Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.

Alex took the steps two at a time.

He had escaped from the basement by knocking out a guard with the chair he had been tied to, using that same chair to smash the locking mechanism, and sprinting up the staircase while frantically searching for an exit. So far, no luck. An alarm blared through the building, but Alex paid it no heed- why should he? He knew the alarm was for his sake; someone must have spotted him and activated the alarm. His legs were starting to tire, and he almost tripped on a stair. He wasn't wearing shoes; they were taking when he was captured, along with all of his possesions. Every step he took jarred his knees and ankles, but thankfully he was still indoors, so there weren't any thorns or rocks.

At the next flat platform there was a door. It looked as if it blended into the wall and Alex almost ran straight past it. As it were, his hand flailed out and smacked the handle- rather hard, in fact, his hand was throbbing and a trickle of blood ran between his second and third fingers. He immediately turned the handle, and then cursed. It was locked, why wouldn't it be? This time, he didn't have his trusty sidekick- a wooden chair- to smash it for him. He doubted the chair would work, anyway. This lock looked much sturdier. He felt around the door and deduced there was no way in. He would have to get going soon if he didn't want to be caught. He slumped his shoulders in defeat, but mentally steeled himself for the mad dash up the stairs. He was about to take off when the door was thrown open from the inside, hitting him in the back of the head. It hurt like no other, but he had no time to dwell on the pain. He immediately pulled the door the rest of the way open, grabbed the man inside by the collar, thrust him in the threshold and slammed the heavy door on him. Alex cringed when he heard a crunch and a strangled cry from the man, but pushed him away, slipped into the room, and closed and locked the door.

Panting, Alex took a quick inventory of the room: it appeared to be an office. There was a mahogany desk against the right hand wall and a bookcase on the other. There was a grey carpet and cream colored walls. Very nondescript. The sound of the alarm was very diminished and Alex found himself relaxing and strolling over to the desk, giving his heart rate some time to calm down. On the desk, there was a basket and some files. In the basket there was a watch, an iPhone, and a pair of trainers, among other things. With a jolt, Alex realized they were all his; they had been confiscated when his cover was blown. He gingerly reached into the bowl and pulled out the watch, turning it over and pulling off the back. Underneath was a button to signal MI6, which he immediately pressed. He quicky pulled his shoes on, despite his lack of socks, and shoved the iPhone in his pocket. He noticed a granola bar on the other side and hurriedly unwrapped it, shoving it into his mouth. He hadn't been fed while he was captured, so even though the granola bar tasted like cardboard, he ate it ravenously.

Alex was still chewing the granola bar when he heard shouts. He cursed, which caused food to spew from his mouth. He desperately looked around for any exits other than the door. His eyes fell on the window. He quickly strapped on his backpack from the basket and as a last minute thought shoved some files in it from the desk. With one last glance toward the door, he unlatched the window. A sudden wave of heat hit him, he had forgotten how hot it was here. He took one last deep breath and crawled through, his whole body protesting, hand and head still smarting from their… ah… encounter with the door. He knew that he was about seven stories up, but wouldn't let that shake his resolve.

He started inching his way down the building. Thankfully, the building had a jagged surface- it looked like it had been haphazardly thrown together with bricks about seventy years ago. It was a stark contrast to the inside of the building. While the outside looked quaint and sloppy, the inside was cold, clinical, and very modern.

As Alex made his way down the building he placed his feet and hands meticulously. One wrong move and he would plummet to the street below, breaking several bones, if not dying, in the process. A bead of sweat ran down his face. Right hand, left hand, left foot right foot. Over and over. Alex reached a window and some part of his brain wondered why he hadn't seen it in his earlier escapade. Perhaps there was a hidden door. He was tempted to try and go in, but his sense of self-preservation overruled his curiosity.

Right hand, left hand, left foot, right foot. Alex was now about 5 stories above the ground. Right hand, left hand, left foot, right foot. He was glad he had found his shoes. Without them, his feet would probably be bleeding by now. Mrs. Jones said there would be an extraction team within a thirty mile radius, and Alex had contacted MI6 about ten minutes ago. He could only hope she wan't lying like was so often the case.

Right hand, left hand, left foot, right foot. Three stories. It was funny how adrenaline worked. Not too long ago, Alex's heart had been racing, his mind scrambled, breath coming in short gasps. Now, he was perfectly calm, even though he was in a more perilous situation. He even had time for irrevelant thoughts: his hand hurt, his head hurt. The small rivulet of blood snaking its way down his arm. He had some granola bar stuck in his teeth. What could be in those files. That girl he ran into a couple days ago- that's probably how he blew his cover. Stupid hero complex. At the moment, he was immensely grateful Ian had taken him rock climbing. Right hand, left hand, left foot, ri-

…Falling. Mocking. Fear. Thud, snap, blurry… fading… No. Alex would not let himself pass out. He woozily tried to get to his feet, but immediately the pain shooting up his left leg stopped him. He started to army crawl away, his vision starting to go dark as he put pressure on his right arm. Fight through, fight through. Left arm... Right- clench teeth, wince… left arm… he somehow managed to slither around a corner and collapse against someone's trash.

Ow. Damage: left leg… thigh? Right ankle. Right hand, wrist, arm… ow. Head. Blurry vision. Blood. Cringe. Swearing…weaker… footsteps… no…

Blackness._

A/N. Fixed it:) Please review. The next update will be the next time I can get on a computer... Don't know when that will be. Constructive criticism would be much appreciated. And there might actually be some dialogue in the next chapter:)