The mission brief came down through Beckman with a wry edge in her voice.
"Bartowski, you'll be embedded with the C.A.T. Squad on this one."
I tried not to choke on my coffee. "The… what squad?"
Beside Beckman, Casey grunted. "Clandestine Assault Tactics. All-female team. Dangerous, lethal, and loud about it."
"Sounds like a cheerleading squad with guns," I muttered.
Casey smirked. "You'll find out."
Paris, two nights later.
The C.A.T. Squad swept into the safehouse like a storm.
Sarah Walker — calm, precise, every movement controlled. Her eyes landed on me, steady but questioning, like she was still figuring out what exactly I'd become.
Carina Miller — red hair blazing, smirk already dialed to eleven. She winked the second she saw me. "Well, well, if it isn't the man who thinks he's too clever for me."
I swallowed hard, but kept Carmichael cool. "Good to see you too, Carina."
Her smirk widened. "This time, you won't get away that easy."
Zondra Rizzo — sharp-eyed, tactical, no-nonsense. She sized me up like she was deciding whether I was dead weight.
Amy — the youngest, cheerful on the surface, but her eyes had that same lethal glitter the others carried.
Together, they were terrifying. And I was supposed to blend with them.
"Alright," Sarah said, cutting through the chatter. "Mission parameters: arms dealer in the 8th arrondissement. Hosting a private auction of stolen NATO tech. Our job is to intercept, extract intel, and shut it down."
Casey grunted from the corner. "Try not to get him killed."
"Hey," I said, straightening my tie. "I can handle myself."
Carina's laugh was low, playful, edged. "Oh, I remember that."
The auction was held in a mansion overlooking the Seine, all gold-trimmed walls and crystal chandeliers. Guests in gowns and tuxes milled through rooms filled with priceless art — and just enough security to remind everyone they weren't truly welcome.
The C.A.T. Squad slipped into their roles like second skins. Sarah worked the perimeter, cold elegance masking her precision. Zondra went tactical, planting devices with smooth efficiency. Amy handled the tech angle, her tablet glowing as she hijacked camera feeds.
Carina? Carina made herself the center of attention. Men practically tripped over themselves to get near her. And when she brushed past me in her emerald-green dress, her lips brushed my ear.
"Try to keep up, Carmichael."
I exhaled, steadying myself.
The Intersect flared — flash. Blueprint of the mansion, locations of guards, hidden weapons caches. The main auction room was in the east wing, two levels down.
I leaned into the comm. "East wing basement. Security heavy, but I've got a path."
Sarah's voice came back cool, professional. "Lead the way."
We moved as a unit.
Down marble corridors, past guards distracted by Carina's laugh, through a service stairwell Zondra cracked open with practiced hands. Amy killed a camera feed with a tap.
In the auction room, weapons glittered beneath glass: rifles, grenades, a NATO guidance system worth more than most countries' GDP.
The dealer, a thickset man with a voice like gravel, raised a glass. "Gentlemen, ladies. The bidding begins."
Before it could, I whispered into the comm. "Time to cut the lights."
Amy tapped her screen. Darkness. Chaos.
When the lights snapped back, the Squad moved. Zondra dropped two guards with clean strikes. Sarah had her pistol out, disarming the dealer before he could react. Amy secured the intel drive from the podium.
Carina? Carina leaned against the weapons case, smirk wide. "Nice work, team. But our nerd-turned-spy deserves some credit too."
I adjusted my cuffs, adrenaline still buzzing. "Not bad for a cheerleading squad with guns."
Zondra shot me a glare. Sarah tried not to smile. Carina laughed outright.
We slipped out through the service exit as sirens wailed in the distance. The job was done. The NATO tech was safe. The dealer was already being scooped up by Interpol, courtesy of an anonymous tip.
Back at the safehouse, the Squad debriefed quickly, efficiency born from years of working together.
Sarah watched me carefully. She hadn't said much, but I saw it — the flicker of recognition. I wasn't the same Chuck she remembered from Stanford days. I was different. Confident. Carmichael.
Carina lingered last, her smirk softer now, but no less dangerous. "Told you I don't forget," she whispered as she brushed past me.
And the look in her eyes made it clear this wasn't finished.