This is a short drabble one shot thing that I wrote to put off writing an essay for English. I hope you like it, this is the first time I have written for the AR fandom, and it was a bit hard writing for this. It is a death fic, so yeah. Please review I would love to know what you guys think, and any suggestions would be highly appreciated. So, on to the story. Review! I want to hear your opinions and advice. Had to put that in again. So now for real, on to the story.

~Mainn

Update: I was rereading this at the inspiration of some wonderful reviews, and although now I could do much better, I decided on leaving it alone and simply fixing some of the mistakes in this. And again, any suggestions, commentary, edits, errors you found, etc… will be highly appreciated. So this is a mildly edited version, but I hope you all still enjoy. Enjoy!

~Mainn

There had been no grandstanding. No eloquent wording, not even the egotistical speech of a madman . There had been no place for distraction, no place for the victim escape in the wake of the aggressor's anger. There had just been a shot. A single bullet fired down the barrel of a gun. Simple mechanics really, with the powder primer and such, but when the small ball of lead implanted itself into the head of one Alex Rider, he was killed instantly.

It seems the luck of the devil had finally run out. One can only run from death so long before it catches up, but in the true Rider style, death was forced to wait once more, until the mission was successfully completed. Maybe he felt like it was time to let go, release the hold on this world, embrace the peace of the void. It was Alex Rider after all; he could have probably gotten out of it if he wanted too.

The funeral was small. The silent few mulling about in their own thoughts as the preacher said the eulogy. Generic, impersonal, bland. That is how it always went in any proceeding when dealing with those that were never said to exist.

Why is such a young person dead from a gunshot wound to the head? Heroes never choose to become them, it is always an endeavor thrust upon them, a challenge to rise up and meet the calling. The best there was, becoming like the enemy to defeat the enemy, Agent Rider was a true hero.

At one point, the lines had become blurred, and the surface had grayed, the distinction between good and evil was one no longer white and black. And as it does with all in the underhanded fight for justice, the sides become harder, if not impossible, to distinguish. A miracle, some say, that he even lasted as long as he did, but those are the people who never met him. One look into the cold, jaded eyes and it was instantly known that he was the best.

On that fateful day when the shot was fired, the world, although unknowing, lost its savior, its warrior, the best odds of survival it had ever had, or would ever hope to. An unsung hero went to join the volumes of history.

The casket was lowered into the ground in silence and, without another word from the preacher, the assembled dispersed. Blunt as emotionless as ever, Jones looking a bit teary although none ever fell.

As the last one to leave, I turned back to look at the gravestone. Such a tragedy, such a loss, but no one will ever know. The forgotten hero will be here and life will go on. I walking slowly out of the cemetery, memories wash over my mind. The words etched into the granite gravestone will haunt my life forever. The looming shadow will always be eclipsing my own. No matter what happens, there will only ever be one Alex Rider.

Alexander Jonathan Rider

1994- 2014

A True Hero

If There Ever Was One

Let Him Not Be Forgotten