The reason why I placed this story into the Chuck category was the fact that Alex rider elements will be kept at a minimum in this story. While the first few chapters may seemed to be purely Alex Rider, the following chapters will take place in the Chuck universe hence, the Chuck category. Review! Constructive critism is greatly appreciated. Cheers =)

Disclaimer: Both Alex Rider and Chuck does not belong to me.

Prologue

5th December 1995, Peak District.

A burst of gunfire disturbed the tranquillity of Peak district. The birds roosting in the trees flew noisily into the sky, covering the sound of a body falling to the ground. Slipping his Walter P22 into his tracksuit, Alex Rider made his way cautiously into the clearing.

Ever since MI6 came into the knowledge that he was trained by Scorpia to be an accomplished assassin, an organisation which they acknowledged for their far superior assassination skills, they had no qualms about sending him on the more dirty assignments, namely assassinations. After all, they reasoned, who would suspect a child of committing murder. A child, after all, is one who should be protected from the cruelties of the world, someone who should not lose their innocence before they grow into adulthood. Why they did not apply this reasoning to themselves is beyond him.

This time, they had loaned him to the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). His partner was a young woman named Angeline Baker, which was obviously an alias. Sometimes, he wondered why he did not get to have an alias at all. The world was so damn unfair. He would have preferred a name like Wilson Wellington. Okay, maybe not. But he sure as hell would like a name that does not lead back to him. Honestly, how could he go deep into enemies' territory with such a well-known name? The fact that he was still living was a testament to his amazing luck, and not the competence of MI6.

Stopping near the body, he crouched and heaved the body on its back. Not too long ago, he would have grimaced at the blood still spurting from the gunshot wounds. He would have felt self-loathing, felt tainted. However, all he could feel now is numbness, a sort of detachment from the situation. It was as if he did not care that he had just killed a man. That he had just separated the man from his family. The amount of assassination assignments they heaped on him was huge. That, he had learnt a long time ago, was the true face of the government. Heck that was the way all governments operates. The intelligence agencies he was loaned to definitely do not care, judging by the many requests made to the CIA for his participation in their operations.

Searching through the man's body, he found what he was looking for; a piece of paper, with a line of code written on it. He took out his phone, making doubly sure that it was not the one Mr Smithers gave him. He could still remember knocking himself out with the dart in his improved phone. Mr Smithers had teased him mercilessly about it for months.

"Angeline, Alex here. I got the package. Rendezvous in ten mikes time." He slipped the paper carefully into his pockets and started walking to the meeting place. Sighing tiredly, he wondered how long he would keep on doing this; staining his hands with the blood of others, killing people upon orders. He could no longer bring himself to care if they were innocent people, just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. With the first few assignments, he had tried to look for something bad in his targets, an abusive nature, or anything remotely bad. After those assignments, he began to realise that it was futile. Intelligence agencies tend to look at the bigger picture. These people may not be bad, but the things they contribute to unknowingly leads to undesirable situations, situations which the MI6 or any other agencies did not like; situations which gave them no choice but to neutralise these people, or so they say. Privately, he thought that they were just too lazy to think things through; after all, why waste time and resources trying to solve this problem when there was a simpler solution. He found himself distancing from his targets, usually giving them names like "Target A" or "Target B" to avoid personifying them. He found himself mindlessly following orders, unable to bring himself to care about the consequences his actions have upon the target's loved ones. He was fifteen at the time he came to this startling revelation.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he saw his partner waiting in the car. He did not even realise that he had reached the meeting place. Silently, he began to berate himself. Carelessness will get him killed. As Alan Blunt would always say, "You're never too young to die."

He could feel Angeline looking at him out of the corner of her eyes on the way back to their hotel. He could feel her concern, yet he could not bring himself to care. She was different from any of the other agents he had worked with. She was much more carefree. She was not secretive about her life outside of work. In fact, just the other day, she had confided in him that she hoped to be able to get home in time for her daughter's birthday before she leaves for med school. Because of this, he had taken unnecessary risks on this mission. He used to spend weeks going over each and every detail of his target's routine before setting up for a perfect shot, but for this mission, he had only spent three days before killing the target. It was sloppy work, and it had cost him, if the throbbing from his wounded arm was any indication.

His target had expected the hit. For this hit, he had been sloppy in his surveillance, hasty to know as much as he could about his target. He was spotted several times, almost caught once. He had made his target jumpy and paranoid, not a good combination for an assassin, yet he was confident in his skills and his belief that his age would give pause to his target's reflex to shoot. He was right and his age once again worked to his advantage. However, he knew that this would not last long. There were already rumours floating around of a teenage assassin who had a perfect record. Anyone he was ordered to kill, die. The next time, he would not be so lucky. With a sigh, he realised that he had long given up the idea of leaving the espionage business.

He felt Angeline turn to look at him when he sighed, but she did not say anything. She knew how a person would feel after doing an assassination. After all, she had done a few assassinations herself before she had enough and requested for a transfer to an analyst's position. In fact, this was to be her last mission out in the field before she transferred to desk work. He was slightly envious at the fact that she has choices.

Soon, they pulled up at the car park of the motel they were staying in. Instead of going straight into their room, she dragged him into the diner. "Come on Alex, you must be hungry. You've not eaten much this morning," with an impish grin, she dragged him into a booth and ordered for both of them.

"But Aunt Angie, I'm on a diet!" he whined.

"Nonsense, only girls go on diet. Growing boys like you need lots and lots of food," she cooed disturbingly at him. The patrons at the diner listening in snickered at the conversation. These two had been the entertainment of the diner for three days. Each time the boy tries to be uncooperative; the woman pulls something out of her sleeves to deal with him.

Alex on the other hand, was really getting irritated with the impossible brunette. Here he was, trying to get the mission over as soon as possible so that she could go home to her family and her desk job, and does he get any gratitude? No! What he got for his efforts was being a joke. He could remember a time long ago when he did not mind such harmless fun, but those were long ago. Ever since he was shot by Scorpia-outside the MI6 headquarters no less!-he learnt to be serious during mission time. His psych was so traumatised that even in the downtime between each mission, he forgot how to let go and have fun like the teenager that he was.

"Alex, you got to learn how to let go. Have fun! Unleash the inner child," Angeline managed to sound sincere and serious, even though she looked as though she was having the time of her life teasing her favourite nephew.

"Angeline, we are still on a mission, and we are not out of the danger zone."

"Alex, listen to you! You are still a child. This world is not meant for you. Killing is not meant for you. Please, try to get out. Try to leave this life behind you," she pleaded.

"I've long given up on myself. This is what I am, this is what I do. Look at me, and tell me that I can go back to what I was before joining up with MI6. Look me in the eyes, Baker, and tell me that I can do it."

"Alex, I" she could not bring herself to continue. In her eyes, he could see the conflict warring inside her mind. On one hand, she wanted to lie to him, tell him that everything will be alright. But she knew that she could not lie to him, not after knowing that he had been lied to his whole life.

With a contemptuous "I thought so," he turned on his heels and walked away. That was when everything went to hell. A burst of gunfire sprayed through the window. He was shot in the arm, his left arm thankfully. Overturning a table, he took out his Walter P22 and returned fire. Looking behind him, he saw Angeline lying in a pool of her own blood.

Letting loose a war cry, his vision tunnelled and all he could see was the two men firing at him through the windows. He was not sure what happened. One moment, he was looking at Angeline, the next; he was outside the diner with two dead men lying on the ground with shocked expressions on their faces.

Scrambling back into the diner, he slipped and slide his way through the carnage to where Angeline lay. She was breathing heavily and barely conscious. Slipping his phone into his hand, he speed dialled their contact. "This is Panther. Mission has gone to ground zero. I repeat, mission had gone to ground zero. I got an agent down, and I need med vac at the Flamingo Motel." "Affirmative, med vac will reach you in fifteen minutes."

Throwing his phone to the side, he tore strips of cloth from his inner shirt and put pressure on her wounds. To his dismay, the cloth quickly became soaked with her blood. He found his vision blurring, and realised that there were tears running down his face. He was stunned beyond belief. The numbness that had built up these past few months had started to thaw.

"Rider, this is you. You are not an emotionless killing machine. You are still a teenager with growing hormones."

"Damn it, stop talking so much. Come on, this is your last mission. You're going back to your family after this. You've got to hang on, for Eleanor."

"I won't make it. I know my own body. Just, just help me tell Eleanor and her father that I missed them, and I have always loved them. Just help me tell Stephen that I'm sorry."

"Damn it, Angeline Baker! Tell them yourself. You can do it, you're a strong woman."

"Hannah."

"What?"

"Hannah Bartowski. That's my real name," he could tell that she would not survive. Even the effort of speaking seems too much to her. Cradling her head against his chest, he sobbed heartbrokenly. Here was a woman who had dedicated and sacrificed so much for her country. Here was a woman who would not let the espionage world change her, who was so caring that even to a complete stranger like him, she would strive to get him to open up, get him to choose a better life.

Suddenly, the desire to leave the espionage business behind burned brightly. For Hannah Bartowski, he would do it. He would fight tooth and nail to get the life he deserves, and for her, he would complete this one last mission successfully before he hand in his resignation letter.