A/N: So apparently I'm getting better at updating, touch wood. Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews, especially MercurialInk for what is probably the longest review I've ever received. It was epic.
WARNINGS: Swearing, violence reference to character death, insults to goats.
DISCLAIMER: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.
-o-O-o-
He was pulled roughly from sleep by grasping, groping hands. He struggled, lashing out but, still sleepy and uncoordinated, it was all too easy for his assailants to overpower him and handcuff his hands behind his back.
"For fuck's sake," cursed a voice as he lashed out with a foot. "Stop struggling, boy. We're not going to hurt you!"
Alex wasn't stupid enough to take their word for it, but he did stop struggling, eventually rising to his feet with the aid of an unknown hand under his elbow.
Wolf was still on the bed, looking warily at the gun targeted between his eyes.
"Come along, boy," said the man who had spoken before. "The boss wants to see you."
-o-O-o-
He managed to somehow gain a pair of trousers on the way, but the chill in the air raised goose bumps on his bare arms and chest as he as pushed into a crowded room. It was lined with equipment and the wall at the back was given over to TV screens, each showing a different room.
"Mr Rider," said a man, turning way from the equipment. "How nice of you to join us."
"I guess that you would be 'the boss'," drawled Alex. "Tell me, why do all villains seem to think that acting politely when they introduce themselves will make up for trying to cut you up later?"
The man simply laughed.
"You guessed right," he said after a moment. "I am... 'the boss'. My name is Max Abana."
"Great," said Alex. "Am I supposed to have heard of you?"
"I hope not," said the man. "We wouldn't be very good if everyone knew who we were, would it?"
Alex sighed. "Can we please just get to the point? I know all of this is traditional, something you all seem to love, but I've been through this far too many times and, frankly, it's boring."
Abana raised his eyebrows. "Ok," he said, after a moment. "Let's cut to the chase. In the last two years, MI6 has become infinitely more effective and we've been hearing rumours of a 'secret weapon' and, though most of the time the speakers seemed to be joking, we came to the conclusion that this secret weapon actually existed and we began to try to track it down. After all, we don't want MI6 to have a significant advantage. We kidnapped agents but none seemed to know what we were talking about. Some seemed to have an idea, but we didn't believe them when they talked of a rumour of a teenager. We searched for months, but no one could tell us anything until we came across someone who, after several sessions with our interrogation expert, gave us a name. Alex Rider. You."
Abana paused for a moment to eye the half-naked teenager in front of him. His face was expressionless. Muscles lightly covered him, apparent but not completely overwhelming, and not hiding the scars that disfigured his skin, either. He had the grace and menace of a predator waiting to spring. Looking at him, Abana could well believe the rumours.
"Imagine our surprise when we discovered that you did exist and were, as we had been led to believe, a teenager. We even got an address after Wilson found a lead. Though I hear the man is now dead. A pity for you that he wasn't killed a few hours earlier. We know a lot about you, Alex Rider. We know you have been living under the name of Greg for the last few months. We know you worked at the Fox and Hen under that name and shared a flat with a boy-whore named Yuri."
Suddenly Alex lunged forward, only to be restrained by the men standing behind him.
"What have you done to him, you bastard?" he demanded.
Abana looked surprised. "We haven't done anything to him. An apparently random mugger waylaid him in an alley the night before last and stole his house keys. Poor Yuri was found a few hours later and taken to hospital."
"You fucking bastard," hissed Alex, his voice low with menace.
"Oh dear," said Abana. "I see you're lacking in the creativity front."
"You're the son of a goat who doesn't have the basic decency to curl up under a rock and die. You deserve to have your ball sack cut off and shoved so far down your throat that you choke on it." Alex paused and sneered at his captor. "Creative enough for you?"
Again the man laughed. "Creative indeed. But you have no need to worry about Yuri. He has already been released from hospital. The only people we have seriously hurt are your soldier friend – apologise to him for the bullet wound when you next see him, will you? We really don't support random violence, but he was fighting so – and Ben Daniels, the agent."
Alex froze. "Where is the agent, now?" he asked, his voice emotionless in an attempt to hide his fear.
"I'm afraid we had to kill him. There really was no chance of him returning to full health – our interrogator is really quite skilled – and it seemed cruel to keep him in captivity when we had no further use for him. And, of course, we couldn't just release him. It really was a kindness."
Alex didn't snarl. He didn't break down and cry. He didn't even glare at the man. He simply stood there, pushing his grief aside until such a time as he could get revenge on this twisted, self-righteous man in front of him. He wouldn't show any weakness in front of Ben's murderer.
"So you're going to kill me," he said, heavily.
"Of course we're not," said Abana, apparently surprised.
"Wait," said a deadly, familiar voice from the corner, "What?"
Alex span around.
"You!" he exclaimed. "What... How... What are you doing here?"
The newcomer sneered. "I work here... Alex."
"Yes," said Abana, thoughtfully, "Wilson did mention that he knew you."
"You could say that," said Alex, his eyes narrowing as he observed his former landlord.
"I thought the plan was to kill the brat," said Wilson, his voice heavy with anger and loathing.
"After we went to all this trouble to capture him?" asked Abana, surprised. "Why would you think that? But don't worry, Wilson, you'll have your chance at him. We need to make him submit before we can make him work for us."
"Work for you?" said Alex, incredulously. "Never going to happen. Sorry. You beat up, shoot and kidnap my friends. You sell weapons and are obviously an enemy of the state if MI6 busted the deal – even though you claim they know next to nothing about you. And I'm pretty goddamn certain you're going to do something horrible to me – people generally do."
Abana sighed. "I really was hoping you'd just agree. Oh well, at least Wilson will be happy to see you suffer."
"See?" protested Wilson.
"Sorry, but you're too emotionally involved. We can't afford any mistakes," said Abana. "We'll be giving Alex to Krugar to work over, I'm afraid, but I'm sure he would welcome spectators."
Wilson pursed his lips slightly, but nodded.
"Good. If you would be so kind as to take Alex to him? I know that Krugar is looking forward to his visitor."
-o-O-o-
Alex was in a well lit room. The walls and floor were white and covered in tiles. There was a drain in the centre. Alex was in the perfect position to see it – he was hanging right above it, after all. The blood was rushing to his head and he could barely feel his feet. His arms were hanging below him, tied together and weighted down, and he was swinging gently.
Krugar would be here in a second. Wilson had told him so. Had hissed it at him, along with a comment about how much he was looking forward to hearing him scream. Alex had ignored him. The taunts of someone who simply couldn't let things go were hardly his top priority at the moment.
The door opened and Alex tried to twist around to see the new comer, but all he managed to do was set himself swinging again.
A pair of hands, gripping either side of his waist, stilled him.
A man walked into his view.
"Krugar, I presume?" said Alex.
"Of course," said the man. Alex recognised his voice as the man from the apartment. "I'd shake your hand but I think it might be... awkward."
"Probably," said Alex. It was a struggle to talk - hard enough to simply breathe with his entire body weight painfully stretching out his torso, compressing his lungs and making his diaphragm work twice as hard.
"Now, I'm going to give you one more opportunity to give the right answer," he said, crouching down so that his head was level with Alex's. "Will you work for us?"
"Fuck... you..." said Alex, in a tight voice, trying to draw in a deep breath but only able to speed his shallow breathing.
"If that's the way you feel..." said Krugar, a small smile playing on his lips.
He never even saw it coming. There was simply a small hiss in the air behind him and a burning pain across his back as something dug deep into his flesh.
Alex yelled.
Krugar laughed and stood up. "I said Wilson could have the first batch. I hope you don't mind, do you, Alex?"
Alex could only groan, the pain having driven all the air from his lungs.
Krugar chuckled again. "Twenty lashes should do to start with, Wilson."
The whip crashed down again.
-o-O-o-
A/N: So I've got a friend coming over for a few days tomorrow, so I won't be updating until the second half of the week, but if I get lots of nice reviews, I'll probably be motivated enough to have the chapter out before Friday!
(Yeah, I'm trying to bribe you into reviewing. Is it working?)
