Elliot jerked awake, breathing heavily as though he really had just been running for his life. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, he saw that it was 6:55. Too late to bother going back to sleep; his alarm would be going off in 5 minutes anyway. He sat up, trying to recall the dream that he had just had, but it was fading away even as his breathing evened out and his heart rate began to slow down. It had been the same most nights for as long as he could remember. And it was always the same. He always woke up breathless, with his heart pounding as if he had just run a marathon. And his hand always hurt - the pain radiating out from the scar left over from a car crash when he was ten years old.

He was shaken out of his reverie by his alarm going off. Sighing, Elliot shrugged his way out from beneath his covers and, bleary eyed, made his way into the bathroom and jumped in the shower. By the time he had washed, dried and dressed himself, he felt a lot better.

"Morning mum," he said as he sat down with a bowl of porridge at the dining room table.

"Good morning, Elliot. Sleep well?"

"Eh alright I guess. I had the dream again."

"The one where you're running in a hospital?" his mother asked.

"Yeah."

"Was it the same as last time?"

"Yeah it's always the same. I'm in what looks like a hospital and I'm running and I feel like I'm trying to escape, but I never do. I always get caught… and then I wake up."

"Is anyone with you?" his mum asked, her concern etched on her face.

"No," he lied. "I'm always alone." Elliot wasn't sure why he didn't want to tell her the whole dream. About the man who comes to help him escape. But something always stopped him from mentioning the stranger, as though it was something that he needed to keep secret. And anyway, it wasn't important. It was just a dream, after all.

"Maybe you should try meditating before bed rather than playing those video games?" She glanced at her watch. "Oh I'm sorry love, I'm going to be late for work. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah I'll be fine." She didn't look convinced. "Honestly mum, I'm fine. It's just a bad dream, that's all!"

"Alright," she conceded, getting up from the table and coming around to give him a hug and kissing the top of his head. "I love you."

"Yeah, love you too."

As he watched his mother leave the dining room and heard her grab her keys and close the front door behind her, he wondered absent mindedly why he felt like he was lying. She was his mother, and he did love her, so why had saying it out loud made him feel so guilty? Sighing, he pushed the thought out of his mind and ate his porridge, scrolling through Instagram without really paying any attention to the pictures on his feed.

He packed his bag ready for school, grabbing his hastily finished homework off his desk and stuffing it in. As he locked the door behind him and set off for school, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something important. But he also knew that was ridiculous. He had completed all of the homework and chores that he needed to do the night before. And besides, nothing important ever happened to him; he went to school, he hung out with his mates, he helped his mum around the house. He did nothing of any importance and he was nobody of any importance. He was just a normal teenager trying to get through the school day.

Elliot went through the day as if he were sleepwalking. He didn't really do anything or say anything or even, really, think anything. He was just there. Existing. Physically present but his mind was elsewhere. Something was wrong, but he had no idea what it was, even after trying to work it out all day. His friends knew it too. It hadn't escaped their notice that he had been so detached from reality. But they hadn't pressed him for answers either. Elliot was grateful for that; he wasn't sure how he would have explained what was going on inside his mind when he had no idea himself.

It was as he was walking home from Callum's house after school that everything changed. He passed a man who seemed very interested in him, although Elliot was sure he had never seen the man before. They were passing each other when the man made a sudden movement.

"Stand still!" and Elliot saw that, inexplicably, there was now a gun in his hands. A gun which was pointing at his head. He froze, hardly daring to breathe.

"Orion," the man said, almost as a greeting.

"What?" Elliot's throat felt like it was closing as he stared down the barrel of the gun, but he was just about able to gasp the single word out.

"Don't play dumb with me. On your knees. Hands on your head. I'm bringing you in."

Elliot complied, grateful that his trembling legs no longer needed to support his body. He closed his eyes. If this man was going to shoot him, he didn't want to see it. A hand grabbed one of his wrists… there was a thud. He opened his eyes. The man was on the floor. His eyes were closed. Elliot felt slightly breathless. Was he responsible for the unconscious man? Or worse? Had he killed him? No his chest was rising and falling - he was still breathing. Elliot was terrified. He'd never learnt any form of martial art or self defence, so how had he knocked this man to the ground? Worse still, why didn't he have any memory of doing it?

"whathaveidone? whathaveidone? whathaveidone? whathaveidone?" The phrase tumbled out of his mouth in little more than a whisper as he paced haphazardly up and down the pavement. He was barely in control of himself. Adrenaline surged through his body. He was panicking, big time. Then a thought managed to pierce through his hazy mind. He would call his mum. She would know what to do.

He had just pulled out his phone when the shadow of a figure fell on him. He looked up and saw that a man was standing rather threateningly in front of him, wearing a balaclava - that couldn't mean anything good. Was he being threatened for the second time in the space of about five minutes? Were they both part of the same group? What was going on?!

"Alex?"

"I'm sorry you have the wrong person. My name's Elliot." He was surprised to hear that his voice was quite level, with barely a trace of a tremble.

"Alex Rider."

"No. My name is Elliot Jones."

Elliot didn't notice that two more men had come out of the van and were standing behind him until he was grabbed from behind, a bag pulled over his head and his hands tied behind his back. His phone fell to the floor. He struggled furiously but it was no good. They were too strong for him and quickly pulled him into the van. He didn't even have time to cry out. The door clicked shut, cutting off the little light that had been able to seep through the material of the bag, and the van sped off. What the hell was going on? He had just been kidnapped in broad daylight! And why had they called him Alex Rider? Had they mistaken him for someone else?

"Please, my name's Elliot," he pleaded as he twisted his hands and wrists in his panic, but he stopped when he felt something metallic being pressed to his head.

"Shut up and stop moving or I'll shoot." The voice came through the bag muffled, but it was clear enough to make out what the man said. His stomach dropped like a stone in the ocean. He was sure that he was going to die. Why? Why him? What had he ever done to deserve this? But he did as he was told and sat sobbing silently. He was absolutely terrified but also felt the strangest feeling that he shouldn't be. That he had been in this situation before and it was ridiculous to be so scared now. They hadn't been driving for very long when they stopped. Elliot was dragged out and thrown into what must be another van. With his hands tied behind his back, he had no way of breaking his fall and cried out as he slammed into the floor. A second later, the gun was back against his head and the van drove off. He didn't know how long they drove for, but it was long enough for his tears to run out and his terror to be replaced with a sense of foreboding that all was not as it seemed.

The van eventually stopped and he was pulled out. He didn't struggle. He didn't resist. He just allowed himself to be pulled forward and tried to prepare himself for what was going to happen next. Elliot was oddly grateful for the two hands that held his arms, as they were allowing him to remain upright. His legs were taking steps forward, but they would not have been able to support his full body weight. The ground beneath his feet changed from gravel to something smooth. Had they gone into a building? It didn't feel soft like carpet - it felt more like concrete. They stopped moving after a couple more minutes and his hands were suddenly released, although his arms were still being gripped so that he couldn't move. Before he knew what was happening, he was forced to sit down and his hands were pulled in front of him. He heard a click and felt the familiar coolness of handcuffs around his wrists. Wait, what? Why was the coolness of handcuffs a familiar sensation? He'd never been arrested! He'd never even been given a detention at school! The bag was pulled off of his head and, before he had time to even think about trying to see who had brought him here in case it would be useful to the police later (if he got out of there alive!), they had gone, closing the door behind them.