Disclaimer: If I owned Alex Rider, that film would have been the biggest breakthrough in cinema since Snow White, and it wasn't, therefore i don't own Alex or any other characters in the series.
A/N, 28/07/11: Hello, guys. It's been a while now (^^;) since I wrote the early chapters of this fic, and to put it bluntly, THEY PAIN ME. So as of now, editing is in progress. I'll just be replacing the chapter content as I go along because it's not worth a new fic, but I'll be keeping the un-edited versions in case anyone…really wants to read them for some reason…I don't know. Anyway, forgive my fourteen-year-old self!
Prologue – Talk About Concern for Employees' Mental Health!
Ash sat in the hallway outside the office, rubbing his hand wearily across his eyes. He didn't feel ready for a new assignment. He didn't feel like anything. Since his encounter with the Rider boy, another part of his already crushed and failing soul had died. He kept thinking of the disgust that had filled Alex's face as he learned the truth. It wasn't remorse he was feeling, just a deep sense of lethargy, almost despair. A desire for this whole mess called life to be over.
His stomach twinged. Not now, he moaned in his head. He didn't have the strength to deal with the pain, or with anything else.
Somewhere, a clock chimed three. That was the time for his meeting. He stepped forward, feeling a flicker of apprehension. He had failed again. First with MI6 and now with Scorpia. But surely the damage was not so great? He was finished as an undercover agent, but he could still be useful in any number of ways...if only he could shake of this mind-numbing heaviness...
Scorpia never forget. Scorpia never forgive.
He entered the office. Two people were sitting behind a smoked glass table. One was Julia Rothman, and Ash felt a little relieved. She too had lost to the Rider boy. She was a woman. She would be merciful. The other man was Doctor Three, the world expert on torture. Slowly Ash took his seat. His superiors gazed serenely away and refused to speak. Finally Ash growled:
'You have an assignment for me?'
'Yes,' Julia Rothman confirmed. 'A simple assassination. Routine. But before we begin with the briefing, I would like to introduce you to your partner for the mission.'
'If the job's so easy, why do I need a partner?'
'Ash, please. As soon as he arrives, I will explain everything.'
Ash waited. Behind him, the clock chimed five past. The door opened once again.
Ash saw the man framed in the doorway, and hope died. It was Yassen Gregorovich. So they knew. They knew his mental state. They knew he had failed. And now they were going to play with him, watch him suffer with this man who had ruined his life. This was the beginning of the end.
Yassen slid into the chair next to him and Ash suppressed a shudder. He glowered at the woman across the table. There would be no mercy from her. She was a snake, a demon. She was smiling.
'To answer your question, Ash. Firstly, Mr Gregorovich was recently injured in the field. This assignment will allow us to be sure that he is fit for operations.' Yassen stared indifferently ahead. 'Secondly, this mission should be risk free, but there is one complication. The death must seem accidental. And the more guns in one town, the more accidents will happen.' She sighed theatrically.
Ash watched Yassen, his eyes black with hate. How does it feel, Gregorovich? he thought. How does it feel to be robbed of your health in the prime of life? It's what you deserve.
'Who is the target?' Yassen asked.
'Have you ever heard of Clara Foster?' Doctor Three said. He produced a colour photograph and slid it across the table. It showed a girl of sixteen or seventeen, with thick dark hair, walking along a leafy road. The girl was in school uniform. She was half-turned, mouth open as if to speak. She might have been talking to the tall, brown-haired figure half-in and half-out of the picture. It was hard to tell; all the other people in the photograph were blurred.
'You don't need to worry about him,' Doctor Three said, noticing Ash peering at the blurred boy in the foreground. 'This photograph was taken as the target was coming out of school. The other figures are merely classmates.'
'What has she done?' Ash managed. He knew he could kill this girl, yet he felt sick.
'She is a writer and poet. Not particularly wealthy, but she has written a short novel which has gained her a little notice in the literary supplements, and has also published a volume of poetry. It is this poetry that has upset our client.'
'Some poetry,' muttered Ash.
'The man is a fanatic, certainly, but he has the money to pay and that is what matters to us. She criticises the tendency of the West towards self-loathing, points out that imperfect democracy is better than dictatorship, et cetera. But the content of her books and our client's opinions are irrelevant. lives in a small town and she is not a risk taker, so you will have to give some thought to how you will achieve your objective. You will fly over from Rome as soon as there is a lull in our more demanding operations. You will stake out her school and her home, and watch for an opportunity. Run her over or something.' Rothman and Doctor Three stood simultaneously.
'I have prepared a file for each of you,' Three said, handing each of them a folder. 'That is all. You may leave us.'
Yassen took his folder and rose fluidly. Ash stared in disappointment. The man was nowhere near dead. He was older, seasoned and cold. More deadly than ever. But as he turned away, Ash caught something in his eyes: the merest flicker of doubt. Just you wait, Gregorovich, he thought. You may have survived unscathed this time, but you're first serious injury always leaves its mark. You were a young man, and now you're not. From now on, your nerve will fail. It's the beginning of the end.
Both men stepped out into the September sun, and hurried away from each other as quickly as possible.
Miles away, in England, Clara Foster was practising the piano.
A/N: YES! My first fanfic chapter ever! I quite literally dashed this off in my lunch hour school, and it is a miracle I managed to upload because there are drills going off everywhere! If you can think of a better title, please say!
28/07/11: The one thing I can't really sort out is the ages. They need to be seventeen so that they can drive the Claramobile in later chapters, but if three years had passed since Eagle Strike Yassen would be more over his bullet wound than he is. If I was seriously re-writing I might cut out the car, but as it is, just try to role with it. Thanks, leiblings!