Who is Alex Rider?

by bookworm299

It was the question that plagued not only the students of Brookland, but all others who have met him as well, even those who did not know his real name… but it's one thing when your enemies and relative strangers did not know who you were. It's completely different when you don't even know any more… but, Alex won't ever admit it. Now, for that essay...

A/n: so, I've been in my room for the last 3 hours straight reading Alex Rider fanfictions (mostly ones where Yassen survives…) and listening to music when this idea rooted itself in my brain… I typed it up since I had nothing better to do. Sorry if it sucks I'm not really paying attention and since my brain goes faster then my fingers can type… this was really fun to write but it came out way longer than I thought… I might do a sequel where he has a nightmare about giving in the wrong assignment… review your ideas! This took me over 2 hours to type…I type really slow, and I needed to look up stuff…

Disclaimer: I am a girl, an almost teenaged girl. I do not have a driver's license or high school diploma. I am not of legal age. I am not rich. I am not British. Do you think I own Alex Rider?

Title: Who is Alex Rider?

Summary: It was the question that plagued not only the students of Brookland, but all others who have met him as well, even those who did not know his real name… but it's one thing when your enemies and relative strangers did not know who you were. It's completely different when you don't even know any more…

Teacher P.O.V

Ms. Murphy had one purpose and one purpose only when she assigned this particular essay to the class; figure out what the deal was with Alex Rider. There was something not right with the boy. Up until a few months ago, if someone had asked her what she thought of Alex Rider she would have said, "He is a good student, one of the highest in every class, he was captain of the school football (soccer) team, was friends with nearly every one and while he stirred up trouble every once and a while it was nothing that invoked more than a few laughs and a couple a detentions… He was a good kid." Now however, if someone had asked her that she would not have even the slightest clue on how to answer. After his uncle died he had become withdrawn, he quit the football team, he stopped talking to his friends, got in fights, was sick for long frequent periods of time, and his grades slipped from A's and high B's to low C's and D's. The rumors flying from the kids were absurd; he's a druggie, he's in a gang, he's faking it, he killed his uncle, and the most absurd of all, he's a spy! No, Ms. Murphy did not understand one iota of a thing about Alex Rider…and she intended to learn exactly what happened to him, even if it was encrypted in an essay.

Alex P.O.V

Life sucked. But, it was getting better. Tom was still my best friend and didn't freak about the whole Scorpia thing…much. Sabina's parents decided to stay in the UK and she was officially my girlfriend. Best of all, MI6 promised no more missions until I graduated high school, unless it's a major emergency like, every other agent they have has died/gone MIA/turned traitor/gone on a mission and if I'm not sent on this mission the world will be blown up… They cleaned up my record. They paid me for all my missions and got me permission to live on my own. So, like the good teenaged boy I was, I started paying attention in class. I got mostly A's and B's; surprisingly it's not too hard to catch up even when you've practically missed a year and a half of school. I thought I was ready to actually do my homework and not worry the as soon as I started I would be forced to be half way around the world that time tomorrow. But, it seems I still had my luck of the devil, even when not on a mission because my English homework was a personal perspective essay:

Most people know where they stand or how they look to other people. How to you see yourself? What do you think of when you see your reflection? Are you proud or ashamed? What do you what to change about yourself? Where do you see yourself in 20 years? Must be at least one page long typed or at least has long as you can make it. Bonus question: what do you think makes a hero? Do you see yourself as one? If not, what role do you think you play?

The words were innocent enough but the answers would violate several official secrets acts, his personal privacy and lead to many awkward questions and most likely a few arrests… it seemed karma was a fan of irony. His first assignment had to be the one he could not complete…either that or history loved repeating itself… He sighed. He'd have to make up some B- answers in order to keep his secret. But, he had already started thinking about the answers and they were giving him a migraine. Knowing, they would not leave him alone until he told someone or something equally draining distracted him, he had an idea. He had promised himself he would do his homework, what stopped him from writing two essays: one truthful to be thrown away simply to ease the guilt and prevent the nightmares that were sure to follow the reawakened memories, and one fake to turn in for his English homework.

With that, he turned on his MI6 secure laptop Smithers made him and got to work. His first essay flowed easily and he thought he should do this every time memories plagued him, it felt good to release your pent up emotions, without, you know, hurting someone either emotionally or physically.

A personal perspective essay by: Alexander John Rider (Alex R.)

For Ms. Murphy's year 10 English class

Contrary to popular belief, I do know where I stand with my peers. I know the rumors that circulate about me; I can tell you, of all the ones I've heard none are true. I must look like a zombie back from the dead to most people. And truthfully, I don't care; I have my best friend (Tom Harris) and my girlfriend (Sabina Pleasure), so why should I care what every one else thinks about me? They don't know me. They don't know my parents, John and Helen Rider, died in a plane crash, caused by a bomb planted by my traitor godfather ASH, when I was a few months old. They don't know my uncle Ian was almost never around when I was growing up and died a little over a year ago. They don't know my housekeeper and older sister by adoption Jack Starbright died a few months ago and it's all my fault no matter how much I tried to save her. They don't know that the man who killed my uncle, the assassin I vowed to kill, saved my life and died with a bullet in the chest for me was Yassen Gregorvitch, the most wanted contract killer in he world. They don't know it was my godfather who more or less killed him. They don't know that my godfather tried to kill me. They don't know I've been a pawn of the MI6 the entire time I've been 'sick'. They don't know I've saved the world my times then I can count. That I've been in space and I've survived SAS training camp. They don't know I've been through hell on earth. That I've shot at and killed people with uncanny accuracy. That I've been shot at more times then there are stars in the heavens and that once I took a bullet to the chest, an inch above my heart. They don't know I have more enemies then every super hero, spy, James Bond and terrorist/assassin put together. They don't know I have wanted posters in most intelligence agencies and terrorist organizations around the world. Oh, it's my face, but matched to a different name. Always a different name. a different cover story, another way around the rules every time. Some times it's easy to pretend and play a part with not consequences and a totally different personality and life and not deal with every thing. Sometimes it's easy to play spy cause if you get caught there are ways out, there are no rules and all you have to do is stay alive till your exposed the bad guys. But I've never been Alex Rider; Alex Rider is never the spy.

Cub is the first teenager to survive SAS training.

Felix Lester was a computer nerd with both parents.

Kevin Blake was obsessed with soccer and never seemed to shut up.

Alex Friend was the disrespectful son of a billionaire with an older sister.

Alex Gardiner just wanted to go on vacation with his parents.

Federico Casali just wanted to get into another country to learn to be a criminal.

Abdul Hassan couldn't care less about the MI6 and didn't know a thing about politics.

Alex Brenner had divorced parents and was shy around girls.

Alex Tanner was a sports jock that had a different girlfriend every week.

The only thing these boys had in common with each other is several of them have the same, common, first name and they all have the same face. Shortish, shaggy blond hair with light brown pieces. Dark brown/hazel eyes and an athletic body. Slim muscles. And a tendency to blurt things out, as well as an unquenchable curiosity of all things. Some times it's easy to just memorize a whole other story, then try and figure out your own. It's one thing when no one else knows you. But, Alex Rider will never tell a soul. It's one thing when the bad guys don't know the right name to match to a face. But, I know that the name to that face is Alex Rider. I just don't know who Alex Rider is anymore.

Alex Rider is the best spy in the MI6.

Alex Rider is a teenaged James Bond.

Alex Rider wants to be a soccer player.

Alex Rider is a troublemaker.

Alex Rider is not someone you want to mess with.

Alex Rider is an assassin.

Alex Rider is a killer.

Alex Rider has saved the world.

Alex Rider is a schoolboy.

Alex Rider is a black-belt.

Alex Rider can kill a man with one good kick.

Alex Rider can pickpocket and defy the most powerful people.

Alex Rider doesn't now when to shut his mouth.

Alex Rider has a temper.

Alex Rider has seen too much.

Alex Rider has the scars to prove it.

Alex Rider is a model student.

Alex Rider is respectful and polite.

Alex Rider shatters all rules.

Alex Rider has crossed every line.

Alex Rider wears a mask.

Alex Rider is too good at what he does.

Alex Rider is the perfect liar.

Alex Rider is good at pretending and faking.

Alex Rider doesn't know who Alex Rider really is.

When I see myself in the mirror, I don't see a 15-year-old schoolboy, not really. The frame is there but there's a different picture in place. I see disheveled hair soaked in sweat and dirt and grime. I see blood strained clothes that lay in tatters. I see scars and bruises. I see a bullet wound an inch above my heart. I see the cold lifeless eyes of Alan Blunt but in brown not gray, and tinged in red. I see a killer, a murderer, and an assassin. But I also see the schoolboy who was forced into the spy world and was still struggling against it in vain. I see the pessimist and the realist. The glint of humor in his eyes. But, it doesn't look like me. A 15-teen-year-old should not seem normal or happy after what I've seen. I am torn. I am proud I have saved the world and saved thousands of lives. But ashamed of the means I had to use to achieve that. Ashamed of the unfeelingness and of the apparent lack of guilt. Of the stubborn temper, pride and unwillingness to face the truth that has cost the people closest to me their lives…

If I could, I would eliminate the murders. Take back the harsh words. Not learn to kill. Learn the truth a different way. Never involve the spy world with my world. But I can't, so there's no use dwelling on what ifs. it only hurts more when you realize there's nothing you can do. Your helpless, powerless, completely out of control of your own life and held up by puppet strings. You can follow the motions or resist and break. They say you have a choice. There is no choice. There never is. Thinking about it will only drive you insane. No looking back. No fearing going forward. Keep calm now. That's all you can do. That's all you can ever do. In 20 years, I'm still going to say the same things I say now; but instead of school I'll have a family. Instead of a girlfriend and best friend, I'll have a wife and best man. Maybe kids. And I'll still be in the MI6 watching them ruin other kids lives like they messed up mine. I was the guinea pig, and there are going to be results and products from the experiment. Maybe it's not that a teenage spy is too complex, maybe it's too simple. Nothing will have changed. I'll still be a pawn on puppet strings. I'll still rely on my luck of the devil; and I'm always going to pay for it.

As for the heroes? I don't believe in them. The world isn't painted in black and white. Shades of gray look different in different lightings. There is no such thing as good and bad. The heroes and villains. They is only my side and your side. Somewhere in-between is where you find the truth. Everyone has his or her own twisted versions of reality. Everyone thinks they are the good guys. But, the role I play is different. I don't play superhero or supervillian. I'm the spy. I walk that truthful middle. I'm not on any side. I fight for the one that has to win for the good of the majority. But sometimes that makes you easy to sway. It makes you a liability. It makes you a target. And I'm much to good at my job.

I am not evil. There is no such thing as truly evil. I am not good. No one has a pure heart and guilt free conscience. I'm the one that walks the line and makes sure that line stays there. Makes sure the right people get knocked down and built up. I play be different rules. But I've never been normal, have I? You don't notice me. You don't know me. I don't care, your not supposed to. I'm the one who saves the world but never lets anyone know. Why? Well, cub can't tell you, he's not sure himself. Alex friend doesn't know. Alex Gardiner doesn't know. Felix Lester doesn't know. Kevin Blake doesn't know. Alex Tanner doesn't know. Alex Brenner doesn't know. Federico Casali doesn't know. Abdul Hassan doesn't know. Alex Rider will never tell soul.

The End

Satisfied with his work, Alex pressed save then filed it under classified so that he didn't get it mixed up with the essay he would turn in. It had taken him a little over two hours write the rant/blow off steam/memories essay but it was worth it to get rid of his sure to be nightmares. As for the essay he would turn in, he simply wrote.

A personal perspective essay by: Alex Rider

For Ms. Murphy's year 10 English class

I know what people say about me. I don't care. I see a lot of things in the mirror and am ashamed I didn't try to prevent from happening. In 20 years I'll probably be in the same part-time job I have now but full time. Maybe with a family. I'd probably change my grades if I could and I am trying but it's difficult. Especially when our teachers grade us on personal questions to find out our secrets. I'm not the hero; I'm never the hero. I'm not saying what I am through. No one is going to care or believe what I say, so why waste words? What role do you think I play? That's all that probably matters.

He saved and printed his work as he laughed silently to himself. Let's see what his teacher made of that. After all, he hadn't lied; he just used a very censored version of the truth. After all, while covers were easy then real life; the best lies and covers were based on tiny fragments of truth. Realizing the clock now read 9:58 he mentally counting down the seconds to 10:00, as that was when Tom would call him in a panic for homework help. Still, chuckling to himself, he picked up the phone "Calm down Tom… yes I'll help you." He rolled his eyes at his insane friend ever though he couldn't see him and started dictating him through maths. Yes, life was good.

Blunt/ Ms. Jones P.O.V

Unbeknownst to Alex the MI6 was alerted when he added files to the classified tab on his computer. After all, they had to spy, um, check up on him somehow right? The heads of the MI6 sat in the dark room from where they first saw Alex, starting to shut down the computers so that they may go home when, a blood red light alerted them. Opening the file Blunt read it with no outward emotion though it was clear it affected him in some way. "Still think using the boy was a good idea Alan. You might just have burned him out before he truly started." Ms. Jones commented as if she was speaking of the weather, though the I-told-you-so was still faintly heard in her statement. Brow slightly furrowed Blunt left the room, leaving Ms. Jones to lock up. Quietly, she printed out the report and placed it in a file marked 'AR CLASSIFIED LEVEL 9 CLEARANCE'. Turning off everything but the security, Ms. Jones left with only one thought on the matter "It may be a useful reminder one day. But all the same, I hope the boy does not intend to turn that in as his homework." With that, she walked out, into the night.