Disclaimer: I do not and will not ever own Alex Rider. Oh how sad life is :(


'You want me to do what?' Alex yelled.

'Now, Alex, it's not that bad,' Mrs. Jones reasoned, sucking yet another mint.

They were in the very last place Alex wanted to be in. The Royal and General bank. He was sitting in front of Mr. Blunt's table, just about to be sent on yet another mission against his will. But this one was worse than the others, he was practically being sent to his death. All the other missions he had a slight, very slight, hope of surviving, but this time he was a dead man walking into this.

'I BLOODY REFUSE TO BE SENT ON ANOTHER ONE OF YOUR BLOODY MISSIONS!' He yelled once more, butting into Mrs. Jones little reasoning speech.

'Language,' frowned Mr. Blunt, leaning back slightly in his chair. Alex just sent him a death glare which would've sent any sane man running in the other direction. But Mr. Blunt wasn't sane, which sane man would send their "best agent" to their death?

'I. Am. Not. Going.' He growled back, 'to spy on a group of assassins, of all people! They're bloody trained to kill me! Honestly!' He continued.

'We won't be sending you in alone this time Alex,' Mrs. Jones replied, completely unfazed by his small outburst. It did happen every time they ask him for help after all.

'What difference will that make? The last time you sent me in with some other spies they all died! This time I'll be the one six feet under!' He yelled back.

'Alex, do you honestly believe we would send you into a mission if there was little chance of you coming back?' Mrs. Jones stated.

'YOU SENT ME INTO BLOODY SPACE WHITHOUT ANY SORT OF TRAINING!' He yelled, standing up. He had enough. Mrs. Jones didn't reply to his comeback, after all, it was true.

'Alex,' Mr. Blunt called as Alex went to the door, 'If you leave this room, you know we'll have no choice but to deport your housekeeper, her visa is going to run out soon, isn't it? And we'll have to send you somewhere to live then, I've heard of a good boarding school in London you might like. Or not.'

Alex froze, his eyes flashing in anger, but not turning around to face Blunt, 'you're black mailing me,' he stated plainly, not moving from his pose.

'Why yes, Alex, I believe I am.'

He sighed, turning round and sat back down in his seat, knowing only knowing too well he was making a deal with the Devil. He smiled at his joke inwardly; the only thing protecting the country was the Devil. It did make sense though, in a somewhat morbid way.

'How will I be able to spy on them anyways? '

'I'm sure you'll be able to socialise with your own age group easily enough,'

This made Alex freeze (once more) snapping his head up to make eye contact with Mr. Blunt (at last), to see if he was serious or if he was, in fact, insane and made his first ever joke. Alex seriously hoped it was the latter. Sadly though, it seemed clear it was the former, as most people smiled when they said a joke, and Blunt wasn't smiling.

Then again, this was Blunt, and Alex had a private theory that Blunt wasn't able to small from a childhood incident which involved a razor and matches.

'What? You mean that you're scared of some fourteen year old wannabe's? I thought you were MI6!' Alex laughed shakily, holding onto straws that this was all just a stupid joke.

'Don't underestimate them, after all, why do you think we use you?'

Alex deflated at that comment. He had lost that battle.

'Fine. Who will I be going with?' He asked, knowing there was no way out of this.

'K-Unit, the people I believe you used to train with.' Mrs. Jones informed.

His head jerked up sharply.

'YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!'

Far away from Alex (who was now explaining to a hysteric Jack that he had to go and no, trying to smuggle him to America would not help), in a remote town on the edge of London, was fourteen year old boy with a frail looking body. He was standing in the living room doorway, watching his Dad pack again for business.

'Are you leaving again?' He asked in a soft voice, wrapping his arms around his body, covered by a too large grey jumper.

His Dad sighed, 'yes, Adam, I've already told you.'

'You only came back two days ago though,' he replied, not really caring much, or at least, pretending not to.

'You know I have to go for my work (A/N no, he doesn't work for MI6). Now, I'm leaving your brother on charge, and I don't care what you say, he is older than you.' His Dad stated, zipping up his suitcase. Adam's Mum had died in a car crash when he was eight, but never missed her much. She was an alcoholic and would cheat on her husband whenever he was gone for a long period of time.

Last month, when he had to leave again, a week that time, Adam had said that he should be in charge, as he was quite obviously older mentally. His sixteen year old brother, Tobias, was the thickest person Adam had ever met. He was quite sure Tobias was dropped on his head when he was younger, but never asked whether he was or not. After all, who could he ask?

Adam sighed, some weekend this was going to be. He just hoped Tobias wouldn't use his pathetic excuse of a brain and lock him in his room again. Or rather, his girlfriend won't think of it again. It wasn't easy sneaking out all of the time.

'I'll be leaving then,' his Dad stated, making his way to the exit Adam was currently blocking, 'tell Toby not to cook again, will you?' His Dad asked.

The last time Tobias was left to cook he left an odd brown-grey stain on the ceiling of the kitchen. The oddest thing was that he was attempting to cook pasta for his girlfriend.

Adam shuffled out of the way, nearly tripping over his several sizes too large jeans while doing so. He hated wearing right sized clothes at home.

'Bye then,' his said softly as his Dad shut the door behind him. After a couple of minutes he went to double check that his brother was asleep (It was only nine, Adam could never work out how his brother got so tired at times. He hardly does exercise except for boxing, which is only on Saturdays) before grabbing his mobile and dialled his friend's number.

'Hello?' A male's voice crackled,

'Hey,' he greeted, 'My Dad's gone for the weekend, wanna go somewhere good?'

'Hell yeah!' The male's voice replied, 'I'll see you in five?'

'Sure, phone the others, will you? I'm running low on credit again.'

The voice chuckled, 'you never have credit! Yeah, I'll phone them.'

'Thanks, I owe you,'

'You always owe me!'

The line went dead and Adam went off to get ready for the night out.


I hope you liked! Please R&R!