A/N: Update! Sorry it's been so long, I've been busy. I'd really like to arrest the person that invented schoolwork... :P Anyway, I just started reading Scorpia Rising. I'm on chapter 10 and already loving it. Feel free to talk about it with me, but please no spoilers!

At exactly three twenty-five PM on a cloudy Thursday, Mrs. Jones and Alan Blunt were pulling into the driveway of one very secret building, a modern two story building hidden by a housing development. If the average Joe on the street had walked up to it, they would read the sign on the mailbox and immediately see that it was the home of a man named Fredrick von Shluivenhouvfen. Of course, that's not a real name, this was not anyone's home, and no one knew that better than the prime minister and MI6.

They came here to discuss the situation of Alex Rider, which the prime minister still refused to put faith in. He was shaking his head in disbelief and calmly but forcefully swearing under his breath as he walked in, hoping that no one was around to see him in such a state. Surely these agents had figured out already that the supposedly poisoned wheat field had never even existed. Yet, they had called him here. What else could they want?

They sat down at an undecorated table in a plain white room- designed to draw as little attention as possible to passerbys who looked in the window- and pulled out a thick file. Alex Rider's file, filled with every detail of his life and every sticky situation he'd been in. At the front of the file were the papers discussing the Desmond McCain case. These were presented to the prime minister, who half-read, half-skimmed them and put them back down.

He cleared his throat and said, "So, you have reason to believe that this fourteen-year-old boy broke Simba Dam?"

"All the evidence we need," Mrs. Jones replied. "One of our investigators flew over and saw the dam breaking."

The prime minister looked at them doubtfully. "Are you sure it was Alex who caused that? I understand that you have great faith in this boy, but-"

Alan Blunt noticed the disbelief in his voice. He did not like being doubted, at all.

"Sir," he began, "with all due respect, Alex is not just any boy. He's the son of one of our greatest agents. The father in question had a brother who also worked for us, which you would know if you had read all the files. Alex has survived a nuclear bomb threat in Russia, an encounter with an insane billionaire just about a year ago, a run-in with Scorpia, not to mention a sniper's bullet that almost hit the heart. A genuine high-caliber bullet, sir. After all that, I think breaking a dilapidated old dam would be a small matter for Alex Rider."

Mrs. Jones looked calm, but on the inside she was staring open-mouthed at Blunt. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that Alan Blunt had almost lost his temper over one of the most important government officials there was. This whole Alex Rider business was changing them both.

The prime minister looked almost as shocked as Mrs. Jones felt. He was starting to be very glad that he hadn't asked anyone to come with him to this meeting.

Now, what was the best way to respond to an angry agent? "I'm sure you're right, Mr. Blunt. May I ask, where is Alex now?"

Mrs. Jones spoke. "He's at home, far from any danger, but we're worri- um, concerned about his condition. You see, after his meeting with McCain, he has a case of amnesia. He doesn't have severe physical harm, and his brain isn't badly hurt, but we aren't sure about when or if his memories will return."

The minister nodded. It wasn't his place to say "I told you so", but they should have known that a mere child couldn't keep working for them forever.

"I wish the best to Alex. You may leave now," he said more as a command than a suggestion.

The two did leave, climbing into the taxi with shaded windows and weapons hidden in the dashboard. They rode in silence until they stepped out of the cab and into the Royal and General Bank.

Mrs. Jones was first to break the silence. "What do you think we should do with Alex Rider? I mean, involving his amnesia."

Blunt sighed. "As much as we need him, I think we should leave him be for now. You know, give him a while to rest and not have to worry about the spying life."

The spying life? That was a weird way to refer to it. But he had a good point.

"You're right. Let's leave Alex Rider alone. He has enough to worry about without MI6."

They had no way of knowing this, but Jack had chosen the same thing.

Alex wasn't sure how to feel. Sure, he liked the life that he'd been told about. The problem was that he couldn't remember a darn thing about it, for obvious reasons. What he knew about himself could be put on one sheet of paper in 36-point type.

He'd just eaten a breakfast of Jack's supposedly famous eight-minute scrambled eggs. They did taste good enough to be served in a four-star breakfast restaurant (if there was such a place), but he couldn't help but feel like Jack was hiding something that was on her mind.

After the breakfast, he looked around the living room, which he hadn't had a chance to do before. Alex looked at the room in the way of someone who is in a place for the first or second time: taking note of important objects, then scanning the room for details. One of those details was what looked like a small black notebook on a shelf above his head. Upon closer inspection, he found out it was a photo album.

Jack saw him pick up the book and commented, "Your nurse said that the photos could be a memory trigger for you. Might be a good idea to look through it."

Alex wondered about that. A memory trigger? He knew that meant an image, sound, or feeling that connected with something in your mind and brought back some or all of the lost memories. It was worth a try.

On the very front page was a picture of him and Jack together in front of their house, right above a photo of a young blond boy and a strong-looking man in his 30s or 40s. Beside the latter was a little note in Jack's handwriting.

RIP Ian Rider. We will miss you.

So, this was the mysterious Ian Rider. He could guess that the little boy was him, Alex. He paused to see if he felt anything clicking into place in his mind, but there was nothing but the sound of the water running in the dishwasher.

More pictures followed those: a pretty dark-haired girl on a tennis court, Jack eating cotton candy at a carnival, and various school photos, most of which didn't turn out very well. And of course, there were pictures of him and Ian Rider. Why was it always Ian Rider that came up? Besides the family relation, what did Ian have to do with his life? Part of Alex wanted to just ignore it, but he knew, even in his limited memories, that Ian Rider was important. Still, nothing clicked.

Jack continued talking. "You know, Alex, I found out in my research that some people get lacunar amnesia," she remarked. She addressed Alex by name, but somehow seemed to be talking to herself. "That just means that the person forgets one specific event. There are some events I'd really like to forget. Like my first date with Johnny Fishburne-" She shuddered.

Alex gave a smile, but it disappeared just as quick as it appeared. He heard a tap-tapping on the roof, which grew louder and harder as it went on, and the crash of thunder outside.

Hooray, now Mother Nature's trying to influence my emotions, he thought. Just great.

A/N: 1. First of all, I'm planning a plot twist in this story soon. It seemed to me that it was a little boring with Alex just taking about his amnesia, so I'll add something different in soon. Let's just say that Alex's amnesia life is about to collide with his spy life.

2. I just saw Sucker Punch today. I loved it, but I must admit that I don't really understand all of it. For example, was the dance club real, or was it all in Babydoll's head? (You need to see the movie to know what I'm talking about.) If anyone can enlighten me, please do!

3. Wow, this chapter was long. Should I do more longer chapters or keep them short (at 1000 words or so)?