DISCLAIMER: The fairies said I owned Alex Rider. They lied.
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Alex was unable to sleep - the events of his meeting with MI6 were weighing heavily on his mind. It was the early hours of the morning – he reckoned about half past five. The darkness still shrouded the unveiled windows, though the moon had set during Alex's brief, fitful sleep and the stars were hidden by the first lightening of darkness to dawn. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, and the morning larks twittered and trilled happily outside his window. It seemed the perfect blend of night and day.
Twilight.
The thought echoed around Alex's head. This was where he lived his life, unable to fully flourish in the light, unwilling to dwell in the dark. It was a delicate balance. He was not a murderer, and yet he had killed people. He had come to terms with this and had finally realised, after months of nightmares and several sessions with a psychiatrist, that it wasn't his fault. But what MI6 were now asking him to do...
Was it really evil to kill for your country? Could one life ended deliberately really be justified by countless others saved? It all came down to the age-old question: can the ends justify the means? Alex guessed it was so, but would he be able to live with himself knowing that he had willingly pulled the trigger and ended someone's life? Someone's son would die, possibly someone's father, friend, lover. The list was endless. How many people would grieve – unknowing of why the man had died? How many times would his name be cursed with hatred and anguish if he accepted? Just how much of his soul was Alex willing to sacrifice for his country?
It would be different this time – they had promised that. They would not blackmail him; he would receive proper medical treatment and therapy sessions if he needed, or wanted, them; they would not pull him out of school for weeks at a time with no explanation and no warning. He had nearly failed his GCSE's because of them and, if they hadn't stopped using him when they did, he almost certainly would have done. They had promised that the same would not happen with his A-levels. They wanted him to become a fully fledged Agent – the youngest on record.
And Alex had to admit he was tempted. He had enjoyed sinking back into normal life, but he had not been very successful. He no longer flinched at loud noises and he no longer screamed out in fear and pain in night but the watchfulness was still there. It was as if he was waiting for his past to catch up with him. And – though he was loath to admit it – everything seemed just a little more grey without it. He needed the thrill of it, the pride that came from succeeding where others would fail, the hope that came from saving lives. He sighed and rolled over to look at his clock. The red, digital screen flashed at him, telling him that it had just turned six o'clock. He would not get any more sleep now. He rolled out of bed and headed towards the shower, his mind still heavy with thought. Would he actually be able to do it? Physically, yes, he remembered only too well the perfect bulls-eyes he had shot at Scorpia, but he hadn't been able to shoot Mrs Jones when ordered to...
But surely this was different? This would be saving lives – and no matter how much MI6 had lied and manipulated him, he knew that they had only done what was in the direct interests of Britain. And he was older now – not some fourteen year old kid who had seen too much and been left broken by it, but a young man, with the bravery to risk death and the determination to see the job done. He could do this.
Alex Rider, Agent.
It didn't sound completely unrealistic. He knew he would probably become an agent, it was a certainty that seemed to have sunk into his very bones, but could he become what they wanted?
Alex Rider... assassin.
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A/N: Sorry it's short! And thanks to everyone for all your wonderful reviews... they make me so happy! (hint hint, nudge nudge... the button is right there)