Just an idea I've been bouncing around in my head. All rights to Alex Rider go to Anthony Horowitz.
The quote in the summary came from Crocodile Tears.
First, they had to turn him into someone that wanted to be used. He'd thought those same words before, when he was just a fourteen year old boy, doing his eighth government intelligence mission. All had been dangerous, all had been survived only by his devilish luck, and all had been, at the end, if he really admitted it to himself way deep down, done willingly.
But that had been years ago. Not so many years, Alex realized dimly as he prepared himself for the night's job, dressing himself back in a school boy's uniform, despite his age. Only five. Five simple years ago.
At nineteen, he'd grown out of his "special" use to MI6, at least a bit. He had retained his smooth-faced boyish looks, sure, but his build was that of a man. He was well-muscled, a strong jaw, and long legs. He was, at least in small ways, beginning to look like a man. He couldn't be sent on school trips anymore or wormed in as some rich man's rebellious son. The best they could do, as far as school-boy went, was maybe put him into a University situation.
Not that he attended a University. No, when he agreed to go on to MI6's payroll full time, he'd also signed away his chances of being educated alongside his peers. They'd schooled him hard and fast and dropped him into the latest training programs, not all of which could be considered humane or legal.
Alex straightened his tie and pocketed a pack of chewing gum. Real chewing gum, not Smither's special chewing gum. Though Alex did have some of that around somewhere as well. Despite being almost twenty, he found that he quite enjoyed Smither's school-boy gadgets. And if the CIA ended up "borrowing" him, as they intended, he'd be dropped back into a high school situation soon anyway, and the gadgets would be useful. He could pass for seventeen easy, and worm himself in with a bunch of juniors in an American high school, if need be. He could even push sixteen and a sophomore, if they did a good enough job in changing his look. After all, though he had muscles, they were firm and wiry. He could do it, if need be. But really, he'd outgrown his school-boy uses. MI6 had completely different ideas on what would make him worth using.
Without another thought on the matter, Alex locked his apartment door and slipped the key around his neck on a silver chain. All part of his costume, really. The chain itself was made of titanium, according to Smithers, and could cut through just about any simple padlock.
The issue was not so much that they'd found another use for him. After Jack died. He'd hidden from MI6 for a while. That was true enough in itself. Locked himself up in his self-pity and licked his wounds-physical and emotional. But then he'd realized the truth. He was Alex Rider. He was wanted for his uses by MI6. And he'd been trained to be a good spy…he just didn't have a choice in the matter. He couldn't escape. He couldn't fight back. He'd be roped in whether or not he wanted to. So, he realized after a time, he might as well…give in.
And he did. He threw himself head first into the job. He'd made himself the most brilliant spy to ever walk (or sneak across) the face of the earth. By the time he'd turned sixteen, he'd completed no less than eighteen solo intelligence missions; all dangerous, all successful. On top of that, he'd done six partnered missions, five of which were successful to the point of both him and his partners escaping with only minor injuries, such as the usual cuts and scrapes. The third mission, however, Alex's partner, a man named Rieves, had taken a bullet to the shoulder. But he'd been okay, in the end, and eager to get back to work. A true patriot.
Alex scoffed. Every time he heard those words used about himself, he laughed. He was no patriot. Sure, he loved England, but he'd just as willingly work for any intelligence agency in the world, so long as they knew how to work with him, how to pick and prod and pull until his will crumbled. And that in itself was the secret. The great plot behind the way he worked for MI6 time and time again. He didn't just want it. Hell, he didn't want it at all. He needed it.
He'd found the tapes, supposedly, by accident. Only it wasn't really an accident, he supposed. After all, Ian would have kept them on purpose. Perhaps he'd known Alex would come across them one day. The tapes had been in a box of Ian's things. Home movies, in fact. But what better place to hide such a thing? They'd all been so neatly labeled, most in Jack's handwriting. Conelly Wedding, 1993. John's Graduation. Bella Storton's baby girl born, 2001. And then, below a collection of 20 or so memories, a small plastic box marked in Ian's handwriting. Alex. Training. RGB.
Alex had lifted the box out slowly. RGB. Royal and General Bank. MI6. Forgetting the other tapes instantly, he picked up the box and carried it to the TV room and opened the box. Inside were 9 tapes, each one numbered with a little silver mark in the corner, written in permanent marker. He'd watched every single one.
They started out innocent enough. The first tape had begun with the camera being aimed at him, sitting on the floor playing with colored blocks. The room was simple enough. There was a round table with a few chairs and a box of pre-school level art supplies on it and a bin of toys on the floor. Other than that, Alex didn't know. The rest of the room was cut off by the camera's angle.
A man in a white coat crouched in front of the younger Alex on screen. Alex studied himself. He couldn't have been more than four years old; because he remembered the maroon and white long-sleeved shirt and overalls he was wearing from pictures he'd seen. The man before him was dressed plainly in a black turtleneck, black pants, black shoes, and white lab coat. His pocket protector was black and he had a silver nametag with the name Dr. Kerns engraved on it. He wore black square-frame glasses and had thinning blond hair. He was the kind of man with the sharp face and soft chin that you could forget in an instant.
"Alex," Dr. Kerns said. "Alex, look at me."
The Alex on screen looked up. He smiled innocently, his chubby toddler hands curled around two blocks, one red and one blue. A yellow and green were stacked haphazardly on top of each other in front of him.
"Alex," Dr. Kerns repeated, his tone very soft and soothing. "What are you playing?"
"Blocks!" the four year old chirped.
"That's nice," Dr. Kerns said, "but don't you think you'd be happier playing with the spy toys?" While speaking, Dr. Kerns slid over a small, clear plastic tub that was filled with toy spy gadgets like the ones that were often seen in movies.
"No," Alex replied. "I like blocks."
"Well I'm sure you do like blocks," Dr. Kerns told him, "but you'd be much happier playing with the spy toys. Do you know why you'd be happier?"
Young Alex shook his head. The much older Alex watching the screen began to get a sinking feeling in his gut.
"Because," Dr. Kerns said. "The spy toys are practice. Someday, you're going to be a spy. You're going to work for the spy people."
Alex shook his head. "Want to play blocks. No spy."
"Yes spy, Alex. You're going to be a spy. You don't have a choice. It's what you're made to do." Promptly, Dr. Kerns picked the boy up and carried him across the room. The camera angle changed, and in this on, Alex could see the whole room. There was the chairs and table, the toys, and in the opposite corner, a small, square television with a child sized chair in front of it. He watched the doctor carry his toddler self, kicking and screaming, across the room and plop him in the chair. He wrapped leather straps around the boy's chest and turned the TV on. A swirl of lime green, orange, and purple warped and blinked on the screen. Listening closely to the tape, Alex could hear some sort of pulsing sound coming from the television.
The doctor stepped up to the camera, staying off to one side so that the toddler could be seen. "Subject 11, named Alex Rider, shows increasing responsiveness to the tests. We've run the neural-visual stimulation video for him several times, count 11, and he is drawn to into it with increasing speed each time. The increments to which we need to provide the mental stimulation are decreasing, and soon, it is predicted, that we will reasonably be able to continue to Phase Two of Project Unbreakable." The doctor continued to talk about Alex and science, but watching the tape, Alex was having trouble focusing. His eyes kept sweeping back to the pulsing television screen. He felt dazed and a little fuzzy, watching it, like his head was swimming. He felt sleepy and no matter how much he tried to force himself to focus on the doctor's words, the image called him back again and again, dragging his gaze away from the white coated man and back to the miniature television screen.
The Alex on screen was quiet as well. He wasn't struggling anymore. Seeming to make some sort of point, the doctor had walked over and removed the straps. Alex continued to sit there complacently until Dr. Kerns turned the video off. Alex blinked hard, jerked back to what was actually taking place onscreen. Dr. Kerns was kneeling in front of his younger self, taking his hands and pulling him away from the chair. The toddler came quietly, walking obediently alongside the doctor. When the doctor pushed his shoulders down, the boy knelt on the ground willingly. Dr. Kerns circled back to Alex's front. "Now Alex," he said softly. "Which toys do you want to play with?"
The toddler seemed to struggle for a moment, then reached for the spy toys. "I wanna be a spy like a good boy," the toddler said.
"Yes, Alex," Dr. Kerns cooed. "You're a very good boy."
The screen cut to black. Alex thought the tape was done for a moment, but then it blinked back to life again. The toddler was just entering the room. Dr. Kerns smiled at him. "So, Alex," he said. "What are we going to play with today?"
Without hesitation, the young Alex walked directly to the spy toys. "Spy stuff!" He dropped down and began to play with the toys. "I'm gonna be a spy, you know," he told Dr. Kerns.
"Why's that, Alex?" the doctor asked.
"Because that's what good boys do. Good boys spy because they're told to."
"And are you a good boy, Alex?" the doctor pressed.
The child nodded solemnly. "Alex is a good boy," he repeated. "Alex will be a spy because Alex is a good boy."
The doctor turned to the camera screen. "Phase One is complete. We will continue on to Phase Two." Then the screen cut to black.