AN: I realized that I kind of hated the original chapter 2 of this fic, so I decided to completely rewrite it. Oof. Anyways, the ending is totally different than the other version, so definitely reread the new chapter 2.
Two weeks later, here is chapter two! The updates are going to be pretty inconsistant, because school, but I'll try my best to update
Welcome back! This next chapter is in Alex Rider's POV. I decided to write in in third person to keep the Horowitz's story consistent. It might be weird, having Ella in first person, alternating with Alex in third person, but what the hell is fanfiction if not experimental. Let me know what you think by leaving a review!
TW: Mentions of torture, but only the aftermath of it. No active torture. [Just assume that every chapter from here on out has a warning for strong language. It is too redundant to repeat every single chapter.]
Disclaimer: If only Alex were mine...at least I have Ella, though.
Chapter Two: From Torture Comes Sarcasm
Alex:
Alex awoke, slowly and painfully. His eyes felt sticky, and as he opened them, he realized that he was unable to move. Where the hell am I? Alex thought before memories of torture and terror from the night before came flooding back. As he became increasingly more conscious, Alex began to feel as though he had been hit by a train, both physically and emotionally. Tied to a table by his arms and legs, Alex remembered where he was with horror.
South America. Paraguay. Deep in the Jungle. Tied to a shoddy operating table, tortured for information I am unwilling to divulge.
The mission went to hell yesterday when Alex was caught as a mole for a drug lord named Armando Gutierrez. Gutierrez produces a dangerous drug, known as scopolamine*. While many drugs are dangerous, scopolamine is considered one of the most. When under the influence, users are totally under the control of others. Wearing gloves, evil people will blow some into a civilian's face, and will often have the innocent person give them money or secrets. MI6 wants to shut down Gutierrez's operation as a matter of public safety. Alex was sent undercover to be one of Gutierrez's security guards and was told to look for a way to destroy the drug syndicate. However, he was caught snooping around and asking a few too many questions and was interrogated for hours last night...
God! Alex realizes, My captors promised to return this morning with Scopolamine to get the truth out. This is not good. There are many secrets I have that I do not want out. I have to get the hell out of here.
Alex takes in his surroundings. It's a small, square room with the operating table he's tied to in the middle. Next to him is a table containing a tray full of scalpels. Alex winces at the sight of them, remembering the deep cuts across his legs. No other humans are in the room, thankfully.
Now, just to escape before these creepy interrogation bastards return with their creepy truth serum drug. If only I could just reach a scalpel. However, they are too far away for Alex to grab with his mouth. He lies back, catching his breath. Alex's face throbs. The spy was hit and punched repeatedly, in an attempt to get him to tell the truth about his identity. He catalogs his other injuries. Swollen face, cut up legs, sore stomach from being punched, bruises on his wrists and ankles where he's being tied up, and three broken fingers on his left hand. The fingers were broken in an attempt for Alex to give away his identity. After they broke three fingers by repeatedly smashing them with the butt of a gun and Alex still wasn't speaking, he was rewarded with the promise of them returning tomorrow with Scopolamine, and a brick thrown at his head, effectively knocking the young spy out.
Alex lays here, the next morning, with a pounding headache, impending doom, and no obvious way to escape it.
The room was windowless, so he has no idea what time it is. It could be three a.m., it could be eleven a.m. All Alex knows is that he needs to get out of this hellhole, and fast.
The spy's hands and feet were tied under the table with ropes, and he had fuck-all of an idea on how to escape them.
In the end, because the table was merely resting on top of the ground rather than bolted to it, Alex decided to tip it over by thrashing and rocking his body. He lands, painfully, on the slab of concrete that is the floor on his left knee, adding another bruise to the young spy's ever-growing collection.
Luckily for Alex, the table legs were collapsible, and the legs on the front of the table, nearest his arms collapsed. He managed to slide his arms out from under the table. At this point, Alex was awkwardly balancing on his left calf. His arms were against his back, still tied together. The spy's ankles, however, were still tied behind the table. The edges of the table weren't padded like a typical operating table. Rather, it was just a wooden plank, so the boy rubbed the rope that tied his wrists together against the side until it eventually fell away.
With free hands and a newfound strength, Alex is able to grab a scalpel with his right hand and cut away the rope that tied his ankles together. The spy winces as he accidentally nicks his ankle in the process. Free at last, Alex stands up quickly. Bad idea, he quickly realizes. The young spy lost a lot of blood and is feeling lightheaded. He sits back down, trying to fully regain his consciousness.
Sitting on the cold concrete floor and short of breath, Alex decides to leave a message for the fuckers that tortured him. Using the scalpel, he carves something obscene into the wood of the table.
The young spy doesn't care that he's left a trail. With any luck, he'll be far away before he's even discovered missing.
Luckily for Alex, his idiot captors didn't bother locking the door, so the spy slipped out easily. By the looks of the sun, it is about 7 in the morning. Alex scales a fence, painfully, as three of his fingers are bent of shape and shattered. Alex makes his way back to the guards' living quarters and climbs up the side of the building into his room. He locks the window and turns on the light, silently praying that his MI6 communications device hasn't been confiscated. Thankfully, it hadn't. It was similar to the watch that Smithers had given him in Thailand, but this time, Smithers had made the device solar charged, rather than battery operated after the Ash clusterfuck in Australia. The spy contacts his employers and begins assessing his injuries. Most of the cuts on the teenager's legs are superficial and will be okay. The boy's fingers, however, are a bloody mess. On his left hand, the pinkie, ring, and middle fingers are purple, bruised, and bent in a way that fingers should not be bent. Alex's head is throbbing from the brick, and his face hurts from the constant beating. Alex wants to leave his room to meet MI6, but fears being seen and recaptured. Scopolamine is the absolute last thing that Alex Rider needs in his life right now.
For once, MI6 is true to their words. A few SAS teams are sent in, and Gutierrez and his lackeys are captured. The scopolamine is collected by the agency. The compound is set on fire. Alex, however, witnesses none of this, as the teenager is fast asleep against his bedroom door.
Eventually, the spy is woken up by a loud knock at the door.
"Agent Rider! Open up! It's Ben Daniels." Alex recognizes the voice as his MI6 colleague and opens the door. "How the hell did you sleep through that bloody battle? Jesus, Alex, you look like you've fallen out of a plane."
"Well, I feel just perfect." The spy retorts. He was in a very sarcastic mood after being tortured all night.
"Well, come on then, Alex, there's a helicopter on the roof."
"Where are we going?"
"London," He says as if Alex were stupid.
Because he was in such a deadpan mood, the spy holds his fucked up fingers up in front of Ben's face. "How about a hospital?"
Ben groans. "How the hell? Nevermind. Hospital it is."
7 hours, 48 stitches, three set-fingers, an arm cast, and one concussion later, Alex is released from Central Hospital in Asunción, Paraguay, and boards a private plane back to London with Ben.
"Jesus fuck, Alex, how did you manage to do this to yourself?" Ben questions.
The teenager ignores him, not wanting to explain himself. "If I'd wanted to be interrogated, I'd have stayed here, Agent Daniels," Alex says, feeling oddly formal. The spy decides to ignore him for the rest of the 16-hour flight to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
When they arrive at Heathrow, a car takes Ben and Alex to the latter's favorite place in London: Liverpool Street. I guess being tortured and alone in the middle of the fucking jungle does make me extra sarcastic, Alex thought to himself.
The two agents walk inside of the Royal and General Bank, only to be greeted by the ever lovely face of the Head of MI6 Special Operations in her office.
"Mrs. Jones," Ben says politely
"Tulip." Alex greets, desperately not wanting to be there. The young spy was pissed at her for sending him to that sweaty jungle hellhole.
"How was Paraguay, Alex?" She asks, ignoring the agent's rudeness.
"It was amazing. If you like being shot at, tortured, and threatened with some creepy mind-controlling drug." He replies, bitterly. "Why did you send me anyways? Couldn't you have just sent in the local law enforcement?"
"In Paraguay, Armando Gutierrez was local law enforcement," she shrugs, "Besides, you know exactly why I sent you. You were being destructive and had to learn a lesson." Alex's mind flicks back to an incident involving gasoline, a pile of Ben's paperwork, and a light match.
"It was Ben who suggested it!" The younger agent protests, calling his colleague out on is bullshit.
"That may well be true, but who came back reeking of gasoline and singed hair?" She asks. Alex's hand instinctively goes to feel his bangs, which have yet to grow back. Mrs. Jones sighs. "Dismissed, agents. I expect a full written report on my desk in three days."
"But Mrs. Jones," Alex protests both innocently and dramatically, "My fingers are broken. How can I possibly type out a report?"
She just rolls her eyes at the protesting spy. "You are Alex Rider. You once managed to escape from Point Blanc Academy at the top of the Alps with nothing but a ski suit and an ironing board. You can do anything." Ben's eyes widen, remembering this story from Wolf, his unit-mate.
"Yeah, who's fault is that?" he challenges, bitterly, "If only you'd have sent back up…"
"Three days, Agent Rider," She says, dismissively, "And do stay away from any gasoline."
Alex rolls his eyes as he quickly and quietly leaves the room. All the teenage spy wants is dinner; a nap; and a long, hot shower.
The young spy returns to Jack sleeping on the couch, resting her head on a man's lap, in front of the tv, which is showing one of her favorite romances.
"Who in the fuck are you?" Alex is instantly in "spy-mode." His eyes quickly scan the living room of the Chelsea house that once belonged to his late uncle for any threats. He gracefully stalks over to the couch, feet not making a sound, and gently moves his housekeeper off of the man's leg, and feels for her pulse, never taking his eyes off of the stranger.
He releases a breath he hadn't even known he was holding, feeling relieved that Jack was alive. In a second, he has the man pinned against the wall in a chokehold. "I said who are you?" The teen challenges, his voice as cold and as smooth as ice.
The man looks terrified. He begins to yell, struggling to get free. This only makes Alex increase the strength of his vice-like grip.
The struggle wakes up a very confused Jack. "Alex? You're back? What the hell are you doing to Noah?" She demands, finally putting a name on Alex's hostage's face.
"Who is Noah? Why is he here? In our house?" The spy growls.
"Jesus, Alex, what the hell? Not everyone is a damn threat. The man you currently have pinned to our living room wall is Noah Pinkman,** my new boyfriend!"
"Boyfriend!?" Alex exclaims, increasing his grip on Noah's neck. Looking the man in the eyes, he demands "What are your intentions with my guardian?"
"Not to be strangled by her ward?" Noah chokes out.
Alex scoffs and rolls his eyes, clearly not amused. "Jack. A word," he says, turning to his housekeeper, still holding the man against the wall by his neck.
"Wow, Alex, I'm so sorry that I want some freaking company while you're traveling for your work in the Peace Corps." Jack deadpans. Alex is impressed by her newfound ability to lie.
Guess she learned from the best, he thinks, allowing himself a small smile. Only Jack notices the slight change in his usual cold and emotionless demeanor. She decides to capitalize on the drop of his guard.
"Alex, please, let him go. I really like him," she pleads, "besides, he's so much cuter than the last one." She stage-whispers the last part, jokingly.
Laughing, Alex lets the man go, and immediately after his release, he crumples to the floor.
"I'm sorry about that, Noah, Alex is always on guard, due to his Peace Corps missions, which are usually in dangerous places," Jack says, lying through her teeth.
"Yeah, sorry, man," Alex mutters, unapologetically. His features quickly turn to stone as he looks the man straight in the eyes. "If you ever hurt Jack, I will castrate you with a pair of scissors." He growls.
Noah nods. "Yes, sir." Jack tries unsuccessfully to hide the smile threatening her lips, partly because it was funny seeing Alex this protective of her, partly because of Noah's terrified reaction, and partly because of the relief that she would never be on the wrong side of Alex's protective/assassin side.
"Right then. I'm going to bed. The, uh, Peace Corps mission was exhausting. See you around, mate?" Alex addresses Noah.
He responds with a nod.
Jack follows Alex to his room, wanting to speak with him before he goes to sleep. His bedroom door is half-open, and she catches her ward without a shirt on. "Jesus, Alex, what the hell happened to you?"
"The peace corps mission was pure torture," Alex says, quite obviously hinting at the reason behind his many cuts and broken fingers.
"Oh my god. Are you okay?"
"Fine," he winces as his shirt gets caught on a stitch. "You should go back to Noah. I have a report to write for Tulip." He spits out the name of his "employer."
Knowing Alex won't talk while Noah is here, Jack sighs and begins walking out of the spy's bedroom.
"Wait, Jack," Alex's housekeeper stops in her tracks, "Noah doesn't know about anything does he?"
"Of course not," Jack assures him, "I would never tell anyone without your consent."
Alex nods, accepting this. He hugs Jack goodnight and gets into bed.
Alex is unable to sleep. Visions of demons, torture, evil boyfriends, and scopolamine cloud his head. It's going to be a long night.
Gotta love protective Alex. His character is honestly so fun to write, because I can just be the sarcastic asshole I am in real life, and nobody questions it, since it's totally in character.
*Scopolamine is a real drug. It's terrifying. Look it up.
**Hehe, Noah's last name is from Breaking Bad...love Jesse Pinkman...
Sorry that was full of fluff. It will pick up soon. Leave a comment to let me know your thoughts so far!