Thy noble self doth not own Alex Rider. Thou shall not sue-eth.
Was originally meant be similar to the story Hallelujah by angel-karai. However, it decided to evolve into a different plot bunny, so I wrote this instead. But do read Hallelujah, it's a very good one-shot.
I am a murderer. I never used to think about it that way, but it's true. I have killed, I have ripped lives in half. Me. A fourteen year old boy, a killer.
Did I stop to wonder whether they had a husband or wife, a child, a home? No. I only thought of my own survival. But what gave me the right to live over them? Their death would bring more pain to people anyway. They'd probably have people to cry and scream, and hate the person who killed them. Who would I have? Jack? Yes. Tom? Probably. Sabina? Maybe. M16? No. But that still isn't much.
I wonder what life would have turned out like if my parents hadn't have died, if Dad wasn't who he was. I can see it in my head. Me playing football with friends (perhaps hugging and kissing a girlfriend afterwards) then coming home to my mother complaining at how much dirt I have on me, my Dad smiling down at me, perhaps Ian Rider coming for dinner occasionally.
But the picture fades, and I realise that no matter how much I want that, no matter how much I'd give for it, I can't have it. I'll never have it.
After all, does a murderer deserve that?
Mrs. Jones looked up, shocked. It couldn't be. A body had been found on the streets of London- a suicide jump from a tall building above. The jumper was young, so young. A teenaged boy with short blonde hair and serious brown eyes that had seen too much. A boy with a broken body and soul. She sucked in her minty breath, and knew it wasn't really suicide. It was slow, drawn out murder. M16 had murdered Alex Rider.