Disclaimer: ABC, J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot own Alias. I own a 1998 Nissan Sentra that is presently in the shop.

Rating: PG-13.

Incompetent fools!

Even as my body shakes, wracked with a pain so intense that I cannot scream, cry out in English or even my native tongue……my thoughts are still with me, creeping through my mind with startling clarity.

How dare that upstart……my heart hammers with shock from my wounds and loss of blood, but with rage as well. The rage is what is sustaining me right now…..or was I dead?

His words ring bitterly in my memory, words spoken on a day that now seems so long ago. As another spasm of pain drives all tangible thought form my head, I can still hear his voice, as clearly as if he is speaking in my ear.

"That was extravagant……"

…..and then I know no more.

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As I come back to myself, albeit vaguely, I become aware of my surroundings, of where I am. I sense that I am laying flat on a bed, covered with cheap cotton bedding. There are two needles in my arms. I cannot lift them to see them, but I feel them. I regret that anything has disturbed the haze of pain-free unconsciousness that I had been under….

Where am I?

I do not care, I decide, feeling the pain return. It does not throb in intermittent spurts as it did before- the pain has changed to a dull, unrelenting ache that is almost harder to bear than the former. Memories flash through my head once again, obliterating all other thoughts, observations.

"That was extravagant……"

I suck in a painful breath, remembering my assassination of the technician.

Why do I dwell on this?

I recall the poorly masked surprise on his face. The unexpected flicker of fear, a look that had amused me immensely, making him look like the boy he is. Then a grudging respect, born out of our mutual desire to achieve the same goal. I told him to trust no one, and his expression told me that he already knew this- and felt that he had underestimated me.

I should have anticipated this.

On the say of our first meeting, I saw in his eyes a burning, a cold ambition that I had only previously seen in my own reflection. His sentiments matched my own- he stops at nothing to protect himself and his interests. He is selfish, brutish and cold-blooded.

Despite our differences in rearing and background, he is a younger version of myself.

I hold no malice against him for his actions. When that Anglo CIA whore fulfilled her duties, I knew that my time was short-lived, especially after I threatened to kill him myself.  My temper has never been a friend to me.

I must admire his actions, in a way- and as I lie here, wonder what kept me from killing him before I attempted to eliminate his bitch. I had no use for him. Not really.

I could not destroy a living reincarnation of myself, dangerous as it was to me.

I am fascinated by him, as well as troubled. How can one be so ambitious and so young? What was his past, his motives? He makes decisions that I would unfailingly have made. In fact, I admire his judgment.

After all, it is said, great minds are alike in their thinking. I just regret not being one step ahead of Mr. Sark.

However, if I live, I will not let this happen again. No one will ever….how is it said?......double-cross me again.

Not ever.

Strengthened by such thoughts, I struggle to sit up, and feel cold as whatever was covering me begins to slide down my chest. My skin is exposed, but I do not shiver or cry out. I have been through harsher conditions than this and lived to tell the tale.

And I will live to tell this one.

Sark, however, will not.

This is when I hear the voice. It is familiar, it is low. And it makes even me stop my attempts to leave my bed.

"Mr. Bonami…..it is a pleasure doing business with you."

I look up.

And for the first time in my life since I was a child, I believe that my shock is evidenced on my face.

Are there any other Bonami fans out there 'cept me? even if you are not one, please R&R!!