Hey this is Wheel Then again with my second story. Back with my second story, I had fun writing this. Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider.
Toms Story
Alex was finally coming home from a strenuous week at Brecon Beacons. He had been called in to monitor the some possible recruits. The 4 people he had been monitoring were absolutely TERRIBLE; he did not even understand how they passed their basic entrance tests. Hell, he could not even understand how they got into the army, they could not tell the difference between and incendiary and tracer round.
"No, I can't think about that now, I have an exam tomorrow," Alex whispered to himself. Alex was now in sixth form. He prided himself in knowing that he had earned it, he worked long and hard after Cairo to pull his grades up enough. He had not gone any mission in the latest history; the most he would have to do is give some seminars or training at either Brecon Beacons or Elan Valley (1). Plus, with the pay he had received for all of his missions, he could afford to rent an apartment just off of campus. There was just minor inconvenience, Tom wanted to live with him, and would not take no as an answer. He always said, "I'm here to make sure you don't go all psycho assassin on us." Though sometimes Alex felt like Tom was the one driving him crazy not the one preventing it.
Alex walked up to his door and warily undid the 4 locks. As soon as Alex Walked he got hit with a smell so foul that if he had, had anything in his stomach, he would have lost it.
"Alex, you are back, so how was your trip to that splendid training camp of yours," Tom exclaimed in a very terrible French accent. Tom was wearing a full on chef outfit with what looked like a soufflé in his hand.
"Wait, Tom, First, what the hell is that smell, and two, it was awful," Alex choked out. The fumes of what was probably the soufflé were really getting to him.
"My soufflé is a work of art, don't you insult it, and if you want there is yesterday's pizza in the fridge if you want it." Tom sniffed.
"Well if you aren't going to throw that shit out then at least open a window and drop the accent." Alex replied.
5 Minutes Later, Lunch Time
"Hey Alex, Hey Alex, Hey Alex, Hey Alex, Hey Alex, Hey Alex-"
"WHAT NOW TOM," Alex cut in.
"My soufflé was actually terrible." Tom admitted.
"I know." Alex said.
"Then why didn't you tell me, some friend you are" Tom sounding hurt.
"AARGH, just shut up eat" Alex exclaimed furiously.
The next 15 or so minutes actually went by in silence but sure enough," Hey Alex, your favorite gun it the .45 ACP (2), right.
"Yeah, what about it?" Alex questioned.
"Well, a couple days ago I found out how it came to be" Tom stated.
"And how did it come to be then" Alex remarked, not entirely pleased with where the conversation was heading.
"I found out that there was a man named Tomstrom Harrisstom, he was a brilliant Black smith and he made amazing new weapons. He was known as the Makre of Zestan. Zestan is where he lived, Tom began.
"Wait; hold on a minute, Makre?" Alex asked.
"Oh, yeah, Makre is what they called a very prominent Blacksmith it is a twist off the word maker." He clarified," Anyways, back to my completely true story, he was working on a little invention. It was personalized stone thrower thing. It is much too complicated to explain right now. He named his invention the Extremely Small Accurate Curling Stone Place Flinger. Then the Ancient Greeks took his idea and made the Extremely Huge Accurate Curling Stone Place Flinger also known at the Catapult. They used it to gain so much land and then they star—"
"Tom, where is this story going," Alex plainly stated.
"Don't interrupt me, and I know exactly where I am going with this. So, now there were two types of these weapons, and Tomstrom was a very mad person, they had stolen his idea. So he decided to claim his weapon in front of the world. He went to cities far and wide and showed off his Extremely Small Accurate Curling Stone Place Flinger. Though, he was quickly forgotten due to the Greeks naming their weapon the Catapult, which is much more easily remembered. He then decided to rename it, he named it the ESACSPF. He thought for sure that this new name would work; Catapult was eight letters his was only seven. Nothing could go wrong. He then started selling these under that name, only no one could remember this name either, but before he could he could surpass the Greeks he died. His death though did not stop his son from taking his stead and tried to pass the Greeks. After hundreds of thousands of years the ESACSPF turned into a pistol with name of ACP. The Harrisstom family, which is now just Harris, has beaten the Greeks. I mean do you see any Catapults around here." Tom finished, a little out of breath.
"Tom, I'm just glad you are trying to become a fiction writer, because not one word you just said is true." Alex replied.
"No, no, no Alex, my old chap, every word is true, it's elementary my dear Alex." Tom said, copying Sherlock Holmes." In fact, I have another story; it is about that P226 SIG pistol that you have hidden in the false bottom of our coffee ta-."
"No, please don't and how do you know about that anyways," Alex interjected.
"I have to have some secrets," Tom replied, "And, if you don't want to hear that story, I can tell you about the about the C8 Carbine closet or even the L96 sniper rifle in the attic."
By this point Alex was dumb struck, how did Tom know about the guns, and on top of that how did he know their names. "How-?" Alex said surprised.
"That's my secret little Alex," Tom replied mysteriously.
"Only Yassen called him that, had he visited?!" Alex immediately thought.
The End, Should I continue or just leave it a one-shot? Reviews are much appreciated; I am always looking to improve.
1- Elan Valley is another training camp for SAS and SBS in Great Britain
2- ACP is Automatic Colt Pistol
-Wheel Then