The base chosen for his show and tell assessment made the Special Forces Camp in Wales seem like a five star resort. The buildings looked like they had been abandoned in the 1960's. He had slept in an office with his instructor/minder. Today, he was demonstrating his skills for use in black ops: assassination and interrogation to a select few sponsors. His skills for hire, then he would be paid generously for his work. All activities to be approved of by both Alexandrov and Yakob.

Ivan Kuschkov was at a loss concerning this orphan, as a father himself his instincts screamed to get the kid away from Alexandrov's control. Seventeen and already a killer, who effortlessly followed orders. The kid spoke little about his past, except pride at being selected for training after a fire at his orphanage. Listed as dead, the teenager was a ghost.

As Alex ate is breakfast rations, his tea scorchingly hot and bitter, unsweetened unlike the Master Sergeant's brew. He read the man's body language and could see his disquiet. "You read my file. I have read yours. You have worked training operatives for longer than I've been alive. I am no different from volunteers in the past. I have just walked a different path, one more brutal, but I would not change it. I have been trained like Cossack, the best assassin SCORPIA ever produced. A broken child, with no past, my future is set as a weapon. Do not think of me as innocent or helpless or as even human, Ivan. I am an empty vessel, all traces of humanity and empathy removed." He smiled showing off his crooked smile, pulling his mouth to the left. The lopsidedness caused by months of wearing a brace. His whole face and mannerisms changed by that simple orthodontic treatment. His nose sculpted subtly as well under the knife of an artist at a clinic in the Black Sea.

The old soldier shook his head, "And the bastard raping you, torturing you? You think I can't see those marks on you when you shower. Inhuman, no one deserves that."

"Better than an unmarked grave at fifteen. That fate probably still awaits me. At least you Andrei, Roman and Yakob would mourn my passing. You hate my past, but you still see a boy before you. Its an illusion. I haven't been a child for a long time. I'm as world weary as you, old man."

The man laughed, "Less of the old, cheeky. I'm here to keep you alive. I promise you that I will do that to the best of my abilities while we are partners. I was once a young buck picked from my comrades to train as a sniper. You are far more accomplished than I ever was."

….

Dimitry Viktorovich Ivanov was one of several hundred new recruits in training as FSB officers, he had many advantages considering his background. He had breezed through basic training, it was child's play to a graduate of Suvorov. Now they were attending lectures and demonstrations expanding his skills and knowledge, testing him to see which branch of the security service he showed aptitude for. His uncle had cryptically told him to pay attention to the assassination instructor, a man trained by in the SCORPIA methods by a graduate of Malagosto.

The group of twelve cadets stood to attention as the Sergeant in charge of the Firing Range barked out safety instructions and told them if they insulted the instructor, not to go crying to anyone if the bastard decided to shoot them, as last year a stupid asshole had been crippled for his rudeness. The youth teaching was rumoured to only be seventeen, but already an expert at killing and maiming, who had been taught by inhumanly brutal methods that demanded complete perfection.

A young man dressed in black arrived with another sergeant. The cadet wondered of they had attended school together, as Dimitry vaguely recognised the blond with brown eyes.

The lecture started. "My name is Vassily, I am here to instruct you in marksmanship as you have all been assessed as talented snipers. I will instruct you over then next three hours on instinctual firing as you are all well versed on the basics. The best marksman acts as one with his weapon. The target or targets tracked, movements anticipated, aiming as natural as exhaling. You need not know identities or crimes or reasons for their liquidation, just that they are your job to eliminate your target. Failure is not acceptable, only perfection is. Life is not black and white, so do not restrict yourself into thinking in terms of friends or enemies; as an assassin you can only rely on yourself. All others are targets. The best assassins have no friends, no family and no loyalty, only compliance to orders. Those who pay you can easily turn against you."

The man then loaded a Markov handgun, the targets popped up and he looked away before firing, each target hit with a perfect head shot. "This is the accuracy you will be aiming for. Others shall instruct you on tradecraft, hand to hand combat, cleaning and disposal." The man effortlessly made his gun safe and then stated "Head shots recommended, always assume your target is wearing a kevlar vest. The heart is also a smaller target. Trust your instincts when making your shot. Your aim is always a kill shot."

At the end, Dimitry helped clear the spend shells with the sergeant as the instructor cleaned the guns. He wanted to talk to the instructor, one who he guessed was not really called Vassily. He then made the connection, to the teenage MI6 operative masquerading as Alex Friend. Alex Rider had 'died' nearly two years ago, but there were subtle similarities.

The blond man pulled off his glasses as the last pistol was clean, safe and ready for storage. He rubbed his nose and smiled at Dimtry, the one cadet who would pass onto full spy training.

"I guess I can call you a ghost, Mr. Friend?" Dimitry said in English.

Alex then smiled to show crooked and stained teeth, gold fillings in the molars. "Friend? My name is Vassily Denisov, I am an orphan from Ukraine." The English excellent but with a slight accent, suggesting his Eastern European origins rather than Russian.

Alex's teeth had been perfectly straight, this stranger had a slimmer nose and other subtle differences made Dimitry doubt his connection. "Sorry, you look like a boy I went to school with."

The Sergeant watched the instructor leave, when he approached the cadet. "Ivanov, that man is one of your Uncle's special projects. He is a deadly weapon. He has been fully trained, conditioned by torture and brutality. Methods perfected by terrorists and used on a small group of orphans. He is rumoured to be the only one to survive his training then given a new name and background. The Project was called 'Rebirth'."

…

Dimitry entered his home that evening. His aunt was at the ballet and his uncle was already home eating junk and watching a hockey game on the TV. "Come sit, Dima. I have snacks and a beer poured for you. Spartak are loosing already."

The young cadet sat down. "Training was weird. Funny, I thought the instructor was Alex… Alex Friend… from school in France. Only he smiled wrong, had awful teeth, but for a moment I could have sworn it was him."

The General switched off the TV. "You have passed our test and so has Vassily. You have been trained to observe, to memorise, to make note of all you meet and make connections. You will be an excellent spy. Vassily was born two years ago, his life before that has been wiped from our records and more importantly disavowed by MI6. To them , Alex Rider never saved you nor Russia, in death black ops operatives cease to exist officially. Your instructor was remade from the boy left for dead. Project Rebirth is a smoke screen. Vassily is our very capable secret weapon. He has undertaken several high profile missions with excellent results. The fact you could not make the connection, despite the fact he saved you, means we have done a excellent job. Lets watch the game."

Dimitry sat and paid no attention to the game. He was now part of the Great Game. He was party to state secrets. Alex was the ultimate player of this high stakes game. No, no longer Alex. Alex was dead and Vassily was a killer. One he was probably being trained to handle. He suddenly wondered if he made the wrong choice, to follow in the family business. He would have to work to keep his humanity, not to become a monster. He would never become the image of evil in his mind, the grinning clone who had wanted this power. His uncle was not a bad man, he had not destroyed Alex's life. "Tell me, Vassily was given a choice. I thought he wanted to be a footballer."

"Your rescuer wants different things now, ten years working for us then retirement. He will disappear to live on the Back Sea with his lover. He just has different dreams now." Alexandrov knew his pet project wanted to sow chaos for his former abusers. He was just taking advantage of this situation.

…

The sleek 30ft yacht cleared the marina and headed out onto the wine dark Black Sea. Alex sat beside her skipper as he steered her straight and true, still using her outboard rather than her sails. They were headed for a secluded cove, not far; but a weekend spent without any spying eyes.

"Full circle, Yasha. For both of us. My first job over, considering I never wanted to be a killer, I find the work suits me. To think if that bitch Rothmans had treated me properly I'd have been a seasoned professional by now,"

Cossack smiled wistfully and shrugged, She could not see Hunter for the free spirit he was. Just like his son. "You are already a seasoned professional, that job in Kazakhstan, only a truly gifted marksman could have pulled it off. You are my equal after I had been working for three years." Hunter had been a sniper for nearly fifteen years when he had taken on his apprentice and pulled off the double kill shot in the Amazon. "So, to more personal scores to settle, I have the names of two MI6 deep cover agents. A slow or a quick death for your former hunters?"

The eighteen year old looked up at Betelguese and pondered this bonus offer "I now you'd prefer slow. Can we flay them? Just something Ivan would not approve of." His FSB handler was quite squeamish over the finer aspects of Dr. Three's methods.