Disclaimer: I do not own any Alex Rider characters. Any mentioned that appear at any time in this story are the property of A.H. Any others are of my own making; and if there are any references outside of A.R series that are real, such as places or people, it is not intentional. I do not own Baker Street or anyone that lives there. Sadly
The assassin looked at his food with disgust. MREs(1) are bad at the best of times, but now it was beyond words. The killer poked his re-revived meat. His mashed potatoes were flaky, and he was pritty sure that carrots did not have crunchy bits. He threw down his knife. Not that it would have done much good as a weapon. The meat was so hard he could probably just beat the unit to death with it. He stood up a slipped inside his tent.
The boy sat on the hard laminated floor. His whole backside ached from sitting so long. But he would endure hours, days, of this, if they only would let his friend go. His friend had done nothing, was innocent! His friend was just a child, like him. But being tied to a chair, being made an example to all. That was no child's job. To sit there and know you are going to die, that is no job for a child either. The boy's hands clenched into fists. No one should be treated this way. He glared at the madman, who thought he was helping the world. But couldn't he see? He was hurting them. Children sobbed. They had no right to come here! To come to a school and scare them! The boy stood up. He was sure he was going to be shot. He he didn't care. But the shots never came. The madman wanted him to come closer. The boy stepped forward, students letting him through. A teacher had stood awhile, hours?, ago, and the body was still lying on the floor. no one seemed to move. The boy walked calmly toward his friend. When did it come to this? This insanity? A boy standing up to a man with a gun, because adults couldn't do it. The boy stood in front of his friend, his best friend. The came up behind the boy. He felt it. The boy spun quickly, attacking with fists, kicks, and blow he could land.
Then suddenly the boy had the upper had. He was in a strange position. His left hand supported the man's head, thumb digging into the ear canal. His right hand was in a much different position. His right pinky was jabbing into the man's eye; thumb hooked under the man's jaw. The boy had no idea how his hands did that. But what happened next, he was sure, was out of his control. He hoped. His right hand pulled up as his left hand pushed away. It was simple. Pull and twist, then...Snap. The man's neck broke, the sound of the snapping spinal column echoing around the room. The boy dropped the man's body and stumbled over to his friend.
"I'm sorry." The boy whispered.
"No..My fault...I talked...failed....you....so...sorry..." The boy's friend, only friend, dropped his head onto his chest. and the boy knew his friend would move no more.
"No!" The boy screamed. He bowed his head and sobbed.
Then he head the sirens. He stood on shaky legs and ran toward the door. He ran by the school complex, the red brick and green grass blurring into smudges of colour. He reached the lot and slipped, landing hard on the black pavement. With a cry he stood up. He was drained, weary.
But worst of all, he was empty.
(1) MREs-'Meals Ready to Eat', 'Meals Ready to Expell', 'Meals Rejected by Ethopia'