Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider and the wonderful world he resides in, if I did there would probably be more Eagle within the books.

A/N: Hi! This is my new attempt at Alex Rider fanfiction. I may continue, I may not. The idea appeared in my mind and it wrote itself. I thought I may as well share it with you and see what you think. Let me know ASAP so I know if I should write the next chapter!


INDOCTRINATE
VERB
To teach (a person or group) to accept a set of beliefs uncritically.

"broadcasting was a vehicle for indoctrinating the masses"
synonyms:
brainwash, propagandize, proselytize, inculcate, re-educate, persuade,convince, condition, discipline, mould.


Wind whistled in through the open window as the black landrover sped across the tarmac. The poised and elegant woman, sat as a passenger in the backseat, leant back into her seat. The wind forced it's way through the strands of her light brown hair, forcing them to scatter dramatically and dance viciously along with the wind. Her hair fell into the dappled sunlight, casting a golden glow to the delicate mess of hair.

A pair of dark sunglasses perched almost delicately on her thin nose, shielding her glacial blue eyes. Her plump lips (in a delicate red colour known as Russian Roulette) were pressed into a thin, hard line as her forehead wrinkled up. The flawless olive skin tone of her face seemed to glow. The woman smoothed out her designer black dress as the land rover came skidding to a halt in front of a hospital.

The woman opened the door, letting her black stiletto clad feet swing around and touch the ground before she moved her body from the car in an elegant and smooth move. The door swung shut with a loud clunk as she made her way towards the entrance, her shoes making a soft clicking sound. Waiting for her just inside the hospital, he eagerly opened the door. The balding man bowing slightly. "My lady." He croaked out, his voice raspy and faltering in places. "How nice to see you again."

"Save the pleasantries." The woman spoke, her voice carrying a delicate tone and a soft pronunciation of words. "That would imply that we hold any relationship other than mere colleagues with a similar aim in mind." The man nodded quickly, licking his chapped and thin lips nervously.

"Of course. Of course." He agreed. "This way." He gestured with his hands towards a doorway. The woman nodded stiffly and waited for the man to move first. Getting the hint he walked over to the door, and opened it. The woman trailed behind him as he made his way down sloped corridors that were coloured in a peculiar choice of grey. Eventually the grey walls gave way to the distinct look of earth. They continued following countless of corridors until they reached a metal door. The man fiddled around with a keypad, tapping in the code, before it hissed open. The woman let a small smile filter onto her lips before it disappeared.

The pair entered through the door, watching from a metal balcony way at a lab environment. 2 men and a woman bustled around within it, brewing a watery gold liquid with intense concentration. "I believe that the formula has been successful." The man grinned proudly, puffing his chest out slightly.

"I should hope so, considering half of my companies' funds are being poured into this...ah project." The woman spoke confidently, her eyes trained on the liquid. "Does it do everything we discussed?" She asked, leaning forward towards the man, suddenly interested.

"Of course it does, ma'am!" The man cried as though in outrage. "Do you doubt me?" He asked. The woman rose a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"Your skills in this particular development are legendary." The woman admitted. "How did you do it?" The man opened the metal wrung gate on the balcony and gestured to the ladder leading down.

"Ladies first." He boomed, his voice losing the rasp suddenly.

"Gentlemen just before." The woman responded, not moving at all.

"Do you not trust me?" The man asked her earnestly.

"No, not at all." The woman smiled coldly. "As the saying goes, not as far as I can throw you. However, not literally, as I could throw you quite far."

"I believe you." The man gulped, smiling quickly before rushing down the ladder. The woman moved to the ladder and carefully navigated her way to the bottom. The man gestured to a space below the balcony. A heavy oak desk sat there with a large, oversized chair that looked remarkably similar to a throne. The man grabbed a key and unlocked a few drawers in the desk before placing a large stack of papers on the desk. "Here is the formula, along with the qualities and exact measurements of everything used." The man looked at the woman. "Only you, these lab members and me know about this. 5 people in this entire world."

"Well, that's one more than necessary." The woman spoke, a sincere smile flitting across her face.

"Pardon?" The man frowned. The woman drew a gun out from an ankle holster, hidden by her dress.

"I'm afraid I can't let you leave here." The woman drawled, her voice suddenly void of emotion and held an icy cold depth. "Unless, of course, it's in a body bag." The woman smiled, her smile made the man's skin crawl. "You see, you're driven by money. It would be too simple for someone to pay you for an antidote and my plans would be in ruins." The woman flicked the safety catch off the gun. "Any last words?"

"You'll never get away with this." The man snarled, moving forward a few paces.

"I was rather hoping that your last words wouldn't be cliché." The woman mock sighed. "I'm disappointed to be proved wrong, and usually I find a faint amusement within that." The woman pulled the trigger, the loud bang echoing around the lab. The lab workers didn't even flinch. The man dropped to the floor, dead. A perfect bullet hole drilled into the center of his forehead. Blood splattered the walls and floors. The woman strutted forward to grab the stack of paper, making sure to snatch the key for the desk from the man.

"I don't care what you do with the body. Just get rid of it." The woman spoke to one of the male lab members before climbing back up the ladder. She made her way through the corridors, back to the car. As she entered the backseat yet again she held no surprise at the sudden appearance of a man. His sandy blonde hair (with a few grey hairs here and there) cut short, but so there were enough for someone to run their hands through it. He had a navy blue, sleek suit on. It was accompanied by a crisp white shirt and a cobalt blue tie.

"I assume all went well." the man spoke in a deep voice, his brown eyes watching the woman as she took a seat, shutting the door and crossing her long, slender legs. The woman let out a laugh.

"I killed the bastard." She smiled, looking over at the man as she finally removed her sunglasses. "Serves him right, really. I knew he had made an antidote for a loophole." The man let out a chuckle as the land rover moved off. He placed his hands gently on the woman's waist.

"We're almost there." He grinned, resting his forehead on hers.

"Now all we need is the boy. Imagine it!" The woman spoke excitedly, her eyes shining. "Ruling the world. It'll be fun. The idiots will be forced to do as we say, and there will be nothing they can do about it. Unless they want to be killed. Actually, I may kill a few for a bit of fun." The woman let out a giggle.

"Oh, trust me. We'll get him." The man smirked. "He won't see it coming."


Alex Rider.

The reason of Tulip Jones' constant headache. Every day she received at least ten death threats, courtesy of the eighteen year old. They came from various of people: terrorist organisations, military personnel that teenager had ran into, other countries governments and the agents of MI6 to name a few. It seemed that he had the uncanny knack for pissing off anyone he met. Mrs Jones wasn't sure if it he tried to keep it that way or not. It's not as though he cared.

When someone shot him he just shrugged it off until he collapsed (yet another headache and stacks of paperwork in itself). He wasn't normal. Mrs Jones stared down at the piece of paper at yet another death threat made against him. This time it was from Miles Jacobs from the CIA. Jacobs wouldn't seriously do anything to the teenager, well Mrs Jones hoped not, it was yet another complaint. Mrs Jones tossed the piece of paper into her bin, it instantly caught fire.

"She would need to have a word with him soon, before someone actually tried to kill him. Whatever she had been expected when the teenager waltzed into the bank a year ago and announced that he wanted to be an agent, this wasn't it. He had grown, that was for sure. Over the past two years he had gained enough muscles that he gained female attention but not enough so he wasn't nimble and quick on his feet. His hair had darkened from dirty blonde to a light brown colour with blonde tones. His face had a more chiselled and defined look to it and a few stray scars had only added onto his appearance.

Not that she would ever admit it out loud but Alex Rider was attractive. More so than his father, without looking vastly different from the deceased man. He had Helen's personality, the way he acted reminded Mrs Jones of her old friend. Mrs Jones shook her head, she hadn't thought of Helen Rider for a few years. It had been easier to cope. Mrs Jones could only be thankful that Alex couldn't remember his parents. If he could then he may be witness of a crippling pain that came with losing someone close to you.

The same pain that Mrs Jones desperately seeked to block out. She had lost her children and husband. Her children...they could still be alive. Her husband however, she had found him lifeless in their home. Helen Rider, whom had been her best friend since they were both thirteen years old had been a crippling blow, losing her children and husband had been a different manner. Slowly Mrs Jones' hand snaked out to grab a peppermint and unwrap it.

She let out a sigh before popping into her mouth. Perhaps the reason why she were so soft towards the teen was because he acted like Helen. Perhaps it was because he was the exact same age that her eldest child: her daughter, Quella. She had a motherly feeling towards Alex, trying to protect him as best as she could without making her feelings apparent. She couldn't let anyone know that she felt some sort of feeling towards an agent, even maternal feelings.

Mrs Jones checked the clock, it was exactly eleven o'clock at night. Yet she was still here. It wasn't as though she had anything to rush back to. Her position as head of MI6: Secret Operations Sector was the only thing she had. Sad, but fitting. Sighing to herself, Mrs Jones began typing an apology email to Miles Jacobs for Alex Rider's recent rude and sarcastic behaviour towards him. She had almost smiled when she found out. Despite the job, there was still spirit within Alex.

Usually with a job such as his own that spirit quickly got stamped out. 4 years later and it still remained within him. Mrs Jones, for one. Never wanted to see Alex behave any differently or lose that spirit. It was the only thing that made him so good at missions. It was the only reason he still lived. Other agents performed uniform well. They did what was expected, never any more or any less. They were almost robotic (useful, but quite frightening to see). Alex, however, did the impossible.

That was the sole reason why Mrs Jones would actually miss Alex if anything happened to him. His habit of barging into her office without knocking, his impulsive and reckless behaviour (for an agent) off duty and his blatant disregard of authority. Alex was the only one who ever bothered to contradict her. She admired that. She would never tell him that, instead insisting that he should knock and be more polite.

Alex Rider was the reason that she no longer experienced a sharp pang of loneliness (at times). She could almost fool herself that he were the headstrong, 18 year old Helen Rider that studied harder than anyone else to become a nurse.

Mrs Jones finally finished the email and chose to shut down the computer and stand up, and collect her bag. She stepped into the lift and pressed the reception button. She resisted the urge to hum to herself as the silent lift lurched downwards. Finally, the doors pinged open and she stepped out into the pristine and unspecified reception. Nobody was around. The whole place vacant of any life. Mrs Jones made her way out of the building and let the cold air wash over her.

After a few moments she pulled her jacket over her fully before walking briskly off towards the car park.

She completely missed the black figure that raced into the building.