(A/N) Thank you all for being patient with me. I know, I'm horrible. I have many valid excuses but I'm sure none of you want to hear them! So, before the pitchforks make an appearance… On to the next chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Alex Rider.
His hands were asleep. They had been tied behind his back and now, since he was lying with them pinned underneath him, they were tingling. Alex felt a rhythmic rocking—so he was in a car.
At that moment, full consciousness reappeared and he realized he was in a trunk! He tried not to panic, he really did. But recently, he had developed claustrophobia. His mandated psychiatrist said it was because of PTSD, but what did they know?
He took some deep breaths, breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth just like he'd been taught. It didn't help. And it didn't change the fact that he couldn't move. His breathing increased, until he was on the verge of hyperventilating.
Luckily, at that moment the car slowed to a stop and the engine shut off. For a moment it was eerily silent. But then he heard car doors opening and the sound of feet on gravel. He only had to wait a moment before the trunk was being opened.
He looked up to see a mask. A man, about 6 foot, stood above him with a twisted-looking clown mask. He was yanked out before he could make a sound. That was when he saw the other 2 cars and the other men, or should he say clowns. The masks were definitely unnerving him, but he tried not to let it show.
"Are you trying to find the freak show?' Cause you lot redefine the word ugly," he tried to mask his rising fear with his sarcastic wit.
No response, just silent, staring masks. Alex looked around, trying to avoid the masks, and saw that they were in an empty gravel parking lot. There was nothing else.
One of the men inched forward and Alex immediately tensed up, preparing to fight. That option was quickly shut down however when he, and his 11 companions brought out their guns. "Woah guys! There's no need for that!" but he knew it was useless.
In that moment he felt a bone-tired weariness come over him. There was nothing he could do. Alex sighed; he was backed into a corner with no escape. He had no gadgets and no gun. No one was coming to help him and a dozen trained agents were slinking towards him, guns drawn.
His hands were tied and he was tired and all he wanted to do was collapse.
He knew when to accept defeat and the other men knew it too.
One man put away his gun and pulled out a knife. The others kept their guns trained on him, unflinchingly. Alex gulped, this was it. He was going to die. He was going to die right here, right now in an empty parking lot. He blinked away the moisture in his eyes, and stood straight. If he was going to die, he was going to die with his dignity.
The man with the knife slowly approached him but instead of stabbing him in the chest, like Alex assumed he would. He grabbed Alex's arm. He held it in an iron-clad grip and then used the knife to cut deep into the flesh below the elbow.
Alex gasped and tried to pull away but his hands were still tied and the man's grip held him steady. Now the man was digging around the wound—poking and prodding as if looking for something. Then, with one more sharp prod the man hit something. Alex winced, trying to keep back tears as the object shifted in his arm.
And out of his wound came a very small, metal contraption. A tracking device, Alex thought through the pain. But when did he…? Of course, MI6.
Once it was removed, the man dropped it to the ground and without so much as a second of hesitation, crushed it under his foot.
The man, the leader, he presumed, then turned to Alex again. He pointed at Alex and then the trunk of the car again. And Alex understood, but there was no way in hell he was willingly climbing back into that trunk. "No, I don't want to get in the trunk."
The leader repeated the motion again, and again Alex resisted.
Heavy arms encircled him from behind and tried to force him in to the trunk but blind panic came over Alex and he thrashed and screamed wildly, spitting obscenities.
Finally, almost blessedly, a damp rag was placed over his mouth and nose and within seconds he was yet again unconscious, arm bleeding sluggishly.
(A/N) So I'm kinda notorious for short chapters but I assure you I am trying really hard to make them longer. I just love those cliffhangers and if the chapter continues it's not really a cliffhanger… but enough of me. Please review!
