Disclaimer: Apparently, I don't own Alex Rider.

The Contemplations of an Assassin

"Kill a man, and you are an assassin. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill everyone, and you are a god."

Beilby Porteus

Alex breathed in deeply, filling his deprived lungs with air. He was perched on a roof, lying flat on his stomach. His elbows supported part of his weight while his fingers were wrapped around a gun, propped up on a tripod. One eye on the scope, he squinted down the barrel, waiting for his target to appear.

He had been waiting for four hours for his target to appear. Above him, the sun shone brightly. Alex felt hot and sticky, his dark clothes absorbing the light. Perhaps he should have worn something different for the day.

Alex kept his focus on where the target would inevitably appear, but his mind wandered.

How had he become an assassin? Alex was only at the tender age of sixteen – well over ten years younger than the next youngest assassin.

Alex's toes curled inside his shoes. He knew exactly how and why he had become an assassin. To MI6, he was an expendable tool. They had killed him from the inside. All that remained was a hateful, vengeful soul.

Everyone he had known had died. Jack, Tom, Jerry, Sabina, Ben, Ian, his parents… Even K-Unit. They had been captured in Iraq just a month ago. Another SAS unit had found them on the side of the road, clear evidence of torture marks on their tanned skin.

Bitter. There was a bitter taste in Alex's mouth.

Alex had hunted the organization down. He hunted them down like animals. He killed every last member. And it had felt… good.

Alex smirked at the barrel of his sleek, black gun, pushing the thought of his dead friends out of his mind. He had loved the feeling of his gun shuddering as he pulled the trigger. He had loved the control he had over the men who had ruthlessly tortured his comrades. He had loved the sheer terror in their eyes.

Alex smiled wider as he peered through the scope of his gun. His target still hadn't appeared. The man was late for the first time in three weeks.

His thoughts turned back to the organization that he had completely decimated. Alex had fun chasing each and every one of the members down. He stalked each member for a day, chuckling at their pathetic attempts. They had been weary, glancing over their shoulder every minute or so.

Gosh, it had been liberating.

Alex scanned the area again, an excited grin washing over his features as he spotted the man hurrying through the park. He was wearing a clean, new suit. Alex could tell that it was very expensive from the brand pasted right above the man's heart. He was carrying a briefcase, lugging it along, like it was filled with something heavy. The target was looking over his shoulder, looking around at the civilians, even looking down as if he would stumble upon a bomb.

That wasn't Alex style. He killed the people who were responsible. He didn't kill innocents. He didn't kill parents that were too busy for their kids. He didn't kill soldiers. He didn't kill spies. He didn't kill other assassins. And never, ever children.

Alex trained his gun on the target. It was a good place to shoot. The civilians weren't close enough to the target to get hit. Should he fire now?

Alex didn't.

He waited for a moment longer, watching the man slow by a hot dog stand. He seemed to be trying to hide behind the thing, not that he was any good at it. Alex wanted to laugh.

The man jerked upright, facing Alex. His eyes were filled with trepidation as he looked up, probably spotting the glint of Alex's gun. He darted off, down the road he had just come from.

"That's right," Alex murmured, his gun still firmly trained on the man, "run, little traitor."

The man was slowing. If Alex wanted to guess, he would have said that the man was getting tired. Whatever was in the case was seriously slowing him down.

"Come on…" Alex muttered under his breath, "Keep going."

The man struggled for a moment before hefting the briefcase and breaking into a dead sprint. Alex laughed delightedly, taking aim.

His finger twitched a fraction of an inch. He felt the familiar shiver of the bullet passing out of the barrel and towards the target. The silencer muted the gunfire, but the gun still made a small popping noise. Alex heard the shell of the casing clatter to the ground, glinting in his peripheral vision. He watched as the bullet hit the target, right on the back of the man's head.

Bull's eye.

Alex grinned as the man fell, blood pooling around his head. He quickly disassembled his gun, packing it up in a briefcase that he had bought earlier.

Alex prepared to leave, but stopped short at a golden glint by his foot. The casing of the bullet.

He stared down at it for a moment before reaching down and picking it up. He held it between his thumb and index finger, clearly imprinting his fingerprint on the shell. He placed it on the ground again, smirking.

It was his taunt: come and try to get me, MI6, but you'll never catch your beloved weapon.

He smirked again, walking to the opposite side of the building's roof. He leaped onto another rooftop nimbly, then broke out into a silent run.

Alex loved the chase.


A/N: Alright. I'll admit that this isn't my best... But you know what? I wanted to make Alex a total bad-(DON'T POTTY MOUTH) assassin.

What did you think? I'm actually quite tired, so maybe that's why I'm a bit... groggy. MEHHH. WAKE UP, ALICE. WRITE GOOD THINGS.

Well, if you liked it, please review. If you hated it, please review. If you were indifferent, please review. If you don't know what to think, please review. LOL JUST KIDDING. I don't mind criticism, but please be nice about it. I'm always looking for things to improve upon. Wow. I'm so tired. At first, I typed "approve" instead of improve, and then I wrote "apon" instead of upon. Llamas, I'm going to sleep (but so EARLY).

Anyway, like I said, please review, but thanks anyway, if you don't!

-Alice xxx