Alex had a feeling that something was wrong. Not as in 'oh my god I forgot to study for my European history test' wrong—as in 'oh my god I think there are assassins in my school here to kill me' wrong. Which, for any normal person, would be very, very, very wrong…but then again, Alex Rider was not a normal person. One could say that he was so far from normal, in fact, that he was on a level with an alien—an alien. Anyway, back to the story. Alex Rider had a feeling that something was wrong. It had started the moment he walked into the modern, impersonal lobby of Brookland Comprehensive, just as he would on any other Thursday—when he was not on a mission, that is—a twinge, in the back of his mind, and a vague feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Both of which could have been attributed to the fact that yes, he had forgotten to study for his European history test—except that his instinct was telling him that this was different. And Alex knew better than to ignore his instinct—it was one of the things he could rely on to keep him in the condition he preferred: alive.

Alex immediately went into what Tom called his 'spy-mode.' His eyes shifted almost imperceptibly from side to side, taking in all possible threats and exits. His footsteps, already quiet for a student, became nearly silent. His movements were that much more lithe and graceful, with no energy wasted on unnecessary motion as he made his way through the halls on his way to first period.

A hand grasped his elbow, and, in his state of heightened awareness, it was all Alex could do to refrain from spinning on his heel and twisting the offending wrist up behind his attackers back. He was grateful for his self-control, however, when he turned and came face to face with his best friend. Tom Harris was a small-ish boy with a personality to make up for his size. His black hair stuck out in every direction, falling carelessly into a pair of electric blue eyes. In short, he was everything that Alex was not—and the taller boy loved him for it. Tom was also one of the few civilians in Alex's life who actually knew what occurred during his absences, and the fact that he stuck by Alex anyway had forged an unshakeable bond between the two. That didn't, however, prevent Alex from glaring down at his best friend and hissing,

"Tom! What the hell were you thinking, grabbing my shoulder like that? I was this close to grabbing your wrist and breaking your arm!"

The other boy had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry, Alex."

Alex sighed. "It's fine, Tom. Just—be careful, all right?

The moment Alex had forgiven him, Tom had brightened, his trademark grin stretching across his face. "Did you hear the announcement, mate? There's an assembly first period. Quimby's test is cancelled!" He whooped with joy. "Should have seen the old bat's face when they announced it during homeroom this morning—some sort of science assembly, instead. Mandatory attendance—hey, what's up?"

The moment Tom had mentioned an assembly, Alex had frozen. The feeling of dread in his stomach had suddenly intensified, threatening to crawl up his throat and choke him. He shook his head—and then sighed, as Tom continued to look at him appraisingly.

"My instincts went haywire the moment I stepped into the building, and again when you mentioned an assembly—I don't know if it's because of the thought of nearly 2,000 civilians packed into a single theatre, or if I'm just being paranoid, but I've got the feeling that something isn't right…"

Tom frowned. "Is it—you know—your spy instinct?" he asked, his voice low.

Alex nodded, brows knitting. "I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary, yet, but this feeling just won't go away…"

Tom shot a worried glance at his friend. "Maybe you shouldn't go, then, if you're that sure that something's going to happen—"

But Alex was already shaking his head. "If something does happen, then I'm the only chance for survival that you all have got. Chances are, whoever it is will be after me, and they won't bother with the 2,000 odd civilians in the room, but I'd rather not risk it."

Tom nodded. "All right, Alex, but be careful, please—you're my best friend, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

Alex's bark of laughter was sharp and cynical. "Bit late for that, mate—I'm a sixteen year old spy who's been working for MI6 since the age of fourteen."

"True enough," Tom agreed, smiling slightly. "Shall we?" he asked the taller boy, offering his arm gallantly.

Alex, laughing slightly, elbowed his friend in the ribs and then strode off in the direction of the auditorium, Tom at his heels. Upon entering the theatre, he began his customary scan of all threats and possible exits, ignoring Tom's chatter. His instinct could not be ignored, and so Alex leaned down to murmur into Tom's ear.

"Sit at the back—view of the entire theatre and eyes on all exits."

Tom nodded in acknowledgement, and the two boys made their way to the last row of seats, which typically remained empty during assemblies, as it was where the headmaster of Brookland chose to seat himself. Today, however, Mr. Bray was joined by two of the most infamous students at Brookland—Alex Rider, the enigma, and his best friend Tom Harris.

Alex himself sat in the aisle seat, from which he had eyes on every entrance and exit to and from the auditorium. His eyes roved over rows upon rows of chattering students, identifying and examining each before moving on to the next. His entire body was taut with nerves, and Tom could almost feel the tension radiating from his friend's body.

"Alex?" he whispered softly, worried for his friend.

"Yes, Tom?" The boy in question replied equally softly, his eyes never halting their examination.

"Is—is everything all right?"

Alex turned to his best friend, a reassuring smile on his face. "Of course, Tom. I just—don't have a great feeling about this assembly. There is nothing to worry about. But, for both my sake and yours, I'll give you this—it sends a distress signal to 'the bank.'" He reached into the backpack by his feet and pulled out a graphing calculator. "Smithers made it for me," he said, referring to the gadget master at MI6. "Press alpha-M, alpha-I, and then the number 6, hit enter, and you'll open a direct connection with the head of MI6, Mrs. Jones. Tell her about the situation and try to describe it as best you can. She should send backup within the hour, half-hour if we're lucky."

Tom nodded, relief evident on his face. "Wait—I thought you said the head's name was something else. Mr. Burnt? Bentley?"

"Ah. Blunt. He's retired—can't say I'm sorry to see him go. Jones is much more—humane, some how. Less grey." He smiled at Tom, then turned his attention to the front of the stage, just as Mr. Bray stepped onto it.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, students and staff. As I'm sure you have noticed, we are having an assembly this morning." He waited for the ripple of laughter that ran through the crowd to die down before continuing. "We, as a school, are extremely lucky to have this speaker coming to talk to us today…"

As Mr. Bray droned on, Alex's eyes continued to dart around the room, taking in and cataloguing the minute changes each time a student or teacher moved—and then he froze. All of the tension that had relaxed from his body returned full force, as he took in the figures in black that had silently appeared at each door, blocking the exits. He, and the rest of his utterly defenseless school, was trapped in the auditorium. Polite applause jolted him from his thoughts. Mr. Bray was stepping down from the stage, and another figure was exiting the wings and taking his place—a man he had hoped to never see again in his (undeniably short) lifetime.