The hot desert sun blazed down, mercilessly on the neck and backs of the boys unfortunate enough to be exposed to it. Alex Rider paused, rested his hands on the handle of his shovel, and surveyed the four foot deep hole he had managed to excavate. The first few hours had been fine; he had been spurred on by food and the shade made the atmosphere cool and breezy. But as morning turned to afternoon and the sun came up, Alex experienced fatigue as he had never experienced before.

The water tanker had arrived at one o' clock to refill their canteens, but that was the only supply of water. And here he was, at four o' clock on his first day at Camp Green Lake. All the other boys had finished digging their holes over an hour ago. But the feel of a shovel was one that Alex was yet to get used to. As he began digging again, he noticed a silhouette moving towards him. He squinted trying to get a better look at the new arrival, and recognized one of the boys from the day before.

"Okay, Alex?" Barf Bag asked, his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah," he grunted, not knowing where he and Barf Bag stood after the day before. His shovel slipped, and he managed to regain his balance, avoiding falling into his hole for the umpteenth time.

Barf Bag held out his hand. Uncertainly, Alex held the shovel awkwardly inclined towards himself. Barf Bag seized it, and began digging at a rhythmic, constant speed. Within fifteen minutes, he finished a job that would have taken Alex over fifty. "Thanks," he said awkwardly.

"No problem" Barf Bag pulled the shovel out of the hole and handed it to Alex, gesturing towards the mess. A few minutes later, they were seated in the Rec Room, a bottle of water in each one's hand. Without warning, Barf Bag began speaking, after ten minutes of silence.

"I got here when I was twelve. My real name's Calvin. Calvin Franz. I was arrested for shoplifting, and then sent here. I couldn't afford a lawyer or any other kind of representation. My parents and I lived in a one bedroom apartment on Twelfth Avenue in New York. For me, it was either steal for food, or starve for it.

My parents were OK. My dad was a drunk, and my mom used to gamble away any money I brought home. So after a while, I stopped. I used to hang out with my friends most of the time. They got my into alcohol and drugs, and I pretty much looked to them as my family. Then one day... I went and got myself caught. I was nicking a DVD, something I had done a million times, but the cops nailed me. After they found out about my substance abuse, they took me to court. I was sentenced to twenty six months in a rehabilitation centre. That's what they called this place."

He paused, his eyes unfocused, and Alex could tell that his mind was far away in the past.

"There isn't much else to tell. I've been here ever since. None of the other kids is interested in anything but self-preservation. There's nothing here as friendship." He smiled. "Nature at it's barest. Survival of the fittest. The strong will get through it. The weak ones won't. It's as simple as that. When I got here, I kept asking myself that question, but i couldn't ever come up with an answer. I still can't..."

Alex made a decision. He knew that he couldn't tell this boy about his involvement with MI6 or the reason that he had been sent here. He had a strong urge to disregard Blunt's orders, and reveal everything, after all, this boy wasn't going to do anything to him. On the contrary he seemed like he wanted to help. But after weighing his options Alex decided to stick with his cover story. He could always backtrack later, he told himself. Part of him knew this wasn't true, but his objective was to find out what MI6 wanted and leave. He wasn't here to make lifelong friendships.

He told Calvin everything he had memorized from the files he had read while at MI6. His companion listened, as Alex stated lie after lie, with a blank expression. When he was done, Calvin smiled, and held out his hand. Alex grasped it and shook. It seemed he wasn't going to be alone here after all.