Bonjour my little Alex Rider fiends.
I am your master, and this is my new story. I like goats.
So thanks for checking this out. This is something I've been working on for a long time, and I've only just posted it. I'm hoping you will like it, as I have thought it over quite a lot and made sure it's as original as I can get it. The plot and concept is completely my own and was inspired by a dream I have. I am, quite literally, the Martin Luther King of Fanfiction.
Anyway, this below is the full summary. I am very bad at them, so please excuse it. The story will be much better, I promise.
Alex Rider was stuck. For the first time in his life, he found himself completely stranded. Not in a social situation, or in another country. Not even in an enemies terrain, or in space, as he had previously found himself. No. This time he was completely out of his depth, and the depth of any man before him. Alex Rider was stuck in 1960. Faced with a whole new world of worries, he has to find his way from the unfamiliar world, back into his own day and age. But can he do it, not knowing even the basics? And more importantly, will he want to?
There it is, my awful summary. I can only apologise, and point out that not everyone is perfect, not even me, tough let's admit, I am pretty damn close.
I am merely joking, like thee joker, I am not a stuck up bitch.
So here's the first instalment. It might be a little shorter than the ones to come, and a little confusing to begin with, so I apologise in advance. I hope you'll enjoy it. Everything will be revealed through the fic. Please leave a review if you like this, it would mean an awful lot!
Time slowed down. In that one moment, it was almost like someone had pressed the pause button on his life.
One word sprung to Alex Riders mind in that brief moment, one definition to match it, one freakishly accurate word and definition.
Insidious. Proceeding in a gradual, subtle way, but with harmful effects.
At the same time, so did another.
"Bastards," he rasped, all too late registering the sickeningly smug look, the carefully planned trap he'd just so easily skipped into.
Anger shot through his body. Surprisingly, it was more aimed at himself than at the small group of men in front of him. How the hell had he fallen for that? Or more to the point, how had he let a group of thespians, of all people, to be the ones to trick him?
"Goodbye, Alex Rider."
He opened his mouth. Why he did so, he wasn't sure. It didn't matter now anyway, not with where he was going. He was cut off as soon as his mouth opened, the feeling of a thousand knives plunging into his whole body making him want to cry out loud. He lost his breath, trying to draw another one, but only causing himself to choke on the stubborn air that refused to aid his lungs. He slammed his eyelids tight together, the blackness that followed the action greeting him like an old friend. Which in many ways, it was, especially at a time like this.
His head went fuzzy, he swayed on his feet. He felt the ground beneath him fall. He opened his mouth to scream, wrapping his arms around his body in a defensive stance. However, his breath was swept away once more, his lungs now begging for some relief. He waited, tensing his body, anticipating a fall into nothingness. His heart raced so fast he feared it would rip straight through his chest and run a mile.
The sweet, black river of unconsciousness skimmed through his body. Thankfully, he plunged into it.
-23rd October 2012. 07:03am-
The morning was a pleasant one.
The sky shone a distorted rainbow, colours from Yale blue to crimson red, and every other shade in between. The tall buildings stood proud, patriotic, right in the heart of London. The infamous river Thames glistened a golden-grey in the rising sun.
However, the atmosphere inside the public face of MI6, the SIS building, couldn't have been more opposing to the beautiful morning.
The room was oblong, plain and dull. The walls were black, the floor was blank, the furniture was blank, even the faces of the eleven people sat around the table was blank. The room was devoid of any decoration, description, or giveaway to its purpose. The only objects were the long, glass table, the plain black chairs placed around it, and an empty screened plasma screen on the opposite wall.
At the head of the table was an aging man. His face was as grey as the water of the Thames, his features about as lively as the still river. His face was shorn of any emotion, his posture tense and alert. He sat completely in control, twenty eyes fixed directly on him, each awaiting his words, his verdict, his decision. It was clear in his air of control that he called the shots. He was Alan Blunt.
When he spoke, his voice was just as empty as his appearance.
"I think it is clear why we are all seated around this table."
It was silent, each person clinging on his words. He paused for a moment, but no one dared to speak, and so he continued in the same monotone voice.
"Alex Rider and his success, or lack thereof, in the recent Beak assignment." He paused again, and cleared his throat, bringing himself to his feet, his stance was stiff and awkward, much like that of an ironing board. "We all know of the Beak assignment which we have been investigation over the past few months, but to recap," he produced a black remote control from a pocket inside his jacket. With the twitch of a finger, the black screen sprung to life, lighting up.
The image on the screen was that of the outline of a mask. The mask was outlined in black with a white background, showing a long, beaked mask accurate to that of a fourteenth century plague doctor.
"Beak," he began, "are a theatrical company based in Liverpool, England, a company that dates back to the seventeenth century. During mid-April, it came to the attention of us-" Blunt cut off a hand shot up, "yes, Crawley?"
The dark haired man slowly lowered his hand. His eyebrows knitted together, shaking his head in confusion. "But sir, if Beak are based in the United Kingdom, in England, then why is it not the issue of MI5?"
"An excellent question John, but one not for today. We are on a strict time limit as it is, without having to expand it further. I feel it's safe to say that MI5 have concluded that this is more of our area of expertise, and find themselves incapable of contributing towards the cause directly at this moment of time."
Crawley fell silent, his eyes focusing on the screen once again.
Blunt continued from where he had been cut off, "Back in April we were notified by MI5 that Beak had been somewhat becoming a threat. We sent in several agents posed as actors and discovered there was something being hidden. It wasn't discovered what, until recently,"
He clicked at the remote again, and the screen changed. This time it was a scan of a hand –written note. The handwriting was messy and difficult to read.
"We sent in Agent Rider to assess the threat. As usual, he delivered back within a couple of weeks as to the nature of the threat. Yesterday evening we received this letter, coded, but when interpreted the word 'time machine' can clearly be extracted." Blunt paused, his eyes momentarily drifting towards the window, scanning over the horizon, which was reflected on his glassy eyes, "We haven't been in contact with Alex since eight-twenty-six yesterday afternoon. His telecommunications devises have been cut off entirely. We can't any of his gadgets. It's almost as though he's just…simply…disappeared…"
For the split of a second, just after Blunts voice drew off, something seemed to meet his eyes. It wasn't fear, or concern, or worry…it was curiosity. He blinked hard, and the emotion was gone as quickly as it has arrived.
A dark woman spoke out suddenly. She had the seat on the left of Blunts, and worked closer with him than any other in the room.
"Rider has a habit of doing sudden disappearing tricks." She said, her voice clear and accent-less.
"Not like this." The heavy Liverpudlian accent came from the other side of the table. All eyes went to the large man who was clearly deep in thought. His face was stern, straight, and serious. He was recognised Ben Daniels, a quickly advancing agent and close friend of the Rider boy. "Thespians tend to erm, how can I phrase this, 'expand the mind' quite frequently? How do we know this 'time machine' isn't just some sort of pipe dream?"
His question seemed to spark off a chain of comments around the table.
Tulip Jones cut the various remarks off, her tone now stern, "because Rider wouldn't tell us there was one unless he had seen it with his own mind."
"What do they even want with a bloody time machine?" Ben shook his head in disbelief. It seemed he'd forgotten he was in the room with some of the most influential people in the country, it seemed that he didn't even care.
"If we knew the answer we wouldn't be wasting time having a nice chit-chat." Came a strong Australian drawl.
"I didn't think nice was a word worth associating with you people," Ben muttered under his breath, catching the glares of various people around the table. His comment, however, went ignored.
Every head looked up at Blunt as he cleared his throat again. He pressed another button and the screen changed. It now showed a rough-looking brick alleyway. There was a red door on the wall of the alley. Above it, a wooden sign with the simple word 'mask' painted on in what was probably perceived to be formal lettering.
He progressed with the meeting, his tone as formal and direct as ever, "this is the building in which Mask is based. It is a two-floored house which has been converted into a small theatre, and according to our source, the home of the apparent 'time machine'."
"This is mental." Bed muffled, covering his face with his hands.
Again, Blunt ignored the remark. "We will be sending agents into the building to investigate. There will be a small group, for precautionary measures. They will each be issued with 'search warrants' and weapons, and will be required to know the basics in self-defence and know the area well. It is for this reason that we have selected Ben Daniels-" the moan of Ben went unnoticed, "and his previous SAS unit, K-Unit, which consists of three other men, Nathan Blacksmith, Scott Redbone, and Calvin Granger."
"They don't even know the area!" Ben exclaimed.
"No," Blunt agreed, "but you do. You grew up just around the corner from the location."
"I think I do remember…" Ben muttered sarcastically.
"So then it's agreed. When our unit detect the threat they will report back to Special Operations. We will get backup to bring it back here, and arrest and interrogate key members of Mask."
It was silent. Ben knew that the plan had already been set in stone, so there wasn't much point opposing it. He knew the real reason he'd been selected for the assignment hadn't been the fact that he knew the area, or that he was well trained. These points did contribute to it, yes, but the real reason was obvious to him. It was because of how close he was to Alex. Well, how close he had become to the boy in recent times. He would never say it aloud, but he was like a brother to him. He knew that this personal element would be used to drive him to find Alex through determination, and furthermore, find the truth about Mask. This was exactly what Blunt wanted.
Ben's thoughts drifted to Jack suddenly. Over the past couple of months, he'd grown quite close to the woman. He thought of how she'd react to the news that Alex was missing. Ben personally didn't believe in time travel, it was the stuff of sci-fi junkies and crack-heads, but he knew Jack was into all the 'weird things'. How would she react to the information that there may have been a time machine invented?
"Mr Daniels?"
He shook his head, his thoughts cut off abruptly.
"Sorry?" He asked, his vice more polite than usual.
"You'll be leaving later today. We can't risk any harm coming to Agent Rider, or the possible time contraption. A file will be on your desk when we return to the Royal and General. Please pay a visit to Mr Smithers. Your unit should be meeting you shortly."
Blunt glanced down at the simple watch on his wrist. Ben knew from the slight look of satisfaction that everything had gone exactly on time and as planned.
"Thank you all for attending. Each of you have a file on your desks listing your tasks and priorities involving the Mask assignment, I hope to see you all in our progress evaluation tomorrow. You may leave."
And with that, Ben left the room. Once again, the man had managed to leave him dumbfounded and worried. What had Alex gotten himself into this time?
That's it for now, I'm afraid. This is more of a preface, and next chapter will be much longer.
Do you like it?
What has happened to Alex?
Who are Mask?
What will K-unit find?
What do you think is coming up?
Thank you for reading! I spent valuable revising time on this so please review. If I get enough reviews and people interested, I'll update really fast.