I'm trying something different with this story. The whole plot came to me full-fledged in a meeting one day at work and I've been trying to find/make time to write it. I hope to appeal to fans of either the "Chuck" TV series or the Twilight novels. Even if you're not familiar with one, give this story a shot.

This story starts in early December. It's been about a month after the events of Breaking Dawn and about six months after the episode "Chuck vs. the Ring." I'm trying to write somewhat in the style of Stephenie Meyer, who wrote the Twilight series, which isn't my normal style, but it seems appropriate.

Thanks to nattylovesjordy for the beta work.

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I was still not used to the whole being-an-active-part-of-the-mission thing. Sure, I now had a ridiculously powerful supercomputer around my wrist that somehow seemed to respond to my thoughts as much as my fingers on the keys. And, despite my misgivings, I'd volunteered to continue doing this. It still felt weird to not be told to stay in the car, though.

This particular mission had us working to steal plans from a construction site. We'd received a tip from General Beckman that it might be connected to the Ring organization and a new partner. The construction site was active during the day, so we came to the surprisingly large supervisor's shed to try to shed some light on what was being built. Or who it was being built for.

One of my most frequent roles on missions now was to stand guard. I liked this job because it allowed me to observe Sarah's lithe body as she darted from hiding spot to hiding spot. I still couldn't believe my good fortune in finding her. That she had fallen in love with me still seemed like a dream from which I would awaken at any moment.

My name is Carmichael, special agent Charles Carmichael. Not really, though. I'm really Chuck Bartowski, a mostly regular nerd with a weird history. That history led me to becoming a CIA agent with some special abilities that were not general knowledge.

Everything seemed normal for the mission. My 'Orion watch', as I called it, did a great job of determining building layouts and tracking people. It used thermal imaging extensively. It was showing just the two dots of my partners, Sarah Walker and John Casey, as they efficiently moved through the building garnering intelligence information. Sarah is with the CIA and Casey with the NSA. I'm sort of both. Or neither.

"I just saw movement. You got any bogies, Chuck?" Casey's voice crackled in my ear.

"Negative. Scope is clear." It had taken Casey months to train me to not babble into my microphone, but I was getting pretty good at it. I also just felt very military when I said 'negative' instead of 'no'.

"I've got activity, too. Whatever it is, it's fast." Sarah's voice tinkled in my ear, as it always did.

"OK, pull out. Maybe wonder-boy's toy isn't functioning properly." I started running diagnostics, but I was pretty sure everything was working right because I could still see the dots of my partners, now retreating toward my position.

"Still looks clear to me," I said. Then I saw it, a figure darting across the hallway in the direction Casey and Sarah had gone a few minutes earlier. The figure was too short and squat to be either of them, but the Orion watch wasn't detecting it. "Check that, confirmed visual on a bogey but it's not showing on my scanner."

I thought I saw it again, a blur of motion streaking across the corridor. Nobody could move that fast. I wondered if the late hour was getting to me and I was falling asleep standing guard. At least I wasn't the only one seeing it.

"Got him," Casey growled, an instant before his right hand connected with the interloper's face. Strangely, however, the shadowy figure didn't react at all. That kind of blow was normally followed by a quick collapse to the floor or at least a stumble. That was not the case this time.

I watched in fear as the figure lashed back and I heard a crack as its hand connected with Casey's arm. With the speed of lightning, a large board crashed into the figure's knee and splintered. Before I could figure out what was happening, Sarah was pulling on my arm. "MOVE!" she yelled at me, as I watched dumbfounded.

We hadn't gone more than two steps before the figure was upon us again. Musical laughter reached my ears as it casually knocked the two of us apart. We crashed into the walls of the hallway and I fell down in a heap.

The distinctive sound of Casey's .45 revolver filled my ears. The time for stealth was past and he was taking our attacker down hard. Another sound followed each shot, but it wasn't the expected grunt of pain. It was a sharp ting unlike anything I'd ever heard before.

The man, because it seemed to be a man who had separated Sarah and me, smiled and displayed long glittering teeth. It seemed impossible to me that Casey had missed from such short range, but it was the only explanation that made sense. Nobody could take six slugs and keep going. It must've been the injury he'd received earlier that threw off Casey's aim.

Sarah was gone, having disappeared back into the building. Her voice was in my ear again, "Chuck, run, get help." I had very rarely heard her voice like that before. It was full of fear and confusion. If Sarah was scared and confused, I knew it had to be really bad.

I ran pell-mell back through the shed to the door we'd entered through. Expecting at any moment to be grabbed from behind, I threw myself through the exit and slammed the door shut behind me. A moment later, I realized my partners were still inside and wrenched it back open before starting for the car. As I ran, I looked around desperately for some method of escape.

Inspiration hit the moment I wrenched the door of Casey's Crown Victoria open. Slipping inside, I spoke calmly into my microphone "Lure him outside." OK, it came out sounding more like a gasped squeak than a calm voice.

"Get outa here, Bartowski" came Casey's growl, but I stayed in the car without driving away. I had complete trust that Sarah would do as I asked.

While I waited, I was working feverishly. "Please, let it be GPS-controlled," I breathed to myself. It was. My fingers ghosted over the keypad on my wrist and then I waited.

A moment later, my lungs burned and I realized I was holding my breath. I reminded myself to breathe and felt better, though the seconds ticked away with terrible slowness. At least both dots were moving, indicating that Sarah and Casey were still alive.

"Coming out the north end" came the feminine voice in my ear. I made a last-second adjustment and watched in horror as Sarah came hurtling out of a window. She hit the ground rolling, but she didn't come up in a crouch as she so often did. She lay rather limply, in a heap.

I wrenched my eyes away from her form as the small man leapt lightly out of the building after her. Before he even hit the ground, I was releasing my trap. A 50-ton wrecking ball came crashing down on the exact spot where he was standing, moving at an incredible velocity. It struck with no warning, and he came apart under its impact.

Casey was next through the window, climbing more carefully and gingerly than I would have expected. He was holding his right arm with his left and his left leg didn't seem to be working correctly. His voice worked just fine, though. "Bartowski, get your butt out here and help Walker. There might be more. We've gotta get out of here."

I was already moving and my focus was purely on Sarah, who still hadn't moved after she'd completed her roll. My heart was pounding in my ears as I ran to her. "SARAH!" I couldn't see any blood pooled around her, but my heart immediately leapt into my throat.

"Sarah, are you OK?" I asked through tears as I reached her side and gingerly brushed hair off her face. At least she was breathing.

Her eyes turned to me, but they looked a bit dazed and her stare was unfocused, like she was seeing something besides me.

"Chuck?" she asked weakly.

"I'm here. Can you move? We've gotta get to the car and get out of here."

"Chuck?" she asked again.

"Yes, it's me, Chuck. C'mon, I'll help you." I put my arms around her and half-lifted her to her feet. She seemed mostly unhurt, at least physically, but her gaze was still vacant.

I stumbled with her to the black sedan, where Casey was already waiting, keys in his hand. Grimacing, he tossed the keys to me. "You'd better drive," he said and climbed into the back of the car. That, more than anything else, convinced me of the severity of his injuries. Nobody ever drove his prized Crown Vic except for him.

I guided Sarah into the front seat and ran around to drive, slipping in the dirt and falling near the front bumper in my haste. As I stood, I could have sworn I saw the wrecking ball tremble.

Wrenching the driver's side door open, I slid in behind the steering wheel and started the car. "Casey, where should I go?" No answer. A glance into the back seat confirmed that he was unconscious, with something white gripped in his left hand. I turned to Sarah, who was staring blankly out the windshield. "Sarah…" I tried again, as I started the car.

She again looked through me. "Give this to Chuck," she said, pressing a medallion into my hand. I looked at it and a host of images began to pour into my conscious mind. It's kind of hard to explain, but I had a supercomputer imprinted in my brain. It was not quite as cool as it sounds because I couldn't always access all parts of it. I needed some trigger, like a word or a visual cue. The medallion triggered something in the computer and it started pushing that information into my conscious mind. At least, I think that's how it worked.

I saw piles of broken pale bodies, streams of purple smoke rising into the sky, a small village that looked European, and men draped in large black cloaks. Imprinted across the entire flash was one word.

Volturi.