DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ALEX RIDER

A/N: Unedited.

Chapter 4

"'All the real soldiers are dead,' she said. It was true. So it goes."

Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

Alex sat, defeated, back at where he started: the Royal and General Bank. He was back in the familiar office, sitting back in front of the familiar desk, feeling the same familiar emotions. Dread swirled around in the pit of his stomach, and his hands became clammy in his lap.

Jones sat in front of him, calm and collected, as if she didn't know what she'd just asked of him. Helping MI6 behind the lines—that's what he'd signed up for—but now, he wasn't being given a choice. He was going to be dragged into the life again, and he had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to get out again.

"A month to get 'acclimated' and then a mission?" Alex had to ask again. He couldn't trust his ears.

Jones nodded curtly, "Trust me, Alex. Returning to university is not in the best interest for you. The IA still has orders to kill you—or bring you in. It's dangerous, and you'll be better off here, back where you belong."

Alex fought of a scowl. He was sure that if he decided to go against her wishes, he would be forced to stay. Even as he thought that, Jones repeated her 'regrettable measures' speech.

He nodded in agreement at last, letting out a shaky breath, "What will we be doing during this month?"

Jones had the same cold smile plastered to her face again—the one that she wore every time she got what she wanted. She shook her head at his statement, "We won't be doing anything. You'll be sent to America. There is a team of Navy SEALs you will work with. MI6 and the other agencies will be picking off targets in the rest of the world—tactical air strikes that can't be used in the United States."

Alex tilted his head in silent question.

"We're only bombing the targets that are not close to any civilians," Jones explained. "Bryne has specifically requested your help in the United States."

Alex wasn't sure if he had heard correctly, but he swore that the woman muttered under her breath, "probably because his agents always turn out to be moles."

"Fine," Alex stood. "When do I leave?"

Jones stood too, gesturing for him to follow her, "Let's issue you a cover. Nothing life changing, I promise, but you are not to tell the SEALs who you really are, understand? We don't know where the IA has infiltrated. You're SAS. You're going there because your superiors thought it would be a good idea for a bit of cooperation. You will undergo a physical transformation. Your name is Matthew Dawson, a twenty-three year old, who has served five years. You never went to college. You never had an uncle. Your mother and father were killed a car crash—"

"Car crash?" Alex was indignant, "Is this some kind of witness protection program?"

Jones paused. Alex couldn't make out the expression on her face, but she spoke a fraction of a second later, "You do not know an Alex Rider. You know only the basics of what the IA is, but the rest is classified to you..."

T*C*C

Matthew Dawson looked unremarkable. Alex missed his—or, rather, Alan Colt's—brown hair. It was now an unnatural shade of blade, though it was called "natural black". The team had assured him that it would look normal after an hour or so. There was a lot of information mumbling, which Alex didn't listen to. It wasn't like he would understand.

His eyes were no longer brown, but hazel. It was a very minute difference, but it still startled Alex every time he looked in the mirror. Smithers, in his fat suit and Scottish brogue, tried to explain the weird chemical he had injected into Alex. The basic gist was that it changed his eye color.

His face had changed slightly too. He wasn't sure how the team did it, but his jawline was more pronounced, as well as his cheekbones. His nose looked a little taller than it had been.

Matthew Dawson looked more like a work of art than a person.

Alex turned away from his reflection, grabbing the duffle bag that perched on the counter. It was all he was going to bring to America, not that it contained much. He was already in uniform, the SAS symbol blazing proudly from his beret. He was sure the symbol meant a lot to the soldiers that had struggled through Selection and on through the training exercises, but it meant nothing to him. The SAS was just another bad memory.

Briefly, Alex's mind flickered to the unit he had been placed in. Wolf wasn't so bad in the end, he supposed, but it didn't convince him to change his opinion.

He swung the duffle bag over one shoulder and exited the small restroom. Smithers was there, along with the cover team (they insisted that they weren't called the 'disguising team'), and Jones. They all had identical, expectant expressions.

"Well?" Alex demanded hotly, trying to cover up how awkward he felt. He didn't like it when people scrutinized him underneath a microscope.

"Yes, yes—great! You hardly look like yourself, old bean. One last thing before you head off," Smithers was his usual self, smiling secretively, as if he were letting Alex in on a big secret. He waddled over, the muzzle of a gun held firmly in a beefy hand. Alex took it cautiously, inspecting it expertly.

It looked like any other pistol. After a critical sweep with his eyes, Alex determined that it was made to look like a Glock 19—not a bad choice either. The weight was properly balanced, which wasn't surprising, given that Smithers had designed it. Alex had to take a moment to admire its beauty too. Sleek, black, comfortable—Alex wondered why MI6 kept the beauty hidden from him. Well, that is, until he remembered that for the last four years, he had been in America.

"Nothing too special, I'm afraid," Smithers sounded disappointed. "Couldn't put anything in there—too heavy. It's made specifically and only for you. Fingerprints needed, otherwise one of the safeties in there"—he tapped the muzzle, but Alex instinctively knew he was referring to the barrel—"won't disengage."

Alex nodded and holstered the weapon, "Thanks."

Smithers grinned, "Coming back safe and sound will be thanks enough, old chap."

Jones cleared her throat, the tiniest traces of irritation lingering on her face. She straightened and the look disappeared, "If you please, Alex. The jet is waiting for you."

Alex didn't have much time to say his goodbyes, but it wasn't that much of a loss. The only people he would acknowledge were Smithers and the cover team that seemed a little too friendly.

"This is the file," Jones handed him a folder. Strangely enough, it lacked its usual manila color and instead was a dark brown. Nothing adorned its cover—odd because even the most sensitive missions Alex went on bore the words 'TOP SECRET'. Jones took a few steps back, watching him through narrowed eyes, "Read it. Memorize it. Destroy it."

Alex gave a curt nod. Without another word, he made his way into the jet.

As the only passenger, Alex had the luxury to take up all the seats. A seat for his duffle bag. A seat for his body. Another seat just because he wanted to.

He vaguely heard the captain making an announcement—probably something along the lines of "don't do something stupid because we're taking flight now"—as he flipped open the dark brown folder.

There wasn't much in there. The first two pages consisted of information about Matthew Dawson. Childhood accidents that accounted for some of his scars. Soldier incidents that accounted for all of his scars. It didn't take long for him to memorize that.

The next few pages were about the IA. Alex went through them methodically. There wasn't much that MI6 knew, apparently, which was disheartening. However, each country seemed to know where the major headquarters were in their country. They could handle that themselves. Alex snorted. It seemed that only the 'big' countries—Russia, the United States, China, Canada, and Mexico—needed aid in the form of spies.

The United States in particular had seven IA hideout holes. Three SEAL units were set to deal with all seven—Alex included. Three were located along the East Coast in key cities: Washington D.C., New York City, and Miami. Three cities. Three days.

Alex clenched his jaw as he read over it before dumping it into a nearby trashcan. He wasn't surprised when flames leapt from the bin, and the folder became ashes moments later.

The rest of the trip consisted of Alex reclining on the comfortable chair, trying to catch some sleep. He couldn't, however. His mind kept on drifting back to Aegosokovia, the IA, and MI6.

When the jet finally touched down, Alex was more than happy to get out of there. His duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a few half-hearted thanks to the pilot later, Alex feet were firmly planted onto the ground.

"Soldier."

Alex recognized the commanding tone immediately. He snapped into attention.

"At ease, soldier," the Sergeant nodded, either in approval or not, Alex couldn't tell. "Dawson, SAS, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," Alex relaxed, picking up the bag that he'd dropped seconds before.

"Good," the Sergeant sounded pleased. He gestured for them to walk. Behind them, Alex could hear the jet fuel line being pulled out. Men were shouting instructions in harsh tones. "I've been told that you'll be joining one of my units for a mission later this month"—he stopped short here, piercing Alex with a fierce glare—"Do me a favor. Don't mess it up."

After a short nod of agreement, the Sergeant was kind enough to give him directions to his new unit before striding off. Alex watched as he shouted at a nearby soldier that was filling up his water bottle. His eyebrows shot up when the soldier shouted back at him with a grin and a friendly quip of, "Go back to your office; you're too old to be wandering around by yourself, sir!"

Alex shook his head in disbelief before turning in the direction that the Sergeant had pointed him in.

American training camps weren't so different from the ones in the UK. For one, the huts seemed to be about the same size. The paths were the same twisty confusion as they were in the UK. Alex grinned, though, when his boots met solid, dry ground, rather than the squishy mud he had gotten used to in the few days he had spent in Wales.

His unit's hut (the Sergeant had informed him that his unit was called "Theta") was the eighth cabin on the right down a small pathway. He frowned at the half-heartedly carved lowercase theta in the frame of the wooden door. Before Alex could tear his attention away and knock, the door was forcefully pulled inwards.

Alex was met face to face by a slightly shorter man. He was young—not as young as Alex's true age was, perhaps, but young enough for Alex to classify the man under the 'rookie' drawer.

"You must be Dawson," the man greeted in a Southern drawl, stepping aside for Alex to enter. "I'm Jared Harrison. I head Theta Unit."

"Pleasure," Alex held out a hand to shake, awkwardly shuffling in at the same time. "You obviously know me. Matthew Dawson, SAS."

At this, the occupants to the room perked up. He didn't realize that Harrison had accepted his handshake until he felt the strength of his grip.

"SAS? Dude, this was your secret?"

"That's awesome!"

Three expectant faces peered up at them, shining with curiosity. Alex had to fight back a groan as he turned to the three. They were young too. From a quick glance, Alex determined that they were younger than he was.

"Matthew Dawson," Alex reintroduced, waving a hand at the three.

The first person up eagerly shook his hand, "I'm Joe. Joe Myers. Not even the first week of being a SEAL, and I get to meet SAS? This is epic."

He had the appearance of a small monkey with the tendency to swing his hands around as he spoke. His baby face hadn't quite faded yet, even though Alex was sure that the boy (or man?) was older than seventeen. It didn't help that, from what Alex could see, his skin was virtually unblemished. His light, blond hair, cropped close to his skull, looked out of place on his head.

Alex raised his eyebrows at the statement. Jones hadn't mentioned that these were new—very, very new—recruits.

The second person to rise looked to be the same age as Myers. He stuck out his hand, and Alex noticed a nearly hidden scar that stretched up from the center of his palm. He didn't question it as the man introduced himself, "Andrew Evans. Nice to meet you."

Alex took his hand gingerly.

"Kyle Lloyd," the last person wore a indecipherable expression on his face. He merely nodded to Alex. He got the feeling that most of the blunt logic came from the guy.

"Nice to meet you all," Alex put a small smile on his face that no doubt seemed fake. He moved to the only bed that was open.

"So what's SAS doing, suddenly sending you over here?" Harrison, the decidedly new unit leader questioned as Alex began to unpack the few items he brought.

"Cooperation or something," he shrugged. "I'm sure your Sergeant briefed you about some of the current events. My commanders thought it would be a good idea for a swap. I wouldn't be surprised if one of your men hopped across the pond for a month."

Alex could feel the intense gazes searing across his back. He shifted uncomfortably, realizing that he really didn't belong in 'soldier zone' again.

"So what do Navy SEALs spend all their time doing?" Alex diverted the topic elsewhere, sitting on top of his bed.

Myers answered him enthusiastically, "It's great! I mean, I only just passed basic training, but so far, we're doing a lot of cool training exercises and classes. Like, we have a language class. We also have a sniper class and if you're picked, there's an advanced sniper class—"

Alex raised an eyebrow when the third guy, Evans, interrupted with a, "I don't think he wants to hear about that—"

"—Of course he does. He asked, didn't he?"

"Well yeah, but your explanations are always so—"

"—so what, huh? Awesome?"

"No! So—"

"–annoying?"

"Yes, that too, but—"

"Don't mind them," Harrison rolled his eyes, inching closer to Alex. "They've known each other since the early years apparently."

Alex eyed the bickering couple. Even Lloyd, who seemed more like the brooding kind, looked amused at the two, "How new are these recruits again?"

"Those three came about a week ago," Harrison seemed to sense the doubtful tone in Alex's voice. He was bristling with a sense of defense. "I've served for a year."

Alex blinked at the bit of news, "Five years," he offered as a kind of peace treaty. It obviously didn't work that way. Harrison's friendly demeanor shifted, and he suddenly seemed a lot less friendly.

"You must have seen a lot of action, then," the man's fists were clenched. "How was Iran?"

"Arid," Alex tried to backpedal. He could never properly get along with soldiers, could he? Perhaps the inner 'soldier' inside Harrison warned him against the 'spy' inside of Alex. "About what you would expect."

The arguing had reached a peak, and Evans and Myers began a friendly tussle, Lloyd watching them. Under normal circumstances, Alex would have pegged Lloyd as a suspicious person—the silent, watchful kind—but glancing at the man, he didn't get that vibe.

"What the fuck is going on in here?" a new voice emerged. It was followed by the sound of stomping feet, and the door swung open.

Alex eyed the man critically. He was clearly more experienced than Theta Unit. His dog tags dangled from around his neck, slapping his bare skin as he moved. An angry frown lit up his face. Alex was reminded of a charging rhinoceros.

"What now, Wheeler?" Harrison rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Wheeler's eyes snapped to the unit leader before drifting over to Alex. The frown on his face slowly lifted upwards so that a clear smirk showed. Alex observed the stride the other man took. It told him everything he needed to know. The man thought he was, in some way, superior to the unit before him, probably because they weren't war veterans like him.

"Who's this?"

Another man peeked in the hut, directly behind Wheeler. He looked apologetically at Harrison.

"Dawson," Alex introduced firmly, "SAS."

Wheeler looked pleased at the news, "SAS, huh? What are you doing, hanging around these recruits?"

The man had a crude tone to his voice, which Alex quickly identified as a schoolboy bully's tone. He never did take well to bullies.

"I was assigned to Theta Unit," Alex's voice had dropped a few degrees, and it held a hard edge. He tilted his head, "You know, the polite thing to do would be to introduce yourself."

The slightly sarcastic comment—Alex really didn't want to talk to this man any longer—didn't faze Wheeler. He shrugged and said, "Wheeler. I head the Upsilon Unit."

Alex nodded tersely, "Well, Upsilon, I believe this is a Theta Unit hut. We're just getting to know each other.

Wheeler probably realized then that they weren't going to be good friends. His face automatically dropped down into an unfriendly sneer as he turned back to the rest of the unit, "If you know what's best for you, shut up."

He stormed out of the doorway, pushing past the guy behind him, who awkwardly lengthened his strides to keep up with Wheeler.

Alex watched them go, a curious expression on his face. He turned to ask the unit about the strange occurrence, but Meyers beat him to it.

"Dude, that was epic!"

Alex glanced to Harrison, the question on the tip of his tongue, but when he looked over, Harrison was no longer looking at him. A fond smile played on his lips as he watched his unit begin to bicker again.

Letting his guard down just slightly, Alex knew why. He leaned against the frame of his bed, closing his eyes just for the moment. If he breathed just right and lingered a little longer, he could imagine his childhood days with his best mate.

"—but I think we can all agree that that Wheeler guy is a dickhead!"

A/N: Sorry for the loooong delay. After trying to get past a writer's block, I wasn't sure wasn't sure where to go with this, and yeah... excuses, excuses. Sorry it ended a bit awkwardly. For some reason, I couldn't think of a good way to end it.

Hugs and kisses to Guest (1), Guest (2), TimeyWimeyBadWolf, JadedKrystal, agent potter, M-chanchen, Guest (3), ripper34, SMERSH (guest), nrynmrth, MYDAY123, and Batfan3! Y'all are awesome! Thanks to everyone who has favorited and followed as well! It means a lot! If you're still here after a month's of unplanned hiatus, then I am truly thankful. You posses levels of awesome that I could never reach.

ANYWAY, hope you liked. If you have any interest regarding SPYFEST (YAY!), please hop on over to the Revival's forum to look at updates/events/etc. Wolfern is here to help me this year, so expect to see some pretty awesome prompts (at least, I hope).

-Alice x