't push you hard, you wouldn't have learned anything."
He remembered those sessions vividly now—the controlled chaos of Gertrude's movements, the way she could take down even the biggest guys in the Roark's office without breaking a sweat. She had been relentless, but never reckless, always making sure they understood not just the physical moves but the mental discipline required to stay focused in high-pressure situations. It had been more than just a workout; it had been a lesson in resilience.
They shared a laugh, the kind that came easily between old friends who had been through the wringer together. Chuck could always count on Gertrude to bring a sense of levity to any situation, even if the subtext of their conversation hinted at much heavier topics. The truth was, while they could joke about their pasts at Roark, there was always an undercurrent of something more serious when they talked about their work. For Gertrude, it had never just been about the tech. She had been in the trenches, both at Roark and long before that with the duality regarding her nature of work with KGB and NSA.
"So, still no regrets leaving the….NSA gig for Roark?" Chuck asked, his tone a bit more serious now.
Gertrude took a moment to answer, her gaze drifting back to the firepit, the glow of the flames reflecting in her green eyes. "No regrets," she said finally. "The NSA was… intense. But no matter how much I tried to fit… I was always a stranger in their books. The spy from the enemy nation they brought over to their side but couldn't trust with anything substantial .. the money Roark gave me a chance to use my skills in a different way, to step back from the high-risk fieldwork without completely walking away from the action. And now, with the …" She trailed off, a small smile playing on her lips. "It's different, but it's still high-stakes. Just in more… global sense and I can actually get some much deserved recognition..for my work."
Chuck nodded, understanding. He'd never been in the kind of fieldwork Gertrude had done back in the days, but he'd seen enough to know that the decisions she had to make on a daily basis weren't easy. " Verbanski Securities really is a whole other level, huh? I mean, I knew Roark was big, but you guys are practically running global operations now."
Gertrude smiled, a mixture of pride and something more subdued in her expression. "Yeah, we've come a long way. When I first started Verbanski Securities, it was just another security firm. Now, we've got operatives across the world, handling everything from counterterrorism to corporate espionage. You'd be amazed at the kinds of threats we neutralise before they even hit the news."
"Sounds like you're right where you need to be," Chuck said, smiling. "Making a difference on your terms."
Gertrude nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Yeah, I think I am. But that doesn't mean I don't miss the old crew sometimes. You, especially."
Chuck blinked, caught off guard by the sentiment. "Me? Really? I mean, I wasn't exactly out there dodging bullets with you."
Gertrude smirked. "No, but you were always the one with the plan. You had this way of seeing things from a different angle. A lot of those missions we pulled off in the beginning years of Verbanski Securities? They wouldn't have gone half as smoothly without you in the background, figuring out all tech , stepping in with an effective solution whenever one of our cool gadgets malfunctioned during high profile assignment, always keeping us one step ahead in the game till my venture finally found its footing."
Chuck felt a flush of warmth at her words. He had always downplayed his contributions, especially compared to people like Gertrude, who were literally putting their lives on the line. But hearing her acknowledge his role made him feel a little less like the awkward guy at the party and more like someone who had actually made a difference.
"Well," Chuck said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I guess it's nice to know all those late nights and crazy algorithms actually helped."
"They did," Gertrude said firmly. "More than you know."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of the party drifting through the air behind them. Chuck glanced at her, curiosity getting the better of him.
"So, are you really happy doing this forever? High stakes, constant pressure? No interest in slowing down?"
Gertrude shrugged, a half-smile on her lips. "I don't know about forever kiddo, but for now, it works. I'm not one for settling down, if that's what you're asking. I like the adrenaline, the unpredictability. And I don't exactly do well with a nine-to-five."
Chuck laughed. "Yeah, I can't picture you in a cubicle."
"Exactly," she said, grinning. "But who knows? Maybe one day I'll get tired of the chaos and trade it all in for a quieter life. Though, knowing me, 'quiet' would probably still involve a lot of action."
Chuck shook his head, smiling. "I don't think you're capable of doing anything halfway, Miss Verbanski!."
"Probably not," she agreed. "But that's why I've got people like you around to balance me out. Someone's got to keep me from going off the deep end."
Chuck felt a surge of gratitude for her words. Despite everything, despite the different paths they had taken, Gertrude still saw him as someone important in her life. And in that moment, Chuck realised that maybe he wasn't as far removed from the world he used to thrive in as he thought.
"Hey," Gertrude said suddenly, nudging him. "Speaking of balance, we should grab a drink. You're the birthday boy, after all."
Chuck grinned. "Now that's a plan I can get behind, sensei!."
….xxxxxxx…xxxxxxx….xxxxxxxxxx
Bryce Larkin shook his head with a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair as he surveyed the cluttered desk in front of him. A mountain of files, reports, and encrypted messages lay scattered across the polished wood, a testament to the bureaucratic nightmare his life had become in recent months. Just a few months ago, he'd been appointed head of security at a clandestine CIA facility, a prestigious role that most agents would kill for. The facility was a fortress—manned by highly trained military personnel and agents, all working in the shadows to dismantle threats that the outside world couldn't even begin to comprehend. On the surface, it was everything Bryce had trained for, everything he was supposed to want.
But the thrill he once craved—the adrenaline that came with being in the field, on the front lines—was gone. Instead, his days were spent behind a desk, buried in security protocols, supervising agents from afar, and reviewing reports on operations he would have once led. The job was secure, prestigious, and, by most standards, successful. Yet, despite all that, Bryce felt a gnawing emptiness. A sense that something vital had been lost.
He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to drift back to a time when the risks were real, when he and his team had been thrust into the heart of high-stakes espionage—covert missions, daring rescues, and delicate negotiations that could tip the balance of global power. Most of all, he thought about her. His partner in the field, his girlfriend—their chemistry, both in and out of danger, had been undeniable. They had tackled everything from high-stakes espionage to tense hostage situations, their bond only growing stronger under the pressure. They moved like two parts of a finely tuned machine, anticipating each other's moves, relying on an unspoken trust.
But now… everything had changed. She was still out there, still on the front lines, while he was stuck in a security role that felt increasingly suffocating. The spark between them, once electric, now felt distant. Their missions were no longer shared, and their time together had dwindled into brief, fleeting moments, sandwiched between her deployments. When they did see each other, it wasn't the same. Something had shifted.
Bryce ran a hand through his dark hair, a familiar frustration settling into his bones. It wasn't just the physical distance that troubled him. It was her. Lately, she'd been acting… different.
It wasn't something he could easily put his finger on—nothing overtly wrong—but something had changed since her mission in Budapest. At first, he chalked it up to the nature of the work. The mission had been particularly grueling, he knew that much, but her behavior since returning had been, well, off.
She started asking him strange questions, ones that didn't quite fit the rhythm of their relationship. Questions like, "When are you going to introduce me to your parents?" or, "What do you think it would be like to have kids?" These weren't things they'd ever seriously discussed before. They weren't the kind of couple who planned a future with white picket fences and Sunday barbecues. They lived on the edge, thrived in chaos, and the idea of settling down had always seemed incompatible with who they were.
At first, he'd brushed off her questions with a joke or a change of subject, but the more she asked, the more uneasy it made him. Was she trying to test him? Was this her way of seeing if he was committed to a future he hadn't even considered? The thought was unnerving. Bryce wasn't built for domestic life. And truthfully, if he were the type to settle down, he wouldn't have chosen someone as dangerous as her to do it with. She thrived on danger, on the unpredictability of their lives. She was a force of nature, always pushing forward, always looking for the next mission, the next adrenaline rush. It was one of the things he loved most about her—but now, it seemed like she wanted something different. And that scared him.
She wanted more, he realised, but Bryce wasn't sure if he could give that to her. He wasn't ready to play house or talk about marriage and kids. Hell, if he was, why would he have gotten into a relationship with someone who lived as dangerously as she did? It wasn't her style to want stability, but now… now it seemed like it was all she could talk about. And when he tried to deflect, she would get upset, throwing tantrums he hadn't seen from her before. It was exhausting, and if he was honest, a part of him was relieved when she was out on assignment. It gave him time to think—time to breathe.
Bryce Larkin muttered a quiet curse under his breath, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone's contact list. He wasn't really paying attention to the names passing by on the screen—former colleagues, acquaintances, old friends he hadn't spoken to in years. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in the guilt and regret that had been gnawing at him for weeks. When he stopped, Chuck's name stared back at him from the screen, and Bryce's heart clenched.
He had been thinking about reaching out to Chuck for a while now. Months, actually. And every time he considered it, he hesitated. What would he even say? How could he explain the mess that his life had become, when Chuck had his own burdens to bear? It wasn't as if Bryce had been there for him. Not in the way Chuck needed, not in the way a true friend would've been.
Bryce knew better than anyone the hell that Chuck had been through. Betrayed by people he trusted, cast aside by a world that didn't recognize his brilliance, and left to rot in a dead-end job that barely scratched the surface of his potential. They hadn't spoken in far too long, and Bryce felt the weight of that absence hanging over him like a stone. Chuck had always been the one constant in his life, the grounding force that reminded him of what was good, of what was right.
And Bryce needed that right now. Desperately.
He couldn't shake the feeling that he owed Chuck something—more than an apology, more than a half-hearted attempt at reconnecting. He owed Chuck the truth. But the truth was complicated, and Bryce wasn't sure he was ready to face it. Still, his fingers hovered over Chuck's name on the screen, debating whether he should send the message.
The guilt crept in again. It always did when Bryce thought about Chuck and what had happened to him. Chuck, the brilliant, hopeful kid from Stanford who had been on track to becoming a tech superstar. Roark Industries had wanted him so badly that they had practically groomed him, pushing him to cut out anything that wouldn't directly propel him to the top. They had pressured him to drop the courses that didn't align with their narrow vision for him, and Chuck—ever eager to please—had complied.
Bryce remembered it all too well. He had encouraged Chuck to take the opportunity, to embrace the chance to rise to the top of the tech world. It had seemed like the smart move at the time. Chuck was a genius, and Roark could offer him everything: money, prestige, a fast track to success. And Chuck, trusting his friend's advice, had listened.
But it had come at a cost. A cost that Bryce hadn't fully understood until it was too late.
Chuck's decision to drop Professor Fleming's class had been the beginning of his disillusionment with the world he thought he wanted to be a part of. Fleming's class had been more than just another elective. It had offered a different perspective, one that didn't fit into Roark's vision for Chuck as their next tech prodigy. Bryce knew that class had been a turning point—the moment Chuck
began to lose his passion, his love for the work that once excited him. And Bryce had been the one pushing him to make that decision, thinking he was helping.
He wasn't.
And then there was the matter of Project Omaha.
Bryce had been recruited into the CIA because of Professor Fleming's class. It had been Fleming who introduced him to the shadowy world of covert operations, a world Chuck had narrowly avoided thanks to Roark's insistence that he cut anything "unnecessary" from his schedule. Ironically, Roark's greed had spared Chuck from being pulled into the intelligence community before he was ready. Bryce told himself that had been for the best. Chuck wasn't built for the CIA—he was too good, too decent. The world of secrets, lies, and danger would have destroyed him.
But that didn't make Bryce feel any less guilty.
Bryce's mind flashed back to the last time he had seen Chuck—the same kid with the same disheveled hair and easy smile, but with an unmistakable sadness in his eyes. Chuck had gone from being a rising star at Roark to barely scraping by at Buy More, stuck in a dead-end job that couldn't be further from the life he once dreamed of. Chuck had lost more than just a career. He had lost his sense of self, his sense of purpose.
That was the part that weighed on Bryce the most. He couldn't help but wonder—if Chuck had stayed on his original path, if he hadn't been pressured to drop everything for Roark, would he have found his way? Would he be thriving now, instead of hiding in the aisles of a big-box electronics store, doing freelance gigs just to earn some extra bucks on side?
Bryce knew Chuck had taken up side work, the kind of jobs that kept his skills sharp but never put him back in the spotlight. Freelance gigs through platforms like Fiverr, bug bounties, hacking competitions—anything that paid quickly. It wasn't the life Chuck was meant for, but it was the life he had chosen, or rather, the life he had been forced into after everything fell apart.
At least, Bryce thought, Chuck was still free. He wasn't tangled up in the CIA's web of deception, wasn't living the same double life that Bryce had been trapped in for years. Chuck hadn't been corrupted by the system, and for that, Bryce was grateful.
But Chuck had still lost something. The world had taken too much from him. And Bryce had let it happen.
Bryce stared at his phone, at Chuck's name glowing on the screen. He could still send the message, could still reach out to his friend, but the words felt stuck in his throat. What could he even say? "Hey Chuck, remember me? The guy who encouraged you to give up everything for Roark and then disappeared into the CIA? Yeah, I'm miserable now, how about you?"
No. Bryce wasn't ready for that conversation.
He tossed the phone onto his desk, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The guilt wasn't going away anytime soon. Chuck had always been resilient, always bouncing back from whatever life threw at him, but Bryce knew that his friend had been through hell.
Chuck didn't need to hear about Bryce's problems—not when he was likely dealing with far more than Bryce could ever imagine.
But still, his fingers hovered over the phone, itching to reach out. Chuck was the only person who could understand the chaos swirling in Bryce's mind. The only person who had ever made him feel like there was still something good in the world. Bryce needed that connection. Maybe Chuck did too.
With a sigh, Bryce picked up the phone again, staring at Chuck's name one last time. Maybe it wasn't about what he said. Maybe it was about being there. About showing Chuck that he wasn't alone in all of this, that even after all the mistakes and the years of silence, Bryce was still his friend.
It didn't have to be anything fancy. Just a simple invite to catch up, maybe grab a drink like they used to. It had been too long since they had connected, and if anyone could understand the chaos swirling in Bryce's mind, it was Chuck. The cursor blinked on the screen, but before Bryce could start typing, a piercing sound cut through the air—the shrill, unmistakable blare of alarms.
His heart jumped in his chest.
The alarms reverberated through the walls, shaking the sterile calm of the CIA facility into full-blown chaos. Bryce shot up from his chair, his instincts kicking in before his mind fully processed the situation. His hand moved automatically to the Glock holstered at his side as he rushed toward the bank of security monitors on the far wall of his office.
His stomach dropped.
On the screens, figures in black tactical gear stormed the main entrance, their movements swift and coordinated, like predators cutting through prey. They carried high-caliber weapons and moved with the cold efficiency of seasoned professionals, cutting down the security personnel in their path. Bryce's jaw clenched as he watched the guards—the men and women he had trained himself—fall one by one. Bodies hit the ground in sickening thuds, their blood staining the pristine floor of the facility.
This wasn't a drill. This was a full-scale assault.
"Breach! We have a breach in the facility!" Bryce shouted into his comms, but all he got was static. The comms were dead, likely cut by the invaders. They were professionals, all right. They knew exactly what they were doing, and the speed of their infiltration suggested they had inside information—blueprints, access codes, something.
Bryce felt a cold dread sink into his gut. This wasn't an ordinary attack. Whoever these people were, they were after something big. And in a facility like this, there was only one thing worth risking such a high-level assault for: the Intersect.
The thought hit Bryce like a punch to the chest. The Intersect.
He had to protect it.
His mind raced as he quickly assessed his options. The outer perimeter was compromised—John Casey and his NSA team were stationed there, but the attackers had cut through them too quickly for any real backup to reach him in time. They were too far spread across the facility. Bryce was on his own.
He moved swiftly, strapping on a bulletproof vest and grabbing an automated rifle from the locker near his desk. His movements were methodical, rehearsed—years of fieldwork kicking in as he prepared for the inevitable confrontation. His pulse was steady, but his mind was already a step ahead, planning his next move.
There was no time to waste.
He slipped out of his office, keeping low as he navigated the hallways, his footsteps silent on the tile floor. The facility, once bustling with activity, was eerily quiet now, save for the distant echo of gunfire and the thudding of boots. Bryce ducked into a side corridor, his rifle at the ready. As he moved closer to the central room where the top-secret Intersect computer was housed, the sounds of the attack grew louder. He was getting closer to the heart of the assault
He rounded a corner and came face-to-face with two heavily armed men. Their eyes widened in surprise, but Bryce was faster. He squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of bullets into the nearest assailant, who crumpled to the ground. The second man barely had time to react before Bryce slammed him against the wall, driving the butt of his rifle into the man's skull with a sickening crack. He went limp instantly.
Bryce didn't stop to catch his breath. He couldn't afford to.
He pushed onward, weaving through the facility with the deadly precision of a predator on the hunt. For every step he took toward the Intersect room, he took out more of the intruders—silent, lethal takedowns that left no trace. But the closer he got, the heavier the weight on his chest grew. Time was running out.
As he neared the central room, he mentally thanked his lucky stars for Chuck. Bryce had reconnected with Chuck at a Stanford reunion years ago, when Chuck was still a big deal at Roark Industries. Back then, Chuck had gifted him a program—a compression algorithm of Chuck's own design, capable of compressing large data files by a factor of ten million with a 99.99 percent retrieval rate. It was revolutionary. Chuck had said it was just a pet project, but the CIA's scientists and engineers had been baffled by its capabilities. They still didn't fully understand how it worked. Bryce, though, had kept Chuck's name out of the conversation, taking credit for "stumbling upon it." He wanted to protect his friend from being drawn into the CIA's web. And now, he needed that program more than ever.
But he had no idea whether it would work on something as massive as the Intersect database.
Bryce slipped into the Intersect room, his breath quick but controlled. The massive computer loomed in the center of the room, its hum the only sound in the otherwise still space. He moved swiftly, linking his PDA to the system and running the compression program. His fingers flew across the screen as he initiated the process, setting up a five-minute timer for the charges he was planting to destroy the room. He couldn't risk the attackers getting their hands on the Intersect.
The program began its work, compressing the colossal database. Bryce kept his eyes on the timer, watching the seconds tick down as he set the charges. His heart pounded in his chest as he worked—every second counted. As the file transfer neared completion, he deleted the data from his PDA and opened a simple text-based game: Zork, the one he and Chuck had designed back in college. He grinned to himself as he hid the entire compressed Intersect database within the game, locking it behind a password only Chuck would ever guess.
There were only a few seconds left on the timer.
He also sent a quick warning to CIA Deputy Director Langston Graham, but Bryce knew it was too late for the agency to intervene. This was on him now.
Bryce positioned himself near the door, bracing for the explosion. The charges went off with a deafening roar, and the blast blew the door outward, just as he'd planned. He ducked to avoid the flying debris, then quickly sprinted through the ruined doorway, his body moving on autopilot. He had made it out, but there was no time to celebrate. He ran through the corridors and stairwells, his focus sharp as he knocked out any remaining assailants in his path. His mind was already on the next step: getting the Intersect to safety.
Pulling out his phone, Bryce brought up Chuck's contact information, ready to send the compressed file to the one person he trusted above all others. As he typed out a quick message, a bullet whizzed through the air, striking him just inches above his heart.
Pain exploded in his chest, and he stumbled, crashing against the wall as blood seeped through his shirt. His vision blurred, but through the haze, he saw the figure approaching—Tommy Delgado. The infamous CIA legend, known for his effectiveness in high-stakes missions, stood before him with a gun still smoking in his hand.
"Should've seen this coming, Larkin," Delgado sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "You always did play the hero. But heroes don't get happy endings."
Bryce coughed, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth, but he managed a defiant smirk. His fingers trembled as he hit send on the message to Chuck. "Too late, Tommy," Bryce rasped, his voice strained but strong. "When one hero's journey ends... another takes over."
Delgado's smirk faltered for just a second, but that was enough. Bryce let himself fall into the blackness, his final thoughts filled with the quiet assurance that the Intersect was safe—hidden within the encrypted lines of an old college game. The self-destruct sequence would finish what he started.
And somewhere out there, Chuck Bartowski had just inherited a legacy.
Which was bound to make his already complex life a whole lot complicated.
…Xxxxx…..xxxxx…..xxxx…
A new spin on things XD
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