Alex Rider's heart pounded, going faster and faster, sounding louder and louder until he thought that everyone else could undoubtedly hear it. His chest felt tight. A bead of sweat trailed down the side of his face.
It seemed to last forever. Alex waited for her to say something to the person next to her. He waited for her to sound some kind of alarm.
But then, the most unexpected thing happened.
She turned away.
It was almost as though she hadn't seen him. Like she didn't find anything about him suspicious. But it was impossible. He was in plain view, easy enough to detect.
Maybe, despite how she looked, she wasn't quite as deadly as he'd thought.
But somehow he doubted it.
"The information states that Project 314 is within our operations." She hissed to her partner. Even her voice sounded artificial. There was nothing about her that was real; it was all plastic.
His eyes widened. "Impossible!" he replied. "We would have known!"
"Not necessarily." She replied. Her voice sounded too clear, too perfect. It sent shivers down Alex's spine. "Remember, MI6 has penetrated our operation before. And this time we have no idea what Project 314 is."
So they didn't know either? Well, of course. Alex shook his head, trying to clear it. Scorpia, or this part of Scorpia, knew nothing about Project 314, just like him. He'd been told that from the start!
So why was he having such a hard time concentrating?
The artificial woman snorted and turned away. "We'll talk tonight. Meet me here at 0200 hours."
The man nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
She glared at him, then walked away.
Alex made a mental note. 2:00 AM. He'd just have to be there.
Suddenly, a vice-like grip clamped onto his shoulder. Panicked, he tried to stand, but the owner of the hand was too strong, refusing to let him up. "Silence." He couldn't tell if it was male or female. "Now listen to me, Alex Rider."
Alex tried once more to get up, but the grip remained as steady as ever. "I…I don't know what you're talking about. You have the wrong person…"
"Silence!" The voice hissed again. "There's no time for denial. You are Alex Rider. Fourteen years old. You work for MI6, and have worked with the CIA in the past. I know all about you, so don't make me prove it."
He swallowed.
"Now, LISTEN." It sighed. "For someone who's supposed to be a legend, I would have thought you would keep yourself hidden better. If she'd have seen you…" A small whistle. "But that doesn't matter now. You must listen to me, and listen carefully. Do you have the sheet?"
Alex paled. The sheet of paper with the strange numbers was in his pocket, threatening to burn a hole through it. "It's for Project 314."
"I know!" The voice snapped. "You think I don't KNOW that? Give it to me! I know where the Project is!"
"What if I don't believe you?" He demanded, trying again to get up. This person's grip was solid, like steel, clamped on his shoulder and refusing to let him move. "You aren't exactly giving me a reason to."
"No time! Give it to me!"
"NO!" Alex whirled around, trying to twist the person's arm as he did so. But when he finally looked, the person was gone.
A small piece of paper was in his hand. Carefully, he opened it.
Call me when you're ready to talk. The message was brief, and followed by a phone number.
But that wasn't all. The last few words on the page made Alex's breath catch in his throat.
Project 314 is waiting.
He looked at the number for a long time, making sure to memorize it carefully, exactly, with no flaws.
Project 314 snarled in frustration. Despite his huge reputation, Alex Rider was an idiot. Annoyance swept through her. He could have been seen! This whole mission could be compromised because Alex Rider decided he wanted to be seen.
She massaged her forehead, trying to clear away the headache. She'd read every single file on Alex Rider. He was supposed to be good at this!
But despite everything, Alex was only fourteen.
Did that make him an idiot by nature? Unable to handle life-threatening missions? The very fact that he was alive was proof that wasn't true.
And, the fact that she was also a child disproved that fact as well. After all, she was MI6's most deadly weapon.
"Doctor Evan Smith?"
Evan nodded. "That's me, sir."
The prime minister regarded him thoughtfully. "You created Project 314?"
"Yes."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Sir, if you doubt me, why don't you ask her yourself?"
"Her?" The prime minister turned to Alan Blunt. "What exactly is Project 314, Blunt?"
Blunt looked at him coldly. "You asked for this, sir. Remember that."
The prime minister nodded. "Just show me."
Blunt sighed and nodded towards Evan, who sighed deeply and turned around. "Project 314?"
Project 314 slowly entered the room.
The prime minister took an involuntary step back. "A child?" He demanded.
Evan nodded. "She is thirteen years old. We were fortunate to find her at such an early age, at least one year younger than Alex Rider."
"Yes…" The prime minister seemed to regain his composure. "The child spy." He turned to Blunt. "I thought I told you to stop that program."
"We shall discuss that later." Blunt retorted.
The prime minister came up next to Project 314, looking at her as though she was on display in a museum.
She swallowed. "W-W-What are y-y-you looking a-a-at?" She demanded harshly.
"Project 314!" Evan snapped.
She cringed. "S-S-S-Sorry sir." She was tempted to mock bow, but decided against it.
The prime minister looked at her again. "And what am I looking at?"
"Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh-" Project 314 couldn't speak, she was so furious.
"What?" The prime minister asked.
"WHO!" She shrieked out at last. "N-N-N-N-N-N-Not Wh-Wh-What, Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh-Who."
"Silence." Blunt ordered.
"WHO am I looking at?" The prime minister corrected.
"This is Project 314. She has advanced reflexes, muscle capacity, and often times brain function." Evan answered.
"Often times?" The prime minister questioned.
"Well… it can sometimes be… somewhat… erratic. Hence the stutter."
"So, what you're saying is… she's… defective?"
Project 314 let out a harsh snarl.
"She doesn't really like that term." Evan said quickly. "Bear in mind, she is the most dangerous person in the room."
The prime minister rolled his eyes and walked over to her. "You won't hurt me. You know why? Because you're being guarded. Half a dozen men have a gun aimed at your head. Do you really want to risk that?"
She glared at him. "D-D-D-D-D-Do you w-w-w-w-want me t-t-t-t-to speak, or are you j-j-j-j-j-just going to c-c-c-c-c-c-c-criticize?"
He glared back. "Show me what she can do."
Evan sighed.
Project 314 continued to glare at the prime minister as she looked around in the pitch-black room.
"Ready?" Evan's voice came over the intercom.
She nodded once, briefly.
Every booby trap in the place was set off.
It was one basic part of training. They reset the way the obstacles were placed so that she couldn't memorize the order.
A blade swished down. She danced out of the way.
Arrows were no problem; her motor skills had been improved with her muscles and reflexes. She dodged them with ease.
A hole opened out in front of her. She jumped across.
A man came up next to her, a sword in hand. She blacked it and kicked him in the shin, effectively breaking it and cutting her hand in the process.
The obstacles continued in this manner until she was at the end, covered in sweat, bloody, and panting. Her midnight black eyes narrowed as she looked in the prime minister's general direction.
Apparently, he wasn't impressed.
"This isn't Indiana Jones, Blunt. She's not going to be facing arrows. She's going to face bullets."
Project 314 let out a fearsome snarl and swore in three languages, stuttering at the same time.
"Silence!" Blunt ordered.
She swore again, in Russian, then went quiet.
"We are aware of that." Evan explained to the prime minister. "Which is why we've designed a new test."
A new test? They promised her this would be routine!
She spat out the foulest words she knew, directed at MI6 and the prime minister. This time, she did it in Japanese. Then in Spanish.
Then she realized what Evan meant.
It was a tank. A tank! What did they expect of her?
Oh yeah. Survival.
She spat and yanked off the long sleeves on her shirt. They were already ripped and useless. They would only get in the way.
She swore one last time, in English, and jumped at the tank.
It was harder than she'd thought. Much harder. She didn't know much about tanks. She didn't know what metal they were made of. She didn't know what bullets it shot, she didn't know anything! She was supposed to know this, but she simply didn't. She was thirteen! Not meant to be looking up guns and weapons.
Her fist made a clanging sound, like a bell, as it struck the metal. She shrieked in pain and fury and jumped back.
The tank was faster than she'd thought. The gun swiveled around to face her and fired.
She swore again as she dodged the huge chunk of metal hurled at her. It caught her shoulder, and blood poured from the wound. Had she been… human, her shoulder would have shattered.
Thankfully, she was far from human.
She snarled as the metal of the bullet ground against the metal in her shoulder. There were metal plates everywhere in her body, where bone should be. The more fragile areas had changed, and the most deadly areas had been made more lethal, particularly her skull, elbows, shoulders, and knees.
But it was nothing compared to this machine.
She raced around to the back of the tank and started climbing up it. Her hands gripped the barrel of the gun, and she pulled upwards. Her arms strained against the metal, but nothing happened.
She spat and jumped off the tank. This was getting her no where!
She jammed her knee into the tank's surface, succeeding only in scraping the skin and making the slightest dent in the tank's surface.
A dent.
Project 314 went insane, screeching and rushing around the tank as it kept trying to face her. She wouldn't let it, keeping focused on the dent.
She slammed her knuckles into the metal, shrieking in pain and fury. Every bone in her body that she remembered wasn't really bone started to pound into the side of the tank. She even used her forehead, but it made her dizzy, which didn't help as she ran in circles trying to keep focused on the dent, which was barely increasing.
Hate burned in her veins. She let out a blood-curdling, inhuman screech, and her knuckles finally broke through.
It was only a small hole. But it was enough.
A hysterical giggle burst through her lips as she continued working at the hole, dancing away from gunfire as she did so. The driver of the tank had more sense than to come out and just shoot her with a normal gun, otherwise this would all be over.
Project 314 took in a deep breath and squeezed into the now almost-child-size hole. A few seconds later, it was over as she bit straight through the wires, her razor-sharp teeth helping at last as she had no real room to smash anything. In places without wires, she did her best to just crush anything in her way in her two vice-like hands.
She emerged from the tank, unsure of how she did what she did. Most likely, this tank was modified, so that she had at least a chance to win.
Blood poured from her shoulders, arms, forehead, and knees. There was no skin left on her metal knuckles, practically none on her completely metal hands.
Her skin was covered in blood and sweat. Her breathing was ragged and harsh.
But hate still burned in her eyes, the battle in her muscles.
"I-I-I-I h-h-h-h-hate y-y-you." She hissed.
"Now, now." The prime minister's irritatingly patronizing voice came over the intercom. "That's no way to talk."
She snarled in response.
"I hope you're happy." Evan Smith hissed at Alan Blunt. "You've just caused major damage to her. She may not be operational when we need her."
"She'd better be." Alan replied coldly.
Evan glared at him as he went inside. "Well done, Project…"
"D-D-D-D-D-Don't!" The teenager spat. "D-D-Do you know w-w-w-what y-you've d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-done?"
His eyes widened.
She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer to her, whispering in his ear, her voice dark with hatred. "You were th-the only p-p-p-person I t-t-t-t-trusted in M-M-MI6. And you b-b-b-betrayed me."
She shoved him to the ground. "I d-d-d-d-d-d-d-don't forget. And I d-d-d-d-don't f-f-f-f-forgive."
And, head held high, she left the room.
A/N: Sadly, I don't own Indiana Jones. Also, I have no idea who the real prime minister of England is, so obviously this isn't really based on him. So, no offence meant. This prime minister is purely from my imagination.
