DISCLAIMER: If you seriously think that I own Alex Rider, and am, indeed, Anthony Horowitz, and taking precious Alex Rider-writing-time to write a fanfiction, you must be out of your mind!

NEVER THE SAME

Chapter Four: Inhospitable Revelations

Alex woke. This time, it was night. Complete and udder silence blanketed him. A small pill and a glass of water lay at his bedside. He gulped down the water thirstily. He was confused, so confused. He wanted Jack. Wanted London. Wanted home. The last couple of days were a blur for Alex. The men, the shootings, the rehabilitation center: all was jumbled up and merged together; everything was in one continuous blur.

A firm knock on his door interrupted Alex from his thoughts. To his surprise, Mr. Lottswich entered the room and sat in the same chair he'd sat in the previous day.

Or was it this afternoon? Alex wondered. He couldn't remember.

"Hello, Alex," Mr. Lottswich spoke softly. "I'm glad to see you're awake again. Now that you're rested up a bit, I believe you may have some questions for me."

Alex nodded. He couldn't quite seem to get his thoughts together. "Why am I here?" He said it quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the silence of the hospital.

"Ah, as I believe I have previously mentioned, you were injured at school. Surely, you remember?"

Alex nodded again. But, thinking back, that is all he remembered; two shots than darkness. He barely had recollection of the shooter at all.

"Opal Rehabilitation Center," Mr. Lottswich continued, "Is not a typical hospital. Much like St. Dominic's – as I recall you attending before – only certain people are admitted, but ORC has a unique healing treatment. Visitors are not allowed in the facility: so patients can recover as quickly and comfortably as possible. It's like a two-week holiday, per se. And, few – outside of the hospital staff, of course – are aware of its existence, so patients get the individual attention they need."

"Then how did I get here?"

"Well, Alex, Mr. Alan Blunt, himself, requested your admittance here at ORC. I wonder," Mr. Lottswich glanced at Alex quizzically, "Why such a superior of Britain's own military intelligence would be so interested in the welfare of a fourteen-year-old boy." He raised his eyebrows significantly, letting out a resounding "Hmm?"

Alex didn't respond, for, in fact, he didn't quite know what to say.

"Of course," Mr. Lottswich continued. "It isn't any of my business. If one of Britain's top M16 leaders seeks the comfort and wellbeing of anyone – much less a boy – so be it! I just hope you have a splendid time during the next two weeks of your stay here." His voice was falsely cheery, resembling much of a hotel's front desk attendant.

Mr. Lottswich stood up and gave Alex a quick pat on the shoulder. "Now if you need anything, just give a ring." His features darkened, his smile twisting into a warning scowl. "And don't leave the room without permission or without being accompanied by the staff." Mr. Lottswich's smile returned. "Oh, you better take this," he reached over and picked up the small white pill. "It'll relieve the pain and help you get to sleep faster." And, as quickly as he appeared, he left.

The pill worked. It hadn't been two minutes after Mr. Lottswich left when Alex's head hit the pillow. However, when he woke, Alex felt as groggy as he the day before. His head was still cloudy, and Alex couldn't make sense out of a lot. It took a few minutes before his surroundings took effect on him and he remembered the events of the past couple days.

When will be able to get out of here? Alex wondered, before recalling that Mr. Lottswich had said two weeks. Two entire weeks of missed school! I'll be working through Easter holiday to catch up! So much for a holiday!

Alex was in a bad mood. He was confined to this room for two weeks. Besides, Alex had always hated hospitals; they were always bringers of negative news, shock, and despair. Alex, being a London lad, couldn't get used to the crisp, clean air of the hospital.

Alex was desperate for the time. Upon glancing out his high window, he noticed the sky was still dark. It took a moment for him to focus on the clock on his bedside table. The time was 6:02.

The sun will be rising soon, Alex thought absentmindedly. In truth, Alex cared not two hoots about the sunrise, but, he was bored, and besides, sunrises were pretty. These pain relievers aren't much of a help! He winced as a streak of pain seared through his body. And they aren't giving me much sleep, either! Alex sighed and settled somewhat comfortably in his pillows.

Time passed, but Alex wasn't sure how much. It could have been days. Weeks, for all he knew! Alex felt dazed; his movements were bleary and unsteady. He had tried telling Dr. Martin of this at his last "check-up," but the doctor paid him no mind.

"Dr. Martin," Alex had called when the doctor was filling out papers.

"Mmmm?" The doctor hadn't even looked up.

"I've been feeling really groggy lately. Surely I need to move around, get my blood pumping." Alex was so sure that he would feel better if only he was allowed the chance to walk around; he had been lying on his back for seemingly forever.

Dr. Martin shook his head, reassuring him that he needed rest. But, Alex wasn't convinced. However, he'd suspected that the doctor was right. Dr. Martin would know; he was a doctor.

Dr. Martin seemed irritated, so Alex didn't ask him prod him any longer with his questions. The doctor meant well, and Alex knew that he wasn't agitated with Alex, per se, but with patients who questioned his judgment.

The next time Alex woke, he knew only one feeling: boredom. He'd been in dull situations before – namely, in the classroom – but he'd never before had he felt such a suppressing urge to do something. Alex could finally appreciate the meaning of the phrase: bored out of his mind.

So, Alex decided that it was in his best interest to defy the doctor's wishes. Today, he was going to get up and do something. And, the best thing to do in a hospital was to explore. Curiosity was a natural feeling to Alex, and being stuck in a building that was unknown to him certainly sparked some interest in him.

He'd waited out the day. Alex was so excited – and nervous – about his plans of exploration that he picked at his lunchtime meal. Alex was adventurous, even for a boy his age, and not too many adventures had come upon him in a seemingly long time.

So, when nighttime came, Alex slipped out of bed and stood on the cool, tiled floors. For a few stomach-lurching seconds, Alex teetered on his feet. He abruptly sat on the edge of his bed, took a few deep breaths and steadied his beating heart. Every breath shot intense waves of pain from his chest down his arms, but he refused to sink into the pain, in sake of losing the "thrilling" adventure that lay before him.

After a few more tries (and after slipping on a robe), Alex walked steadily to the hospital door. He reached for the door handle, turned, and felt an agonizing tug that nearly escaped a cry of shock from Alex's lips. He looked down on his right arm, confused, and what met his eyes sent his excitement plummeting to the floor.

An IV protruded from a prick in his wrist. The IV was a flexible plastic tube, and an external portion of the catheter was taped to stay in place. Basically, Alex was connected to a portable – but not so discreet – wheeled cart. Alex's plan of exploring the hospital was no longer a possibility. Unless…

Alex wasn't quite sure about the proper removal of an IV, but he had to give it a try. Using the idea that seemed most sensible to him, Alex carefully ripped away the adhesive bandages, and simply – yet, gingerly – pulled the tube out of his wrist. It stung, but not unbearably so, and Alex placed the contraption on his bed.

Alex slipped into the hallway. He crouched low, but he needn't worry. Not a single person stood in the hall. However, Alex still stalked cautiously through the hallway, a tight ache in his lower chest that slowed his movements. Heavy footsteps – no doubt, a guard of some sort – temporarily froze Alex where he stood. After being released from his stupor, Alex slipped into a room right off from the hall. He closed the door, turned around, and his mouth gaped open.

There stood in front of him were rows upon rows of file cabinets, a large computer, plasma television set, and a large mahogany desk. Everything was prim, neat. The insane cleanliness didn't disturb him, but what did was a small, crude nameplate that neatly read: REMUS LOTTSWICH. For the second time in under two minutes Alex's jaw dropped.

He was standing in Mr. Lottswich's personal office.

Well, the spy in Alex reasoned. It would be such a shame to just leave. I'll just poke around a bit.

Alex was immediately drawn to a cluster of file cabinets that were labeled: PATIENT INFORMATION. The phrase, "Curiosity killed the cat," never really affected Alex. So, he went over to the cabinet that was tagged: R-T, and hesitantly open it. He thumbed through the various folders until he found the one he was looking for: RIDER, ALEXANDER. Alex pulled out the surprisingly thick folder between its neighbors: REAGAN, SAMUEL and RIGGIN, MATTHEW.

Alex quickly skimmed through the folder. Everything about Alex was there: from his birth certificate to a aerial snapshot of his home in Chelsea, and – Alex gasped – a immensely detailed record of all his missions for M16, including casualties and plans of action. Mr. Lottswich knew as much – and possibly more – about Alex as Alex did. It gave Ales the chills, and a flower of questions bloomed in his mind. Alex clearly recalled Mr. Lottswich wondering why Alex had been placed in such a top-secret, high-security hospital by Alan Blunt. Why did he ask if he already knew his relations with Blunt?

Alex a nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn't from the lack of lunch.

Alex reached for the door handle, anxious to leave, but a loud, clear voice stopped him.

"Thank you, Ms. Steele," Mr. Lottswich spoke from the hallway. "Make sure my patient know of my coming. I will arrive in a few minutes."

Alex knew he had only seconds. There was no way out, but, there was a way up. Alex ran to the great desk. As he was about to clamber on top of the sturdy wood, another manila folder caught his eye. RUTILUS LEO was the bold heading. Without hesitating and without losing stride, Alex slipped the folder under his robe, climbed up the vent, and replaced the vent covering literally milliseconds before Mr. Lottswich entered his office. If Remus Lottswich noticed the missing file, his face didn't show it.

Lottswich sauntered to the first cabinet and pulled out yet another folder. Alex squinted at the label – it said ALVAREZ, MARIO – while Lottswich thumbed through the files and muttered, "112." As quickly as he entered, Remus Lottswich left.

Alex clambered through the duct vents, following Lottswich by sound and sheer notion.

Finally, Mr. Lottswich entered a room – presumably room 112. Alex settled himself into a somewhat-comfortable position, peering through an open vent, the two folders digging into his thigh.

"Mr. Alvarez!" Lottswich announced cheerfully. "I'm afraid I have some quite dreadful news to tell you." Although, Lottswich didn't seem as if it was dreadful at all.

"What?" Alvarez asked fearfully, with a thick American accent. "What is it?"

"I'm afraid you're going to die," Lottswich spoke matter-of-factly.

Alvarez smiled, as if he'd thought Mr. Lottswich was joking. "The bullet wound isn't fatal, Mr. Lottswich. Dr. Martin already assured me of it."

"Of course, the bullets aren't fatal. In fact, they really aren't bullets at all, merely tranquilizers."

Alex tore off the bandages around his chest. Alas, his wounds were not of bullets, but of some nasty looking bruises. He wondered how he could've been so stupid. He surely knew what a bullet wound looked like.

Alvarez spoke Alex's thoughts. "How can that be? I know what a bullet wound looks like." He seemed confused.

"Then my little medication is working," Lottswich seemed amused. "Have you wondered why you seem so clear-headed today, but so confused and groggy the fast few?" Lottswich didn't wait for an answer. "Well, your IV helped me, oh, let's say, confuse you a bit."

Alvarez was speechless, as was Alex.

"And now that I'm going to kill you, I'll justify myself. You see, I am the leader of a, hmm, I guess you could call it an international criminal organization called, 'Rutilus Leo.'" Alex nearly cried out in shock. "We are basically unknown, even to your CIA leaders, but some suspicion has been aroused about us. Small acts – minor, seemingly natural disasters – have decreased some of the world's peace. But, my organization and I are a bit tired of being anonymous. Once I kill you, Rutilus Leo will be a household name in America, and I'm sure the death of Alex Rider will be cover news on the national newspapers." He smiled smugly. "Yes, indeed.

"Let me tell you the history of Rutilus Leo. At differing periods of my life, I belonged to all the major corporations of the world. Scorpia, Chinese Triads, Mafia, you name it; I was somehow involved in it. About, oh, say, ten years ago, I was getting tired of being an unrecognized, underpaid, unappreciated employee in the criminal business. I had potential. I could be famous, which, I must say, has always been a little 'goal' of mine. So, I high-tailed out, and laid the foundation of Rutilus Leo.

"I searched the world, literally, for respectable agents. I was choosy, I picked only the best. One way or another, I bribed each person to be a part of Rutilus Leo. Each were physically fit, intellectual, first-class assassins, and fluent in Latin. Yes, Mr. Alvarez, it was very essential for each to know Latin as if it were his native tongue. Latin is the mother of all languages, and that's the language on which Rutilus Leo runs. As of now, there are, including myself, there are one-hundred, ninety-six members of Rutilus Leo. There is one prime member from each and every, geographically speaking, country, excluding Antarctica.

"By killing the finest military-intelligence workers, namely, yourself, Mr. Alvarez, Rutilus Leo will be the greatest power the world has ever seen. Even the greatest countries, Russia, China, Britain, and, even America, will fall to its knees. Rutilus Leo will rule the world.

"That is why I am going to kill you, Mr. Alvarez. For the plans I – and the members of Rutilus Leo – have been working on day and night for the past decade to succeed, I shan't have any nuisances in my way. That is my story, in a nutshell, of course. So, before you die, Mr. Alvarez, any last reasonable requests?" Lottswich coolly glared at the petrified Mario Alvarez, an evil smile dancing on his lips.

"Please…please…Mr. Lottswich! Don't kill me! Mr. Lottswich…" Beads of sweat ran down the sides of Alvarez's face, his words slurred.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Alvarez, but I said reasonable request. And, I'm afraid, releasing you is not that reasonable."

All Alex wanted to do was jump from his hiding place and save the gallant CIA operative. But, that would have been in vain. Alex and Alvarez would've both been killed, and as long as Mr. Lottswich was unaware Alex's presence, the better chance Alex could report to M16 –

A shot rang out. The lifeless form of Mario Alvarez slumped over. In two strides, Remus Lottswich met the body, reassured himself there was no pulse, and made a quick call on a cell phone.

"Clean up Room 112," his voice was cold, deadly.

Alex stayed where he was, frozen in fear. Only one thought flashed in his head. He had to escape from the lethal man and the hospital that now held him in captivity.

Alex would never be the "same" again. He would never be a normal schoolboy, as he had hoped.

Alex Rider was a spy.

A/N: Phew! Finally got that completed!

I must say, Kudos to ThJaFl, who was the only person (who reviewed) to correctly hypothesize (big word, eh?) that the BULLETS were, in fact, TRANQUILIZERS. Congratulations!

Special thanks also to rmiller92, who made me aware of a HUGE mistake in Chapter Three. (If you didn't notice, I pretty much didn't completely finish a paragraph. It's fixed now, though).

Thank you to all who read my stories and review! My heart goes out to all of you!

So, why did you guys think? A little more exciting? Predictable? Unexpected?