Your rights still belong to Horowitz, and not the barmy authoress lady - who, by the way, apologizes for the obscenely long wait, and blames something called life (as if - no way she has one). Also, members of K-Unit (except Ben) will be called by their codenames in passing, so the reader doesn't have to memorize their real names. 'Cause we're nice like that. Also, some language here too. And probably in every chapter.

Operation Scarlet Haze
Let's Get This Show on the Road

Wow, fun, fun, fun! There's definitely far better things a teenager could be doing Friday, on a summer evening than being crammed into an elevator with four- or is it three? What's the deal with Ben's job now? Anyway, four muscular SAS men shifting around, and one blonde bombshell that's already struck you by her mannerisms as dangerous and slightly unstable. And then of course, you're also crammed in there - the teen spy, who has had the rather dubious honor of saving the world, pressed between Ben's chest and way too close to Wolf's armpit. Maybe they don't believe in deodorant in the SAS.

There'd probably be more room in this elevator, but MI6 likes their gadgets (no complaints there - gadgets are rather handy for staying alive), and you know that even now you're continuously being scanned for weapons, and other information being recorded. Over and over. Maybe they are expecting you to suddenly pull a weapon out from empty air and go nuts ("Surprise!")? You've pulled weirder stunts off, but still...

So here you all are, headed to the Wizard of Oz, except the things Smithers gives us actually work. Which is definitely a good thing, though you really are glad he doesn't tend to repeat gadgets, because each one has memories behind it (though a proper spy really shouldn't let that get to them). For example, some types of pens you can't look at now without remembering McCain going up in a fiery blaze that you knowingly caused. You felt so little guilt for doing that to someone at the time. There are also other times you almost died, but got saved by the gadgets.. and some considerable skill on your part. You are a spy at fifteen for a reason - you're good at the job - which really is messed up, now that you think about it. Good at sneaking, hiding, lying, fighting, killing. But is the adjective 'good' really the right word for any of those, um, talents?

Sometimes it sucked to be you. Stupid guilt complex. Sure, you've saved probably most people on Earth at some point. But there were some you couldn't save, some who died because of you, some who you killed. And now? Now it's time to go do it all again. The only bright side is getting to snark your opponents. It makes for a great stress-reliever, considering they're going to kill you anyway. Well.. they can try- and no, you did not just jinx it. You know they are going to try anyway, seeing as the heads didn't even bother with "Just an easy, safe surveillance" bull, so this mission is probably going to stink worse than Eagle's socks after a long hard day of training in a forest with many skunks.

Ben mutters something about 'if looks could kill', and 'what did that poor button do to Alex anyway?'. Yeah well, it's not like Ben's face looks much happier most of the time. Jerk. But he's an awesome jerk, unlike the rest of his unit, who are just wankers.

Oh and hey, finally at Mr. Smither's floor! You wonder briefly what sort of people work for him... but it's a scary thought. You're probably better off not knowing, for once. You lead the way to his office, as everyone slowly ambles behind. Yeah, that's right people, just take your time, it's not like you're trying to prepare in a way so that you all stay alive, on a mission that might be time-sensitive... oh wait!

Entering the room, you quickly take it in. It looks the same as always - which probably means that each item has had a dozen new features added to it, knowing Smithers. And speaking of, there he is, bent over... a xylophone? Really? You don't want to know, you really don't. It probably blows up if you hit middle-C with a specially programmed stick. Smithers looks up, round eyes twinkling. "Ah, Alex, m'boy!" He booms, and leaps to his feet, surprisingly agile for a man his size. "And what's this? Oh, if it isn't a regular little party!"

Wolf - or Jonathan, though you suspect that if you called him that you'd be on the receiving end of some violence - twitches at the group being called a party, and everyone smiles slightly at his reaction. Well, smirks is more accurate - it's unlikely any of your group is nice enough to actually just smile at someone.

"Now!" Smithers exclaims jovially, clapping his hands together, "I'm afraid you'll each have to be out of the room while people get their gadgets for security reasons recently implemented. Here Alex, you'll get yours first."

"Oh goodie," you drawl as the others file out of the room. "So what do you have for me?"

"As ever, you remain very fun to make gadgets for! I just hope you don't have to use them.." his voice trails off for a moment solemnly, before Smithers visibly brightens and plops down a silver watch, a pair of shoes (you hope they're your size - but then there's the question of how MI6 knows your shoe size anyway), a cellphone, and one small blue earring. You resist the urge to pout at the earring - getting your ear temporarily pierced is unpleasant.

"First things first - the cellphone." You look closer at it - it's a rather nice cellphone, a blue Motorola. "It's rather handy. You can send untraceable text to MI6 -" you blink at that, and get a mental image of Ms. Jones bent over a cellphone, texting. A vivid imagination isn't always a good thing. Smithers continues, oblivious to your mental horror. "And it can, of course, function like a normal phone, meaning you can easily take pictures or video - improved in this version, naturally. And, you'll have notice it's a little thick, yes? Well that's because if you press this button here three times, then it fires a tranquilizer dart! Only five uses though, so shoot wisely!"

He giggles a little at that, and almost bounces in excitement as he moves onto the next item. Weirdo (okay, Jack's American lingo is officially rubbing off on you - note to self, don't let her know, she'll never stop gloating). But he's weird in a good way - keeping people alive is always an admirable pursuit, unless those people are trying to destroy the world. Gesturing at the watch, Smithers beams. "And now that - yes, I do feel I did very good work on it! Now, where you would normally pull out that button to adjust time, instead pulling it out causes the watch to jam nearby camera signals. And those two small buttons on either side of the face? The one on your left turns it into a bug detector, the one on the right a rather magnificent explosion five seconds after being pressed three times."

Sweet. "That's great, Mr. Smithers!"

"Yeah, especially the exploding, right? You do seem to like your explosions." Heh - maaaaybeee. Strapping on the watch and slipping the cellphone into your pocket, you ask, "And the shoes and earring?"

"Ah, those are a bit more basic. The shoes are rather nice shoes, and inside the left sole is an undetectable knife - I believe you already know the hows from that lunchbox." Suddenly, the innocent-seeming tropical painting behind him suddenly turns into a small x-ray style visual of the concealed knife, and you twitch in surprise. Damn thing.

"Yes, the knife will come in handy if you get captured, as will the earring. Very simple. Pull it apart, and it sends out a distress signal!"

"Wow, thanks a ton. You really did a good job on these."

"Oh, it's nothing m'boy! No trouble!" Smithers rolls back on his heels, and then finally gives into his urge to bounce. It does interesting things to his fat. As you leave, he calls in Snake, who looks startled and more than a little bit wary as he watches the man bound over to another table of gadgets (and really, who can blame him?). The door automatically closes behind them with a soft snap, leaving everyone staring at each other in the hallway.

Awkward.

"So," Eagle says finally. "You seem to know that man. How many times have you been on, you know, a mission that needed gadgets like this?" Hmm, you need to keep an eye on him - of course, it's fitting that someone codenamed for his eagle eyes would be observant. Unfortunately, that sure got everyone's attention. Innocent enough question, but information is valuable - and from that glint in the woman's eyes, she knows that as well as you do.

"Classified." You respond shortly. When in doubt, say classified. It never fails.

"Really now?" Yuleana inquires, brows arching slightly. You raise a brow right back at her. "So surprising that they would use one so... young." There is the slight inflection on young - so small it would probably go over the heads of most. She's also probably quite aware that you would notice.

You calculate your reply. "I can not answer for the decisions of the heads." Cool and formal, and also implies some rank because you mentioned the heads. Perfect.

"But isn't it such a heavy responsibility? You are, what, thirteen?" Testing you, needling you. She knows full well that you're fifteen.

"I do what I have to."

"Willingly?"

"On occasion." Wolf and Eagle look vaguely confused, and Ben is watching with rapt attention to the conversation. Apparently, you and her are both paranoid, tense agents. It's also kind of hard to resist slipping into sarcasm, but it's probably better not to do that with someone who might have to save your life. That sort of thing seems to happen a lot - wonder why?

Yuleana opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by Snake reentering the hallway. You're slightly worried, because he looks entirely too happy as he mutters something about explosives to Wolf. Really, you know he's not a peaceful medic - SAS, after all - but still. Whatever Snake tells Wolf, it makes Wolf's eyes light up (very creepy sight, indeed) and strong-arm his way into the lab before Eagle. The silence that ensues is so tense, it could be cut with a really, really dull knife. Oh great. You'd rather not get into a whole pissing contest with Yuleana (a subtle pissing contest, because apparently you spies only do subtle), so looking at the information you've been given, you see the next stop. Sub-level 3, room 42.

"Meet you at the," you check the name again, "um, secure meeting point room." Wow. How brilliantly creative. Who came up with that name for a room? Bad naming skills aside, you head into the elevator for a considerably less uncomfortable ride. Coming out, the halls are lit brightly, and have a sterile feeling to them. If the Royal&General has cells, then they're probably down here. Not a comforting thought. Let's see - room 39, 40, 41 - ah, here!

Let's see - short woman, Asian, looks to be middle-aged. Defining characteristics: mole right above her lip. Not physically dangerous, but she's surrounded by clothes. Clothes and makeup, dyes and jewelry, and you don't even know what that thing there is. She must be like the woman who helped you at Snakehead (because that really worked).

She smiles, in a rather creepy manner and pulls a bunch of tools towards her. "So, let's get started! You'll be a whole new person!" Oh god, you think, just before she descends on you with the hairspray. So doomed.

An hour later, you are now a neatly dressed freckled red-head (with a sore ear - sodding earring), with a rather interesting fake tattoo on your forearm. Apparently, you as Anton Barret like dragons. Also, note for next time? Even if not physically tough, you should be afraid of the make-up artists. Very afraid.
At least the "secure meeting point" is where you have to head to now. And back to the elevator again! Geeze, really starting to get sick of that elevator here, but at least there's no elevator muzak. Then, you'd probably have to destroy MI6 since that would make them pure agents of evil - just saying. Floor 8 button lights up, and the elevator starts it's ascent. Good. Just ignore the guy behind you staring. By the time the elevator dings at floor 8, he hasn't blinked. Not once - that takes talent.

Entering the designated room, there's a very familiar shock of red hair. "Jack?"

"Alex!" Jack beams, slightly teary-eyed. She then proceeds to glomp you, as Ben smirks in the background (he now has matching freckles, but blonde hair, and a scar on his cheek). "Oh god, Alex, I can't believe they're sending you out again! They said they wouldn't! Those lying little rat bastards! And during summer too and - what if you get hurt?" She says it on one breath. Impressive - she should meet up with that guy who didn't blink.

"Hey," you begin, trying to seem sure, confident, and reassuring. It probably isn't working. "I'll be fine, Jack. And I'll come back, promise. Then we can have all the fun we want! Won't let them ruin our summer, right?" Of course, dying could potentially ruin your summer, but it's probably best to not mention that - but Jack's thinking it anyway. You can tell by looking at her. Ben is now looking away, giving us the moment you two need alone.

You hug her back, tightly. Something might happen to her while you're gone. You won't always be there to protect her and - no. Nothing better happen to her, but it's so hard to not be scared. She's just so innocent and defenseless compared to the countless people you've pissed off, so you take a moment to memorize her scent again. Spice (ginger) and roses.

You hold her tighter and repeat, "I'll be fine."

Liar, liar.

Footsteps sound behind you, and someone clears their throat awkwardly. Jack breaks away, and you both look over the arrivals. You try not to gawk at Wolf and Eagle looking pristine in suits, or Snake with slightly spiked, emo-styled hair. Behind them stands Yuleana, looking straight out of a Bond movie in red lipstick and a red dress. You're also pretty sure they're all armed. Just why do the stupid heads insist on not giving you a gun? Oh, right. Because you're an innocent harmless boy. Some innocent civilian is heading into an organization of spies and assassins, so good luck to that naive boy. Wow, it would really suck to be him! Okay, sarcastic version of pity party over.

"Time to go, double oh." Wolf says gruffly. Did he rhyme on purpose?

"Bye Jack. Love you." She hugs you again, crying. Jack tries to speak, but all that comes out is a sort of strangled sounding squeak. You walk out the door, and don't look back. Checking a glass reflection to see behind you totally doesn't count as looking back.

Ben throws an arm around your shoulder, so casually one would think he'd been doing it all his life. "Well, 'son'. It's time to get this show on the road!"