This is my first fanfiction that I'm actually not ashamed of, and won't take down. Tell me how you like it, and if I should take this setup and turn it into a full length story, or if I should just write different things.

Also, Degrassi lovers, should I write an Alex Rider/Degrassi crossover? I began planning one out but my plan kind of sucks. So, ideas are welcome.

Disclaimer – Sure, I'm awesome... But am I really that awesome?

Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
You begin to wonder why you came

"Mr. Rider, your presence is requested in Room 562 of the Royal and General Bank at 5 PM."

The voice was always exactly the same – the only thing that differed was the time. The electronic droning was almost chilling, in a way, the even, emotionless recording, with his information filled in with a computer's voice. It was so inhuman, fitting for something so inhumane.

He reluctantly walked into the room., and nearly walked straight back out again. The scent of peppermint hung in the air like fumes at a gas station, burning his nostrils slightly. His face showed the faintest signs of apprehension. Mrs. Jones picked it up. She told him they just had to sort out a few things, it would be quick and easy. He knew better than to believe her; in this world, nothing was quick and easy.

She gave him what she probably thought was a reassuring smile. It wasn't at all. It seemed fake.

He distracted himself by staring out the window, thinking. He blamed himself, every moment. He believed everything that had happened was completely his fault. He was afraid of it, of himself.

He wondered how he had come to this. He was once a normal boy, fairly popular, who loved sports. Now, what was he? He wasn't a boy, that was certain. But he wasn't a man either.

The question is, why?

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

He still remembered that night, perfectly. He should have been more careful. He shouldn't have let Tom follow him, or let them both get kidnapped. He should have been able to save his best friend. He would've done anything to keep Tom alive. Tom, his last true friend, the only person that was left on the world that cared about him. Jack had been killed months before.

Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you

"It is best," Jones told him. "For your safety and those around you, for you to go to the SAS training camp in Wales"

They didn't stop with the questions. They tried to trick him into answering. They treated him like scum, like he was inferior than them. Truly, he wasn't too much lower. Physically, he was only 16. But mentally, he was older. He'd seen things most people went their whole lives without seeing.

They told him over and over again how worthless he was, he was a disgrace to their army. They were ruthless from the start, but he seemed to block it all out; it was as if he was deaf to everything except what he needed to hear.

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came

Every morning, now, and every night, he ran. He ran until his vision blurred; he ran until the pain was no longer in his mind but in his body. There, he could deal with it. He'd finally snapped. After Tom died, he couldn't deal with his life. He stopped caring about anything.

They kept trying to get something out of him. Anything – a reaction, an answer. Something other than his cold indifference. The only thing they knew about him was he had a dark bullet scar above his heart, no more than a couple years old and he had something to do with MI6. They all thought he was the son of some MI6 member or something, shot as revenge or leverage against his dad.

They didn't know the truth. No one did. No one would. They thought he'd come around sometime. They all wondered what had happened to the old Cub. He wasn't the same.

He wondered how he had come to this. He was once a normal boy, fairly popular, who loved sports. Now, what was he? He wasn't a boy, that was certain. But he wasn't a man either.

The question is, why?