Mrs. Jones had been dreading this moment for months, ever since Joe Byrne had set foot in London and casually mentioned Alex Rider's name during their meetings. The unease had settled in her stomach like a heavy stone, growing with each passing day. She had known, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before Byrne made her move. The woman was too much like Blunt in that way—relentless, unyielding, and willing to do whatever it took to achieve her goals.
Byrne had always admired Blunt, that much was clear. She respected his ruthless efficiency, his willingness to cross any line if it meant getting results. Mrs. Jones had recognized that admiration for what it was: a dangerous quality in someone who wielded as much power as Byrne did. And when Mrs. Jones had firmly told Byrne that Alex was off-limits, that he had been through enough and deserved to be left alone, she knew her words had likely fallen on deaf ears.
Now, the message she had been dreading had arrived. Just one simple, ominous sentence from their contact in America: Alex Rider is here. Byrne spoke to him.
Mrs. Jones stared at the words on the screen, her heart sinking as the implications settled in. There was no elaboration, no details, just the stark reality that Alex was now in Byrne's orbit. She closed her eyes, taking a slow, deep breath as exhaustion and frustration threatened to overwhelm her. She had made a promise to Alex, a promise that she would leave him alone, that MI6 would no longer pull him into their world. But it seemed that promise was slipping through her fingers.
She had watched Alex grow up far too quickly, forced into a world of espionage that had no place for a boy his age. She had seen the toll it had taken on him—the way his eyes had lost some of their brightness, the weariness in his voice whenever they spoke. Mrs. Jones had wanted to give him the chance to reclaim his life, to find some semblance of peace. And she had promised herself that she would protect that fragile peace, no matter what.
But Byrne was a different kind of adversary. She wasn't just another intelligence officer; she was someone who knew how to exploit every weakness, someone who saw people as pawns to be moved around a chessboard. Mrs. Jones had no doubt that Byrne had gone after Alex because she saw his value, saw the potential to use him just as MI6 had. And that thought filled Mrs. Jones with a deep, simmering anger.
"Crawley," she called out, her voice sharper than usual, betraying the turmoil she was trying to keep at bay. "Get me a flight to the States."
Alex had been sitting in that empty room for what felt like an eternity, the seconds dragging into minutes, and the minutes into hours, each one stretching out longer than the last. He felt as if time had lost all meaning, the silence of the room pressing in on him like a physical weight. Fatigue was a heavy blanket draped over his shoulders, pulling him down, making it nearly impossible to keep his eyes open. But every time he started to drift off into a restless, fitful sleep, the gnawing hunger in his stomach would jolt him awake, a sharp reminder that even the most basic of needs were being denied.
His throat was parched, the dryness so intense it felt like he had swallowed a mouthful of sand. The thirst clawed at him, his body screaming for water, but there was none to be had. He swallowed reflexively, but it only made the discomfort worse, his throat raw and scratchy. The hunger and thirst twisted together inside him, a relentless, gnawing pain that wouldn't let him forget, wouldn't let him rest.
Above him, the fluorescent lights buzzed with a constant, grating hum, the harsh white glow searing into his brain. It was like a needle being driven into his skull, the relentless brightness making his headache throb in time with his pulse. He squinted against the light, wishing desperately for a switch to turn it off, to find some relief, but there was none. There was nothing in the room that offered any comfort, any respite from the torment that was slowly but surely wearing him down.
The walls of the room seemed to close in on him, the air heavy and oppressive. The sterile, clinical smell of the place filled his nose, a constant reminder that this wasn't just a room—it was a cell. A cell designed to break him, to strip away his resistance, layer by layer. The fluorescent lights, the hunger, the thirst, all of it was part of the plan, a calculated effort to make him as desperate and pliable as possible.
Finally, the door creaked open, and Alex looked up with a mix of exhaustion and defiance as Joe Byrne entered the room, her presence flanked by the two guards who had dragged him here earlier. Alex didn't bother to stand as they approached, his body too drained to muster the energy for anything beyond a glare.
Byrne's smile was as cold and calculated as ever, a clinical expression devoid of any real emotion. It wasn't meant to comfort or reassure; it was a weapon, honed to cut through any resistance. "Alex," she began, her voice smooth but utterly devoid of warmth, "I hear you've made up your mind."
Alex stood, every movement stiff and mechanical, his body betraying the fatigue and resignation that had settled in. His voice, though low, carried a sharp edge. "You know dam well that I did ," he replied, the anger in his words barely masking the underlying despair. "You and Blunt—you're just like SCORPIA."
Byrne didn't react, her expression unchanging, her eyes cold and assessing. "Maybe," she said, the admission rolling off her tongue with the same indifference she might use to discuss the weather. "But the difference is, I have the president's permission. Now, shall we get this over with?"
Her words hung in the air, as cold and final as a death sentence. There was no room for negotiation, no glimmer of humanity or understanding. Just the brutal efficiency of someone who had already decided his fate long before he had even walked into the room.
Alex stared at her, feeling a sickening mix of defeat and fury. He wanted to fight, to resist, but he knew it was futile. They had cornered him, used his weakness against him. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a vise. He was trapped, and they both knew it.
Without another word, Alex nodded, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Byrne turned, motioning for the guards to follow as she led the way out. Alex trailed behind, every step heavy with the knowledge that he was once again a pawn in someone else's game. But this time, it wasn't just his life on the line—it was Kyra's too. And that was something he couldn't bear.
Byrne led the way, her stride purposeful, unyielding, with the guards flanking him like silent Specters of his lost freedom. The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, each step echoing the cold reality that he was trapped in a game he never wanted to play. Byrne didn't look back, didn't say another word—there was no need.
Suddenly, a figure stepped in front of them, her presence halting their advance. Alex instantly recognized her, Mrs. Jones.
"Joe," Mrs. Jones said.
"Jones," Byrne responded coolly, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "I see you've heard the news."
"You had no right. I won't let you do this," Mrs. Jones said, her voice firm but laced with an underlying desperation.
"I'm afraid it's too late," Byrne replied with a cruel smile, stepping aside to reveal Alex standing behind her, pale and weary. "Alex has already agreed to help us."
Mrs. Jones's gaze shifted to the boy, her heart sinking as she took in his disheveled appearance, the exhaustion etched into his face, and the hollow look in his eyes. "Alex," she breathed, a tremor in her voice, "are you okay?" But even as she asked, she knew the answer—his broken expression spoke volumes.
"You promised, Mrs. Jones," Alex whispered, his voice trembling with hurt and betrayal. "You promised that it was over."
Mrs. Jones felt the weight of those words, a sharp pang of guilt piercing through her. She had promised him peace, a life free from the darkness he had endured, and now, that promise lay shattered at his feet.
"I'm afraid we're in a hurry," Byrne said, her tone dripping with smug satisfaction. "We'll have to reschedule." She smirked, clearly relishing her perceived victory, as if outwitting a teenager made her superior.
Alex stood frozen for a moment, staring at Mrs. Jones, but before he could fully process the exchange, the guards shoved him forward. His feet moved automatically, the weight of defeat pressing heavily on his chest.
They stepped outside, the crisp air a sharp contrast to the stifling tension that lingered between them. A sleek, black car awaited at the front, its presence cold and impersonal. Without hesitation, Alex was forced into the back seat, his limbs too heavy to resist. Byrne slid in beside him, her presence stifling, while the two guards took their places in the front.
As the car pulled away, Alex stared out the window, feeling utterly powerless.
Alex watched as unfamiliar roads blurred past, the landscape foreign and unwelcoming. He had no idea where they were or where they were taking him. The silence in the car was thick, oppressive. Byrne sat next to him, entirely engrossed in her tablet, tapping away without a glance in his direction.
The dryness in his throat became unbearable, the ache sharp every time he swallowed. His lips were chapped and sore, every word a struggle.
"Can I at least have some water?" he asked, his voice rasping, barely breaking the tense quiet.
Byrne didn't look up from her tablet, her fingers pausing for just a moment before continuing to tap on the screen. The request lingered in the air, ignored like he hadn't spoken at all. The guards in the front didn't react either, their silence as cold as the empty streets outside.
Alex exhaled deeply, the weight of exhaustion and frustration pressing him down as he slumped further into the seat. Every muscle in his body ached from fatigue, his throat still dry and raw, and the hunger gnawing at him felt like a hollow, burning pit in his stomach. He cursed everyone in the car silently—Bryne, the guards, the entire situation that had forced him back into this nightmare. The unfamiliar roads that blurred past the windows only deepened his sense of isolation.
The car stopped, the guard in the passenger seat stepping out without a word. The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Alex glanced toward Bryne, but she remained focused on her tablet, completely disinterested in anything outside her work. Her indifference made the silence feel even heavier, the tension hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Minutes passed, each one dragging painfully. Finally, the guard returned, a paper bag crinkling in his hand as he opened the car door. He leaned back, handing it to Alex with a smirk that made Alex's skin crawl. "Here you go, kid," the man said, his tone almost mocking.
Alex hesitated for a second before grabbing the bag, his hunger overpowering his pride. As he opened it, the warm, rich smell of food filled the car, hitting him like a punch. His stomach clenched painfully, his body betraying his resistance. Inside was a bottle of water and a sandwich, simple yet overwhelming in its promise of relief.
Without even looking up, Bryne spoke, her voice as cold and smug as ever. "You see, Alex, when you cooperate, we can be nice." Alex rolled his eyes biting back an answer
The sandwich, the water—it felt like a twisted bribe, a reward for bending to their will. His hands shook slightly as he unwrapped the sandwich, the overwhelming need for food battling the disgust he felt. Every bite tasted bitter, not because of the food itself, but because of what it symbolized.
Alex devoured the sandwich in seconds, the food disappearing almost as quickly as it came. The gnawing hunger eased slightly, and the water soothed his parched throat, but the bitterness in his chest remained. At least now, with something in his stomach, he felt a little more grounded—though it did nothing to lift the weight of his situation.
For the next three hours, they drove in complete silence. No one spoke. Even the radio remained off, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional bump in the road. Alex stared out the window, watching as the unfamiliar roads stretched on, his mind racing but finding no answers. He didn't know where they were heading, and neither Bryne nor the guards offered any clue. It was a waiting game, one that left him feeling powerless and trapped.
Finally, the car slowed and came to a stop in front of a building. Alex blinked in surprise. It was nothing like the covert, rundown MI6 headquarters he had get used to. This place was grand, almost imposing, with sleek modern architecture and towering glass windows. The sprawling complex seemed to scream authority, power, and control.
The difference couldn't have been more striking. Where MI6 operated under the disguise of an old, worn facade, blending into the London streets like it didn't exist, the CIA flaunted its presence. This building was a declaration, a fortress, daring anyone to challenge it. And now, Alex was being brought inside.
The guards opened his door, and he stepped out reluctantly, his legs stiff from the long drive. Bryne followed, walking with the same air of authority she always carried, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. As they approached the entrance, Alex couldn't help but feel the walls closing in, the weight of what awaited him pressing down harder than ever.
This time, the building was alive with movement. People bustled about, intent on their tasks, but a few heads turned as Alex passed. Whispers followed him, curious glances exchanged, yet no one dared to ask why a lone teenager trailed behind the head of the CIA. It was clear Bryne commanded authority here, and even the sight of someone out of place wasn't enough to make anyone question her.
They stepped into an elevator, its polished steel walls reflecting the cold, sterile environment. The silence inside felt suffocating. Alex could feel the guards behind him, their presence heavy and watchful, ready to react at the slightest misstep. His heart pounded, but he forced his face to remain blank, unwilling to let any of his fear show. They ascended, the elevator's soft hum the only sound until the doors slid open to reveal a grand office.
This room was a stark contrast to the sterile hallways. It was opulent, with large windows flooding the space with light, luxurious furniture, and a massive desk that screamed authority. Everything about it was designed to intimidate.
For the first time in hours, Bryne glanced back at him, her icy eyes briefly acknowledging the guards. "You're no longer necessary. You can go now," she said, her voice sharp and dismissive. The two men hesitated for a moment, but then, without a word, they left the room, leaving Alex alone with her.
She didn't need them anymore—she knew that. Alex was already caught, his every move restrained by the invisible chains she'd placed on him. He wouldn't dare make a move now, not with Kyra's fate hanging in the balance. Bryne's control over him was absolute, and she knew it. The smug satisfaction in her gaze made that clear.
Alex clenched his fists, every fiber of his being wanting to rebel, but he stayed rooted in place. He was trapped, and he knew it. Bryne had him exactly where she wanted him.~
"Take a seat, Alex," Bryne said smoothly, moving around to her imposing desk and seating herself with the grace of someone who knew they were in control.
Alex hesitated, glaring at her for a moment before finally sitting down, feeling the weight of the room press down on him. His thoughts raced, anger and frustration gnawing at him
Bryne's cold gaze never left him, her fingers lightly tapping on the polished wood as if waiting for him to speak first.
Alex swallowed, the question that had been burning in his mind coming out before he could stop himself. "If I do this," he began, his voice tight, "you'll destroy that file?"
For a brief moment, a shadow of amusement flickered across her face before she nodded. "You have my word," she said, her tone infuriatingly calm. The words were meant to sound reassuring, but to Alex, they were empty—just another manipulation in a long line of lies. Her word meant nothing, but at this point, what choice did he have? He was cornered, and they both knew it.
"Right," he muttered bitterly, the fight draining out of him as he accepted the inevitable. "So what do you want me to do?"
Bryne leaned forward, her tone shifting to something more serious, a sharp contrast to her earlier smugness. "You've already read the file on Sarov. As you know, it's not much. We need to find out what he's planning. You'll be going with two other agents," she said, her finger pressing a button on her desk with a decisive click. "In fact, I think it's time you met them."
The door opened almost on cue, as if the moment had been rehearsed. Two figures stepped in—one a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond hair cut neatly, the other a woman with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. They were a perfect fit for the kind of cover the CIA needed for Alex—a family, or at least the appearance of one.
Alex's gaze flicked between them, feeling the weight of their presence. They were clearly chosen for this role with him in mind.
"Alex," Bryne began, her voice smooth and authoritative, "this is Troy and Belinda. They are the agents that will accompany you."
The two agents exchanged a quick, confused glance before Troy spoke up. "Mrs. Bryne, who is this?" he asked, his brow furrowed as he looked at the teenager sitting calmly in her office.
"This is Alex Rider. He'll be going with you on the Cuba operation," Bryne replied without missing a beat, as if sending a teenager on a mission was the most routine thing in the world.
Troy blinked, visibly taken aback. "What? I'm sorry, but how old is he?"
"Seventeen," Bryne answered, her tone flat and matter-of-fact.
Troy's eyes widened in disbelief. "Ma'am, you can't be serious about sending a kid with us."
Bryne's gaze hardened. "I don't see the problem here. You both already knew your cover would be a family."
"Yes, but we didn't think you'd literally send a child," Belinda interjected, her voice strained with disbelief. She couldn't wrap her head around it. Was Bryne out of her mind? A family cover was one thing, but she never expected the kid to actually be this young.
Bryne's expression turned steely. "Enough of this." Bryne said, her voice sharp as she cut through their protests. "Alex will go with you, and that's final."
Troy exchanged a quick glance with Belinda, who had remained quiet, but it was clear they were both uneasy. "Ma'am, what we're trying to say is that the mission will be dangerous," Belinda said, her tone softer now, trying to reason with her superior.
Bryne smirked, her eyes gleaming with a cold satisfaction. "You don't have to worry about that," she said, as if she was indulging their ignorance. "Alex here can take care of himself. I'm borrowing him from MI6. You have him to thank for stopping Damian Cray's operation and the downfall of Scorpia."
Alex's stomach twisted as she threw his past accomplishments at them. Borrowed, like he was some tool they could just pick up and use whenever they wanted. He didn't like it, but what could he do?
The agents' faces shifted, disbelief morphing into something closer to respect. They turned their attention fully to Alex now, no longer dismissive. "That was you?" Troy asked, his voice heavy with shock. This kid… did all that?
The agents' disbelief slowly shifted to something closer to respect as they processed the truth. "That was you?" Troy asked again, his tone heavy with shock. His eyes scanned Alex with renewed curiosity, trying to piece together how this seemingly ordinary teenager had become MI6's secret weapon.
Alex just shrugged, avoiding their gaze. It wasn't something he liked to dwell on. Those missions—Point Blanc, Cray, SCORPIA—weren't victories. They were battles he'd been forced into, fights he hadn't wanted but couldn't escape. Survival had been the only goal, and sometimes it felt like he was still barely hanging on.
Bryne's voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade. "Alright," she said, gesturing to the empty chairs beside Alex. "Take a seat."
Reluctantly, Troy and Belinda sat down, one on either side of Alex. He suddenly felt small, trapped between the two of them, like he was at the headmasters office waiting to get scolded about his grades.
The sterile atmosphere of Bryne's office only added to the tension, the clean, modern lines of the furniture making everything feel cold and calculated. It was the opposite of comfort, a reminder that this was business, not something personal or compassionate.
Bryne cleared her throat, her fingers tapping lightly on a thick folder as she slid it across the desk toward them. "You will be given new identities," she began "You'll keep your first names, but your last name will be Gardiner. So, it's Alex Gardiner traveling with his mom and dad, Troy and Belinda Gardiner. You live in Los Angeles, and Alex has just been accepted into a university. Your parents are taking you to Cuba to celebrate."
Alex's eyes flicked down to the folder Bryne pushed toward him. It was thick, filled with documents, photographs, and background details. The sheer volume of it was overwhelming, but he reached out and took it anyway, feeling its weight in his hands.
"Read it. Learn it," Bryne said, her voice carrying a finality that sent a shiver down Alex's spine. "Every detail. This is your cover story."
Alex flipped the folder open, skimming the first few pages. It was an entire fabricated life, down to their favorite restaurants and the schools he supposedly attended. "What? All of it?" he asked, the exhaustion creeping into his voice.
Bryne didn't even blink. Her gaze remained as cold and unfeeling as ever. "You three leave tomorrow," she said with chilling finality. His head was already spinning from everything, and now they expected him to memorize this entire file by tomorrow?
"You three have to act like a family," Bryne said, her tone sharp and unyielding. "Tonight, you'll have dinner together, get to know each other. There won't be any room for mistakes."
Alex barely heard her. He slumped back in his chair, the exhaustion weighing him down like a lead blanket. The mission hadn't even started, and he already felt drained. His mind was buzzing with everything he'd just learned—new identities, an undercover mission in Cuba, the looming threat to Kyra. It was too much, and Bryne's cold, clinical demeanor wasn't helping.
She seemed to notice his fatigue, her eyes narrowing slightly in what might've been false sympathy. "Alex, you can go now," she said, her voice softening just enough to sound patronizing. "Someone will take you to your room. Get some rest, and don't forget—learn the information. Don't forget what's at stake."
As soon as she said it, the guard was at the door, waiting. No words needed to be spoken; Alex knew the drill by now. He pushed himself out of the chair, his body heavy with exhaustion and defeat. The agents were left behind with Bryne, discussing the finer details of their "family" cover, but none of it mattered to Alex anymore. He just needed to get out of that office.
The guard escorted him through the maze of sterile hallways. It was silent, except for the dull thud of their footsteps echoing off the polished floors. Eventually, they stopped in front of a door, and for the first time since arriving, Alex felt a glimmer of relief. The room they brought him to wasn't like the cold, windowless cell he'd been kept in before. This one was different—there were actual windows, and sunlight streamed through them, casting a warm glow on the walls. The room had color—soft blues and whites, even a carpet underfoot. It felt normal. Too normal, considering everything going on.
The guard stepped aside, allowing Alex to enter the room. As the door closed behind him, the metallic click of the lock echoed through the space, reminding him that despite the upgrade, he was still very much a prisoner. His room might have windows and a carpet, but freedom was a distant fantasy.
Without a second thought, he threw the folder onto the bed, watching it land with a dull thud. Exhaustion overtook him as he collapsed onto the softness of the mattress. His body sank into the fabric, the tension momentarily easing from his muscles. He closed his eyes, telling himself it would only be for a second, but that second was all it took.
Alex woke up with a jolt, his heart racing as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.. His throat felt like sandpaper, and his stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him that a single sandwich was nowhere near enough to sustain him.
He sat up, wincing as his back throbbed from the awkward position he had fallen asleep in. His body was stiff, his muscles aching from the restless slumber. Alex glanced around, trying to gauge how long he had been out. Judging by the dimming light outside the window, it had been at least a few hours.
With a sigh, Alex reached for the thick folder on the bed, its weight a tangible reminder of the task ahead. He didn't have the luxury of time anymore. Every minute wasted brought him closer to the mission, and he needed to be prepared—no mistakes, no hesitation. Bryne's cold reminder echoed in his mind: Don't forget what's at stake.
Flipping open the folder, he stared down at the pages, the fabricated life he was supposed to memorize. Alex Gardiner. From Los Angeles. University. A happy family trip to Cuba. It all felt surreal, but he knew better than to dwell on the absurdity of it. He had done this before, slipping into a life that wasn't his. But the stakes were higher now, and the cost of failure was too great. He couldn't afford to let his mind wander.
He started reading, forcing himself to focus, despite the fatigue still clinging to him. The sooner he mastered this, the better his chances of survival—and protecting Kyra.
As the room darkened with the setting sun, Alex remained focused on the words in the folder. He had made good progress, memorizing the essentials of his new identity when muffled voices drifted through the door, interrupting his concentration. The door creaked open, and Troy stepped in, looking slightly bewildered as his gaze landed on Alex, still seated on the bed, surrounded by scattered papers.
"Kid, are you okay?" Troy asked, his tone laced with uncertainty.
Alex frowned, lowering the folder onto his legs. "Yeah," he replied, though his voice sounded more detached than convincing.
"Right," Troy responded, glancing around awkwardly. "Well, I came to get you for dinner. Take a shower and change your clothes. I'll be waiting outside."
Before Alex could respond—or even point out that he had no clothes to change into—Troy was already halfway out the door, closing it behind him with a soft click. The silence returned, but this time it felt heavier. Alex sighed, glancing down at his rumpled clothes and the folder in his lap.
He pushed the papers aside, letting them tumble into a disorganized heap on the bed. Rising to his feet, he begrudgingly decided a shower wouldn't hurt. His eyes roamed the room, landing on the dresser tucked in the corner. It hadn't occurred to him that they might have left him clothes, but as he approached it, a glimmer of hope sparked in his chest.
When he opened the dresser drawers, his breath caught. Inside were his clothes—the very same ones he had left behind in his dorm room. He stared at the familiar fabric in his hands, heart pounding in his chestThey hadn't just taken him; they had been inside his dorm, rummaging through his things, violating his space. The thought gnawed at him, but Alex forced it aside, grabbing a random outfit and shutting the dresser door with a quiet thud. Best not to dwell on it, not now.
He carried the clothes to the bathroom, placing them on the counter before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at him was almost unrecognizable. His face was pale, his eyes sunken with exhaustion, deep bags hanging under them like bruises. His hair was a mess, and his clothes were dirty and wrinkled, remnants of the chaos he'd been dragged through. Now he understood why Bryne had sent him away and why Troy had asked if he was okay.
He turned on the shower, not even bothering to wait for the water to warm up before stepping in. The icy blast hit his skin, jolting him awake, and for the first time, he felt a flicker of relief. The cold water rushed over his head, washing away the grime and stress, and with it, the relentless pounding in his skull finally started to ease.
When he stepped out, the bathroom was filled with steam, the mirror fogged over. Alex wiped it clean with the back of his hand, studying his reflection again. He still looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes a reminder of everything he'd been through, but at least now he didn't look like he'd been hit by a truck. There was a bit more life in his face, and somehow, that felt like a small victory.
Comment response:
maria260686: It's always fun imagining how would they adapt this to the TV Show, especially this skeleton Key since it has my favourite villan. Thank you for your comments I always love reading them!