DJ: This message is for my old readers who'll discover that a great deal has been changed about this story. This chapter is the first example. Along the way you'll come across parts that have Alex in them and are set post-Scorpia Rising (beware spoilers!). So if you haven't read all the books, you might want to not begin reading this fic just yet, because the true ending will probably unfold in the parts with Alex in it. The rest of the story is still set before Stormbreaker. I hope this clears some things up for you guys.

Disclaimer Guy: DJ doesn't own any rights to Alex Rider. They all belong to Anthony Horowitz and whoever else is involved. The song belongs to the artist.

Somersaults
Break my neck
Mortal falls
Hold my breath
I can't believe
what I'm looking at

- Customs, Acrobats

Alex Rider had always been reluctant to view all the great and disturbing happenings in his life as pure coincidences. Though he hated the girlish term fate just as much, it seemed it held a more correct meaning when he thought about the last fifteen years that were his existence.

Had it been fate that got his father injured on his latest mission and made his mother the nurse who helped him regain his health? Possibly. Alex remembered they really liked to use fate in romance novels. Or at least in the ones he'd seen in Sabina's bookcase. Fate was then also to be blamed for their early deaths and consequently Alex being raised by his uncle Ian and later Jack Starbright, his spiritual big sister and confidant.

There were times when he'd thanked fate too – the times he'd come back from the dangerous missions lucky to be alive – but more than once he'd cursed it at the same time. First time was back in England when MI6 had send him on the Stormbreaker mission after his uncle's assassination. A few months later he'd personally given fate a hand when his curiosity got the better hand of him the moment his brain registered the presence of the culprit at a port in France. Oh, he'd cursed his own being to hell then. Yet many occasions followed. In the middle of the Scorpia mission when he'd realized he wasn't but a deceived pawn on Julia Rothman's chessboard. The moment Ash's betrayal became clear to him. When Damian Cray's party ended on an almost deadly note for him, Sabina and her father. (He hadn't gotten used to the thought that Edward Pleasure was now technically also his father though he was very fond of the man.) And last but not least, in Egypt when he'd broken down next to the burned out car in which Jack had found her death. Afterwards, Alex had considered himself very lucky to be adopted by the Pleasure's. It was the only time he'd thanked fate.

Now, one year later, he'd moved to San Francisco and successfully started to rebuild his life so far. He was still quite popular at school as long as he remembered to at least cover up the empty look in his eyes. But the weekends he still preferred to spend on his own by visiting some galleries or just leisurely strolling through the occasional street market the city had to offer. He was actually doing the last one at the moment.

At first Alex was always taken aback by how relaxing the bustling crowd around him was. He genuinely enjoyed watching the salespeople and the shoppers that came in all ages and sizes. Even the mothers and their sometimes crying and sulking children could bring and extraordinary smile to his face. It was the knowledge that those people were perhaps free from the horrors he had to face that made him so fond of watching them. Often he fantasized that his watchful gaze would be enough to protect them from those evils. However, deep inside Alex knew he wasn't as much of a hero as MI6 liked to call him. He'd failed, he'd cried and he'd been scared like any other human being. Alex Rider was no exception to the human nature. Today wouldn't be the last that he got scared.

It was then that his fear reared its ugly head so quickly that Alex' step faltered and for a moment he stood stock-still on the grass of the nearby playground while his thoughts struggled to maintain order in the jumbled mess they'd become. Yet it wasn't something dangerous or lethal that had made him so awfully confused, a victim to his own emotions. As the clock ticked by Alex found himself staring at the object of his fear and slowly the thoughts in his head turned from fearful to unbelieving. Alex shook his head and looked again. It couldn't be!

One of the swings on the playground was occupied by a boy a couple years his junior, who seemed to now look Alex in the eyes with the same rapt attention. Alex was stunned as he once again perceived the boy's looks. Sharp and focused blue eyes complimented his pale but healthy skin that was framed by unruly blonde hair and there was something in the planes of his face that maybe called Scandinavian or Russian heritage to him. The ex-spy swore he was looking at what appeared to be a perfect little copy of the man he knew died during the awful Damian Cray adventure. Yassen Gregorovich, his uncle's murderer.

'What are you looking at?' The boy's voice cut through Alex' reverie like a knife through butter, but his voice sounded too chipper to be offensive.

Alex reflexes suddenly came in handy again. 'I'm sorry.' He apologized and carefully strolled up to the Yassen-a-like. 'It's just that you reminded me of someone I used to know. I wondered if you'd want to clear something up for me. I'm Alex.'

The boy hesitated just a moment before offering the teenager the empty swing next to him. 'Sure. I'm Johnathan.'

'You don't seem to be from around here. You're British too, right?' Alex remarked upon Johnathan's faint accent. 'Did you move here recently?'

'Yeah.' The boy grinned toothily. 'Moved here two years ago with my parents and siblings, but it's just us and mom for most of the time, 'cause dad's away a lot. Traveling is his passion, mom says.' He kicked at the sand with his feet. 'We don't mind it though. It's almost natural for us to do all those long-distance calls. What about you?'

Alex surprised himself by giving his younger companion an honest answer. 'I've lived here for about a year with my adopted family. My family died out some time ago.'

'Oh.' Johnathan sighed sadly and seemed to start to form a more complete apology, but froze rather abruptly when an angry voice called from behind them.

'Johnathan!'

Scrap angry, thought Alex, as he turned around to acknowledge the intruder to their conversation. This woman was nearly seething. Pretty with dark hair and shocking green eyes, Alex estimated her somewhere in her early thirties.

'Hi, mom.' Jonathan's voice greeted her weakly. 'Me and Alex were just talking…'

She broke him off. 'Alex, huh? Well I'm happy to know he's not as much of a stranger as the last one I found you with!'

'I'm sorry.' Her son responded tearfully. 'He just came up to me, because he'd mistaken me for someone else!'

The woman's anger seemed to disappear just a tiny bit as she heard her son's explanation. 'Alright, I believe you.' Then her eyes finally turned to take in Alex himself and just for a split second all her anger evaporated as she staggered back.

'Mon Dieu!' So she's French than. The following shocked him a lot more than that tiny revelation.

'Alexander Rider?'

Fun fact 2 : If you can correctly guess what inspired me for choosing the name Jonathan, I'll give you a virtual cookie.

Not-so fun fact 2 : The inspiration for this chapter came to me at 3 o'clock in the morning.

Teaser song:

Stromae – Je Cours