A Spark in the Grandeur of Space
Prologue: Contemplation
Disclaimer: On the new book that just came out, did anyone see my name anywhere on it…no didn't think so.
A/N: My first Alex Rider story. It takes place right after Skeleton Key. Also there is a lot of bastardized scientific information throughout the story, though not in this chapter. I'm researching it, but will be stretching some things to the point of implausibility to those, who, um, know these things. To everyone else who don't have a masters in science, please let me know if it edges into insanity and I'll reel it back in. Please review with any comments, criticism, or suggestions. Thanks.
Summary: (AU after Skeleton Key) "Believe me," he said, "it would be better if we didn't meet again. Go back to school. Go back to your life. And the next time they ask you, say no. Killing is for grownups and you're still a child."
"There are no accidents, only nature throwing her weight around. Even the bomb merely releases energy that nature has put there. Nuclear war would be just a spark in the grandeur of space. Nor can radiation ''alter'' nature: she will absorb it all. After the bomb, nature will pick up the cards we have spilled, shuffle them, and begin her game again."
- Camille Paglia
"You killed Ian Rider," Alex said. "He was my uncle."
Yassen shrugged. "I kill a lot of people."
"One day I'll kill you."
"A lot of people have tried." Yassen smiled. "Believe me," he said, "it would be better if we didn't meet again. Go back to school. Go back to your life. And the next time they ask you, say no. Killing is for grownups and you're still a child."
It was the best advice he'd ever been given.
However, reflecting on his previous relationships with murdering sociopaths and well, adults in general, it was no surprise that he'd never taken it.
As a fourteen-year-old spy, Alex Rider often paused during his many death-defying escapades including a swim with a Portuguese Man of War; a snowboard trip down a gunmen-ridden slope; and a close brush with nuclear detonation and wondered how the bloody hell he managed to get himself into these sorts of situations. Then he reminded himself that it might be better for his mental health to not think about it. At all.
Because, then, you know, he'd have to start wondering how he'd ended up in the States hanging upside in a lead vent praying for a contract killer and a SAS agent to rescue him before a stream of highly ionized radiation spurted down the vent scrambling his DNA into oblivion.
In the very least, he hoped that death by ionized radiation was painless…but somehow he didn't think so.
To Be Continued…