Disclaimer - Alex Rider and anything else you recognize belongs to AH. I merely play with his characters.
Alex woke up with an aching pain in his shoulders. As he tried to shift around, he realized his hands were handcuffed behind him, and probably for a long time. However long he had been unconscious. At least most of his strength returned to him. That was probably the only positive thing in this whole situation.
Managing to sit up despite the handcuffs, he found that he was in a small cell, with a thin mattress in the corner and an open doorway leading to a chemical toilet.
Alex sighed. He was going to be here a while.
Normally, he would've looked around for an escape, but it was useless with these god-forsaken handcuffs. They cut off the blood flow in his hands making them feel numb and his arms were twisted back in an awkward position, hence the aching shoulders. How did they expect Alex to do anything? He couldn't even push the so-called mattress to barricade the entrance. Sure, it wouldn't have stopped whoever captured him from entering, but it would've been fun watching the guy get annoyed from trying to open a door with a mattress in the way.
After a couple of minutes, Alex finally pressed a button on his watch by flexing his fingers in ways he didn't think was possible. He had activated a distress signal, so MI6 could track him down and come save him. Well... usually he saved himself before they reached him, but whatever. He told himself that he had made some progress in his escape, however futile.
He walked over to the mattress and sat down. He pulled the scratchy blanket on the mattress over his legs. Might as well get comfortable, he figured. It was going to be a long wait. He thought about random things for the next few hours.
It was so ... boring being stuck in here. Alex used to panic and frantically try to calm himself down, worrying about what his captors might do to him, but now, all he wanted to do was bang his head against the wall.
Or call out to the people who brought him here and see if he could chat with them.
He hadn't realized he fell asleep until he woke up to the sound of the door opening.
In the doorway stood the leader of the guards, the man who had vowed to 'pummel him into dust after he tore him into pieces' during his chase in the marketplace. He must've been back in Rasht, then. Alex had more or less deducted it was them who captured him with so much time to muse about it.
"Finally you're here. I was so bored out of my mind, I must've fallen asleep." (Which was true.)
"Well you won't be bored once I'm through with you," the leader said, smiling vindictively.
He clapped twice sharply, and the two guards behind him entered the room. As they approached him, Alex stood to meet them, as if complying. When they got close enough, he landed a kick on one guard and spun, about to knock down the other guard. That was until he heard the quiet click of the safety of a gun.
He froze mid-spin.
"If you don't want bullets in your body, then come along, now, Alex Rider."
Alex lowered his leg, but didn't move. "So you finally found out who I am?"
The one guard on the floor was groaning and getting up. The other guard looked at him warily.
"I admit that when the Boss warned us of a spy, we didn't suspect that it was you at all." The leader shrugged. "But now that you're here, don't think you're ever going to get away. You're going to pay for all those years of planning loss, those snarky comments and that 'parting gift' that wasn't nice at all." The leader's expression became so cold at the end that Alex would've shivered if he wasn't as experienced as he was.
"Gladly," Alex replied, giving a fake smile. He was indeed a bit nervous, but he wasn't about to display it to them.
In the end, Alex was dragged to another room.
He was shoved into a chair, his handcuffs were taken off, and each of his limbs were swiftly tied to the arms and legs of the chair correspondingly, the barrel of the gun never leaving sight of Alex during all this.
The two guards left. He was all alone with the leader. The leader placed his gun back into his holster.
"Before we begin, I'd like to let you know that I'm a man of my word."
"Oh, so you're the honorable type, are you now?" Alex asked sarcastically.
"Yes," the leader said, ignoring Alex's tone. "And I can promise you this: you're not going to enjoy our little session together."
"If that's the case, you're succeeding quite well. I can't say I'm enjoying listening to you blabber on and on," Alex muttered to himself.
The leader didn't hear.
"My name's Juno. Just so you know who to swear at for causing so much pain."
Clearly, a sadist. But all Alex could think of to say was, "Juno? Isn't that name a bit girly?"
Juno frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Well, Juno's the Roman goddess of marriage and childbirth," Alex said, snickering quietly at the end. He really shouldn't goad the head guard, leader, whatever, but he couldn't help himself.
"My mother named me after her favourite flower. Not some goddess of happy relationships and babies."
"Which makes it so less girly," Alex murmured.
Unfortunately, Juno heard the comment.
He looked ready to punch Alex in the face. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself. "Another thing you should know about me is that I don't take jabs at my name so lightly. It annoys me to no end. I like my name. I like that my mother gave me that name. I don't understand why anybody would think my name makes me any less masculine just because it's also the name of a flower. Do I look like a girl?"
Alex didn't reply. There were many things he could've said, none of which would help his cause.
Juno seemed pleased with his lack of response. "Well, since we've got the name bit cleared up, we can begin."
He walked over to a table off to the side of the room.
Alex couldn't see what was on the table, but he could guess from the cruel look on Juno's face before he walked to the table that there was probably an array of torturous devices.
When Juno returned, he was carrying a wicked-looking knife. Very sharp and lethal, Alex noted.
"Let's start with that pretty face of yours," Juno said, a twisted smile forming on his face.
"Let's not," Alex said under his breath, mentally pleading MI6 to come bursting in before permanent damage was done.
Just as Juno was about to cut his face up, Alex all the while trying his best to keep his features defiant – well, as defiant as one could manage with an approaching knife – there were several sharp, quick raps of knocking on the door.
Juno stopped his progress and went over to the door. Alex just let out a mental sigh of relief. He was safe from the knife, if only for a few short moments.
Alex could see a guard at the door, whispering something to Juno. Juno just looked angry.
The guard was just leaving, when he turned back, as if having second thoughts.
"I mean it, Juno," the guard said, no longer whispering, "Don't hurt the boy, or else the Boss will be angry."
"Yes, yes, I know. You can go now," Juno said, in an irritated voice.
Juno walked over to him, and sliced off the ropes binding his legs to the chair.
"So, what was all that about?" Alex asked.
The man just growled, not answering. An evil gleam suddenly passed over his eyes. When Juno cut off the ropes around his arms, he "accidentally" sliced Alex's arms as well.
"Ow!" Alex jerked his arm, in surprise. "Didn't that other guy say you're not supposed to hurt me?"
"Oh, did I hurt you? I'm sorry. Does this feel any better?" Juno dug the knife deeper into his arm. Alex just gritted his teeth.
When Juno sliced his other arm, Alex didn't say anything.
"Get up," Juno commanded; pulling Alex up, his grip right on one of Alex's wounded arms. Tears sprung to Alex's eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.
Juno escorted Alex back to his cell. Dumped was more like it, Alex reflected. At least he didn't handcuff me again.
The next time the door opened, the guard who had interrupted his torture session with Juno came in with a tray of food and a roll of bandages.
"Why isn't Juno allowed to hurt me? Not that it stopped him or anything."
The guard set down the tray, ignoring him.
"Wait!" Alex called, but the guard had already turned and walked out the door, locking it behind him.
A glass of water and a moldy ham sandwich sat on a metal tray. Alex sighed, and brought the tray and roll of bandages over to the mattress.
He used a bit of the water to wash his wounds, and carefully bandaged them.
Glad that he wasn't going to starve, or die of thirst, he still wished they gave him a steak instead, or at the very least, soup. It wasn't so much food preference, but the cutlery that went with it. A sandwich required no knife, fork or spoon. He wasn't sure what he'd do with a spoon, but it still could be a weapon. Giving up on trying to picture brutally stabbing someone to death with a blunt spoon, he glanced at his meal more thoughtfully this time. He longed for the box of fried rice and flat bread Ben had left for him.
Picking out the moldy parts of the bread, he ate the ham sandwich slowly and methodically. He drank the whole glass of water, despite how saving it would've been smarter.
Looking at the metal tray, an idea slowly formed. The idea was classic, and without a doubt, cliché, but the guards might just be dumb enough to fall for it.
Turns out, Alex was right.
An unsuspecting guard walked into the cell to pick up the metal tray. He couldn't see Alex anywhere, or the tray, for that matter – only the empty glass – and walked further into the room, frowning and scratching his head.
Meanwhile, Alex slipped out from behind the door. (The door opened inwards, so when the guard opened the door, it hid Alex from view). He silently walked up behind the guard, tray in hand. He smashed the tray into the guard's head, knocking him out. He pocketed the keys he found on the guard and also took the guard's gun, which he tucked under his belt.
It was tiresome work, but Alex dragged the guard onto the mattress and threw the scratchy blanket over him, to buy himself more time. If someone came into the room, they would think Alex was asleep.
He peeked out of the doorway and warily crept out when there was nobody. Working quickly, he closed the door quietly and locked it.
He hadn't been walking for very long before he heard voices in the distance behind him.
Silently, Alex cursed. He hurried ahead before the voices noticed him, only to run straight into Juno, who just turned a corner.
No doubt Juno was shocked, but he recovered quickly, and managed to grab Alex's wrist and cuff him. Using his free hand, Alex reached back for the gun. Alex drew the gun, smashed it into Juno's head, momentarily dazing him. By then, the voices that he heard earlier reached them, and immediately each guard grabbed some part of Alex and shoved him to the ground.
Alex was in his cell again. Back to square one, Alex thought.
This time, his wrists were handcuffed and his ankles were tied together tightly with some rope. His mouth was duct-taped. A blindfold was around his eyes, for no apparent reason, except to maybe annoy him. He knew he was in the same cell.
Make that negative square one, Alex corrected.
Some while later, Juno came for Alex again. The rope around his ankles was gone, the blindfold taken off, and the duct-taped ripped mercilessly off. He felt that half of his lips wanted to come off with the duct tape.
"Where are we going?"
No response.
"You're not going to try to torture me again, are you?"
They just kept walking. In Alex's case, shoved along.
Finally, Juno said, "No. But your new owner most definitely will."
"Wait- what? New owner? I'm not an object here!"
Juno smiled briefly. It was an ugly smile, a cross between a grimace and a smirk.
"Well, you are now. Deal with it. My Boss sold you for a lot of money. Frankly, more than I think you're worth. Turns out, there are people who must hate you more than we do to be willing to pay such a high price."
"How do you know they hate me?" After all, it could be MI6. They could've been the ones who bought him back.
"Our only condition was that you had to be killed within a month of purchase. If not, we'd finish the job ourselves."
"And they agreed?"
"It's all in the papers. We arranged everything." Still, MI6 could back on their side of the deal. It wouldn't be the first time.
"I see." It was bloody insane. They were actually selling him like cattle. Wasn't that illegal? Alex mentally snorted. Teenage spies were illegal, too, even if he were a full-time agent with a forged age.
"So... who bought me, anyways?" Alex asked innocently, like the matter was of no interest. He had to confirm it was MI6, or some company with the same acronym as MI6, which would be them in disguise. Would they come in the form of Macy's Institute of Sardines? Perhaps, Myxomatosis Informers of South Acton?
"SCORPIA." In that one word, the weak belief that MI6 would treat him better because he was an actual agent now came crashing down. The sad truth – the one he was refused to believe, desperately clinging to some small form of hope – was that MI6 didn't come to save him this time, previously, and most likely wouldn't ever in the future.
Once again, he could easily say he had the luck of the devil. Escaping one danger (i.e. face used as carving board) only to fall into a greater one. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not.
"Your new owners want you unconscious during the exchange so...," Juno reached for a syringe from a pocket and stabbed it into the bend of Alex's elbow, maybe a tad bit too gleefully, "Sweet dreams, Rider. Because when you wake, you'll wish you were dead before the month is up."
Alex's eyes closed. He felt like his brain was shutting down. Alex concluded that MI6 did stand for something other than Military Intelligence, Sector 6.* MI6: Manipulative Individuals of Self-Sufficiency. That summed them up quite neatly enough, those bastards.
* I think that's what it stands for. I don't have a book handy on me to check. Anyone know what it is?
I know updates are kind of ... capricious, but bare with me. I know what I'm doing with this story (hopefully). Well, it's pretty late here (or early, depending on how you look at it), from where I am, so if you could spare a few moments to drop a review, I'd greatly appreciate it. It'll convince me that my updating efforts in the wee morning weren't wasted.
(storage-jar)