This is your Christmas present.
Tom was 15, and was MI6's second best spy.
Second only to the legendary Alex Rider, of course.
It was strange, he thought. He had never seen Alex on any mission, and he doubted that Alex was even alive anymore. It was like the only thing keeping him alive was luck.
His phone rang.
"There's something about your account that someone would like to discuss with you. He's waiting for you at his usual spot, please come here as quickly as you can."
"Tom, we believe that Scorpia is after you. There's no need for panic, but we have a safehouse ready for you in Venice. It's risky, being so close to Scorpia headquarters, but that's the only place where we can put you without putting you at risk. There's a car waiting for you outside."
Tom knew a dismissal when he heard one, and walked out the door. That was shorter than he had expected.
A person in a white cloak sat across from a man. The person's hood was down, but he sat in the darkest part of the tent they were in right now, preventing anyone from making out his facial features. The man across from him shifted uncomfortably. 'It really is like he brings shadows wherever he goes, like they say...' The man was not fooled by the name, or the youth of the figure sitting cross legged across from him. The Angel's name was misleading; he was more like an Angel of death. He saw what had happened after a particularly slow month... The man he was sent to assassinate was strung up by hit innards on a bus. It was still not known how he had done it, and anyone who asked would be found dead in the exact same way... with no evidence.
"So, what job do you have for me?"
"I want you to capture MI6's current teenage spy."
"Oh, I've been replaced already? What are their records?"
"6 successful missions... only one failed."
"... Not as good as mine, of course."
"And you are... Angel, correct?"
"That's me."
"Excellent."
"Do I get a picture or do I have to go around capturing every teenager I find?" The Angel was a bit bored, it seemed, and when he was, that was never a good thing. The man gulped as he thought of the tales he had heard about the Angel's temper and skill level.
"Here he is... Tom Harris."
"NO. I will not do it."
"You will be paid generously, of course..." The man was stopped by a blur of silver hitting the table, centimeters away from his hand. It was a beautifully crafted silver knife, made to look exactly like a wing... with razor sharp feathers, that is.
"I will not, under any circumstances, kill him."
"Well, looks like I'll have to use other methods of persuasion, then..."
The Angel picked up the knife and slit the man's throat so quickly that he didn't even have the time to begin reaching towards the gun that the Angel had noted hidden oh-so carefully in his jacket.
"Haven't you heard? They say to never piss off an angel."
The Angel seemed to disappear in the shadows, despite it being a hot summer day, as the tent blew away into particles of sand in the hot desert wind.
There was no trace of neither man nor tent... besides the body that the buzzards came down upon to feast on.
Tom walked down a sidewalk, and saw someone that he'd thought long dead.
"Alex?"
"Hello Tom. It's been quite a while, hasn't it? And please don't call me that."
"Why? It's your name, isn't it?" Tom's long-buried childish curiosity was piqued.
"It was... but not anymore. Please, it's just Angel now." Alex was cool and collected.
"Who do you work for?"
"Not Scorpia anymore. I work for a new organization... Phoenix. A man once told me these words, and now I pass them down to you... Go to Egypt. Find Phoenix. There you will find your destiny."
The Angel disappeared, leaving a shining silver knife in the shape of a wing with silver feathers.
Hmm... Should I make it a three shot?