AN: Welcome back, friends! If you didn't know, I rewrote chapter 2, so it's less fluffy and more relevant, and if you haven't met Noah Pinkman yet, you should definitely go back and read chapter 2. The former birthday scene was dumb and completely irrelevant.

This fic is going to take place present-day, 2018. Horowitz has a confusing-ass timeline, and I was a smol bean back in like 2005 when this fic should chronologically be taking place, so it would be hard to research the technology back then. Basically, because Ben Daniels=Wolf, then I can have my fanfic in whatever year I want.

Just so you know, Alex had just turned 18 in his first chapter, which takes place in March, and Ella is 17 in her chapter, but turned 18 in April, so she will be 18 in this chapter, which takes place in May.

That was probably confusing, but here is a quick timeline:

February 13th, 2018: Alex turns 18

Late February 2018: Ella's first chapter

Mid-March 2018: Alex's first chapter

April 17th: Ella turns 18

Late May: Chapter 3, Ella's second chapter

Anyways, that was a long-ass author's note, and I'll try to make them shorter from now on, but I just wanted to clear a few things up.

Disclaimer: If I had the rights to Alex Rider, I wouldn't be typing a rambling message on my shitty laptop, planning how he will meet a figment of my imagination.

Enjoy!

P.S. There are two puns in this chapter that relate to the title! Let's see who our rock enthusiasts are! Comment if you figure it out!

Chapter Three: Rocky Relations

Ella:

Something hits me in the side of my head. Then again, but this time, it hits my right eye. I open up my left eye, the one that isn't currently throbbing. "What the hell was that?" I demand. A young child with short red hair wearing a tuxedo is throwing rocks at my head. The little boy shrugs. My mind races for a second, before I recognize him as Luca, the six-year-old son of Fabio Brandenberger, the Swiss arms dealer I've been spying on.

I take in the scene. I am handcuffed to the leg of a cold metal bench in the back of a moving truck, which I am currently laying down on. My heads throbs, partly because of the stones that Luca had hurled at it, and partly because I'd been drugged. I've been drugged unconscious dozens of times, but the morning after still feels every bit as horrible. Anyways, I'm wearing the same black jeans and t-shirt I was wearing the night before, but with one major difference: now, they were covered in blood. I wasn't positive, but I had a pretty good guess as to who it belonged to after tasting the blood crusted on my chin and upper lip. Across from me is Luca Brandenberger, the little shit who was hurling rocks at my head. The back of the truck is light only by a flashlight, which Luca had sat next to him, before deciding it would be more fun to throw it at my teeth. Creepy, sadistic, little bastard, I thought to myself, He's just like his father.

Luca's Father. Oh. Shit. Fucking asshole, dirtbag, piece of shit. Memories come rushing back to me. I was undercover with James, my older brother, as investors in Fabio Brandenberger's highly illegal arms trade. Fabio is a part of a terrorist organization, called Onyx, which specializes in the illegal transportation of many wonderful things, from drugs, to weapons, to poisons, to slaves, to counterfeit money. Basically, Onyx formed in the remnants of Scorpia and is a one-stop-shop for the transport and purchase of anything illegal.

Anyways, James and I were staying at Brandenberger's estate, gathering intel on his business, pretending to be investors. This ended abruptly when I was identified by one of Brandenberger's guards, and our cover was blown. James was able to escape, but I was knocked out and thrown into the back of this truck. Realization quickly dawned on me. In all my glory, I had completely forgotten where we were going. A phrase that I use much more often than any 18-year-old should surfaced in my brain. How in the fuck did I get myself into this mess?

My dad had practically dragged me into the office of Joe Byrne. I did not want to go. He forced me into a chair next to him, across from a faintly amused Joe Byrne.

"Good morning Agent Cornell," the spymaster greets my father, "Agent Ella, long time, no see. It's been since-"

"Senegal," I growl, not wanting to relive that shitstorm. I feel a little bit bad for yelling at Byrne, the man is practically my grandfather, but his role in my life, sending me out on downright suicidal missions, is really pissing me off right now.

"Right," he clears his throat, "Anyways, since you're leaving us at the end of July, permanently, I have one more mission for you. It's nothing too difficult, you and Agent James will be together the whole time."

"Wow. Family bonding. Isn't that just delightful?" I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You teenagers and your sarcasm," Byrne chuckles, "Anyways, you've heard of Onyx, the international terrorist group. You went on a mission last year trying to stop the transportation of nerve-gas into Cambodia last year—-"

"Trying? I kicked ass. The civilians weren't poisoned, and no one even found out my cover," I smirked, lifting up my feet and resting them on top of Byrne's desk. My dad glared at me, but I ignored him, focusing on the man whose desk my feet were on. "So," I yawned, "What do you want?"

"Well," Byrne said, his face getting stone-cold serious, "I want you and Agent James to investigate a Swiss man named Fabio Brandenberger. He specializes in the transportation of illegal weapons. Everything from ghost guns, to nuclear bombs. He has strong ties to Onyx, and we have received intel that he is shipping illegal, military-grade weapons to the Middle East. I want you to investigate him, under the aliases of investors in his 'business,' and see if you can give me a time and place. Don't worry, it will be a simple job for you, Agent Ella." Byrne assured me.

How many times have I heard that one before? "Oh, Ella, it's just a simple job," "Ella, it's hardly worth your talent and skill set." "It won't be hard, just a simple security detail." Ugh. I am fucking sick of being lied to by the CIA.

"No," I say, obstinately. There is no way I'm willingly putting myself between the Middle East, and a big-ass bomb.

"Ella," my father pleads, "Honey, this is the last thing I will ever ask you to do. Just one more mission before you leave this life behind forever?"

"No," I repeat, standing my ground. This just sounds like a fucking trap if I've ever heard one, and believe me, I have.

"Ella, we had a deal," my father growls, "If you want to go to Oxford in July, you have to go on missions until you leave."

"I'm an adult now, all that 'listen to your father' bullshit isn't going to work. Besides, it was a verbal agreement, there was nothing written down or legally binding." I know what I promised my dad, but I am so fucking over the CIA and my own family manipulating me, that I couldn't give less of a shit.

"Ella, you're the best agent of your siblings, by far," my dad said, expecting flattery to work, "It breaks my heart that you are the only one who hates this life." Only sibling who hates this life, my ass. Has he met Lilia? "This is bigger than your grudge with the CIA, or even me. We have a ton of enemies in the Middle East. This is for America, Ella, don't be selfish—-"

"You're telling me not to be selfish!?" I exploded, "Remind me who dragged their 5-year-old daughter on her first mission with them to a war zone? Remind me who sent their 10-year-old-daughter on her first solo mission to a child sex slavery ring? I have put up with your manipulation and forced-missions for years, Dad. When I say no, it's not selfish, it's self-preservational, which is a skill you taught me."

My father lowered his voice. "But...Ella...what about the greater good?" He asked, legitimately astonished as to why I'm turning down his and Byrne's "offer."

"What exactly is the greater good?" I asked keeping my voice level, "and why do I have to cater to it all the damn time?"

My dad groaned, exasperated, putting his head in his hands and his elbows on Byrne's desk, right next to my outstretched legs. "Because, Ella," he began, using more emotion than I've ever seen him portray, "You have such a talent for field work like this. Your siblings are competent, I guess, but you….you are amazing. You take after me in that way, and I can't stand to see a talent like yours go to waste because of your damn stubbornness. Please, Ella, just this last mission, I promise. This is important to me."

My heart swelled up with pride. My father is the best the CIA has ever had, and for him to compliment me like that? I know, it sounds super hypocritical of me to be proud of skills that I wish to leave behind forever, but my father is not an emotional person, and he's never so much as said "good job, Ella," to me before. After years of impossible training, before today, all I ever got was a nod or an "acceptable." I don't know, it's weird, but I respect my dad more than anyone. The man is a legend in fieldwork, and he says that I take after him.

I tried not to let tears fall down my face and break my emotionless barrier, but I couldn't help myself. I swung my legs off of Byrne's desk and stood up to hug my dad. "Thank you," I said, putting more meaning into those two words than I thought was possible.

"So, you'll do it?" Byrne asked, lifting an eyebrow. I nod, and Byrne hands me a file to study. "Thank you, Agent Ella."

I dismissed myself, closing Byrne's office door behind me. I hear Byrne's voice again, so I linger on the other side, trying to listen in. I was laying on my stomach on the floor, my left ear between the bottom of the door and the carpet below.

"...you really meant...about Ella's skills?"

My dad chuckles. "Emotional manipulation," Fucking bastard! I fell for the oldest goddamn trick in the book. Flattery. Pfff. Damn my desire for praise. If I'm that foolish in the field, I deserve to be blown up by a Swiss bomb. I- My internal ranting was cut off when my dad started speaking again.

His voice lowered, but I could still here most of it. "Honestly…she's the best...siblings...can't compare to her sheer talent...field work...breaks my heart...she hates this life...Ella...so goddamn good at her job." The warm and fuzzy feeling returned. I was glad to have my dad's praise. It gave me a new confidence and will to go on this mission…

...which is something I still had now.

Back to the present, Fabio Brandenberger had a bomb. And I'm not talking about a couple pounds of plastic explosives. He had an atomic bomb, and he was selling it to a radical terrorist group in Iraq, who was planning to blow up the entire nation of Israel. Because that asshole of a guard recognized me from my other mission against Onyx in Cambodia, he told Brandenberger my true identity, and to put it bluntly, I'm fucked in the ass. He said I'm a dirty American spy, and that spies who are caught get handcuffed to atomic bombs, so I'm really looking forward to being fucking vaporized.

I have no idea how to get out of this. I could probably pick the lock on my handcuffs with pieces of the flashlight, but Brandenberger's bratty son, Luca, is watching me like a hawk. I think to the gadgets that I came with, hoping, praying, that this wasn't a lost cause. On my right hand is my silver ring, that I have worn forever. It is a bunch of small flowers connected into a circle, and it's really beautiful. However, it has another function which, in this situation, is even more beautiful. When you swipe left along the surface of the ring, the outer flower coating turns into a diamond edged blade, that covers about half of the ring's surface. When you swipe right on the surface, the blade goes away, turning back into a ring. The best part is, is that it's fingerprint-sensitive, and my ring has never been confiscated, as no one realizes it's true function.

I swipe left, cutting the handcuff off of my right hand. Luca notices this, but before he can say anything, I knock him out, with a swift kick to the side of the head. I'm not too keen on the idea of knocking out a six-year-old, no matter how much of a fucking sadist he is, but this is life or death for not only me, but all of Israel, and many other neighboring countries.

Using my belt, I strap Luca to the metal bench I once lied down on. I feel for this kid, and I don't want him to get hurt in the next stage of my plan. Gripping Luca's flashlight between my teeth, I get to work.

Unfortunately, all of my other gadgets are stripped away, so I am forced into my most dangerous idea of escape. Swiping left on my ring, I cut a human-sized hole into the back door of the moving van. The wind is rushing all around me, and I am ripped out of the truck and into the darkness.

Cliffhanger!

Sorry for the short chapter, but I wanted to give you another update, because my schedule is about to get insane, and I have no idea when I'll be able to update again. Hopefully soon, because I have no shortage of ideas…

Also: This chapter is called "Rocky Relations" for two reasons:

It opens with Luca Brandenberger hurling rocks at Ella's head.

Onyx, the name of the terrorist group, is also the name of a mineral. I hope you appreciated the rock humor! Leave a review, even if it's just to yell at me for making bad puns!