Carmichael Industries — R&D Wing
The deeper you went—
the less the building looked like a think tank.
Steel doors.
Keycard locks.
Soundproof walls.
And then—
innovation.
Chuck Bartowski pushed the door open.
"Welcome to the toy shop."
Inside—
controlled chaos.
Engineers hunched over glowing monitors.
Half-built prototypes scattered across workbenches.
Ideas mid-creation.
At one table—
a technician peeled a face from a mold.
Rubber.
Flexible.
Too real.
Sarah stepped closer.
Studying it.
"Hyper-realistic latex masks," Chuck said. "Heat-resistant. Sweat-resistant. Long-term wear."
A grin.
"Still ironing out the smell issue."
Sarah Walker tilted her head.
"Like Mission Impossible."
Chuck shrugged.
"Exactly. I saw the movie and thought—why not?"
John Casey crossed his arms.
"So now we're basing national security on movies."
Chuck smirked.
"Sometimes Hollywood gets it right."
Across the room—
another demo.
A researcher pressed a chip to his throat.
Spoke—
"I'm grumpy. I like guns. I don't smile."
Casey's exact voice.
Casey didn't blink.
"That's not funny."
Chuck laughed.
"Voice modulators. With the masks? You're not just someone else…"
A beat.
"…you are them."
Sarah's eyes stayed on the tech.
"This changes infiltration."
Chuck nodded slightly.
"That's the idea."
Briefing Room
Beckman appeared.
Sharp.
Controlled.
"Carmichael. Walker. Casey."
A file appeared.
"Target: Orpheus. Weapons broker. Selling U.S. schematics."
A pause.
"Location: Prague. National Museum Gala."
Sarah—buyer.
Chuck—consultant.
Casey—overwatch.
Chuck leaned back.
"So… Mission Impossible."
Casey didn't miss a beat.
"Without the music."
Prague — National Museum Gala
Gold.
Glass.
Power.
The kind of place where deals happened quietly—
and people disappeared even quieter.
Chuck stepped in—
tux perfect.
Posture relaxed.
Sarah on his arm—
effortless elegance.
Deadly calm.
Casey's voice in their ears.
"Eyes on you. Don't screw this up."
The Bar
Chuck stepped up.
Didn't hesitate.
"Alaskan Polar Bear Heater."
A beat.
"Shaken."
The bartender froze.
"…What's in it?"
Chuck smiled.
Like he'd ordered it a hundred times.
"Vodka. Rum. Gin. Brandy. Scotch."
He paused.
"Vermouth. Bitters."
Another pause.
"…Vinegar."
The bartender blinked.
"…You're serious?"
Chuck leaned in slightly.
"Very."
A beat.
"…Lemon peel. Orange peel. Cherry."
The bartender slowly nodded—
clearly questioning his life choices—
and got to work.
Sarah leaned in, amused.
"That's not a real drink."
Chuck whispered back—
"It is now."
The Flash
Then—
it hit.
The Intersect fired.
Faces.
Names.
Histories.
Patterns.
Chuck's grip tightened slightly on Sarah's arm.
"There."
Across the room—
silver hair.
Still posture.
Eyes that watched everything.
Viktor Orpheus.
"Ex-KGB," Chuck murmured.
"Black market procurement. High-value trades only."
Sarah didn't question it.
"You're sure?"
Chuck nodded once.
"Intersect doesn't lie."
Casey's voice:
"Confirmed. Move."
The Meet
Sarah approached.
Perfect control.
"Mr. Orpheus."
A faint smile.
"I hear you have something worth my time."
His gaze flicked—
sharp.
Calculating.
"And him?"
"My consultant."
Chuck stepped in.
Calm.
Measured.
"I make sure things go smoothly."
A beat.
Orpheus didn't trust him.
Not fully.
The case sat beside him.
Black.
Silent.
Then—
Flash.
Biometric lock.
Failsafe trigger.
Internal detonation protocol.
Chuck's pulse spiked.
"Casey," he murmured.
"Case is rigged."
Casey exhaled.
"Of course it is."
The Switch
Sarah moved first.
A stumble.
A spill.
Champagne across a guard's sleeve.
He reacted—
too late.
Chuck moved.
Foot slide.
Shift.
Transfer.
The case was his.
He crouched slightly—
hand on the lock—
Flash.
Sequence.
Timing.
Pressure points.
Thirty seconds.
Click.
Drive secured.
Compromise
Orpheus turned.
Eyes sharp.
"You're not on my list."
Everything snapped.
Guards moved.
Weapons out.
Sarah dropped one instantly.
Casey hit the room like a storm.
"Move!" Casey barked.
Chuck ran.
Rooftop Escape
Cold air hit hard.
City lights stretched endlessly.
Helicopter blades in the distance.
Sarah clipped a line to him.
"Do you trust me?"
Chuck looked at her.
Then at the drop.
"…No—!"
She jumped anyway.
They swung.
Hard.
Fast.
Chuck screamed.
They slammed onto the next rooftop.
Sarah landed clean.
Chuck—
not so much.
He groaned.
"…I hate heights."
Extraction
Casey's van screeched in.
"Get in!"
They piled inside—
just as gunfire hit the rooftop behind them.
Gone.
Debrief
Back home.
Safe.
Beckman appeared.
"Schematics secured."
A pause.
"Walker remains assigned."
Permanent.
Casey nodded once.
"Messy."
A beat.
"But effective."
Sarah glanced at Chuck.
Small smile.
"Not bad."
Chuck loosened his tie.
Still catching his breath.
"So…"
A pause.
"…do all missions end with me almost dying?"
Casey smirked.
"Trial run."
Chuck groaned.
Final Thought
The team stood there—
new.
Unstable.
Effective.
Chuck looked between them.
Brains.
Muscle.
Precision.
And him—
somewhere in the middle.
"…Yeah," he muttered.
This was going to get complicated.