Alex startles awake. He tries to recall the dream he had. He was running through a field, when he ran into a horse. He ate the horse, and looked up to find the horse eating him.

Alex shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the dream, albeit it was grim but it was still better than the other dreams he could've had and reality as a whole right now..

He wasn't sure what they were planning to do with him. The silver fox in comparison to other evil doers that had tied him up was by a long shot nice. That set him off even more the not knowing . The thoughts itched through his head, rattling away.

A long while after the silver fox had left ,a guard had come with a few crackers, an apple and a bottle of water, before blindfolding him and taking him to the toilet, tying him up again. Rinse. Repeat.

He had long since lost sense of how much time had passed but harboured a guess that it had been long enough. He had no hope that MI6 were coming for him. Even if they had been monitoring his apartment, and he did not show for a few day they may just assume he was spending the nights with someone or out on a bender. It was hardly out of character for him to do. This was just a simple surveillance mission they wouldn't be expecting him to get himself kidnapped, even if they did they would just expect him to get himself out.

The nerves in his shoulder was screaming in pain and he had long since lost the feeling in his hands. His muscles ached, and the tender flesh throbbed. Worsened by the violent shakes that overcame his body. A dull ache that began in his head and travelled to knot in his gut until it consumed him. His condition slowly progressed until he was left sweating profusely. The sweat matted in his hair and stuck to his forehead, he could feel it scratchy, irritating tickling his skin. Alex could feel each bead of sweat as it trailed down the side of his face, aided by the tremors that shook him. It was intensely irritating, like an itch you can't reach, an internal annoyance that was making him want to headbutt the wall. Drops of sweat appeared on his forehead, he could feel sweat trickling down his back, and oozing out of every pore and crevice. His shirt clung to him, suffocating and stifling him. He had never felt so tainted and disgusted by his own by-products. The shirt was torn open but the pieces did little to cool him, there was no breeze in this box. No air, it felt as if there was a tight band around his chest, pushing the air out of him.

He tried to stand up with the chair strapped to him like a turtle shell, his legs were weak and gave out from under him. He was slammed with a bout of nausea, His stomach constricted cruelly. He rose to his knees, the chair digging in to his back, his head bent, struggling to stay upright as the bile seemed hell bent on expelling every last drop of him, he was left dry heaving and coughing all of his mistakes until he's left with nothing but regrets.

Well as they say better up then down. The acid in his stomach churned with murderous intent. He went from feeling as if he was stuck in a car on a hot summers day to feeling cold as a corpse. His bones ached the chills coming in waves he could feel goosebumps erupted on his skin, his hairs standing up on end. He tried to shut his mind off, it would do him no good to start comparing himself to a corpse, he doesn't want to go down that route.

He awkwardly shuffled to the opposite side of the room, wanting to get away from the stench of vomit. Laying on the floor he stared at the cracks on the stone floor. He knew he should be feeling a multitude of emotions namely fight or flight, the need to get out of here, but the only emotion he could muster if pushed was a sense of loss. He was tired. He was just so tired. Bone weary.

The word slipped out from between his lips, awkwardly rolled off his tongue. So quiet he wasn't sure if he imagined it. Please.

It tumbled out of him like a prayer, a plea. Please. Pleasepleasepleaseplease.

He wasn't sure how long he had lain there muttering to himself. Allowing it all to pull him under, the sweating, the shaking, the pain. It consumed him and he let it. Feeling himself surrender back in to blissful darkness.

He wasn't sure what pulled him out of the haze. It was like a camera slowly coming in to focus. The mass jumble in his head gaining clarity until it became clear, he saw more than he had. Stark realisation. Enlightenment as such.

He didn't know when everything, his life, his now and future had spiralled so out of control. While there were a few defining moments, it was something that creeped in unnoticed until it mutated in to something unrecognisable but familiar.

It began slowly on sleepless nights, the constant tossing and turning until the early mining, the jumping at every shadow. Seeing jack in every red head that he laid eyes on. The guilt was eating him away.

It began with the nightmares.

Nightmares that would haunt him days and nights on end, echoing in his mind, allowing no respite. Nightmares that would grip his heart and twist it leaving him dizzy, short of breath.

His dreams were jumbled, spinning around and around saturated with fear and confusion. He would be running through the darkness, chased by known enemies, ones he had already disposed of. He would run endlessly in circles always trying to grasp a thin sliver of light that would always elude him no matter how fast he ran or how high he jumped. Knowing that if he lost sight of the light he would be left in the darkness, he ran and ran for the light.

Other times numerous faces floated behind his eyelid, their bodies grotesque, their faces paling and the light slowing dimming in their eyes whilst the pool of blood around them widened until it filled the room, it would continue pumping out, their body would soon be covered with the sea of thick red liquid. There was no stopping it. Alex would be able to feel his heart beating faster and faster, the air thick around him, he could never quite swallow, no oxygen would reach his burning lungs. The red mass would begin to crawl up his leg until it would forcefully enter his lung via his mouth and nose.

He would wake up gasping, his sheets drenched in sweat and once with urine.

Nightmares that could only be quelled and silenced with alcohol. Erased until nothing was left but numb emptiness. He just needed something to help him float. The uplifting buzz paired with the relief of letting go of his guilt was addictive enough, being drunk was more peaceful than being sober. He was the master of his mind and his demons , he wouldn't allow it to consume him.

It began because he couldn't say no. There was always one more small simple mission, one more manic trying to burn the world.

It began when they stole his innocence and turned him into a weapon when it pleased them. It was ironic Blunt never allowed him to have a gun, in spite of that many people around Alex were always being killed, a jellyfish here an explosion there. He may have never directly killed until Julius but did that make him any less a murderer? He'd be given a pat on the back, sent back off to school the next day. Packed away for safekeeping until he was next needed.

It began with want of normality, the feeling of euphoria, happiness. Drinking had chased away the demons but it lacked the emotions.

It wasn't long until he decided to venture out to something with more tantalising affects. He was master of his mind and his demons, he wouldn't allow it to control him. He just needed a little pill to help him loosen up a little. A little snort to help him have fun. Just a little smoke to help keep everything at bay. Just a little something to help him be free.

But he could see now, he had never relinquished the control, simply because he never had any. He was not the master nor was he ever.

He had long since slipped down the slope, he chosen to not notice. The slope that everyone has pushed aside. He mentally scoffs 'everyone'. He had no one in his corner. He was just another being that slipped through the cracks unnoticed by society. Until it told him to save the world.

Here he was

Curled on to a dirty floor

with a chair strapped on to him, an almost laughable image if he didn't feel anger clawing at him.

He was an idiot for thinking he had it all in hand

An idiot for being sloppy

An idiot for dancing to the tune of MI6, he had already lost enough to them.

He'd be damned if he died like this. The basement of the docks strapped to a chair.

If Jack was here...

No

No one was here, there was no one waiting for him. No one coming for him.

If he was going to die it would be Rider Style. It would be mesmerising with a bang. It would certainly not be now. It sure as hell wouldn't be now. His heart rate spike as adrenaline flooded his body.

Alex forced himself to think. He needed to get out of here, he needed to focus and suppressed all other thoughts and emotions deep down, escape first, deal with the mental fall out of poor life choices later. He attempted to sift through his mind for small details he could piece together to make a plan.

With African drums pounding his head and a mouth drier than Ghandi's flip flop in summer he was surprisingly finding it hard to string together coherent thoughts .

Damn you, withdrawal symptoms.

Frustrated, Alex rolled on to his front and slowly stood up, he then leaned back and sat down on the chair. Shifting around gingerly until he was comfortably seated and his arms weren't as strained. He tipped his head back and released a primal scream. His head wildly moving from side to side. He stopped when his throat began to feel raw. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly, he was feeling lighter and more revived.

He listened out for footsteps and heard none. Either no one was here or they were just ignoring him.

Alex stood up and walked to the nearest wall, stooping he carefully levelled it, and with a sharp twist he slammed the chair legs into the wall. The chair was a sturdy but wooden, with a few angry slams the legs began to crack until one splintered off. He awkwardly went down back on the floor and grabbed the splinted piece with difficulty. His fingers fumbling and dropping it a few times. He angled the sharp splintered edge as best as he could blindly He began to saw at the robes that bind his hands, the angle combined with the speed and force of the sawing motion had the makeshift knife skittering across the rope and scratching his wrist a handful of times. The rope began to fray, with a harsh tug Alex pulled at his wrist breaking the last of the rope is brute strength. The chair fell away with a clatter Alex rubbed at his wrists, wiggling his stiff fingers.

That was the first order of business taken care of.

When he had screamed wildly shaking his head, it gave him cover to survey the room and check for cameras without drawing attention to himself or breaking away from his previous pathetic persona. It would be beneficial if they underestimated him. He couldn't spot any devices at all, Alex grabbed he longest piece of rope and wrapped it around his palms and gave it a pull, it was still strong and would be useful. Alex patted himself down, feeling the edges of his clothes for a small wire or anything he could use to pick the lock of the door. It was a basic lock that just needed a key nothing high tech.

He wasn't sure how many guards were around or where they would even be, but he would cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Alex was pulled out of his musing with the sound of a approaching footsteps. It was most likely the lone guard with a dinner delivery. Perfect. There was no particular blind spots to hide in the room. His only chance was to catch him off guard, knock him out and leave. Alex surveyed the room and the broken chair in the middle of the room. He nudged it a little closer to the door and pushed it on to its side and moved the broken leg so it was out of sight, he would get on the floor and put his hand behind the chair pretending he was still tied to the chair. As the footsteps stopped outside the door, the grating sound of a metal key slipping into the key hole echoed across the silent room.

Three things happened in that moment. His knee bucked without warning, unable to cushion his fall, he sprawled in a heap, he hit his head hard enough to see black spots, his body had not forgiven him for the abuse. There was an audible click to signal the door being unlocked. The door was pushed open with a bang to reveal more than one person.

Alex was hauled up to lean on the wall, his ruse unfolding before him. Alex fell a lot harder than anticipated his body limp like a rag doll.

The rest of the men stayed outside the door while the silver fox sauntered in staring at him with a look of amusement. 'oh dear!'. Alex just moaned swallowing down the feeling of nausea, willing himself to stop the room spinning around him.

'Haven't you been a very busy bee. I must say you simply look terrible. You smell just as terrible'

Alex took a few breath and opened his mouth when he was sure he wasn't going to vomit 'How dare you, you incorrigible bastard son of a bloody bachelor.'

The silver fox huffed a laugh 'get up'. He motioned with his hand two guards came to either side of Alex and grabbed him lifting him to his feet. Alex stood on shaky legs resting his weight on the goons. He looked at them with a side glance and gave them names, Ernie and Bernie, They were dressed in black combats with a gun tucked to their side. Any other weapon must be concealed. Possible knife strapped to a wrist on ankle. Maybe one more gun inside their jacket. The silver fox surveyed Alex with narrow eyes when he caught him noting the men. Bernie had a large bruise on his throat, Alex squinted and looked at him more closely, he looked familiar...he broke out in a grin 'How's the head?' Bernie was the man he had previously knocked out.

'if he tries something, shoot him' the silver fox directed before placing a sack on Alex head.

'wait, where areyoustakngme' Alex asked his voice muffled.

With an arm tightly grabbed by each Alex was frog marched out of the room. Bernie had seemingly taken offence to being knocked out and had led Alex to walk into more than a few walls and drag him up and down steps without warning leading him to stumble. Alex tried to keep note of the direction they were taking, straight ahead, left for a few meters before taking another right in to a wall, up the stairs, down some stairs but after the next few turns he lost track. Alex was not entirely sure they weren't doubling back to just to confuse him. When the sack was finally removed from his head he was in a small bath room, there was a large shower tucked in the corner. Everything looked new and modern.

Ernie motioned to the shower both he and Bernie both stood, closing the door, blocking the exit staring at Alex with a hand resting on their gun, not taking any chances.

Alex turned on the shower and pulled off his top and looked back at Ernie and Bernie when they made no move to turn around or even look away, Alex stared back them raising a brow ' really you're going to watch me shower, that's fucked up, is that where you get your kicks from?'

'Shut up and shower before we decide to give you a hand', Bernie retorted back with a twisted smile.

Alex could feel the grime on his skin, his hair felt matted with oil and residue, the platinum blonde locks had darkened from the dirt and was hanging limply.

' Ya'noe you look like a pair of child pedo, it's a very natural look on you', Alex removed the rest of his clothing opted to keep his boxers on before stepping into the steaming shower. He had dialled it to full blast and steam was filling the room rapidly. The water scalded his skin, he tipped his head back letting it wash over his face. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the tiled wall and let the water jet over his back.

His eyes flickered downwards to his torso and where the bullet scar would have been. His body had looked old and worn, covered in scar tissues marring, telling the sad story of his life.

Some say tattoos are attention seekers and draw a person's eyes. Excessive scars did the same.

He covered his scars over with a new story of his own, tattoos. a symphony of opposites, old and new, damaged and covered, the tattoos worked with the scars and helped them blend in and disappear. His body would still stand out but this time for different reasons. Instead of always having to always stay covered to escape the unabashed staring looks of horror or pitying glances.

He could still remember at school in Brookland, after playing a match of football with the lads, they would all pile into the shower. An overpowering sense of comradeship whilst they bantered in the communal showers, Alex would always have to make some excuse to not get in the shower with them. They would laugh and take his excuses with a roll of eyes thinking of him as a prude. Alex would hurriedly get dressed when he was sure they were all in the shower, he would shower when he got home. Until one week, he had his top off and was rummaging in his bag trying to find his deodorant. There was a gasp from behind him as his Marco his team mate took in the scars that marred his back. Alex made a weak excuse fumbling over his words. The next week he missed football practise, the week after he completely dropped out. The week after that he was back on another mission.

He knew Jones was not happy with him getting tattoos, it took away his childish aura but she could not out rightly stop him.

He refused to linger on the thought, now was not the time to wallow. He glanced around looking for toiletries to wash with, there was only one bottle, with no label on it. He shrugged, and dolloped a good size on his head lathering his hair with it, before rubbing it over his body. He washed himself off. Switching off the water,he sleeked his hair back away from his face and grabbed a large towel from the rail.

He stepped out of the shower leaving a large puddle on the floor, wrapped it around his waist, placing a smaller one around his shoulders to catch the droplets of water from his hair. Stretching out his muscles.

He walked towards the two men and when he was close enough he shook his head like a dog, spraying droplets of water on their faces and clothes. Bernie growled and lunged at him, Alex quickly threw the small, towel at his face he sidestepped giving a generous back kick whilst simultaneously throwing the larger towel at Ernie.. Like a matador and a bull chasing the red, Bernie was propelled forward, slipping on the puddle of water and falling headfirst knocking himself out.

Ernie had caught the towel that was thrown at him with both hands, He was distracted to not see Alex bringing his knee upwards and slamming it right in to his crown jewels. As Ernie bent over in response his face contoured with pain, Alex bought the heel of his hand in to Ernie's nose, forcing his head backwards leaving his throat defenceless for Alex to aim a harsh chop at it. Alex slid down on to the floor tackling his legs. Ernie slammed into the floor, laying still. Alex quickly grabbed the gun that Ernie carried it felt unfamiliar in his hand, feeling heavier than usual. He removed his wet boxers and rubbed the towel over himself quickly before throwing it over Bernie. He divested Ernie of his clothes, they were a little big, it would have to make to do his clothes were to dirty. They would hopefully serve as a good cover for him too get out without too many questions. Alex slipped on his shoes and opened the door finding Yassen standing there.

'How long have you been standing there,'

'Long enough, put the gun down Alex'

Alex raised the gun so it was level with Yassen chest 'well if its all the same I'd rather not'.

'That's a tranquilliser gun', Yassen added casually, 'You can shoot, put me to sleep, then what? There's men posted on every corner you won't get far. Give me the gun' he asks holding out his hand

Alex weighed his opinion unwilling to back down. He was young, skilled and strong but compared to Yassen he was heavily outclassed, Yassen looked at him almost as if he knew the thoughts running through his head.

'Choose your battles carefully little Alex'

With a sullen look Alex went to give the gun to Yassen, aiming the barrel towards the floor. At the last minute he bought the gun up and shot it at Yassens. Yassen was expecting it, alerted by a sixth sense, Yassen kicked at Alex's hand and the shot went wide. Yassen unleashed a torrent of punches which Alex clumsily blocked. A game of cat and mouse, Yassen is toying with him. Yassen threw a wide right hook, Alex without thinking bought up left arm in a wide arc to to block him,the impact had him reeling and numbed his arm. Yassen twisted his arm over and caught Alex's arm under his armpit in a tight clasp. They both knew that Alex wasnt going to win, they also knew Alex wouldn't surrender now. Alex stepped closer to Yassen and pushed his weight in to Yassen, he turned to the side and attempted to sweep a leg behind Yassen in a bid to kick his heel and sweep him off his feet or unbalance him in the least. It was like kicking a flesh stone wall, Yassen did not even move an inch. The move left Alex one closer to Yassen and straddling his thigh.

The adrenaline that had fuelled him had peaked and the post rush drop was no longer hiding the pains of his body, it robbed him of his ability to think quickly and form a clear plan. He felt unbelievably tired, his muscles were tensed and Yassen was warm , he came to when he realised he was almost seated upright on Yassens thigh, in the midst of leaning into his chest. Alex had no time to feel humiliated,

Yassen without warning released the arm that was trapped under his armpit and gave it a mighty pull. Alex who found one of his leg behind Yassen skittered, unbalanced. He was half pulled, half stepped over Yassens leg, stumbling. He attempted to pivot on the ball of his foot and land a kick. Yassen slapped the kick away, and aimed a high punch. Alex spun around and ducked under the punch, to lift his head up to find Yassens face inches from his. Alex eyes widened in surprise and his head reared back in an attempt to widen the gap between their faces. Yassen bought the heel of his hand into Alex's chest, on the bullet wound. The move knocked the breath out of him, his world exploding in a ball of pain and breathlessness. Black spots dancing around his eyes. He felt something hard behind his back, and a soft voice in the distant scene drew parallel and reminded him of when he was shot outside of the Bank, seeing his parents, how they looked at him. He felt a sharp pang of longing.

Alex tried to reach out but he found he couldn't move his hand, it was trapped in a warm grip. He heard the voice clearly now, 'your're okay, just breathe, in and out'

Alex opened his eyes, he was sat against the wall with his legs outstretched, his vision blurry, his eyelashes weighed down and something warm trailing down his cheeks. Yassen was holding his hand staring at him silently.

Alex felt anger flood his body, Alex elbowed him, 'are you for real, you try to cave my chest in, now your holding my hand like a simpering mother hen'.

Alex looked down to their still joined hands, before painstakingly saying, each word weighed with a careful amount of malice ' honestly i am flatterd, but i can't say i am inclined to my fathers leftovers.' Puling his hand out of Yassens, he latter staying silent.

Alex made no move to wipe the tears away, not wanting to address it.

Yassen looked him over once before, standing up. They stayed like this for a minute before Yassen offered his hand to a seated Alex. Alex slapped it away before pushing back against the wall and unsteadily getting to his feet.

They walked in silence, the corridors were empty and deserted. There was most certainly not men posted on every corner. Alex closed his eyes at the realisation if he just shot Yassen he would've been very far from here. He mentally swore at himself. The next chance he would get there would be no hesitation.

They walked into a large room there were no windows, a makeshift office of sorts, it lacked any personal effects, the was a desk and the silver fox was sitting behind it, not looking surprised with the lack of Ernie and Bernie.

'The shower has done you good, yo...' Alex cut off the sliver fox mid sentence 'What do you want, if you want to kill me just get it over with already'

The fox stood up and walked around the desk to a small cabinet, pouring out two fingers of whiskey.

' I have no plan to kill you ' offering a glass to Alex.

'Well pheww that's a huge weight off.' Alex quipped back, dry and sarcastic. Plucking both glasses from his hand, chucking them both quickly down his throat before handing back the empty glass.

' I'm not going to kill you because you're doing a great job of it yourself. Personally I think it's more entertaining watching you fall down the rabbit hole, the drugs ,the self loathing, it's a whole less stress for me'. The silver fox added conversationally, perching on the end of his desk with a smirk.

Alex froze, his fingers clenched so tight in a fist they were going white, he did all he could to not leap up and hit the man. Not wanting him to know let on how much the comment stung. Instead he settled on a laugh, sounding fake even to his ears 'alright Grandpa calm it down. Don't get dramatic, this isn't the 50's. Younglings like me like to go wild and party these days'.

Alex moved to the desk and both pair of eyes watched him intently, and sat down on the chair, putting his feet on the desk and leaning back into the chair, bouncing a few times. His mouth turned thoughtfully, hmm it's a pretty comfortable chair, he voiced it out loud. The silver fox continued to perch on the desk and looked at him with an all knowing amusing smirk. His expression made it clear that he knew something Alex didn't. As tempted as he was, Alex did not take the bait and ask what he was missing out on.

There was a knock on the door and it opened to a man holding a suit bag. 'Ahh that reminds me, this is for you' the silver fox told Alex, He stood up and moved to stand next to Alex 'Leave it on the table' he directed to the man. The man carefully laid it down on the table and walked out with a slight nod.

Alex dropped his feet off the table and leaned forward to look curiously at it, 'What is it?'

'Open it and find out'

Alex slowly unzipped it, half expecting something to jump out at him. Inside was a grey suit with a blue shirt, Black boxer shorts and a pair of black shoes,they looked to be his size. Alex looked up at the men with a confused look, is this like an initiation process for your big boy club? I would have to decline. How do you know my size anyway?'

Ignoring his quips the silver fox uttered 'Hurry up and get dressed, you don't want to be late', Alex made no move to get dressed, not understanding what the silver fox was up to. Where was he being taken, and to do what his mind coming up blank 'What' he asked confused, staring at the clothes.

'Maybe I'm not explaining myself clearly, hurry up and get changed before Gregorovitch here gives you a hand'

Alex stares hard at him before reluctantly getting up and grabbing the suit bag towards him, not wanting to push his luck. He dressed quickly hiding behind the nonchalantly scanned the desk for anything that would come in use.

He put his old clothes in a pile on the desk before shrugging on the was alarmed to find the suit fit perfectly, it was tailored to him. How on earth did they get his measurements. Has he really been this lax?

When he was done, once again he found himself being escorted by Yassen who kept a tight grip on his upper arm.

He was led to the outdoor courtyard of the docks. It was open plan, and there was a black car waiting. There wasn't anywhere to run to, he could always jump into the water. However there was a very high possibility that Yassen would jump in and drown him. Wherever they were taking him it was certainly high class judging by the suit and the car, unless they wanted him to die in style.

He was surprised to find himself not being shoved in the boot. He was seated in the spacious back seat, along with the silver fox. Strapped into the seat with restraints, the more he moved the tighter they became, the soft clicks signalled the child locks being engaged. Alex assumed Yassen sat at the front, but he wasn't sure as the partition was raised, robbing him of the view of the road.

Alex leaned back in the seat It would do him no good to panic now, he would bide his time and find the right opportunity. Until then he would sit back and enjoy the ride.