DISCLAIMER: I do not own Alex Rider.
Killing Pride
"That guy is leaning too much to his left," Alex Rider, seventeen and now officially an agent at MI6, peered through the observation deck, "And that guy's grip is too tight on the handle. He'll never be able to maneuver fast enough."
Beside him, Mrs. Jones regarded the agents-in-training below thoughtfully.
"His footing is all wonky," the agent continued, glaring at a short man who had attempted to copy the instructor at the throwing knives, "He's going to take out someone's eye."
"I have an idea," Mrs. Jones turned to face Alex, "Why don't you go teach them? You seem to have no paperwork to do, and the instructor is out. You can step in for a day."
Alex's eyebrows climbed up his forehead, "Is that a good idea?"
Mrs. Jones turned to look back down at the ten assembled agents-to-be, "I have a feeling that you won't do any harm."
The younger spy turned to look down at the agents too, "You should probably get a new instructor," he watched a woman who threw a knife at the target. She missed by about a mile, "They haven't done a very good job so far."
Mrs. Jones quietly huffed in something close to indignation, "Was that an offer I heard, Agent Rider?"
Alex's eyes widened comically, "Uh – no, Tulip. I'd prefer the field work."
The director of MI6 cracked a small smile, "Come along, Alex. I'll introduce you to the new agents."
KILLING*PRIDE
Eric Murray thought he was shaping up to be a pretty good agent. He'd only been in training for a couple weeks, but he really thought he was the best out of all of his colleagues. He had the highest accuracy percentage (53%) in the range, and he was the only one to have studied abroad. Eric was a proud graduate of MIT and didn't waste any time flaunting it. He had worked very hard to get to where he was now.
This was why he was surprised to see the director of MI6 herself enter the room, accompanied by a teenager. The teenager looked bored, which should have been impossible, seeing as he was surrounded by dozens of knives.
Eric concluded that this teenager must be Mrs. Jones' son, even though they didn't look particularly similar. Perhaps the boy had been adopted. Or perhaps he was another agent's son.
The other recruits soon spotted the two, lowering their knives. The training room was deathly quiet, each recruit, including Eric himself, waiting for the director to speak.
"Your instructor is currently out, correct?"
Eric jumped at the opportunity to speak with the head, "Yes, ma'am."
The woman cast a look at him. Eric was basically quivering with excitement.
"Good," the woman nodded, "Then I'll let Agent Rider take over the class for the day."
When the recruits looked around, confused, she elaborated by gesturing to the teen next to her. Eric's and just about everyone's jaws dropped open. That teenager? An agent? Yeah, right. It didn't even look like he could stand his ground against one of them.
The head turned curtly to the boy, "Don't destroy anything. Don't blow anything up. And – listen to me carefully, Alex – don't kill anyone this time."
The boy rolled his eyes in a childish fashion, "For the last time, Tulip, that was an accident! And I didn't even ki-"
"Don't do it," Mrs. Jones warned before striding away.
The kid stuck his tongue out at the woman's back.
"I saw that!" she called before marching out of the training room.
Eric couldn't believe his eyes. The kid was so disrespectful. Not to mention young. There was no way the teen was better than him or smarter than him. Eric had graduated from MIT at the top of his class!
The teen turned back to the class, "Right then, shall we get started?"
Eric just glared. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the rest of the trainees doing the same. At least they all agreed about the kid. Even if the kid was an agent (which Eric doubted), he probably would have been a desk agent. There was no way he was going to be sent out in the field.
"Everyone, go stand over there," the kid said authoritatively. He must have been enjoying the power a lot.
Eric was glad to see that no one moved a muscle. They all stayed exactly where they were, glaring at the kid.
"The director of MI6 did leave me in charge, did she not?" the kid – the brat – snapped, "Go!"
Slowly and unwillingly, the ten trainees dragged their feet, making their way towards the sidelines. They stood in a little line.
The brat prowled in front of them, confident and arrogant, "We'll first start out with your knife throwing technique."
He picked up a knife from the table, inspecting it. The blade was dull, having been thrown many times. No one had bothered to sharpen them again. It was probably a good thing, especially if a child had them now.
The kid huffed in annoyance and crossed the other side of the room, where a large cabinet stood. Eric and the rest of the recruits knew that the cabinet held the more dangerous weapons. Sharpened knives, guns and ammo, swords, and the whole lot.
The brat came back with ten gleaming, sharpened throwing knives, laying it on the table.
"Are you sure you can handle those?" Eric snarked, annoyed with the way the kid looked at the recruits, as if they were the ones who were brats.
The kid's eyes pierced Eric's own. He felt a chill crawl down his back. The kid's gaze was really creepy.
"I can handle them, unlike you," the kid replied, taking the first knife, "Now, pay attention to my stance, my grip, and how I throw."
Eric sneered at him.
The kid moved in a blur. One moment, the kid had one gleaming knife in his hand, the next, ten knives were hilt-deep in the ten human-shaped targets. From where Eric stood, he could see that every single knife was plunged deep into the human-shaped target's heart.
The ten recruits appropriately gaped at the kid.
"Your turn," the kid told them, looking annoyed, "I'll come around to each of you. Maybe you'll finally improve."
Eric, who had just begun to feel a sliver of respect for the kid, frowned, the respect gone. So what if the kid could throw knives? It didn't mean he was good at the other things a spy specialized in. It didn't mean he was a field agent. It just meant that the kid had too much time on his hands.
Assured, Eric returned to his station, picking up a knife. He was determined to show the kid that he was just as good as him.
Five knives later, Eric was already frustrated. Knife throwing was not as easy as the kid had made it look.
"You're grip is wrong," the brat said from behind him, "Don't stick you wrist out like that and loosen up your grip."
Eric gritted his teeth, "I know."
The kid made an annoyed sound as Eric threw the knife. It hit the human shaped target's shoe, directly in the sole.
"Congratulations," the kid snarked, "You just gave your enemy a weapon and probably would have just died right now."
Eric glared at him as he made his way to the next person. He glanced down at the line of recruits, wondering how they had "improved" under the kid's guidance. He noted with a jolt that all of them had at least four knives, minus the kid's, in their target.
Eric picked up another knife, throwing it with unsuppressed irritation.
The day continued like this. Eric, hating the kid more and more as time went by. The other nine recruits, looking up to the agent.
"I don't get how you like him," Eric snarled softly to one of his comrades, "He's arrogant and annoying!"
The man shot him a look, "Have you ever thought of the fact that you're arrogant and annoying?"
Eric just glared as the man stalked away.
The kid was explaining the different ways to disarm someone when Mrs. Jones came back to the training room. Eric hoped that she would be taking the boy away. He couldn't stand it any longer.
"Agent Rider?"
The kid waved cheekily, "Hey, Tulip. I was just teaching the newbies-"
How dare the child call him a newbie? Eric glared at the boy.
"It doesn't matter," Mrs. Jones interrupted, "A COBRA meeting was just called. Your presence is requested."
COBRA. Cabinet Office Briefing Room A. It was only something Eric could dream of. Political leaders, intelligence officers – all the higher ups. They met there in times of a crisis.
The closest Eric had gotten to something so prestigious as that was a grainy photo of the room, released to the public under the Freedom of Information Act of 2000.
Eric really did resent that kid now.
The kid groaned, "Do I have to go?"
Was the brat serious? It was a huge honor to be called, especially someone like… well, a teenager.
Mrs. Jones gave him a look that would have made Eric wet his pants, "Alex, you are the only mentally stable, surviving agent left from Operation S-" she caught herself, "Without you, I'm afraid we're not going anywhere."
Eric lied. He hated the brat.
The brat, "Agent" Alex Rider, seemed so accomplished in comparison to Eric. And Eric was the one to go to MIT at age sixteen.
"Just to let you know," the kid said grumpily, crossing the room to Mrs. Jones, "The head of MI5 still hates me. It wouldn't surprise me if he tried killing me there."
Mrs. Jones hid a smile, "Oh, don't mind Horace. You just have to get to know him better."
"I've known him for three years," the kid muttered bitterly before turning to the recruits, "Go practice your knife throwing again. Don't stop until… 1000 hours. Bye!"
Eric blinked as the two MI6 officials disappeared. The other nine fellows began moving slowly, as if not quite believing what had just happened.
"Knife throwing!" someone outside the doors called, reminding them.
Eric groaned silently, picking up a blunt knife.
Maybe next time, he'd listen to Rider's damned advice.
A/N: Hello, everyone! I suppose I'm supposed to be working on AWOL and Operation Zeta, but for some reason, I really wanted to write this.
Anyway, I have a couple of ideas that I wanted to ask everyone, so if ya'll would be so kind to state your opinions in a review or in a PM, I would HUGGGGG you with my twiggy arms… (Lol, not awkward at all…)
First: I wonder if any of you would be interested in a not-quite-a-fanfic fanfic. To be more specific, a "How to Write Alex Rider Fanfic" fanfic. Yeah, I got the idea from the "How to Write an Alex Rider Fanfic that Doesn't Suck", but I mostly wanted to write one because I'm annoyed that there are only a few good, well-written fanfics. Maybe a guide from a fellow avid writer and reader will help you guys who want to write something, write well. Yay or nay?
Second: I noticed the decline of activity in the fandom again… and it made me sad… *sniffle*. SO, I WANT TO THROW A "ONE-SHOT ONESIE"! I'm not exactly sure why I'm calling it that, but it sounds good… Lol. Basically, it's a one-shot pajama party (hence the "onesie"). It'd be cool if you guys could just write one-shots and post them, also labeling it for this activity thingy. No prompts, no deadlines. Just a one-shot for this "one-shot onesie". If it interests you, I'll be patrolling the fandom, looking for stories with "one-shot onesie" in their summary. I'll read them and offer advice in a review. What do you think? Yay or nay?
Okay, hopefully, you'll answer my questions, and we can have a writer's virtual slumber party… with spies and assassins in onesies!
-Alice (for behind the scenes, follow me on twitter at dalekchung)