Like James Bond

Alex remembers watching a James Bond film when he was seven. He remembers watching all the explosions, car chases and plots and thinking how cool it would be to be a spy. He remembers telling this all to Ian Rider, one day when the man wasn't at work and seeing something ironic in his gaze. Now, seven years later, Alex understands the irony.

The metal of the gun's barrel is cold against his back, despite the clothes in between and Alex doesn't dare move because he knows that if he does, his death will be even more painful. A mad, deranged look is in the gun holder's eyes as he looks up at the helicopter above with an insane grin; Herod Sayle has certainly fallen. The helicopter is almost deafeningly loud but it doesn't matter – Sayle's threat doesn't need to be heard. His mere presence is enough to warn Alex against any action.

With his death almost certain, a chill sets upon him and he can hear childish words being spoken – his words – to a man who is now six feet under. A fuzzy memory shows his uncle staring down at a child, Alex, with a bemused half grin whilst a red haired woman bustles around in the kitchen.

"Uncle Ian," Alex's childish voice proclaims as he's pulled onto Ian Rider's lap. "When I'm older, I want to be a spy… just like James Bond!"

In the memory, Ian ruffles Alex's hair and turns his ironic gaze onto the little boy. "Of course you will." The wording is not lost on Alex and he thinks there is something resigned in his voice, something that Alex has never picked up on before and he sees his uncle's eyes flicker to the woman in the kitchen with a look that is apologetic, as though apologising for the trouble that he will later impose on her. Ian Rider had been a smart man – he had to be out of necessity – and perhaps he had known the fate that had been in store for Alex; the trips they had taken in Alex's youth had proved that point.

Alex blinks as the gun is pushed into his back. The proverbial countdown to his death has surely reached single digits; the claws of death grip him and he is gasping because none of this is fair. He doesn't want to die but he knows all too well that you are never too young to die. Death is not picky over who it claims.

Bang! Bang!

Almost as if to prove his point, two gun shots sound above the helicopter's noise and strike Herod Sayle. The bullets embed themselves into vital areas of his body, positions probably planned by the shooter, and the gun pressed into his back clatters to the floor, released from Sayle's grip as the man falls to the floor, dead. Alex's brown eyes snap up to see another man dropping out of the helicopter's door and onto the helipad, avoiding the still moving blades.

Yassen Gregorovich. The assassin that had been part of the Stormbreaker operation. The man's cool gaze stays firmly on the dead man as he uses his foot to kick him, checking that he had successfully killed another human being. After that, their conversation is brief and it is worthy of the Bond movies that Alex used to adore.

Alex doesn't like James Bond movies anymore.

And now that he is one, he doesn't think that being a spy is cool at all.