Happy New Years! As per usual, review replies are on my profile. Speaking of which, thanks for all the reviews and stuff! Like, 31 reviews has to be some kind of milestone- if not, I just made it one. Trust me, I would not have thought up/wrote the past couple ones without you guys. FYI: K-Unit will enter not the next chapter, but the next one after that (I'll explain later); I already have some more plans for them later.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.
O-o-O-o-O
"I am not pleased with your recent behavior, Alex."
The boy cringed at the sharp tone, head drooping low.
After all this- his ingenious plan failing and him being caught- he hated the aftermath; Blunt stating and restating his authority and power over him, critiquing him and-and punishing him.
Blunt made him feel like a-an animal.
A dog on a leash- following the orders of its master.
"We could easily mark you as a rogue," Blunt continued. "Or blacklist and discard you."
Discard. Alex's jaw clenched. Discard, like he was- like he was some sort of thing, merely a piece of equipment Blunt could just use and throw away.
Discard, like he wasn't even a human being.
"Even on this charge alone, we could arrest you on multiple accounts of terrorism and murder."
Yeah, right.
Murder charges.
Terrorism.
It wasn't like he had saved the world several times over, not to mention the countless lives.
The teen didn't dare say it aloud- and he held back the hysterical laughter.
"However, we have generously decided to drop all charges."
Alex stared.
Wait.
Was Blunt... actually suggesting that he was supposed to thank him? Like hell he was.
Alan Blunt drummed his fingers on the grey desk, methodically studying his agent. "Of course, this little 'stunt' of yours will not go without punishment."
The teen swallowed, bracing himself.
Blunt was a harsh master- he was, really, a master.
His master.
The Director of MI6 solely and completely owned him; like a puppet on strings, Blunt controlled his every move.
The boy closed his eyes, fear and dread of the inevitable.
It would be a mission- multiple missions, suicide missions.
Alan Blunt leaned forward, oozing power. "I assure you, Alex, in one weeks' time, you will no longer waste this agency's time with your futile escape attempts."
The teen froze.
The lips twitched into a(n almost) smile. "In fact, I don't believe you would be foolish enough to even try."
Alex's mind raced, trying to figure out what was going to happen to him.
How would they do it?
Or, worse still, what would they do to him?
They were low enough for torture, he knew, but what kind would leave him broken (you're already broken), but of still use to them?
Or-
The spy tensed.
Training.
One week of time to train him to obey orders, to be completely and totally obedient to the intelligence agency- something they had strived for in the beginning, something that Blunt had gotten so close to succeeding in.
Blunt continued to assess his agent, taking into account every reaction and emotion of the boy- no matter how minimal it seemed. "Dismissed."
Two agents entered, regarding the teen with a look of disdain and disgust, momentarily unclipping the cuffs, hauling him out of the chair. Alex winced, glaring as the steel returned to his wrists, which was hell on his shoulder, thank you very much.
Alex still felt Blunt's eyes on his back as he left the room.
The spy contemplated running again- but his brilliant plan had already failed, and winging it certainly wasn't an option- especially with his arms cuffed behind his back and a dislocated shoulder, not to mention the other injuries MI6 had been so kind to give him.
Still, as Alex cautiously eyed the hands hovering over those dreaded tasers, he could imagine the powerful back-kick he could easily deliver to a soft spot before they stopped him.
The agent rolled his eyes. "Forget it, kid."
Alex scowled, merely allowing to agents to escort him down the dreary corridors.
Pieces clicked into place.
They were taking him... to his room.
It made him sick to think that he actually lived at the Bank, but his house had been recently sold, and offering him the money for renting a flat hadn't been on MI6's top priority list. Instead, he had to deal with a simple basement room- lightly carpeted, a small bathroom, and a hospital-like cot.
At least it was better than the Bank's holding cells or interrogation rooms- he had been to both multiple times, and he didn't have good memories to go along with them.
The agents led him into the room; the head agent released the handcuffs.
Alex watched as they left, locking the door behind them; he was puzzled.
If this wasn't training, or torture... what was it?
O-o-O-o-O
The spy jolted awake as the door opened; the light flickered on abruptly.
Alex rolled off the bed, dropping into defense stance, shaking himself awake as the room flooded with MI6 agents.
He only managed to get a few hits in before he was stunned by a taser on a low setting.
The teen panicked, feeling helpless as more hands pushed him down.
"Quiet, Rider. We had orders to restrain you," the lead agent smoothly cut in. "And we aren't taking you anywhere."
The boy growled. Restrained? For what, exactly?
It didn't matter- only that Alex knew he needed to get out.
He was still struggling (it was useless- damn those tasers), even as rough hands pulled him up, forcing him back in the cot on his stomach, damaged shoulder screaming agony as his arms were locked above him, handcuffed to the bar that acted as a headstead.
The teen twisted about, eyes widening when he saw another person enter the room, holding a tray of medical supplies. "No! Please, I-"
Someone brought out a gag, and the boy was silenced, glaring as it tightened around his mouth.
He had an inkling of what they were going to do- but he couldn't be sure.
Danger! His instincts screamed at him. Threat!
The agents held him down as his shirt was torn off of him, and the Evil MI6 Agent came closer, and he saw the contents of the tray, it-it had-
Antiseptic.
A scalpel.
Bandages.
Needle.
Thread.
He took in a shuddering breath-
A small pair of pliers.
And-and he knew he wouldn't see it, but- a small chip, the size of a grain of rice.
The kind of chips used on cats and dogs, except it didn't just have information on a scanner- it was...
A tracker.
Because they weren't trying to take anything out.
They were putting something in, and they would specifically choose a place where it would be nearly impossible to find, or retrieve- and definitely not something he could take out himself (and they knew he didn't have anyone to take it out, let alone someone he actually trusted).
It wouldn't be hard- scalpels would easily make the cut, and needle-like pliers could insert things deep- he wouldn't ever find it.
The simple tracker would easily fix MI6's runaway spy- it was the end of his freedom, the end of any chance of him ever being free of MI6.
MI6 could, and would track his every move, and-and it was only another way for him to prove and confirm that they owned him. Blunt had already told him multiple times that Alex was their property, but inserting a chip like that, like he was some sort of animal, or machine that was used by MI6...
The worst thing was, it wouldn't even hurt that much- not painfully, anyway. It was ironic, really. His back had sustained far worse things, but this chip would leave the deepest scar, that he was-
Alex's breaths quickened, hyperventilating as the EMA bent over him with a scalpel.
The boy tensed, flinching as the blade cut two lines on his right shoulder, criss-cross.
He grew more frenzied, wild when the EMA switched out the scalpel for the pliers, his back arching away from the device that held the tracker; the spy heaved, trying his last desperate (useless) chance for freedom, but the agents easily controlled him.
He gasped in pain as the pliers dug into his shoulder, the gag muffling any noise made.
Suddenly, it was done.
The EMA applied several stitches, cleaning and bandaging the small wound.
The boy recoiled away from the harsh hands; he closed his eyes, drained.
O-o-O-o-O
The spy stayed under constant guard for the next week, the cuffs only removed for short restroom and meal breaks.
He spent most of the time resting, trying to sleep. Alex knew as soon as the cut was healed Blunt was going to ship him off to god-knows-where, it was best to take advantage of the 'leave' he was given (Blunt certainly had a twisted sense of humor).
Gradually, the cut healed over, and the guards left.
As soon as he was sure he was alone, Alex examined the stitches. He ran his hand over the cut, looking at the X that would forever be burned into his memory- that he was being monitored, tracked, for the rest of his life.
His freedom was gone.
His last hope... shattered- the hope that, someday, he would leave eventually leave the spy world for good.
O-o-O-o-O
Alex felt numb.
Numb and detached.
He didn't feel connected to the world- how had he gotten this way?
Could two years really change people that fast?
He forced himself to stop- just... stop.
There was no need to look at past mistakes, to wallow in self pity- he had the present to think about.
Or the future.
The teen almost laughed aloud. His future was a bullet to the head.
His future was completing suicide missions until MI6 decided he wasn't useful anymore, when they would put him down (like a dog- except they wouldn't kill him to put him out of his misery).
His future was- this time he did laugh, hysterical and insane. Hell, what was he talking about? He didn't even have a future.
Even when the agents came for him exactly one week later, he didn't fight.
He didn't fight when they led him to the dreaded room- the office in which it had all started.
He didn't fight when the agents led him to the chair; he didn't even look at them as they left- leaving him to his master.
"Have learned your lesson, Alex?"
The broken boy didn't look up. "Yes, sir," he answered quietly.
Quiet and submissive.
Blunt continued to observe him, as if he was merely an experiment- one that he himself had conducted. "Very good." His lips twitched. "Do you know what happens when a dog disobeys its master?"
The teen paled, mouth dry.
Alan Blunt continued. "The master yanks on the leash- and, of course, a punishment is given." A pause. "Is this understood?"
Alex closed his eyes. "Yes, sir."
"You have disobeyed me, Alex. You may have learned your lesson, but you must suffer under the consequences of your actions... And, as you know, the consequences of a spy are quite severe. The collar has been made, but it is time for the leash to be yanked..."
O-o-O-o-O
You will be easy to track down. In the world of spies and espionage, there is no such thing as hiding: your enemies will always find you. And when they do, you will pay for your disobedience.
O-o-O-o-O
Thoughts?