Diclaimer: I do not own the Alex Rider series blah blah blah…

Here you all are…actually my writing style may have changed again. Who cares? It's a sequel :P. if you're going to complain about it, go ahead. You probably just won't have a head (or a life) tomorrow morning. Keep in mind that the making of this sequel were the fans' ideas and I warned you all.

Honestly Mpro1, you should publish that review you just wrote me…oh sorry, did I just call it a review? It's more like…an essay, or a proposal :P

About the setting…I haven't been to the Mirage for AGES! Not since 5th grade, so don't complain if I got it all wrong…all I remember is a lobby that looked like a tropical jungle.

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Unlike the rest of the world, Las Vegas never sleeps at night. The streets of Las Vegas at 1 a.m. are just darker versions of Las Vegas at 1 p.m. Even the steady downpour that was taking place did not affect the hustle and bustle that was going on. A wide array of people filled the streets: tourists who did not want to waste time sleeping, gamblers, drug dealers, gang bangers, policemen, and more. A face in the streets was nothing more than a face in the streets.

Thus, no one noticed when one particular man walked into the Mirage Hotel. No one gave him a second glance as he went onto an escalator and headed toward a cheap, obscure restaurant at the back of the hotel. There was nothing remarkable or sinister about the man—in fact, he seemed to be nothing more than a businessman on a trip in Vegas, and that was exactly what the man wanted. He was none other than Lukas Marcswong, one of the richest men in the world…and also one of the most ruthless. Where his money came from? Nobody knew, nobody dared to ask, although there were plenty of theories. Get on his bad side? Then you might as well have never existed because within a few hours, you won't.

The most peculiar thing about Lukas Marcswong, however, was that nobody knew who he was. The name was fake as was whatever accent he was using that week. No one knew where he came from or even what he really looked like. The intelligence agencies had no information on him—Lukas Marcswong had made sure of it.

Marcswong entered the restaurant and sat down at a seat across from another man. Marcswong spoke first:

"I usually do not meet with those I employ, in person. Yet I found your…resume very impressive. I just had to come."

"I am honored," replied the man across from Marcswong, "How may I be of service to you?"

"How funny that you should ask, Mr. Gregorovich! I need you to do what you do best, of course!"

"Of course…and…"

"Half of your payment is already in your account. I assumed you wouldn't turn down the job, Mr. Gregorovich."

"That's very generous of you," said Yassen, knowing full well that to turn down a job from Marcswong meant death for himself. "And who may this unfortunate fellow be, that you need disposed of?"

"John Rider's son."

There was a long silence.

"Mr. Gregorovich?" prompted Marcswong.

"Consider it done."