AN: Well it's been quite a while since I started this story, and I really love it, so I decided to update for you. Sorry about the length again, but it's looking like these are generally going to be short chapters. Thanks for the reviews!

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.

It happened in stages. Seeing the success rate and comparing it to agents twice his age, all of the higher ups in Military Intelligence: Special Operations agreed: they needed more agents like Alex Rider. There were obstacles, of course. There always were. But obstacles are meant to be overcome, and these men and women were intending to overcome them.

There was, of course, the problem of parental consent. That was easily solved by finding teenagers without parents, or, for that matter, guardians of any sort. It was also very helpful that teenagers without an adult influence in their lives were more likely to be reckless, unconcerned with consequences. As Alex Rider had shown in his determination to discover what was hidden in his uncle's office, these were quite admirable traits in a teenage spy.

They searched for nearly two years, and as they searched, Alex Rider himself grew colder. They paid him no mind, uninterested in the consequences of his career. They were only interested in replicating his success rate. They looked in foster care, on the streets, in juvenile prisons. Eventually, they found what they were looking for. Seven boys and four girls, this next crop of teenage spies were almost guaranteed success, thanks to a combination of intelligence, athleticism and determination.

Now all that was left was to find someone to teach them how to do their job. Preferably someone with experience in the area of espionage, someone who knew what these children would be heading into. Someone who would be able to teach them how to use their age to their advantage, and how to manipulate people into believing them.

And that was where Alex Rider came in.

They trickled into the room slowly, giving one another wary glances. She counted them as they entered. So far it was four boys, two other girls. No one spoke. She got the feeling that not one of them was particularly trusting; she had personally been sizing each of them up, seeing which ones she thought she could take and which ones she would try to be civil with. So far there was just one boy with dark red hair who was glaring at everyone menacingly that she thought she should steer clear of.

Now there were seven boys and three other girls. They sat as far away from one another as they could manage. The room itself was bare, underground and cold. It looked like a classroom, with the whiteboard at the front and several rows of desks, but there were no personal touches. It looked sterile under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights. There was a still silence in the room – none of them were tempted to talk.

Another boy entered, looking slightly older than most of the others that were sitting around Maggie. He was followed by a middle-aged woman carrying a clipboard and a large bundle of manila folders, who she assumed to be their teacher. However, the boy made his way to the front of the room and sat in the chair behind the desk, putting his feet on top of it. Everyone watched him, as if wondering, as Maggie was, what made him think he was better than they were.

The woman had not taken a seat. She cleared her throat, and when she opened her mouth, Maggie could see a white peppermint on her tongue. "Good morning," she said, looking over the room. "My name is Mrs. Jones. This is your teacher, Mr. Alex Rider." At this point, had they been in a regular classroom, rather than a place packed with strangers, fervent whispers would have broken out. As it was, everyone just stared at the boy - Rider, Maggie reminded herself.

He didn't look like anything special, she thought derisively. He couldn't be that much older than she was. His blond hair was cut close to his head, and his brown eyes scanned them quickly and judgmentally, showing no emotion. She could see the scars dotting his arms even from her seat. She wondered almost involuntarily what had caused them – she had been living on the streets for almost a year and had never seen anything like that before. It looked almost like a multitude of tiny knife wounds.

The woman – Mrs. Jones – took one last look around the room before walking up to the lonely teacher's desk up front. She put the files there with more force than was really necessary, Maggie thought, and turned to their teacher. Maggie supposed she meant to whisper, but in a place this silent it was as if she was standing right next to her.

"Remember, Alex," she said, "that you are here for three months no matter what. Don't assume you can just sit here the whole time. I'll be checking in."

"Yes ma'am," he said, with a mock salute, not bothering to whisper. His feet were still on the desk.

Mrs. Jones turned away quickly, and as she strode briskly from the room Maggie could see two spots of bright red on her cheeks. She filed that information away for later. This Alex Rider was a mystery that she was going to solve, and she got the feeling that Mrs. Jones was just the first piece in a very complicated puzzle.

She watched as he scanned them, finally removing his feet from the desk. He stood up quickly; with a move so fast that Maggie almost missed it. She blinked. She would have to learn that one.

"Hello, class," he said in a low voice. There was no need to speak any louder. His words already seemed to echo around the room as it was.

Behind her, she heard someone snort. With a raised eyebrow, Rider looked to the person sitting behind her. She turned around – it was that redheaded boy, the only one out of the lot she had decided she wouldn't like to cross.

"Is there something you would like to say to me, Mr. Wood?" he asked, moving between the desks, his shoes making no sound.

"Yeah," this Wood character said, unnecessarily loudly, standing up. "I do. What makes you think you're qualified to teach us anything? You can't be any older than I am."

Rider didn't blink. "I never said I was qualified for anything," he told him, walking straight up to him. Maggie saw that the closer Rider got, the less threatening Wood looked. She wondered who that reflected on – Wood's cowardice or Rider's aura of intimidation.

Rider didn't stop until the two of them were standing nose to nose. Wood didn't back down, but he sure looked a lot less confident now.

"Then why are you teaching us?" he asked Rider, his voice growing less and less petulant. Now he sounded genuinely curious.

Everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for his answer. He paused for a moment, and the tension in the room seemed to grow.

Finally, he answered. "I'm teaching you because I'm the only person who can. The world's first teenage spy, if you will. They came to me because I'm the only person in the world with enough experience to deal with you."

Wood's face grew dubious. "Experience?" he asked. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," Rider replied without blinking. "Last month."

"And how the hell does that give you experience?" Wood asked, again growing snippy. Maggie internally spurred him on, knowing they would likely never get the answers otherwise.

Rider shrugged. "That's all you need to know," he said, cryptically. "Now sit down. I've got a lesson to start."

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