Disclaimer: I've written to Anthony Horowitz, demanding he hand over the rights to Alex Rider. He's hasn't got back to me yet…

Yet again, the start of this chapter uses sections mostly taken from the most spectacular book 'Scorpia'.

Two weeks previously…

Alex Rider stepped out onto the street. It was about five o'clock and there were quite a few people around. He was thinking about all the things he had been told in Alan Blunt's office. They still wouldn't quite register. It was just too much to take in. his father hadn't been an assassin; he had been a spy, working for MI6. John Rider and Ian Rider. Both spies. And now Alex Rider. At last they were a family.

And yet…

Mrs Jones had told him that she wanted him to make a choice, but he wasn't sure that the choice had ever been his. Yes, he had chosen not to belong to Scorpia. But that didn't mean he had to be a lifelong member of MI6. Alan Blunt would want to use him again: that much was certain. But maybe he would fine the strength to refuse. Maybe knowing the truth about his father would be enough. He still had Jack after all.

All sorts of confusing thoughts were racing through his mind. But he had already made one decision. He wanted to be with Jack. He wanted to forget his homework and go out for a film and a blowout dinner. Nothing healthy. He had said he would be home by six, but perhaps he would call and meet her at the multiplex on the Fulham Road. It was Saturday. He deserved a night out.

He took a step and stopped. Something had hit him in the chest; it was as if he had been punched. He looked left and right but there was nobody close to him. How very strange.

And here was something else. Liverpool Street seemed to be running uphill. He knew it was flat, but now it was definitely slanting. Even the buildings were leaning to one side. He didn't understand what was happening. The colour was rapidly draining out of the air. As he looked, the world went from colour to black and white, apart from a few splashes here and there: the bright yellow of a café sign, the blue of a car…

…and the red of blood. He looked down and was surprised to see that his whole front was turning crimson. There was an irregular shape spreading rapidly across his sweatshirt. A few pedestrians had stopped and turned to look at him. They were shocked. There was a woman screaming. But she was making no sound at all.

A crowd had gathered. It was closing in on him and Alex wished it would go away. There must have been thirty or forty people, pointing and gesticulating. Why were they so interested in him? And why couldn't he move any more?

Alex was starting to feel scared. There was no pain at all, but something told him that he must have been hurt. He was lying on the pavement, although he didn't know how he had got there. There was a red circle around him, widening with every second that passed.

And then he saw three people. Two were watching him from the crowds, with a mixture of sadness and understanding, as if they had always expected this to happen but were still sorry that it had. The other was kneeling beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder with a soft smile lighting up her face.

"J- Jack…" he tried to reach out to her but she just shook her head sadly as she stood from her crouch, the other two people separating from the crowd and standing behind her.

The other woman knelt now, reaching out a hand. She reached out and touched him, her finger finding the exact spot where there was a small hole in his shirt.

No pain. Just a sense of tiredness and resignation.

Alex Rider smiled and closed his eyes.

The beeping of an ECG from nearby was the first thing he noticed. Next was the bright red, from where sunlight was hitting his eyelids, causing the thin skin between his eyes and the surroundings to be illuminated. The final thing he became aware of before full consciousness returned to him was the smell. Hospital.

He slowly flickered his eyes open, just a crack first to allow his eyes to adapt to the intensity of the light in the room, before slowly levering them further open until he was taking in the room with a quiet curiosity.

It wasn't that he was truly interested but with all the machines connected to him, he couldn't just leave without causing a miniature riot: and after all the missions he had been on – all the near-death experiences – he liked to know his closest exit.

He didn't have to wait long until an attractive nurse, in her mid-twenties entered, looking over several sheets on a light brown clipboard. She looked up only to find him looking back and gave a quick squeak and scampering back out.

Alex would have laughed – he normally would – but for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to. There was something niggling at his conscience, telling him there was something wrong, but he just couldn't figure it out.

He glanced around the room again, trying to find anything out of place or suspicious that might cause a gut feeling like this but couldn't quite see anything.

Just as Mrs Jones walked through the door did he realise what was causing his discomfort.

"Where's Jack?"

The house was dead. There was a slight patch on the front step that he could swear held a tint of red. The agents stopped as he did, shifting nervously behind him as he stared round the dark house.

It wasn't his home anymore. Not since all the people who made it so had been killed. He had been released from the hospital that morning, a bit earlier than what the doctors had wanted but MI6 insisted on moving him to a more secure location in case Scorpia tried to finish the job.

He had been briefed of what had happened and what would happen now. He was being sent back to Beacon Breton to do proper training before undertaking anymore missions – unless it was crucial. But MI6 were his guardians now, they didn't want to risk their best operative being killed, they wanted to make sure he was fully ready for anything else that could be thrown at him: and he agreed. Jack would have wanted him to continue his education, but he knew more importantly to be safe. He would be safe with the SAS, and MI6 had also decided to send him a tutor, to ensure he got his GCSE's at least.

He had agreed with everything they had said, even to being placed with K-Unit again at the camp, until it came to collecting his possessions. Blunt had been adamant that several agents collect his things for him but he had flat out refused. He needed to go back to what had been his home all his life one last time. So many memories of happier times, before his uncle had been murdered and he was pulled into the world of spies and assassins.

Finally he moved forward, only just realising he had been standing at the door for over five minutes now. He started in his room, gathering the clothes he would need first, being the job that would cause him least pain. The ones he left would be collected by MI6 and put in storage until everything was safe and he could sort it all out. Once he was done there he made his way to Ian's old room. They hadn't touched it since his death but he entered now, knowing he wouldn't be able to for a long time. The pictures still sitting on his desk, framed in silver, of those few happy moments when he wasn't away on a mission, were the first things he went to. He stared at them all for several bittersweet moments before placing them in a stack and opening the draws, looking for anything important that he couldn't bear to leave.

Most of it was unimportant papers – holiday package details, car adverts, phone numbers of 'friends' – all no doubt planted by Ian to throw anyone off. What he did find important though, was at the very bottom of the neatly arranged stack – a letter addressed to him.

Taking the celtic-styled paper knife he quickly cut the top open and pulled out the precisely folded, crisp-white paper.

"Dearest Alex,

I suppose I'll start very clichéd by saying: if you're reading this, I'm probably dead. Or your going through things that don't concern you again and don't doubt that you'll be punished when I find out, because I will find out!"

Alex couldn't stop himself chuckling slightly; he had never had the chance to see this side of his uncle. Ian had never been great with looking after a child and so he was always upright and proper when it came to Alex. Shaking those thoughts from his head he continued to read.

"I bet you thought I didn't have a humorous side? Well, for that I must apologize Alex. I know I haven't been a great uncle to you, and by now it's no doubt too late to make it up to you, but I do love you very much. You don't know how much I would like to tell you all about my job – the things I've done and seen, the atrocities I've committed – but that is already more than I should have said. There's a chance that you'll also become involved in the life I lived, Alan Blunt can be very manipulative. But you'll still have Jack. You know I don't trust many people Alex, but I can say for sure that Jack will look after you as best she can. That's all I've got to say Alex. I hope you have a happy future and can already tell you'll grow up to be an intelligent young man, just don't forget all that I've taught you.

Good luck Alex,

Ian Rider."

His sides shook with suppressed tears for several moments before he stilled himself and folded the letter carefully into his inside pocket of his jacket.

The rest of the desk proved fruitless and he moved to the bookcase to the right of the bed.

Most of the shelves were taken up with novels, several with classical music and a hi-fi system. On the third shelf up on the left however, he found a deep red book, delicate yet sturdy. Flicking it open he couldn't stop the gasp as he saw pictures spanning from his father's childhood, to his adulthood. He hugged the book close to him for several moments, before placing it on the bed and taking the photos from the pile on the desk. Carefully he slid each out and placed them into pages in the album, before gently placing his letter in the back page as well for safekeeping.

Once done the photo album went into his bag as well before he went to Jack's room.

The agent ushered him quickly into the car and slammed the door closed behind him, glancing around several times before getting into the front seat and nodding to his partner to drive.

Alex watched as the house grew smaller, until they turned the corner and it disappeared from view.

His hands clasped around the silver dragon on the cord necklace Jack had given him as a good luck charm before his involvement in the mission at Skeleton Key. He looked to the front again: he had everything he needed from the house anyway.

The last time he had been here, he lamented to himself, he hadn't faced death. He hadn't seen the cruelties of the world or stopped crazed millionaires from trying to destroy it… It hadn't changed much.

He had been flown in by helicopter before being escorted to the sergeants tent where he stood to attention now, waiting for the sergeant to finish examining him.

"You're back." He stated, before yelling sharply, "Why?"

"MI6 want me to complete the full training, sir."

"Do they think I'm running some sort of day-care here!?! This is the SAS boy! I said you weren't ready for it then and I don't think you're ready for it now! You can tell your MI6 that I am running a serious training operation here! I don't have time to baby-sit kids whenever they need it!"

Alex continued staring straight ahead, unflinching as spit flew at him.

"With all due respect, sir, you have no choice in the matter."

Alex knew it would get the sergeant mad, but he wasn't trying to keep people happy anymore. Why bother? He was being truthful.

"You little-"

"I'm afraid he's right sergeant."

The man leapt slightly as Alan Blunt himself entered the tent, grey suit crisp and grey glasses framing his beady eyes, looking as out of place as a civil rights activist in SCORPIA.

If Alex hadn't become especially skilled at reading people he would have missed the slight quirk of amusement in Blunt's face as the sergeant jumped to attention as well.

"At ease soldiers."

He motioned the sergeant to take a seat again before taking one himself opposite, Alex standing just behind him.

"Unfortunately, as Alex said just before, there is no other options for Alex. Training is the best way to maximise the use of his time until it is safe for him to continue his work. He will train here, as if he were a proper recruit, however a tutor will also be frequenting the camp to allow him to also continue his proper education – as you know it is illegal to finish your education before the age of sixteen.

I will, of course, brief you on everything you need to know before heading back to London. Alex, you may leave to your barracks. K-Unit will have arrived by now and will be in the process of unpacking. The sergeant will give you your timetable at dinner tonight."

Alex nodded, leaving quietly out the door. He paused when the sergeant spoke.

"If you don't mind me asking sir, why did you come all the way out here for a kid?"

Blunt gave a short humourless laugh, "Wouldn't you do the same for your best operative?"

Alex allowed himself a small smirk of victory before moving on.