Another new story that probably won't get updated very much!

It's probably a bad idea to keep on publishing all the work I've done so far when I know I probably won't finish them, but I'm hoping it'll give me more inspiration!

So please review and tell me to get my a$$ in gear and write more chapters!!! Lol.

Anyway:

Disclaimer: All rights of Alex Rider belong to Anthony Horowitz and, because of him, MI6. I earn no money from this story, unless people want to start sending donations???

Prologue

Scorpia never forgot.

Scorpia never forgave.

The sniper had been paid to take revenge and that was what he would do. His own life would be forfeit if he failed.

As usual he would aim for the heart. The target area would be a fraction smaller this time but he would not miss. He never missed. It was time to prepare himself, to bring his breathing under control, to enter that state of calm before the kill.

He focussed his attention on the gun that he was holding, the self-loading Ruger .22 model K10/22-T. It was a low velocity weapon, less deadly than some he might have chosen. But the gun had two huge advantages. It was light. And it was very compact. By removing just two screws he had been able to separate the battle and the trigger mechanism from the stock. The stock itself folded in two. He had been able to carry the whole thing across London in an ordinary sports bag without drawing attention to himself. In his line of work, that was the critical thing.

He squared his eye against the Leupold 14x50mm Side Focus scope, adjusting the cross hairs against the door through which the target would pass. He loved the feel of the gun in his hands, the snug fit, the perfect balance. He had had it customised to suit his needs. The stock was laminated wood with water-resistant adhesive, making it stronger and less likely to warp. The trigger mechanism had been taken apart and polished for a smoother release. The rifle would reload itself as fast as he could fire it – but he would only need a single shot.

The sniper was content. When he fired, for the blink of an eye, as the bullet began its journey down the barrel, travelling at three hundred and thirty-one metres per second, he and the rifle would be one. The target didn't matter. Even the payment was almost irrelevant. The act of killing was enough in itself. It was better than anything in the world. In that moment, the sniper was God.

He waited. He was lying on his stomach on the roof of an office block, two streets away, still with a perfect view of the target's location.

The door opened and the target appeared. As usual, the sniper blanked his mind to the target's identity. They were a heart, a pair of lungs, a convoluted system of veins and arteries. But very soon they would be nothing at all. That was why the sniper was here. To perform a little act of surgery – not with a scalpel but a bullet.

He licked his lips and focused all his attention on his target. He wasn't holding a gun. The gun was part of him. His finger curled against the trigger. He relaxed, enjoying the moment, preparing to fire…

The paramedics responded quickly, but even with their quick response it was too late. Jacqueline Starbright was pronounced dead on the scene.

Okay, I'm sure all of you noticed that just about the chapter in its entirety was taken from Scorpia's final chapter 'A Mother's Touch'

Therefore, all credit for this chapter, minus the twist I instilled into the mix, goes to Anthony Horowitz.

Hope you like it!