Yesterday
chapter one
"He's a stranger to some and a vision to none."
Julius, or Julian, as he likes to call himself, stalks down the street with his hands in his pockets. The trench coat is a dark color, and although he doesn't like it very much, due to its heaviness, it serves its purpose well, which is to hide his blood-stained shirt. It also hid his slight limp. He looked like any other moody teenager with problems like sex and drugs, which were not even close to his problems at all.
In the distance, a dog is barking in the backyard of someone's place. He ignores it, turning to think about what his life had become.
Three weeks ago, he woke up underground and dug himself out. Three weeks ago, he found himself alive. Three weeks ago, he realized that there is only one purpose in his life, which is to avenge his dead father and kill Alex Rider.
Julian mulls that over, glancing at the sky. It's darkening, swirling clouds of grey moving fast across patches of blue. No sunlight. There is an eerie silence. He notes that the dog had fallen silent as well. Instincts he doesn't know he has suddenly kick in; he moves backwards and into a nearby alley, hiding himself in the shadows.
A white van, big enough to fit ten people, pulls around the curb, coming to a screeching stop. There is no logo printed on the side, and the license plate isn't from America. The back lights glow red before shutting off completely, the engine roaring to a stop. He is suddenly nervous, slinking backwards, his roaming hands hitting a garbage canister in the darkness. He clenches his fingers around it tightly, trying to find solace in it.
It does not help. Another memory rises from the depths of his mind, of men pouring out of vans like this one, carrying guns and wielding no emotion. Enemies, the voice of reason whispered. Run.
He heeds the warning, despite the fact that he was probably crazy, and darts off into the alley. His feet slapped against the pavement; he ignores the pain in his bruised ribs and bullet wound, swerving to avoid another trash can. Julian ducks down and hides behind some old boxes.
"Hey, Morris," someone calls. "Bet the kid's around here somewhere." There was an ugly laugh as 'Morris' calls back.
"You bet. I mean, come on, we're under SCORPIA. They got eyes everywhere, man. Hey, the boss told me if we find that boy, we're gonna get a promotion, maybe. Stop doing all the really dirty work and start doing all the actual dirty work." A snicker, then a third voice. His heart pounds wildly against his ribs. SCORPIA. Dirty work. Why are they looking for him?
"Yeah, but this is Boss we're talking about, boys." There are mutters of agreement. He shrinks back against the wall, the hard brick pressing through the coat. His hand closes around the smooth metal gun in his pocket, the weight he'd grown used to having. He knows how to use it. Coupled with memories and lessons, he can shoot well enough to take down a few men. Julian pulls it out, marveling at it for a minute before clicking the safety off.
"Whatever. Julius! Julius Grief, we know you're here, and we want you. We can help you, you know." He shivers and curls up into a tight ball of limbs. These people are dangerous. He can feel it, can hear it in the way they walked, in the way they speak carefully yet at the same time, throw out information like it doesn't matter when it probably did.
"Julian," he whispers, biting the inside of his cheek. He doesn't like being called Julius. It reminds him of his father, who happens to be dead. He doesn't want to share the same fight.
Footsteps come closer, and he has no time to react before a hand grips his coat and pulls him up. He lets out a yell and lashes out, catching the man in the chest. The guy doesn't even flinch, he noticed with dread, only laughing at the blow.
"We're not gonna hurt you, ya know?" He lets Julian go, and he scrambles up, dusting himself off and staring at the man.
"What do you want." It is more of a demand than a question, though. He needs answers before he would even think about moving. The voice of reason comes back. They can help you. They know what they're doing. Make a deal. Wait it out. He listened.
"Well," the man says, grinning. "We'd like to make you a deal. We know who you are and what you're supposed to do, you know. We know everything about you, as well as the fact that you're Rider's clone. You get Alex Rider out of the way, and we'll provide you with everything you need to make his death as gruesome as possible."
Julian frowns. He doesn't need help. The man, seeing his hesitation, continues.
"You know, he killed your father. Murdered him. You should come with us, kid. We're all about revenge, yeah?" The anger rose to the surface, all those days of bitter thinking. Alex had led him on a goose chase before blowing up a building and starting a fist fight, mangling his already bruised kneecap with a knife and getting a couple wounds in before slipping away.
Alex Rider had taken away his family. Alex Rider had destroyed his life, had humiliated him, had laughed at him and spat in his eye. The boy had made him suffer, had told him that if he was Julius Grief, then he deserved to die just like his brother and father. He hadn't even known he'd had a brother; now, the thought of having a twin to lean on just fueled his anger.
In the back of his mind, the voice of reason cautions him, telling him that the statement had been nothing more than bait. But Julian doesn't care. He squints up at the tall man in front of him.
"Alright," he says. "What do you want me to do?"
The man only shoots him another sly smile before gesturing at the van. It was a black color. He blinked. It'd been white just a minute ago. The three men escort him to the back and let him sit down and steady himself before roaring off into the night.
His fingers curl around the gun again, and he imagines Alex Rider dead at his feet, as vengeance for his fallen family. He isn't going to fail. He can't let that happen. Julian swears to himself then, in the back of that van, that he will kill Alex Rider even if it is the last thing he would do.
Later, Julian sits in a chair behind a table in a rather emotionless room. There is no paint on the walls. There are no pictures, no decor; there is nothing that indicated the use of this space as an office besides the slightly messed-up filing cabinets.
Behind him, the door opens. He doesn't move.
"Hello," a woman says, sitting on the other side of the table across from him. She has an accent from living somewhere - he couldn't pinpoint where - different than he was used to. Her smile is cold and empty. She has blonde hair and blue-grey eyes, but her face, like the room, holds no emotion at all.
He doesn't say anything. She smiles again.
"Julian," she says, letting his name roll off her tongue. "I knew your father once, you know. Such a nice man. We did some business together once. This said, I would like to extend an offer to you to help us in the killing of Alex Rider. You see," she says, gesturing with a hand. "we heads here at SCORPIA don't really like him. There is nothing more we would like to do than kill him."
He inclines his head, interested. "Go on."
"However, we have made a deal with MI6, signing a treaty ensuring we cannot hurt him. It has been three years, and he has been on a great deal of missions destroying smaller, similar criminal organizations we have been... allied with.
SCORPIA soon heard about you. Three weeks ago, we gained intel on a young man, seventeen years in age, who appeared in a small town, going under the name of Julian Grief. We were immediately interested; you have been off the grid for three years, and not only was that eye-catching, see, it was very, very unique. You should be dead." He nods and swallows.
"Yes, ma'am." She raises a perfect eyebrow.
"Do you have any idea how you are still alive today?" she asks. He bites his lip, looking around the room. There is no way to escape. Sighing in defeat, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an empty vial, placing it on the table.
"I found this buried with me. It's some sort of coma-inducing drug. After my, uh, death, someone injected me with this and... I really have no idea." She regards him with those unsettling, emotionless eyes.
"Interesting, indeed," she tells him, using a hand to take the vial. A brief smile flickers across her face. "And you have been tracking Alex?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You fought him." Bitter disappointment fills his mouth.
"Yes, ma'am."
"You lost, did you not? He got away?" He clenches his fists and flushes with embarrassment.
"Yes, ma'am." She grins a feral smile, like she is some sort of predator and he the prey she is circling.
"That's quite alright. I'm sure after going through what we have to offer, you will be able to dispatch of Alex the moment you set eyes on him. Now, let me ask you: Are you willing to join us?" He meets her eyes and gives her one, stiff nod.
Reminder that this is a prologue (yes, it does say chapter one, but this is a prologue) and chapters will be a lot longer.
Some of you might recognize me from my story, Classified. To any of my readers (in the case that you are reading this), I'm very sorry and looking to update soon. I've just been hit by the realization that the story sucks.
Can I get a review?
achieving elysium