Alex wasn't okay, his mind was a haze of confusion, and his body felt alien, disconnected from his will. His limbs were heavy, as if weighed down by invisible chains, and he could barely muster the strength to move.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest of moments, a blur of indistinct shapes and muted colours passing by before they closed again, too heavy to keep open. His head pounded relentlessly, each beat like a drum reverberating through his skull, making it impossible to think clearly. He felt sick, a deep nausea curling in his stomach, but even that sensation seemed distant, as though it belonged to someone else.
He was sitting upright, but he didn't remember how he got there. The press of bodies on either side of him was the only thing keeping him from slumping over completely. A slow, rhythmic rocking told him he was in a moving vehicle, but the realization brought no comfort, only a vague sense of dread. He tried to lift his hand, but as it rose, the other followed as if bound together, dropping back into his lap the moment his strength gave out. The effort left him feeling even more drained, his muscles refusing to obey his commands.
"He's waking up," a voice beside him murmured, the words cutting through the fog in his mind. The sound was distorted, as though it was coming from underwater, but Alex understood enough to know he wasn't alone. The realization made his heart race, a burst of fear sparking in his chest.
There was movement in front of him, a shadowy figure looming closer. Alex could sense someone's presence, feel the weight of their gaze, but his vision remained too blurred to make out any details. Suddenly, his right eye was forced open, a blinding light searing through the darkness and sending sharp pain shooting through his skull. He tried to flinch away, but his body refused to respond, his muscles slack and uncooperative. The light moved to his left eye, the same burning sensation making him wince internally, though his body remained limp.
"You can give him more," the voice said again, colder this time, filled with a detachment that sent a chill through Alex's veins. Before he could even process what was happening, something rough and damp was pressed against his face.
The familiar, chemical smell filled his nostrils, and panic surged through him as he recognized the scent. He struggled, or at least he tried to, his mind screamed at his body to fight, to resist, but his limbs were useless, his strength completely drained.
Darkness rushed in from the edges of his vision, swallowing him whole as consciousness slipped away once more, leaving him trapped in the inescapable void.
It was the dead of night when the two unmarked vans pulled into the desolate, nondescript location, their engines humming quietly in the still air. The men emerged from the vehicles in silence, their movements practiced and deliberate. Two of them moved to the back of the second van, where they hauled out the unconscious teenager, his body limp and unresisting. Each man gripped one of Alex's arms, leaving his feet dragging lifelessly across the cold, damp ground as they transported him towards the entrance of the building.
The door creaked open, revealing a series of stark, clinical hallways, their harsh fluorescent lights flickering occasionally, casting eerie shadows that danced along the sterile white walls.
The sound of the boy's shoes scraping against the tiled floor echoed through the corridors, a grim reminder of his helpless state. The air was heavy with the scent of disinfectant, mingling with an underlying metallic tang. The entire place felt cold, devoid of warmth or any trace of humanity.
Finally, they reached a door at the end of the hallway. One of the men pushed it open, revealing a room that was almost unsettling in its attempt to appear normal. It was a bedroom, or at least, it was made to look like one.
There was a bed neatly made up with crisp white sheets, a plain desk against the wall, and a small bathroom connected to the side. But the room had no windows, no view to the outside world, and the door was secured with a mechanical lock that required a special card to open from the outside. The walls were a bland, featureless gray, the kind of color that drained the life from anything it touched.
The men dragged Alex inside, laying him onto the bed, removing the handcuffs letting his arms fall limply to his sides. He was completely unresponsive, his chest rising and falling steadily but with no other signs of consciousness, he was completely out.
The door opened again, and Joe Byrne, the head of the CIA, stepped into the room, her sharp eyes taking in the scene with calculated detachment. "How did it go?" she asked, her voice calm, but carrying an authoritative tone.
"He didn't fall for the cover," one of the agents replied, his voice tinged with respect for the boy they had subdued. "We had to chase him across town. He managed to slash the tire of one of our vehicles and broke two of our guys' noses. He put up one hell of a fight before we manage to apprehend him."
Byrne's gaze shifted to the bed where Alex lay, completely unaware of the world around him, his face pale against the stark white of the pillow. She took a step closer, studying him with a predatory smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
She had sent a full team to get him, six fully highly trained agents, all twice his size and he still managed to fight them back, he still managed to give them a hard time. That alone only solidified her belief that the boy was perfect. It was a shame that MI6 ha let him slip through their fingers, but she wouldn't let that happen.
They left the room hearing the door close behind them locking itself, two agents stayed behind guarding the door. Alex would stay asleep until the morning then they would talk
Alex's consciousness returned slowly, like a diver surfacing from the depths of a dark ocean, his eyes fluttering open before closing again. His head throbbed with a dull, persistent pain, and his limbs felt heavy, as though they were made of lead. The world around him was a blur, disjointed and out of focus, as his mind struggled to piece together the fragments of his awareness.
His eyes fluttered open, but the brightness of the room forced them shut again almost immediately. The light was harsh, glaring down on him from above, devoid of warmth. He blinked a few times, forcing his eyes to adjust, and gradually the room came into view.
The first thing he noticed was the ceiling, plain and featureless, the kind of ceiling that could be anywhere, or nowhere.
He turned his head slightly, wincing at the stiffness in his neck, and saw the rest of the room. It was sterile, eerily clean, with walls painted a dull grey that seemed to close in around him. The bed he lay on was narrow, the sheets taut and perfectly white, almost clinical. There was a desk against one wall, but it was bare, devoid of any personal touches. The small bathroom door was ajar, revealing a similarly sterile interior.
Panic began to coil in his chest, tight and suffocating. He tried to sit up, but his body protested, the weakness still holding him down. He forced himself to move, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, but the moment he tried to stand, his knees buckled, and he had to grip the edge of the mattress to steady himself.
His thoughts were a chaotic mess, fear mingling with confusion as he tried to remember how he had ended up here. He recalled the run, the van, the sudden rush of adrenaline, and then... nothing. Just blackness, until now.
Alex's heart raced as his eyes darted around the room, searching for anything that could give him a clue about where he was. The walls were bare, no windows, no posters, not even a clock. The only door in the room was heavy and reinforced, with a small mechanical lock that made his stomach churn. It was a cell. This wasn't a room, it was a prison, his prison.
A surge of panic hit him, sharp and overwhelming. He stumbled to his feet, every muscle in his body screaming in protest, and staggered toward the door. He tried the handle, but it didn't budge. He pulled harder, jiggling the handle frantically, but it was no use. The door was sealed tight, the lock unmoving.
"Hey!" His voice was hoarse, cracking from disuse or the aftereffects of whatever they had drugged him with. He pounded on the door, his fists slamming against the metal in a desperate rhythm. "Let me out!"
There was no answer, only the oppressive silence of the room pressing in on him, only the echo of his voice, of his panic. His breathing quickened, coming in shallow gasps as he backed away from the door. His mind raced, searching for a plan, for something, anything, that could help him escape. But the more he looked around, the more the reality of his situation sank in, he was trapped, locked away in this sterile, lifeless room with no idea where he was or why he had been taken.
Alex took a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself to stay calm, to think. Panicking wouldn't help him it would only cloud his mind diminishing his chances of escaping.
He scanned the room again, more carefully this time, his mind working to find something he could use. The bed, the desk, the bathroom, nothing was useful. The bed and the desk nailed to the ground, the bathroom empty of any items. There was nothing.
He stumbled back to the bed, his legs trembling beneath him, and sank onto the mattress. His head was still spinning, the lingering effects of the drugs making it hard to focus, but he pushed through it. He had to figure this out. He had to get out of here.
Taking another deep breath, Alex leaned back against the cold wall, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself.
Alex stayed there for what felt like hours, he didn't hear anything, nobody responded to his pleads, he felt like he was going insane, the light blinding him worsening his headache
The minutes stretched into an eternity as Alex waited, every second thick with tension. His mind raced, but he forced himself to stay calm, to focus. He had no idea what was coming, but he needed to be ready for anything. The sterile room around him offered no comfort, only cold, unyielding walls that seemed to close in more with each passing moment.
Finally, the silence was broken by the faint sound of mechanical whirring. Alex tensed, his eyes snapping to the door just as he heard the lock deactivate with a sharp, metallic click. The door swung open with a slow, deliberate creak, and two men stepped inside. They were large, their imposing figures casting long shadows across the floor as they loomed in the doorway.
Alex quickly stood, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He tried to mask the unease gnawing at his insides, squaring his shoulders as he faced the two men. They were both dressed in identical dark suits, their expressions unreadable, cold. They moved with the precision of trained operatives, and Alex could feel their eyes on him, studying him like a specimen under a microscope.
"Who are you?" Alex demanded, his voice steady, though his heart pounded in his chest. He met their stares head-on, refusing to show the fear clawing at him.
The men didn't answer. Instead, they simply watched him, their expressions as lifeless as the room around them. Their silence was unnerving, a calculated intimidation tactic meant to rattle him. But Alex wasn't about to give them the satisfaction.
After a long, tense pause, one of the men finally spoke, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Byrne will see you now." He held up a pair of handcuffs, the metal glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. "Will this be necessary?"
The sight of the cuffs sent a jolt of adrenaline through Alex, but he forced himself to stay calm, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the man in front of him. The man's attempt at intimidation was obvious, a play for control, but Alex wasn't going to let him have it.
Alex Smirked "felling kinky, aren't we?" Alex replied, his voice edged with sarcasm. He watched as the man's face faltered slightly, the smug confidence dimming as he realized his tactic had failed. The small victory gave Alex a sliver of satisfaction, but he knew better than to get too comfortable.
Without another word, the man reached out and grabbed Alex's arm, his grip firm and unyielding. The second man moved in quickly, securing Alex's other arm as they maneuvered him out of the room. The touch was rough, almost mechanical, as they propelled him forward into the sterile hallway beyond.
The corridor was long and featureless, the same cold gray walls stretching endlessly in both directions. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a sickly, unnatural glow that only deepened the sense of unease. Alex was flanked on either side by the two men, their presence suffocating as they guided him through the labyrinth of identical hallways.
They walked in silence, the only sounds the dull thud of their footsteps against the polished floor and the occasional creak of the building settling. The men said nothing, their focus entirely on steering Alex through the maze-like complex. With every turn, Alex felt his sense of direction slip further away, the monotonous surroundings disorienting him until he could no longer tell how far they had walked or in which direction. Each hallway looked exactly like the last, a deliberate design to confuse and trap.
Finally, they stopped in front of a door, indistinguishable from all the others except for the subtle tension that radiated from the men. One of them knocked, a sharp, calculated tap that echoed in the silence. There was a pause, then the door swung open, revealing a room beyond.
The men wasted no time, pushing Alex inside with an urgency that set his nerves on edge. He was forced into a chair in the center of the room, his captors standing like silent sentinels on either side of him. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a single desk opposite him, behind which a figure sat in the shadows.
Alex's breath hitched as he tried to assess the situation. The figure behind the desk leaned forward, the dim light gradually revealing the stern face of Joe Byrne. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto Alex, her expression one of cold satisfaction. She didn't say anything at first, merely observing him with a predator's patience.
The room felt colder now, the air thick with unspoken threats. Alex's pulse quickened, but he forced himself to hold her gaze, refusing to let her see how unnerved he was. The two men beside him remained still, their presence a constant reminder that he was trapped.
The tension in the room was palpable as Alex sat in the cold chair, his eyes locked on the woman before him. Her presence was commanding, and the aura of authority she exuded was impossible to ignore. She sat behind the desk with an air of calm control, her posture relaxed, yet every movement seemed calculated, as if she were a chess master planning her next move.
"You," Alex said, his voice laced with recognition and dread.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of the woman's lips. "I see that you remember me, Alex."
The familiarity of her face sent a shiver down his spine. He had seen her before, with Blunt, the head of MI6. But there was something different about her, something that set her apart from the shadowy world of British intelligence. She wasn't MI6—that much was clear.
"Who are you?" Alex demanded; his voice edged with suspicion.
The woman leaned back in her chair; her expression unreadable. "I'm the head of the CIA, Joe Byrne. I'm sorry for the way we brought you here, but I'm afraid it was quite necessary."
Her tone was almost apologetic, but Alex wasn't fooled. There was no remorse behind her words, just a cold, calculated necessity. His heart sank as he realized what was coming next. He had been down this road before, and he knew where it led.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice flat, resigned.
Byrne's lips curved into a smirk, one that painfully reminded him of Blunt's unyielding demeanour. It was the look of someone who knew they held all the cards, someone who was used to getting what they wanted.
"We want your help," she said, her voice smooth and persuasive.
Alex felt a surge of anger and frustration. Of course, they wanted his help. It was always the same story. MI6 had used him, Scorpia had tried to use him, and now the CIA wanted to drag him back into the world he so desperately wanted to escape. He shook his head, the defiance clear in his eyes.
"Forget it," he replied, his voice firm. "I'm done. I'm tired of being used."
Byrne didn't even flinch at his rejection. She remained calm, almost as if she had anticipated his response. There was no surprise in her eyes, no disappointment—just a steely resolve that made Alex's stomach twist with unease.
"At least hear what I have to say, Alex," she urged, her tone deceptively gentle.
"Don't bother. I won't do it," Alex insisted, the frustration bubbling over as he pushed himself to his feet. But before he could take another step, two hands clamped down on his shoulders, shoving him back into the chair with a force that knocked the wind out of him.
"You're all the same, aren't you?" Alex spat, his voice laced with bitterness. His eyes burned with anger as he glared at Byrne, but she ignored his comment, her focus solely on the mission at hand.
"We have a situation in Cuba," Byrne began, her voice taking on a businesslike tone. "There is a man, General Sarov. He was a commander in the Russian army when they were still part of the Soviet Union. He lives on a small island; one he purchased after moving to Cuba. It's heavily armed and extremely secure. The Russian president is scheduled to meet him there in a few days. We need to find out what he's planning, Alex."
Alex shrugged, the indifference in his gesture hiding the turmoil roiling inside him. "You want to spy on this General," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Exactly," Byrne confirmed, her eyes narrowing as she gauged his reaction.
"Nice story," Alex said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But you have a building full of trained agents. Just use one of them."
"We already have, Alex. You must understand, Cuba doesn't trust us. Every time we send someone, they're found out. A single agent is suspicious. A man and a woman make a team. But a man a woman and a boy? That's a family. Cuba is a popular destination for tourists, especially families. I'm not asking you to do anything dangerous, Alex. You'll just go with two agents and stay in a hotel. It's all-inclusive. You can swim, enjoy the sun, eat all you want. You're just the cover. They'll do all the work."
Alex narrowed his eyes, suspicion flaring up. "Why don't you use an American kid then?"
"Because, whether you like it or not, you're trained, Alex. If something goes sideways, you can handle yourself. We've seen what you're capable of."
"You don't know that" Alex snapped, his voice tight with frustration.
Byrne's eyes hardened. "I've seen what you did at Point Blanc, with Cray, with Scorpia. You dismantled their operations, Alex. You survived where others wouldn't. This time, there's no real risk. Just think of it as a two-week vacation."
Alex's heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of anger and fear. He didn't want any part of this. He wanted out. He wanted to be a normal kid, to live his life without constantly looking over his shoulder. But Byrne's words echoed in his mind, planting seeds of doubt and fear.
"Well, my answer is still no," Alex said, his voice firm, though a part of him dreaded the consequences of his refusal.
Byrne's smirk returned, colder and more calculating. "I think you just need some time to think about this."
"No," Alex replied, his voice wavering slightly. "I don't care what some Russian general is planning, alright? Just leave me out of this."
Byrne didn't respond, her expression unreadable. Instead, she nodded to the two men flanking Alex. Before he could react, they grabbed him once again, their grips like iron as they hauled him out of the chair.
"I'll give you a few hours to think it over," Byrne said, her voice echoing in the room as they dragged him out. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the empty corridors, a grim reminder that his fate was no longer in his own hands.
Alex was dragged back to his room "this is the file, read it before you make a decision" the man said dumping the file in the desk before forcing the door close
As the door slammed shut, the sound echoed through the room, leaving Alex in a tense silence. The click of the lock felt like a finality, sealing him off from any hope of escape. He was alone again, trapped in a place where every detail reminded him that he was a prisoner.
Alex stood there for a moment, staring at the door, his mind racing. His muscles ached from the rough handling, and a dull, throbbing pain settled at the base of his skull, making it hard to focus. He felt utterly drained, his body heavy with fatigue and his thoughts muddled by the pounding headache that had been building ever since he was captured.
Slowly, he turned his attention to the file the man had tossed onto the desk. It lay there, innocuous and unassuming, its edges slightly bent from the hasty drop. The beige cover gave nothing away, no hint of the contents within—just a manila folder, thick with information that could determine his fate. But Alex didn't even spare it more attention, he had come to a decision, he had promised to Kyra, no more putting his life in danger for the sake of others, no more letting himself get used to fix other people problems.
He moved sluggishly toward the bed, his legs barely carrying him as he sank down onto the edge of the mattress. The thin, scratchy blanket offered little comfort, its rough texture irritating his already frayed nerves. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his temples. His mouth was dry, his stomach twisted in hunger, no one had offer him a sip of water or something to heat. He hadn't eaten in hours, maybe longer—it was hard to tell in this windowless cell where time seemed to stand still. He knew what they were trying to do, making weak and desperate so that he would do what they wanted, but Alex would fall for that.
Alex leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. The room was oppressively silent, the only sounds his ragged breathing and the distant hum of machinery somewhere in the building. His mind was a blur of conflicting emotions—anger, fear, frustration. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but what good would it do? He was trapped, and no amount of rage would change that.
He stared at the floor, trying to gather his thoughts, but all he could think about was how tired he was. His eyelids felt heavy, his vision blurring at the edges. The adrenaline that had kept him going was long gone, leaving him in a state of exhaustion that made it hard to think straight. But he knew he couldn't afford to rest, not with the decision that loomed over him like a dark cloud.
Finally in what felt like hours Alex raised his head, the folder still sat on the desk, with a heavy sigh, Alex pushed himself up from the bed and walked over to the desk. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering above the file. The cool metal of the desk was a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin, grounding him in the reality of his situation. Taking a deep breath, he finally reached out and picked up the file, the weight of it surprising in his tired hands.
He returned to the bed, sitting down once more as he placed the file in his lap. His fingers traced the edges of the folder, feeling the rough texture beneath his fingertips. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, to push back the fear gnawing at his insides. Then, with a resolve he wasn't sure he actually possessed, Alex flipped open the cover.
The first page was a summary, neatly typed, detailing the mission in cold, clinical language. General Sarov. Cuba. The Russian president. Words and phrases jumped out at him—"highly classified," "potential threat," "strategic importance." But it all blurred together, his tired mind struggling to make sense of it.
He turned the page, and there was a photograph of Sarov, his stern face captured in a moment of stillness. The man looked formidable, his eyes hard and unforgiving, a man used to power and control. Alex felt a chill run down his spine as he studied the image, the man's presence radiating off the page even though it was just a picture.
Flipping through the file, Alex found maps, satellite images, intelligence reports—all meticulously organized, all pointing to one conclusion: this was a dangerous man, and whatever he was planning could have serious consequences. But the specifics were buried in jargon and code, the full scope of the threat hinted at but never fully revealed.
The more he read, the more the weight of the situation pressed down on him. This wasn't just some vacation cover story—this was real, and it was terrifying. He couldn't do it, he didn't want to, he had almost died several times this last year, each time he was sure of it, he was sure it was the end, it was a terrifying felling, one that Alex didn't want to experience again.
As Alex flipped through the file, the pages seemed to get heavier with each turn. The mission details blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and dread.
Then, as he neared the end of the file, something caught his eye. It was a section that had nothing to do with the mission, instead a familiar face stared at him. The heading was simple, just a name: "Kyra Vashenko-Chao."
Alex's heart skipped a beat as he saw her name. Kyra—his friend, his ally, someone he had fought alongside and trusted. What was she doing in this file? A sinking feeling began to gnaw at his gut as he turned to the first page of the section, his eyes scanning the text with growing unease.
The words hit him like a sledgehammer.
Kyra was implicated in a series of cybercrimes—hacking into government systems, accessing classified information, and even blackmail. The reports were detailed, listing each crime with precision, backed up by evidence: logs of her activities, intercepted communications, and links to other hackers. It was all there in black and white, painted in the cold, unforgiving language of bureaucratic reports.
Alex's breath caught in his throat, his mind reeling as he tried to process what he was seeing. Kyra was no stranger to hacking—he knew that—but these were serious charges, the kind that could ruin her life, that could put her behind bars for a long time. And there was no doubt in his mind why this information was here, why it was included in his file.
It was leverage.
The realization settled over him like a dark cloud, filling him with a sickening sense of dread. They were using Kyra to get to him. They knew that he would never agree to their mission willingly, so they had dug up everything they could find on Kyra, twisted it into something they could use against him. If he refused to help them, they would use this file to destroy her.
Alex felt his hands start to shake, the file trembling in his grip as he turned the pages with increasing desperation. There were images of Kyra—security footage, surveillance photos, each one more invasive than the last. They had been watching her, following her every move, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The fear in Alex's chest tightened into a hard knot, his thoughts racing as he imagined what they could do to her if he didn't comply.
Unless he agreed to their demands.
The weight of the decision pressed down on him, threatening to suffocate him. He wanted to protect Kyra, to shield her from the darkness that was closing in around them, but at what cost? This mission—it was dangerous, and he knew that if he accepted, there was a good chance he wouldn't come back. But if he refused, Kyra's life would be over, her freedom stolen from her by people who didn't care about anything but their own agendas.
Fear clawed at his insides, a primal need to protect her overriding everything else. He couldn't let them hurt her. Not after everything they had been through, not when he knew what it was like to be used as a pawn in someone else's game. But the thought of putting himself in their hands, of walking into a situation he couldn't control—it terrified him. He had barely survived the last time, and the scars from those battles were still fresh, still aching with the memories of what he had lost.
But this wasn't just about him. This was about Kyra, and the thought of her being dragged into a cell, her life ripped apart, was something he couldn't bear. He had to protect her, no matter what it cost him.
With a shaky breath, Alex closed the file, the decision already made in his heart, even if his mind hadn't fully caught up yet. He didn't have a choice. He never really did.
He was going to have to do what they wanted, because if he didn't, Kyra would pay the price. And that was something he couldn't live with.
With a surge of adrenaline, Alex sprang out of the bed, his body fueled by a volatile mix of fear and desperation. The realization of what they were holding over him—Kyra's life, her future—was too much to bear. His thoughts raced, but one thing was clear: he couldn't let them destroy her. Not Kyra.
He bolted to the door, his feet barely touching the cold floor as he ran. Panic clawed at his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he reached the door. He didn't care about the pain that shot through his hand as he banged on the metal surface, the force so intense that his knuckles reddened, the skin threatening to bruise.
"Byrne!" he shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and desperation. "Byrne, I'll do it! Do you hear me? I'll fucking do it!"
The silence that followed was suffocating, the only sound the echo of his frantic pounding reverberating through the room. He slammed his fist against the door again, harder this time, the impact reverberating up his arm. The fear that had driven him to act so rashly was now mixing with a rising tide of anger, a fury that made his whole-body tremble. He had been through too much, survived too much, and now they were trying to use him again—use Kyra against him.
"Open the damn door!" Alex's voice was raw, his throat tight with emotion. "I said I'll do it! Just leave her out of this!"
But no response came. The silence pressed in on him, thick and impenetrable, mocking his desperation. It was as if the walls themselves were closing in, squeezing the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping in the oppressive stillness. He banged again, his fist aching, but still, there was nothing—no sound, no movement, just the cold, unyielding door before him.
"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Just… just leave her alone."
But the door remained shut, and with every second that passed, the crushing reality set in. He was powerless here, a prisoner in a gilded cage, with no control over what happened next. His pleas went unheard, swallowed by the emptiness of the room, by the indifferent steel of the door. They didn't care about his desperation, his willingness to sacrifice himself for Kyra. To them, he was just a tool, a means to an end.
The anger that had fueled his outburst began to drain away, leaving behind a hollow ache in his chest. He pressed his forehead against the door, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The metal was cool against his skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his frustration, his helplessness.
He wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but he knew it wouldn't make a difference. They had him exactly where they wanted him—trapped, desperate, and with no choice but to comply. And they knew it.
For a moment, Alex just stood there, leaning against the door, his eyes closed as he tried to steady his breathing. The fear still gnawed at him, a constant reminder of what was at stake. But now, there was something else too—a cold, simmering anger that burned deep inside him, an anger that he knew he would have to harness if he was going to survive this.
He didn't have a choice. He would do what they wanted, but not because they had broken him. He would do it to protect Kyra, to keep her safe from the nightmare they were threatening to unleash on her. And maybe, just maybe, he would find a way to turn this situation around. But for now, all he could do was wait, seething in the darkness, his fists clenched at his sides as the cold realization of his situation settled over him like a suffocating blanket.
Outside the thick, reinforced door, Byrne and the guards stood silently, listening to the muffled sounds of Alex's desperate pleas echoing from within. The boy's frantic shouts, the anger and fear woven into every word, were met with cold indifference. Byrne's lips curled into a slight smirk, a faint shadow of satisfaction crossing her otherwise steely expression.
This was exactly what she wanted.
One of the guards, a burly man whose stern face betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, glanced at Byrne, his voice low and hesitant. "What do you want us to do, ma'am?"
Byrne turned to him, her eyes narrowing with calculated ruthlessness. Her gaze was sharp, almost predatory, as she considered the question, as if weighing the most effective way to maintain her control. The power she held over the boy, over everyone in this operation, was something she wielded with surgical precision, never allowing emotion to cloud her judgment.
"Just leave him there," she replied, her voice cool and devoid of any empathy. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing in her tone—just the cold, hard certainty of someone who had long since learned to detach herself from the moral implications of her actions. "The more desperate he becomes, the better."
Her words hung in the air, a testament to her ruthless pragmatism. Byrne was not interested in Alex's suffering for its own sake; it was merely a tool, a means to an end. She knew that desperation could be a powerful motivator, that fear and isolation could break down even the most resilient individuals. And that's what she needed—Alex broken, compliant, willing to do whatever she asked, not out of loyalty, but out of a sheer, unyielding need to protect those he cared about.
The guards exchanged a brief glance, their unease palpable, but neither dared question her. Byrne's authority was absolute, her reputation for getting what she wanted well-known within the agency. She was a woman who understood the ugly necessities of her work, who didn't flinch at using whatever means were required to achieve her objectives. To her, this was just another operation, another mission where the ends justified the means.
She turned away from the door, her smirk fading into a look of cold determination as she walked down the hallway. In her mind, the matter was settled. Alex would crack, just as they all did eventually. And when he did, he would be exactly what she needed him to be: a tool, sharp and precise, ready to be used in the most dangerous of missions.
As she strode away, the echoes of Alex's desperation slowly faded behind her, swallowed by the sterile, clinical quiet of the facility. And in Byrne's wake, there was nothing but the chilling certainty that she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, no matter the cost.
COMMENT RESPONSE:
maria260686: Thank you, you made my day, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm allways unsure when I try to describe a scene, so thank you for that!