AN: Hey everyone! This is my very first Alex Rider fic, so be nice-ish! I apologize for my Americanness, but I will make the new character American to ease your pain.

Note: Cub has been at Brecon Beacons for a few months, so he will be there and the units have already gotten over the shock. No secrets have gotten out though. And no, this is not a Fem!Alex

Another Note: This is in the new character's point of view. They have to write in a journal because they refuse to talk to a psychologist; the journal entry for the day is where this story starts.

Chapter 1

Dingy clouds stretched over the worn out sky, dimming the lights over the world. Time had finally dissolved in the runner's world, only to be told by the number of steps in the run. Step, step, step. Four thirteen. Four fourteen. Four sixteen. Four fifteen. Four fifteen. Four fifteen. You never ever forget four fifteen. Step, step, step. Five o'clock, five o' one, five o' two. Step, step. Five ten, five eleven. The runner normally stopped at six. In fact, on a normal day, the runner would be sprinting instead. But this wasn't a normal day. No. It never was when They called. Another mission. The runner had just gotten back from their last one. The runner never told anyone about the last one. The runner never did when they sent them to Anaconda. The old branch of Scorpia had finally risen to the top, so they sent the runner in to bring them back to the bottom. It had been easy to accomplish, but not easy for the runner's mental health. That can be expected though. Sending a fifteen year old on a mission to blow up their family's organization with their family inside wasn't suppose to be easy for mental health, no it was suppose to be easy for the runner to accomplish. Just like the others. At least Alan had the heart to apologize sincerely. At least Tulip had the heart to look ashamed. But they still needed the runner. Just like Chelsea needed the runner when Blunt was still a field agent. Things had been worse then. Chelsea never had the heart to say sorry to the little nine year old she was using. No. It had been the runner's choice. It was always the runner's choice. It was the runner's choice to steal away on that plane from America to Britain. It had been the runner's choice to go to the only place that the runner knew that could deal. It had not been Chelsea who brought the nine year old to the Royal and General Bank. No. It was never Chelsea's fault. Apparently it was the runner's. Because even as the runner ran, Death followed only a few steps away. Step. Step. Step... step... ste...

Journal Entry 1

Are you happy now, Mr. Psychiatrist?

The choppy script finally lulled to a stop as did the car engine. At least the driver believed in coincidences. Or was too scared to mention it. She had had some of those drivers. Always trying to sneak around her as they hustled about. Those ones were always the most irritating, and everyone wondered why Blunt kept sending them to her. After the had her, they always were then sent to deal with the sergeants in the military training facilities, or with Alex Rider.

"Miss? We are here." The driver said, turning about so his face was visible to her. She smiled sweetly and signed "thank you" to him. One of the sergeants in the facility she was going to visit was deaf, so she was going to make do. However, that didn't mean that she couldn't enjoy that confused look on the driver's face as he stared. The girl sighed inwardly and hopped out of the Rolls Royce. Honestly, these people were suppose to be spies. Couldn't they try to be conspicuous when they pick her up?

"Miss? Should I bring your bags?" The agent driver asked, in vain of course. She had made a cover, years of practice of making and keeping covers wouldn't let her give this one up. Her strong shoulders lifted slightly before dropping again, hopefully giving her time to put distance between her and her driver. Step, step, step, step. It was nine o'clock Alice time. Maybe four everyone else's time. Oh well. The run had been a nice distraction. She would probably need another one before the day was up. The last mission she had gone on had succeeded, but it had failed in the long run. Her parents had escaped the bomb she had planted in their facility. Alice sighed again. They would probably be found by tomorrow; no one ever said that they were good at hiding. No. They were good at making a scene and getting out before anyone knew. That last part always got them. Then MI6 would always send her in. Always. Without fail. The last four times had better results. Even she could admit that the last one was pretty awful compared to the ones before. Even though her last one was pretty awful, by her standards, she still walked into the bank just like she always did.

Shoving open the doors, her head automatically dropped a few inches, letting a water balloon fly over her. Icy blue eyes glared at the older spy lounged over an armchair, which was pulled over to stand beside the receptionist's desk. The man gave her a sheepish grin and a little wave when she stuck her hand out to retrieve the slingshot that was dangling over the edge of the arm. "I almost gotcha that time," Phillips exclaimed. Very loudly. I swear the man's a child. Andy, the receptionist, rolled her eyes at him. "You say that every time she walks through those doors. If you haven't gotten her yet, you won't for quite a long time." Alice shot the graying woman a grateful smile before yanking her immature partner off of the chair.

"Come on you moron. We've been rung for." Phillips groaned, throwing his head back, before bringing it back down into a pout that could rival a five year olds. "Oh come on Brit." She shouted over her shoulder once she was inside the elevator. Her partner growled something like "Those Americans can't teach their kids manners," but Andy just yelled for him to hurry up. Phillips slumped into the elevator, where he stood pouting until the doors closed. Immediately he straightened his ridiculous tie, it had puppies on it, and turned to her.

"What do you think is up?" He asked as soon as he was "Blunt Ready."

Alice shrugged helplessly, until he glared at her. "Fine. He is asking for both of us, so he might be giving us to another agency." At that he mood visibly brightened. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he started firing off random agencies that we might get sent to. "Maybe we'll be sent to SAS." His bouncing stalled for a moment as he turned to look over at her. She shrugged carelessly. "We haven't been there yet, so it's a possibility." This time Alice's partner shrugged, and continued to settle into, what Alice dubbed, Blunt Mode. The elevator doors opened with a ping, and both agents were out before the automated message went off. Ever since that got hacked, they never wanted to hear it ever again. Both of them strolled through the hallway on autopilot; they have been there at least twenty times in the last two months to discuss further training, but they had sent Alice on a mission before any conclusions could be made.

Moments later, two agents were sitting, very seriously no water balloons, in the two most uncomfortable armchairs in history, staring at Mr. Alan Blunt and Mrs. Tulip Jones. Folding her hands in front of her, Alice sunk into the chair, staring expectantly at her "bosses." Clearing his throat Blunt, almost nervously, started his spiel. "So, you both know of Alex Rider, yes?" Two nods. "Well we have put him into SAS for protection, and so far that idea has worked splendidly." Alice almost grinned. Last time she had been in this office, she had commented on Blunt's excessive use of the words "very well." "So we have decided that this system will work just as well for the two of you. We were discussing the future of both of your trainings, so we will be sending you to the same camp. I believe you know the sergeant, so this shouldn't be tortuous for either of you." Somehow the emotionless man had managed a reassuring smile,probably reassuring himself that they wouldn't manage to blow something up while we were there.

Both of the agents tilted their heads and glanced at Tulip simultaneously, as if they had practiced a million times. A shiver ran down the deputy's spine as she realized that they probably had. "Sanders," she said with an unnecessary nod. A scowl was carved into Agents John Phillips' face, while his partner's had a ridiculous grin on it. "So when do we leave?" Alice asked, though it seemed pure professionality, both Alan and Tulip could hear the underlining of excitement in her voice. Though both of them would deny it, the heads were mildly glad that they could hear the underline; before the younger agent had gotten over the guilt of leaving her family, she had been an absolute mess. However once she had gotten over the shock of The Accident five years ago, Alice had been right as rain.

"Six fifteen." Alice almost groaned. Six fifteen was always the departure time; in fact, Phillips had named it Spy Time. "Two hours? Can we at least go back to our houses and get our stuff?" Blunt shook his head. "No. You won't need to bring any clothes; they'll give you uniforms." A pair of pleading eyes were shot his way. "But... But... I have to deal with this numbskull for, what, two, three, four hours? My sanity will be gone." A dramatic throwing up of the hands and a sigh and their actress of an agent flopped back into her chair. Still Blunt sighed. "An hour. No longer." He warned stabbing his finger in her general direction. Phillips slumped down further in his chair, and Steiner grinned. Alice Steiner yanked her partner out of his chair and started to walk out without being dismissed. But not before shouting, "Thanks Bossman,*" over her shoulder.

*Yes, I got this from NCIS

So what did you think? I really wasn't sure whose point of view it was throughout the whole thing, so deal with it. Did you like it? Hate it? Are you going to review it? YES! (Please?)

Till Next Time,

Cloaky