AN: Hello. Perhaps you've read me before, under the author name talionyzero. Anyway, I'm taking up writing again for practice.

Disclaimer: any recognizable brand names are not my property and are used with the strictest adherence to US and international patent laws.

-AR-

"Nobodyand nothing will stop Russia on the road to strengthening democracy and ensuring human rights and freedoms." – Vladimir Putin

Rain pounded on the pavement; Alex moved beneath the garden gazebo. When creating times for outdoor meetings, perhaps it was a smart idea to bring the weather into account?

Voices came closer, and through the thick rain dark figures could be seen moving through the gloomy gardens. Alex stepped further back into the shadows offered by the gazebo. Tripping backwards, he reached a hand back to steady himself.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

He was anticipating the showdown. He felt hollow. He was terrified.

It had been a long, long time. Time enough that he could no longer remember the man's voice, or graceful manner. But infinity and beyond couldn't erase the intensity of his stare, his chilly blue eyes.

-AR-

"Alex! Open up, Alex; Mum and Dad are worried about you. You can't just leave school like that; you could have been killed for all we knew. Alex, Alex!" Sabina pounded on her friend's door, harried but not overly desperate now that she knew he was here. No killer would take the time to perfect Alex's way of casually slinging his bag onto the crowded kitchen table without disturbing anything and then replicate it perfectly.

"Hold on a minute Sab," a muffled voice replied. She took a step back and crossed her arms, impatiently tapping her foot. True to word, a moment later the nearly silent click of an unlocked door sounded, and the door was pushed outward.

Sabina stepped into the white room and looked around. Alex had apparently left school after first period that day, and Mum had gotten a call from the office. She'd thought initially it was just a panic attack, but just one cursory look around the room was enough to confirm suspicions of another, darker purpose.

The room was a normal teenage boy's room (even if it clearly belonged to an English boy in an American house) – a few Chelsea posters, a half filled bookcase with a few trophies hazardly strewn across the shelves, dark blue bedcovers neatly tucked into a bed, and on a sturdy wooden desk an old photograph of three people. From what she knew of the scene, it was his Uncle Ian, housekeeper Jack, and a younger Alex at a lake house in western France.

The room didn't have much of a personality, but neither did a great many teenagers. To the lazy eye there would have been indication of the hardships Alex had undergone nearly a year prior. Even a detective that had examined the scene would have been hard-pressed to find any remotely suspicion items unless they had access to the small metal safe in the corner of his closet. A passport with his identification papers could have then pinpointed Alex as a British citizen, a few medals (which had been earned collectively by John Rider, his brother, and his son) would have seemed a bit odd for a sixteen year old teen to have, and a photo album full of long gone people would have been at the very least a sad sight.

And now there was an open suitcase on the bed, already half filled with clothes in various shades of forest camouflage. As Sabina watched, mouth gaping, Alex tossed a few books and cleared out his safe into the suitcase.

"Wha- where are you going?" She demanded, after mustering control of her voice. "I suppose now you're telling me you've had enough of our nice, easy, safe life in America and are going back to get killed?"

"Back to Britain? Not likely," Alex dismissed. His tone was intentionally light, but didn't do it's intended purpose of distracted Sab from what he'd said.

"But you're leaving us? Back to the spy game?"

"Sabina, this isn't working. You've known that for a while," he started. It was true; Alex's regression toward his spy self might have flown over the heads of the Pleasure parents, but Sabina had noticed.

"Of course it is!" She'd noticed, but that didn't stop Sabina from attempting to stop it. On the outside, Alex had acted just as he had for the past half year: well adjusted, social, head of the soccer team and even (though Sab wasn't as fond of this part) beginning to date again. Emotionally, Alex had begun to withdraw to his initial post Jack days. He'd skipped three parties in a row, had stopped having friends over for the weekend, told Kelly that he needed some time off from the relationship, and had thrown himself into his studies with renewed vigor. But that wasn't all. His karate attendance had gone up until it seemed he would be ready for his next dan three years too early. He'd gone shooting with Jackson and came back looking happier than in the past month combined.

"No, it isn't." Sabina began to protest and Alex signed, falling back onto the bed. "Don't lie. I wasn't meant for this type of life."

"So you're going to go work for the governments that abused you?" Her glare might have stronger effect if tears weren't beginning to pool under her eyes, because you can't stop a Rider that's made up his mind."

"No, Sab, listen to me, I promise I'm not going to get hurt. I've been emailing a man I met with the CIA ages ago, and he left government work last year to create a private company invested in the business. I can't tell you the name or many details, really I'm not supposed to tell you any, but think of it like a guarding company. He's making a ton of money, and we've been talking to government people to get it cleared so I can work there even though I'm only sixteen because I've done a ton of stuff worse than this in my life, and the paperwork and permission finally came through," Alex ran through the words, occasionally tripping in his rush to be heard before Sabina zoned him out. This was the part he'd been dreading the most, but he couldn't just let the opportunity pass him by and sit back in school watching the world pass him by. He was a Rider.

"Anyway," he coughed, clearly his through, "It's like a security company. Mostly it's a lot of staking out possible criminals, guarding things, and taking on contracts for things the government doesn't want to or can't quite do."

"So killing people? Putting people in prisons outside of US waters and torturing them?" Her voice was numb, and Alex couldn't help but flash back to a time when she sat crying in a cell asking for Alex to save them from Cray.

"Dangerous criminals, Sabina. Terrorists that want to hurt you, and your mum, and your dad, and everyone we go to school with, and…"

"I get it." Sabina looked down at the floor, refusing to meet Alex's eyes. He'd been through this, how could he just agree to do this as a career? She wasn't going to cry. "Am I ever going to see you again?"

"I'm not running away, Sabina. I just need to be packed and at the airport by eleven. I'd still leave my room as it was, and visit Christmas and time off…if you and your parents wanted."

"Of course we want you around Alex, we just – you can't keep – this isn't fair!" Sabina turned around and walked towards her room, softly slamming the door on her way in. Don't cry don't cry don't cry.

She lay on her bed, silently not crying, and listened as her parents found Alex and they talked. An hour later Alex popped in to say goodbye; she kept her head shoved into her pillow. She refused to look up, and eventually Alex left. Her mum came in shortly and sat with Sabina, stroking her hair and silently reassuring her that he would be fine as Mr. Pleasure drove Alex to the airport.

-AR-

Alex had been true to his word. He hadn't gotten hurt. He started off with upper level benefits (health care, top pay, free training in a variety of necessary skills, homework help) and a room in their Washington D.C. headquarters.

Most of the jobs were low danger: guard an armored truck or important person, go to a country where the US military tried to avoid and receive information, track relatively stable criminals. A few risky jobs had come and gone with little significant damage. Stopping a plot to kill the president, tracked down an Iranian bomber in the war recovering country of Sri Lanka, rescuing a diplomats wife from a Mexican cartel; these came in about once a month (since the company, although young, had quickly developed a reputation and notable contacts) and were usually completed in a few days.

None of the men on the staff knew Alex's age, or his previous experience. He had been introduced as a military genius of young stature, and was generally regarded as about 21. Since most men in the company were hired men that worked half the year (generally deployed in the company's more long term contracts – working in Iraq as a mercenary was one notable job the US government usually passed off to independent contractors instead of their men), Alex really only knew a few well. Two other men – Carter, the one who had recruited him, and Hydde, the other co-founder of the company- knew lived with Alex at HQ and knew his age and previous experience.

He'd joined a local soccer team, and made most of the games.

Christmas, Thanksgiving, and other big US holidays he visited the Pleasures. Sabina had graduated with flying colors, and was now off to the University of Chicago.

On his 17th birthday Alex tested for a high school diploma and passed easily. He then flew to Pakistan and held his ground in a Mexican standoff.

And a month away from his 18th birthday, when Alex had been officially taking a month off to consider a couple of positions offered by internal affairs and look into other options, a case came in that blew his mind.

-AR-

Alex glanced at the telecommunication device in his hand. No warning red lights were showing, which meant everyone was in their place and ready to take down the criminals.

Russia was supposed to be freezing at the best of times in winter, but September was barely fall. If not for the gazebo roof over his head, the rain would be chilling to the bone. The sopping wet clothes weren't helping either.

He raised the binoculars to his eyes. The man who had known about the deal from the inside, the defector now comfily provided for by the American government as they waited for the trail, had provided coordinates about fifty feet from where Alex was standing. They had already bugged the bushes near the coordinates, and Sylvester would be listening in the van, waiting to give them the go. Hopefully the rain wouldn't interfere with their devices; water never had before but it was raining fairly intensely.

Maybe the people who planned this meeting had checked the weather first. It was technically a public park, so rain would keep the public away – though in reality the side of town this was on discouraged people from hanging out in public for too long when it could be avoided. And if nothing else, spies would at least be easier to spot as they would be the only ones around.

On the other hand, maybe not. Alex squinted through the binoculars, trying to make out the figures through the dark. Even the lamps did little to alleviate the blackness. The outlines of shrubs and statues were in the way, and only two out of possibly four heads could be seen over a rather inconveniently placed large shrub.

A blue light began to flash on and off erratically on Alex's modified cell phone. He shoved it into his pocket and set off running, a gun materializing in his hand.

Even through the darkness, about ten black shapes could be seen running toward the illicit deal.

-AR-

Alex wasn't sure why he was so surprised at the news. Gregorovich was alive. MI6 had lied.

They had lied about a lot of things.

Yassen had died. That was eventually made clear after all the searches they put through returned. Died for a moment, then shocked back to life by the emergency crew immediately after Air Force One had crashed. He'd entered a coma for a year, and then was broken out by what appeared to be the last remnants of Scorpia a week after he'd woken up. Half a year after Jack had died Yassen was out and free, recovering his life half a year after Alex had abandoned his own.

Alex might have felt conflicted upon the news of Yassen's death after the news was broken, but no more. People had died because of Yassen. Had died because of Alex's involvement with Scorpia after Yassen's message. Ian was dead and Jack was dead and Yassen was alive.

It was ironic, in a sick twisted way. All those years ago, on top of a helipad in central London, Alex had made a promise.

Someday I'll kill you.

And now Alex was getting the chance again, and for not the first time he was hesitating. Yassen had come back to life in a plot devised by the devil just for Alex to have a chance at revenge, and Alex wasn't even sure that was what he wanted.

Yassen needed to be off the streets. Preferably dead. But did it really matter who killed him? It wouldn't bring Ian back.

That was what Alex thought when he went to bed after reading through all of the files. He sat on his bed, flipping through a photo journal of people in his life compiled by Sabina. His parents at their wedding day, Alex being born, Ash standing in a wedding photo, Ian and baby Alex, Jack; it had been too painful initially, but at sixteen he'd sworn to Sabina that he wasn't going to push away his earlier memories just because they were painful.

And then he'd called Sabina. Years of deceit yielded wonders when it came to Alex's verbal lying ability, and he'd chatted lightly about his last soccer game, an episode of Doctor Who Sabina and her new boyfriend had loved, and their idea for a new blockbuster movie. College was great, Sabina told him, and meanwhile Alex was shivering and thinking about Sabina staring defiantly at Cray as Yassen said nothing.

He'd gone to sleep, the issue weighing heavier than he'd care to admit.

Alex had woken up and sworn to torture Gregorovich in every conceivable painful manner until he was begging for death.

Now…now Alex wasn't even sure. But he had a job, paid for the US government, and he hadn't spent the better part of two years on the job to slip up now that it personal.

-AR-

Yassen Gregorovich was a brilliant man when it came to surviving; no one would deny that. He'd been taught by the best. After being rescued, it had taken him two days to catch up to speed. After seeing a doctor, securing his accounts and gathering new identification papers, he disappeared off the map. What was left of Scorpia had razed in Israel two weeks later in a joint effort between four nations' intelligence agencies and the US Navy Seals.

A month later he emerged as a private contractor once again, fully healed and up to date on the latest criminal activity. In approximately two and half years he had reacquainted himself with the teeming Russian underworld and established himself enough that to take him on was inconceivable.

Two months ago Gregorovich had taken a relatively easy job as the assistant to a cartel boss. A cartel boss that was now planning on buying the formula to a new drug from a formerly renowned US pharmacist named Gabe Reissue.

And now Alex Rider and company were under contract to destroy the new drug formula and take Reissue to the CIA. Gregorovich and his boss(assuming he showed in person) were a bonus.

Operations in Russia were tricky. National sovereignty was their thing, and heaven help any group that transgressed upon that most valuable of a principle. Hell helping you would be a step up from the nightmare awaiting guilty parties. Russia was the last of the 20 biggest world economies to join the World Trade Organization because they dislike working with others, and their entire international policy could be best summed up as "sure we're bad, but the rest of the West is worse."

In other words, complete the assignment, get out, and pretend it never happened. No wonder the CIA wanted nothing to do with it.

-AR-

Alex ran in pace with most of the others. He would have arrived in time if a stray shrub hadn't tripped him. He pulled himself up in a matter of seconds, but his phone had dropped and he was already behind the others. It would be ok, he reassured himself as he searched for his phone on the ground, completely blind and plastered wet. The circle wouldn't miss him.

"Freeze! Hands up in the air and drop all of your weapons. We are armed and we will shoot!" Bill yelled. English was the language of business, and it was assumed that all of these men were perfectly able to talk "business".

Scarcely a second had passed before the sound of bullets being fired filled the air.

Alex ran up to fill in his place in the circle, a few seconds late. A bullet streamed past, so close he could feel its trail. He returned fire without pause.

Dead silence filled the air. Two bodies lay on the ground, neither of them from Alex's side.

The fight was over practically before it began – the two remaining men were handcuffed, their stuff taken, and the entire procession entered a nearby building in haste. Everything was happening in fast forward in Alex's head. The prisoners were promptly locked into a room with no door on the inside. Two men on Alex's team had been injured; neither seriously. Jackson had a bullet in his left shoulder, and he sat down with the best medic of the group to have it looked at. DC had a twisted ankle which he was taking care of.

Harris called Sylvester in the van to arrange transportation and body disposal while the rest of the men sat down to play a game of cards. Harris had the drug formula in an open briefcase in front of him.

Alex sat down. Breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out. Everything seemed to be passing in a blur. He knew what two prisoners they had – Yassen and the American. Apparently one – or both – had brought a guard or two.

He had to see him. Had to know he was really alive. Maybe had to kill him.

It had been a long time since Alex had felt so out of control.

Everyone was used to Alex's presence; everyone was immersed in their own activity. And so although one or two of the other members of their team might have noticed Alex walk towards the door that held the prisoners inside, no one noticed enough to call him on it.

Alex keyed in the code, and the room. His heart was beating faster than it had since Jack had died and he couldn't think.

And so Alex walked into a room with unsecured prisoners, holding a gun loosely in his hand, and shut the door that trapped him inside without thinking. And a second later the gun was twisted from his hand, pressed against his head, and his eyes finally got the evidence they had been seeking.

Yassen Gregorovich was very much alive.

~TBC~