DISCLAIMER: I do not own Alex Rider.

AWOL 01

Through his whole twenty-two fake years of living, he had never experienced something as painful as SAS selection. Sure, he had been captured plenty of times and had been tortured mentally and physically, but it seemed trivial to what he was going through now.

He was being hunted. He had been the hunted for quite some while now, moving stealthily through the barren trees, careful not to leave any tracks. He knew that he was going against seasoned SAS soldiers, some specially trained in tracking down the enemy, but he had been trained too. Trained not to leave a trace. Trained not to make a mistake.

He knew he had impressed the Sergeant the moment he had walked into the training grounds. He was younger than most of the recruits there, save for one arrogant, young soldier, but he had surpassed the other recruits in skill. He'd returned the fastest on hikes, lasted the longest, and never missed his mark. He knew he would make it in, but it didn't stop his adrenaline from rushing through his veins as he ran through the trees in his trench coat.

Snap!

He cursed under his breath when he heard the obvious approaching soldiers. They were close. He couldn't let them capture him.

So he ran, faster and just as silent.

Cold air nipped at his face. His small pack of supplies was pressed against his rib cage as he ran, the items making little noises as he ran.

"I see him!"

His heart beat faster as he heard the cry. He had lasted almost the length of the three days. Damn it, he was not going to spend more time in Tactical Questioning than he needed.

Keep running.

His primary goal was to get away from the hunters. He fumbled with his supply pack as he ran, reaching for the map that pointed him towards his reporting location. He had to last one more hour before reporting there, where he knew he would be hauled away and questioned for a grueling twenty-four hours.

"Just shoot him with a fucking dart already!"

Whiz!

He ducked into a roll as he heard the dart. Without stopping, he continued his frantic running, barely registering how close the dart had come to his neck.

"What the fuck? Shoot again!"
Pop!

He veered sharply to the right when he heard the dart whizzing next to him. He was already beginning to pant. The others couldn't keep chasing him forever.

Pop!

"Shite," he mumbled, feeling the needle pierce his skin, right through the vintage World War Two coat he had been given.

"Got him!" A cheerful voice said, laughing, "Man, he was the best out of all of them. Loads of fun."

He was still running, but his vision was getting blurry.

"Oomph!" He swore that the tree he had collided into hadn't been there a second before.

He lay on his back, his vision darkening. A figured leaned over him, grinning. He tried raising his hand to punch the guy, but his body wouldn't obey him. Instead, he settled for a slurred, "I fuckin' hate soldiers," before he succumbed into darkness.

A*W*O*L

He jerked awake, his hands handcuffed above him. He had been stripped to only his pants. Horrified, he stared down at his chest, which was littered with scars. Someone had to have had questioned his scars. His secret was going to be revealed.

He sat there for ages, noting the camera implanted in the wall, the nearly microscopic bug right next to him, and the speakers above him. It was playing some sort of noise that grated his ears, but after facing the real deal constantly, this seemed like nothing.

He closed his eyes. He might as well try to get some sleep. Staying awake meant nothing, especially because he knew that breaking out (a feat that he could easily accomplish) would result in his failure to join the SAS.

BAM.

The door burst open. He didn't jolt, like a normal person would. He just opened his eyes, lazily gazing at an evilly grinning Sergeant and a female nurse, judging by her uniform.

It was obviously his time to be questioned.

He was uncuffed and dragged to another room, forced to stand to attention in the middle of a dim room, in front of a table with a single, thin folder.

"Damn," the Sergeant was eyeing his scars with fascination, "You've been through a lot, I reckon."

He stood still, eyes never wavering from the Sergeant.

"What's your name, son?"

The friendly tone was a façade. He knew, but he had no choice but to answer with a cold, "I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question."

The friendly demeanor was off in a fraction of a second. The Sergeant was now furious, yelling, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I ASKED YOU A FUCKING QUESTION. ANSWER ME."

He was hiding a smile. Though he knew that this was all part of the Sergeant's tactics, he couldn't help but think of an overgrown toddler, screaming at him.

"ANSWER ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT. WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING NAME?"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question."

The Sergeant hit the table with a sharp yell of frustration. He was trying to scare the recruit, but it wasn't working.

The man seemed to realize this. He sighed, stalking towards the door and letting in two soldiers.

He knew what was going to happen. He was going to be stripped bare while the nurse sneered at him. He would stand there, unyielding, responding to everything with a short 'I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question'. Then, he would be thrown back into his prison. After a few hours of listening to the noises from the speaker, he would be screamed at again, but he wouldn't break.

He would never break.

A*W*O*L

"Trevor Lee: welcome to the Special Air Service. You'll now be known as Lynx."

The newly dubbed Lynx stood to attention in his new uniform with his new beret, standing in front of the Sergeant in his office. It was a familiar place, seeing as he had been there before, a couple years previous.

"Thank you, sir."

The Sergeant smiled. Lynx could tell it wasn't a façade, like he had been facing while he was in the final stages of recruitment.

"I have to ask," he leaned back in his chair, surveying Lynx, "How many times?"

Lynx stiffened, though he was sure the Sergeant didn't notice, "How many times what, sir?"

"How many times were you captured?" The Sergeant gave him a look that clearly said 'don't be stupid' and continued with a, "I'm not dumb, Lynx. I know torture marks when I see one."

Lynx gave the Sergeant an ironic smile, "I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question."

He was sure that the Sergeant was going to flip out, but instead, the man began laughing, choking out, "I knew I was right to pick you!"

Still chuckling, he stood and reached out a hand for Lynx to shake. The Sergeant gripped Lynx's hand, searching his face, "You are J-Unit's new sharpshooter. They're waiting for you in the hut. Dismissed."

Lynx saluted and exited the office, heading to the hut labeled "J-Unit". He paused at the threshold, breathing in deeply.

Seventeen year old Alex Rider was gone. Twenty-two year old Trevor Lee's life had just begun.

A/N: I know what you're thinking: ALICE, WHY ARE YOU STARTING ANOTHER CHAPTER STORY?

Well, I'M SORRY! This fic kept on nudging me, telling me to write it... That sounded weird. Anyway, I'm not sure if I'll update often (just because Operation Zeta is still being written). I really hope you guys like this.

Apologies for the swearing... I watched this movie a while back about a dude and SAS selection, so... YEAHHHH... I did my research... I think that'll be the worst of the swearing.

If you liked this, please review/favorite/follow! I swear I'm still working on OZ (hehe, the Wizard of Oz)! I'll probably work on this on the side.

-A xx