Becoming Agent Rider

Back To Normal (Sort Of)

Alex faceplanted into his bed and groaned, ignoring the fiery light of the sunset streaming in through his window. He was completely exhausted. It felt good to be back in his Chelsea house though. A familiar, private space. Something he hadn't had in about two and a half months.

After a day of the Q&A session and having the medical staff fuss over him, his uniform and beret were quickly dropped off, as promised, at the foot of his infirmary bed. He even received a set of his own dog tags. That had been a bit surreal. It made everything finally feel official. There hadn't been much time to marvel at it though. He'd barely stuffed them into his duffel bag before Ben had ushered him into a car, driving them to the Bank as soon as Dr. Flint finally released him from the infirmary. Head's orders, the older spy had said with an apologetic glance. Once there, Ben hurried off to catch up on some way overdue paperwork, leaving him with Mrs. Jones.

It was a bit of a long meeting. Mrs. Jones let him know that the Hunt and Clerkenwell Syndicates had agreed to leave him alone, which was what they had expected but was a relief to hear nonetheless. Then, he was notified about the arrangement of having Jones and Morris give him assignments while Crawley and Smithers took on the role of being his handlers. Since they were on the topic of assignments and logistics, he got her to clarify how his status of being SAS and MI6 would work as well. Apparently, she planned for him to be a full member of both organizations. Operationally, he would be more MI6 than SAS, with the exception of training which was equally under both organizations. Although this meant primarily doing MI6 missions, the SAS would also be able to pull him in for assignments. In the field, his MI6 rank would supercede his SAS one. Legally, the two organizations had simultaneous, equal jurisdiction over him. Interesting development, since this meant that MI6 couldn't just do whatever they wanted with him like before. Something to think more on later. He was sure it was a clue into what Jones expected of him.

Brushing the matter aside for the time being, he was given his new training schedule and they ironed out the details for his schooling. Brooklands had already been notified of his return, but not his newly emancipated status. MI6 would provide him with a "guardian" when necessary to keep up the façade. The school was expecting him for the start of the week, after tomorrow, and had already sent along a pile of homework to catch up on. Alex was puzzled to see Smithers and the Chief Science Officer, a woman named Samantha Redwing, as his tutors on his training schedule to help him with his schoolwork. He was sure that the two of them had much more important things to do than tutor a schoolboy. And even more puzzling was the politics training. Besides the little bit of politics education in Citizenship class, it wasn't one of his courses at Brooklands. However, Mrs. Jones had apparently assigned herself as his tutor for that particular subject. She definitely had more important things to do. The whole setup was unusual. From what Jones had just explained to him, the Intelligence Officer's New Entry Course (IONEC) was the six-month SIS employment training that takes place at Fort Monckton, Portsmouth under the direction of training officers. The fact that his training was going to be overseen by high-ranking officials in London instead was surprising. When pressed, Jones only replied with one word: secrecy. He really needed to figure out what her agenda was. Mrs. Jones wouldn't have arranged all of this if it didn't fit into a bigger picture. The question was where he fit in that picture and how much he was going to hate it. His head hurt just thinking about it.

The rest of his training schedule didn't help his headache. On top of his regular schooling and tutoring sessions, there were martial arts, weapons, and language lessons. That was just the beginning. There were a few other subjects as well, codes and ciphers among them. And therapy sessions with a Dr. Flint, who Jones introduced as the psychiatrist that treated Julius on Gibraltar. This was only the MI6 side of things. The SAS employment training would apparently be done during one of his half term breaks, provided there wasn't a mission that needed his immediate involvement at the time. With such a packed schedule, he wondered when he was supposed to have time to sleep. He might as well be back on Malagosto with night exercises after a full day of training and Yermalov's office hours at four in the morning. That wasn't even including the time spent on homework that the Malagosto instructors had assigned. Better get some sleep now while he could.

Eighteen hours later, Alex blearily blinked sleep from his eyes as the weak sunlight shone in his face, feeling a little more human now that he was properly rested. He shuffled into the bathroom to take a hot shower, reviving him further. Then, he went to the kitchen for some tea and whatever food he could scrounge up for a mid-morning breakfast since he'd donated most of his food before SAS training had started. All he found were a couple boxes of cereal, some canned fruit, and a couple of frozen pizzas. Alex ate the cereal, without milk. He'd have to go grocery shopping today. And get a haircut. It was getting a bit too long, military standards notwithstanding.

After breakfast, he checked Ian's - his, he mentally corrected - office to make sure everything was still secure. He frowned at the package on his desk that had definitely not been there the last time he was in the house. Cautiously approaching it, Alex looked it over without touching the box. It didn't look like it was contaminated with anything. Then again, that didn't mean much. He put his ear as close to the box as he could without touching it and listened for a minute. There was no sound coming from it. That eased his mind a little. At least he knew the package wasn't likely to contain a dangerous creature, like a scorpion. Still, it's appearance was suspicious so he grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the kitchen and returned to open the box.

Alex grinned in delight when he saw what was inside. A note from Smithers and a bunch of gifts from the gadget master. Discarding the gloves, he picked up the note and read it thoroughly.

Hello, old chap! Every agent has a standard field kit and I think it's about time you got yours! Of course, these are different from the other agents' kits but I hope you like them! You should already know how to use most of these.

The watch and calculator are both tracking and two-way communications devices. Turn the hour and minute hands on the watch to twelve for radio communication and press the left button three times to send a distress signal and activate the tracker. For the calculator, just press second function triple nine and we will be able to send each other text messages. Pressing second function double zero will send a distress signal and activate the tracker.

Keep these gadgets on you at all times and let's hope you don't have to use them! You're always welcome to come in for refills, my boy! Let me know if you have any ideas for new gadgets and I'll see if I can make it happen. See you tomorrow!

P.S. This note will disintegrate 10 seconds after reading it. Best not still be holding this when it does!

True to Smithers' word, the note burst into flames shortly after Alex finished reading, leaving behind a pile of ashes. Turning his attention to the rest of the package's contents, he found the aforementioned watch and calculator. He examined them and felt a nearly invisible earpiece attached to the underside of the watch, along with a tiny built-in microphone. This was certainly unexpected as MI6 had never really provided two-way communication before. It had always been a distress signal and then he would have to wait to see if they would show up. This was definitely an improvement. Alex hoped that he wouldn't just be ignored if he used them.

Next to the two devices, there were ten more tranquilizer darts for his phone and the metal-corroding zit cream from his first mission. Then, a recognizable gum pack from his Australian mission that acted as a detonator for the explosive coins, hidden with the switches underneath a panel. This time, the coins were in the British currency for denominations of 2, 5, and 10 pence. In addition, the pack also contained the expanding bubble gum from his Sarov mission. Underneath it all, there were more bulletproof clothes and a belt from his ASIS mission with a dagger in the buckle. Except, this time, there was a mini first aid kit instead of one for jungle survival. It was quite the field kit, covering a lot of bases for whatever he might run into. None of it would even be suspicious to the school. Not even the dagger. Happy with his gifts, Alex changed into one of the bulletproof hoodies and tucked the rest of the gadgets, with the exception of the calculator for today, somewhere on his person before looking over the rest of his office. Pulling open the drawers, he found a message on the black phone Yassen had given him. Alex got past the encryption and opened the text. It was sent earlier this morning.

Oxleas Wood. 1900.

Alex groaned. That was on the other side of the city, east of Chelsea. He'd need to leave at 1700 hours if he was to make the meeting on time. That was probably the idea though. The further away from his house, the less someone could trace any activity back to him. Unless he was careless and got caught. Which was not going to happen if he could help it. He sighed. Even though he was looking forward to seeing the assassin, Alex hoped it wouldn't take too long. The night did not look promising for sleep and he had to be up early for school tomorrow. He flipped the phone shut and got dressed for the day.

Five minutes later, Alex was taking the tube, on his way to the nearest Tesco. He spotted a couple of agents tailing him and nearly growled in annoyance. Unlike his initial return to the UK, the threats on his life were already eliminated. Couldn't Jones just let him live his life for one second without sending someone to spy on him? It was time to send a message.

He had the rest of the day to decide how to do it. The agents were just there to observe and going on a grocery run was boring. Certainly nothing incriminating. Not like his upcoming meeting tonight was. He was very well aware that his arrangements with Yassen could get the two of them locked up for life, if not outright killed.

Alex discreetly scanned his surroundings for a way to get rid of his tails. Simply losing them would be easy. But it wouldn't make a point. Causing a traffic accident? No, he didn't want any bystanders to be caught up in it. Besides, these agents were just lackeys following orders and they weren't there to harm anyone. A traffic accident would be too extreme. He looked them over in the window's reflection. Both of the men were on the tall and bulky side but not overly intimidating. And with his arm in a cast, he didn't want to risk a fight.

Mind made up, Alex got off the tube and wandered the busy streets, seemingly aimless and in no hurry. He scanned his surroundings for the perfect place, presenting the picture of a teen out on a leisurely stroll. Spotting a lingerie shop with considerable foot traffic and a large promotion sign at the end of the street, he mentally grimaced and felt the heat of a flush creeping up his neck but decided that the location best suited his purposes at the moment so he was going through with it.

Alex made a show of looking around suspiciously before accelerating to a brisk walk, making evasive turns at random intervals to seem like efforts at shaking a tail off. Like he expected, the agents became more alert as their brains took a second to register the sudden change in pace. They sped up to keep him in their sights while trying to see if they had been made. Or where the threat was, if they hadn't been discovered. Alex smirked at their mortified faces reflected in the shop's window for a second before he darted in, startling the women in the store. He made straight for the cash register, where a few employees were serving a line of customers.

"Please help!" Alex cried out loudly enough for everyone in the shop to hear him, keeping his eyes as wide and innocent as possible. "Two men have followed me all the way from church!"

It was interesting to see the disapproving and suspicious faces instantly transform into motherly concern. The agents burst in just as a couple of them tried to ask him what the men looked like. Everyone in the shop turned towards the newcomers and glared, automatically assuming that these were his stalkers.

"We're just here to take my son home," one of the agents explained to the women uncomfortably, incorrectly assuming they were staring because two men entering by themselves didn't necessarily belong in the shop. "I'm sorry if he's been a disturbance."

Of course, this was the wrong thing to say as it had just confirmed the women's perception of the agents being up to no good. Alex closed his eyes for a second in exasperation as most of the women instantly formed a protective circle around him and threatened the agents with bodily harm and calling the police. He couldn't believe MI6 agents were so bad at improvised lying. He didn't even look anything like the two men! Anyone could see the man was lying about being his father. Then again, it was MI6 that had provided him with the cover story of being "ill" whenever they pulled him out of school for a mission even though it was clear that he had been beaten up instead of on bedrest. So perhaps it wasn't so unbelievable that their operatives were no better at lying.

The other agent held out his hands, palms forward. A placating gesture in an attempt to calm the mob of angry women. "We're not here to c - "

The women cut the agent off with more yelling before he could finish his sentence. One of them advanced toward the men and that was all it took for the rest to physically drive the men out of the shop. Hitting the two men repeatedly with their purses, the group was mindless of the promotion sign and accidentally knocked it over. The large sign smacked the two agents over their heads on its way down, knocking them out.

Shocked at the turn of events, the women scattered. The confusion making it easy, Alex quietly slipped out of the shop as the women split off to either fade into the background in the pretense of having nothing to do with the unconscious agents or sticking around to fret over what to do so the men received the appropriate medical care. Alex figured the agents would be fine so he walked away and hopped onto the tube again.

A couple of hours later, Alex had returned home after getting a haircut and finishing his grocery run. He had barely finished putting away his groceries when one of his phones rang. It took him a moment to figure out which one. That would take some getting used to. It was also a marker of how far away from normal his life was. Normal people did not usually have multiple cellphones for different purposes.

"Mr. Crawley?" Alex answered his MI6-issued phone after seeing the caller ID.

"Alex," Crawley addressed him tensely, running a hand through his hair multiple times in the privacy of his office, where no one could see. He had been the teen's handler for all of a day and already felt way out of his depth. "Did you have to put the two agents I sent into the hospital for concussions and police custody for stalking?"

"Why do you even have people tailing me in the first place?" Alex countered, deflecting the question.

"Those two were mid-level operatives," Crawley continued more calmly, ignoring the question. The teen didn't need to know that the tails were supposed to try to find out if Alex was doing anything suspicious. Like contacting a certain assassin or helping the Indian intelligence agency. "They may not be the most important assets to the company but I still needed them for a big assignment tomorrow. And there's a pile of paperwork to push through in order to discreetly get them out of police custody."

"I didn't even touch them," Alex said.

"You set a mob on them," Crawley stated.

"They helped."

Crawley sighed in exasperation. "Clearly, they need more training on de-escalating situations, deception, and tailing people. But could you keep the damage to a minimum, at least?"

"Could you stop spying on me like I'm an enemy of the state?"

"Fine," Crawley groaned. He'd have to find some other way to get his information. "I just wanted to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn't run into any trouble. It wouldn't be the first time that trouble found you, after all. Just don't send any more of our people into the hospital. And don't get them arrested either."

The dial tone let Alex know that his handler had hung up. Easily shrugging off the lack of manners, he made to put the phone away but was stopped short by a notification of a message from Mrs. Jones. Somehow, even though he subconsciously knew that their line of work required keeping up with the latest, he was still shocked that the woman would use something so modern as a text message. She seemed more like the type to rely on emails and phone calls. Texting was commonplace for his generation but the older generations usually had trouble with newer technology. After a second to get over his shock, Alex tapped on the message to open it.

Interesting method in getting rid of your tails. Just remember that we are not your enemy. No need to wage a war against a friendly check up.

Alex stared at the text. He got the impression that, unlike Crawley, she was actually amused by his actions. He was surprised that he could recognize that much emotion from her through a text message.

Friendly check ups should be made out in the open. Not hiding in the shadows.

Jones smirked, enjoying the banter. It was rare for anyone to challenge her like this. Most people just followed her orders, not daring to talk back. But Alex had always been an exception to this. Just like he had been an exception to everything else.

It was not my idea to have you followed this time. That was all Crawley. With how easily you spot and lose tails, perhaps you could help train MI6 recruits?

Alex stared at the suggestion. It was ludicrous. Did she actually think that any of the recruits would listen to him? He didn't even want to think about why Jones would plan that kind of assignment for him.

No.

He put away the phone and started on the mountain of homework that Brooklands had sent, not waiting to see if Jones would answer. As he worked through the pile, Alex was pleasantly surprised to find that most of it came quite easily so he was able to finish a third of it by dinnertime. The tutoring sessions with Treat had paid off.

After dinner, Alex washed the dishes and headed out on his bike again, making sure that he wasn't being followed. He'd even left all his phones at home so he couldn't be tracked through those. Keeping out of sight of all the security cameras in the city, Alex was surprised at just how many of them there were that he had never noticed before. A few times, as he was maneuvering himself out of a camera's view, he was caught off guard by shady people coming out of the city's nooks and crannies that he had never been aware of before now. A mental note was made to explore the city more. If an attack ever happened or he needed to hide, having a very thorough knowledge of the city's layout would be an advantage. Or at least put him on more even ground, considering the professionals that could come after him were unlikely to do so without full reconnaissance done.

It took him an hour to get to his destination. Cautiously, he hid his bike and entered the ancient forest, keeping all of his senses alert. A repeat of being unaware of Yassen's presence for too long was not something he wanted. The assassin probably had a punishment ready for that if it happened. Come to think of it, utilizing the invisibility skills the man had taught him would be a good idea too. The cloudy night sky would help with that. So he kept to the shadows, listening to the trees and the wind. Everything else was silent, not an animal nearby. The shadows barely moved, as if afraid to disturb the quiet, and so he imitated them. It was this hyper awareness of his surroundings that allowed him to detect the man's presence a few minutes later. Still, he only just managed to dodge the jab towards his throat and get himself into a defensible position.

"Better," the assassin stated, giving him a once over. "But you should have done your best to maintain a strategic position from the beginning. Follow me."

Both of them keeping to the shadows, Yassen led him deeper into the forest in silence, save for the occasional correction to his invisibility techniques, until they reached a clearing where no one would see or hear what they were doing. Neither would anyone have a chance at stumbling across them. It only just occurred to him that his body would never be found here, left to rot as animals and insects ate his rotting flesh, if the assassin decided to kill him after all. Maybe blindly following the man's instructions without notifying anyone else first was a bad idea. Too late now.

"You're injured," Yassen observed with an almost imperceptible crease in his forehead when they stopped. "How?"

"Mission over Christmas," Alex answered with a shrug. "And then SERE and RTI assessment."

"Yes, you caused quite a few ripples in London's criminal underworld when you took down the Hunt Syndicate," Yassen said dryly. "Your name has been circulating through the networks quickly. And repeatedly. Have you heard the rumours yet?"

"Rumours?" Alex asked warily, feeling apprehensive. "No, I just got back today."

Yassen raised an eyebrow. "If you're going to stay in this business, you should get in the habit of keeping an ear out for every kind of information you can get your hands on, no matter where you are. Thankfully, these rumours are relatively harmless. For now."

"Are you going to tell me what the rumours are?" Alex questioned impatiently, relaxing a little at the man's assessment of there being no immediate danger.

Smirking, Yassen answered, "Someone from the syndicate let slip that you were supposed to have died but came back and burned the whole organization to the ground. I believe "an avenging guardian angel raining fire down on earth" was the description given."

"That's a complete exaggeration!" Alex protested, completely horrified about his reputation.

"These things do tend to be blown out of proportion in the retellings but there is a grain of truth," Yassen pointed out impassively. "Regardless, the story sparked some other rumours about you. Others that have encountered you on your missions have come forward with stories of their own. One swears that they saw you die on the French Alps and come back to dismantle a powerful institution. Another said they watched you rise from the dead after being bitten by a king cobra in Amsterdam and then proceed to fight your way out of a compound. And yet, another has claimed to see you consumed by fire in Egypt and emerge with an army at your back to deal out revenge on your enemies. There are many more stories like this, including the sniper shot to your heart. What do you make of these stories?"

"That they're all delusional?" Alex suggested sarcastically.

Yassen gave him a pointed look. "Delusional or not, these stories hold power over your reputation and how the criminal and intelligence worlds are going to treat you. I doubt that news has reached the intelligence agencies yet, but there are whispers of a name for you that have begun to form."

Alex stared at the assassin. The idea that he was getting recognizable and high profile enough to earn a name for himself in the criminal underworld was unsettling. "I don't suppose I can stop it from happening?"

A corner of the man's lips turned upward the tiniest bit. "No, but you should listen for which name sticks. It will be a clue to how they see you. In turn, you may or may not need to do something about it."

Letting out a long breath, Alex closed his eyes as he processed the information. "How? I don't have any contacts. No information network, no sources. Nothing but myself."

Raising an eyebrow, the contract killer said in a deadpan voice, "No? How foolish of me. I suppose I won't be offering you any more information."

Flushing with embarrassment, Alex mentally scolded himself. The assassin was being extremely generous with information right now and he had practically thrown it back in the man's face. And wasn't he just planning back at camp to grill Yassen for information about Amanda? "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"Anyone can be an informant," the assassin patiently pointed out. "Often, for the right price. You should already know this. Information is gold. It is the currency that our lines of work rely on. Never give anything away for free. And never do anything for free."

"And what would your price be?"

"That depends on what kind of information you want."

"One of my Malagosto classmates was trying to get close to my SAS unit leader. I don't believe that's a coincidence. Do you know anything about it?"

"Originally, I had one training activity planned for tonight. If I answer this, you will participate in three."

Alex nodded, grimacing inwardly. Looks like he wasn't going to get much sleep at all tonight. Not a bad price to pay for information on Wolf's safety though.

The assassin was silent for a minute, considering the situation. He answered slowly, "SCORPIA has kept to laying low for now. Since you brought about their failures, others have been reluctant to give them any big contracts. They mostly keep the organization running through their businesses in vices or mercenary companies. However, that does not mean that they will leave you alone. They will keep tabs on you, lying in wait for the right moment. I haven't heard anything about the board members sending operatives after you or anyone else you know but, perhaps this is their way of gathering information and testing the waters. In any case, I doubt your unit leader is in any danger at the moment. It would be idiotic for SCORPIA to move against you now. They will wait until their reputation has recovered which will give them more power to deal with any retaliations."

"So they're just observing for now?"

"That is my guess. I suggest damage control for the information about you and the SAS that your unit leader may have let slip. Again, you should start building on the networks you already have so you can stay informed, especially about SCORPIA. And be prepared for any attacks."

Yassen held a wooden staff out to him. Looking down at it, Alex glanced at his dominant arm, still in a cast. Before he could even look up again, the assassin had pressed the staff into his left hand and attacked. Only instinct saved him from being clubbed on the head. However, using his non-dominant hand to fight was clumsy. None of the moves he made to attack, and block the man's flurry of strikes, quite worked the way he wanted it to even though he knew the assassin was going easy on him. Because of this, he got hit a lot more than he would have if he'd been using his right arm. There would be several new bruises to show for it by the end of tonight. Especially the ones where Yassen had hit him harder if he forgot himself and tried to use his right arm. The man kept attacking until Alex was on the ground, gasping for breath.

"Unacceptable," Yassen stated. "We will continue to work on your combat skills next weekend. For now, I want you to strip these guns down and reassemble them as quickly as you can."

Alex got up from the ground and took one of the indicated firearms, a Glock 22 pistol. Clearing his mind, he let his SCORPIA training take over. 20 seconds. Slower than when he first started SAS training. The assassin's lips turned downward slightly in displeasure but gestured for him to strip down the second gun, a Colt AR-15 rifle. 25 seconds. He was being slowed down by a combination of the cast and exhaustion from the fight with the staffs.

"Now do it blindfolded," Yassen instructed.

Alex let the man tie a piece of cloth around his head, over his eyes, and picked the pistol up again. He fumbled. Badly. Not as bad as his first time taking a gun apart blindfolded on Malagosto but certainly nowhere near SCORPIA's standards. He tried the rifle. The length made the results worse. He took off the blindfold and waited nervously for Yassen's assessment. The difference in standards between SCORPIA and the SAS struck him hard. He would have had nothing to worry about if this was done in front of the SAS. They would have still been impressed. In front of Yassen, however, he was afraid that the man would think him too incompetent to teach. He wondered if Yassen's standards were the same or higher than SCORPIA's.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Yassen said stiffly, "I will drop by your house and leave some guns for you. In addition to the meditation, you will practice disassembling and reassembling the guns, blindfolded, for half an hour at minimum every day. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Alex responded quietly, not daring to protest at having more time taken away from sleep in his already packed schedule.

Yassen nodded sharply. "Show me your shooting with the Glock first. Hit the targets over there."

Looking in the direction that the man indicated, Alex saw some paper targets set up about fifty yards away. Easy. He confidently picked up the gun. Only to get smacked on the shoulder with a staff.

"Left arm, little Alex," Yassen admonished. "The recoil will injure your broken arm further."

Hesitantly, Alex switched hands. He had never practiced shooting with his left arm before. It felt unfamiliar. He fired once. A silencer had been fit onto the gun so there was barely a sound. Probably to avoid drawing attention to themselves. The bullet only hit the outer ring but he had a better feel for it now. He fired again. Better. It grazed the edge of the bullseye. He fired a third time. Perfect. He continued firing until all of the bullets in the chamber were spent, switching between the paper targets with only a couple missing the centre.

"There is still room for improvement," Yassen simply said. "Your instinctive firing is good but not perfect. The adjustments to your aim progressed at a barely acceptable pace. We will work on your instinctive firing next weekend as well. Now, grab the rifle and follow me."

They hiked further into the forest, up a steep incline as Alex worked on his invisibility some more, until they arrived at an area that was packed densely with trees. It was ideal for cover and, looking around, Alex could see the paper targets in the clearing they had come from. Now, he was on higher ground with the targets six hundred yards away and plenty of trees to block his aim. He mentally calculated the angles before getting into a sniper's position. There was a tight opening to the targets, without hitting anything else, but he thought he could manage it. He wasn't certain though. This would be his first time trying to shoot something from so far away and he was doing it with his non-dominant hand. Breathing in and out steadily at an even pace, Alex sighted his targets and made some minute adjustments. Then, he exhaled on pulling the trigger. Again, a silencer dampened the sound. It went wide. Grimacing, he repeated the process and tried again. It took him four more tries before he could consistently hit all of the targets, emptying the bullet chamber.

"Abysmal," Yassen stated. "Your aim needs improvement and you did not bother to conceal yourself. More practice."

Alex nodded and decided that Yassen definitely had higher standards than SCORPIA. Ross would have been perfectly happy at the progress as long as he kept improving with every practice. Still keeping to the shadows, they walked back to the clearing in silence, where the assassin started cleaning up and taking down the paper targets. Under Yassen's watchful eye, Alex helped to erase all signs that they had ever been there until the man gave a nod of approval.

"What?" Alex asked when the contract killer stared at him pensively.

"Have you made any progress on discovering what your Mrs. Jones plans for you?"

"No," Alex grumbled. "It just gets more confusing. She gave me permission to tell the SAS whatever I wanted to and initiated me into being a full member of MI6 and the SAS. I'm not sure how that's actually going to work out. She's also scheduled herself as my politics tutor when I don't even take a politics course at school. And earlier today, she tried to get me to train MI6 recruits. These decisions don't make any sense. I can't figure out what she's planning."

The assassin was silent for a moment, troubled by the information. He got a sense that, whatever the British head of Special Operations' plan was, Alex had a very big role to play. This, along with the assassinations that he'd personally made of the new executive board members over the past few months triggering something desperate in SCORPIA, meant that the boy's training needed to be accelerated. He had some changes to make in the training schedule that he'd originally had in mind for the teen. But first, some guidance on analyzing situations. Slowly, he said, "There is a reason behind every action. It is important to see those reasons and the consequences they present. There are certain tools you can use to help structure your analysis. Even civilians have frameworks to do this. Although they are usually not using the tools for life and death decisions, those tools can still be applied to our lines of work. One of the simplest tools is the SWOT analysis. It stands for strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats. Using this tool, you will report on your analysis of the situation next weekend."

Great. More homework. Alex nearly groaned out loud but managed to keep his voice neutral, if a little snarky. "Yes, sir. Would you like it typed and double-spaced in APA format too?"

"Verbal report," Yassen said impassively, without missing a beat. "Now, go home and get some sleep."

The assassin disappeared into the shadows before Alex could even respond, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the forest. Baffled by the abrupt departure, he slowly made his way out of the woods as he wondered how the man always managed to disappear so suddenly and completely. Once he was at the edge of the forest, Alex heightened his awareness once more as he retrieved his bike and evaded as many security cameras as he could again on the journey back to his house.

However, his journey home was not quite as smooth as he would have hoped. Heavy sleet had begun to fall, making it freezing cold and difficult to see. And about twenty minutes into his bike ride, Alex really regretted cutting through Greenwich Park. A gunshot rang out, making him duck out of instinct, and a very familiar American voice from the island pleaded with whoever had fired the bullet. Alex mentally banged his head against the tree that he had hidden behind. Why couldn't he do anything without running into trouble? He had only wanted to avoid some security cameras. At least he had kept most of his field kit with him. That would make things easier. He swore to himself that he'd never go without weapons and gadgets from now on. Maybe he could just leave and let them figure it out. It wasn't like they had spotted him yet. Then again, his former classmate didn't sound like he was faring too well.

Groaning softly, Alex gritted his teeth and abandoned his bike, hiding it in some bushes. He blended into the shadows and crept silently towards the confrontation. Once the people were in view, he stayed still to observe the situation for a bit. There were two groups of three men. Liverpudlian, by their accent. They were aiming guns at each other, arguing about local control over operations and accusing each other of sending spies. The spy in question, Alex assumed, was Walker. As far as he could see, his former classmate was shot in the leg and lying in a pool of his own blood on the ground between the two groups.

Thinking fast, Alex gathered some twigs before taking cover behind a tree that hid all of him from view. Then, he snapped the twigs loudly. All shouting from the groups of men ceased at the sound and a crack let him know that another bullet had been fired. This time, in his direction. He watched a hole appear in the tree in front of him as a 9x19mm calibre bullet slammed into it. Safe enough, Alex decided as he listened to two sets of footsteps coming up on either side of him, asking who was there. As soon as the man was right beside him, he struck the one on his left with a move he learned from the SAS, knocking the guy out. At the same time, he grabbed the weapon and shot the other man in the arm holding the gun while making sure he stayed out of the line of fire the entire time. He knocked the other man out too, with a kick to the head.

Hiding behind the tree again, Alex listened as the rest of the two groups raised their weapons and slowly walked towards his location with more caution. He palmed the pack of gum in his pocket and took out the two pence coin. Tossing it towards the approaching men and setting it off as soon as they were within range, the explosion startled them badly enough to shoot blindly. Alex smirked in satisfaction when he heard the repeated clicks of triggers being pulled without ammunition. Good. They've wasted their bullets for nothing.

Stepping out from behind the tree while still making sure to hide himself in the shadows, Alex got in two swift shots to the men's dominant arms before one of the uninjured men shot him in the chest. He fell to the ground with a groan. Apparently, one of them was smart enough not to waste all their bullets. Thank God he knew he could count on Smithers' bulletproof clothes to withstand, at the very least, the more commonly used calibres.

Alex held his breath to feign death so he wouldn't give himself away, waiting until they were in closer range as they tried to see if he was still alive. Then, he shot the remaining two men in their arms as well and sprang up to knock them all out. They barely had time to yell out in surprise. Alex rubbed his chest while letting out another groan in the suddenly silent park before trudging over to one of the unconscious bodies, cursing his own willingness to throw himself into danger even if he did have protection. He rifled through the man's pockets until he found a phone. Dialing the police, he dropped the phone onto the ground as it rang, leaving it there for the authorities to find.

Next, Alex trudged over to Walker with assessing eyes. His former classmate was just as wary. More so, since the man was badly injured. Sensing no immediate threat from Walker, he put a finger to his lips to signal silence and knelt down beside the man. He took one look at the wound and grimaced. It would need more medical attention than they could afford at the moment, with the police likely to arrive in the next few minutes. So, Alex opened up the medical kit in his belt and pulled out a roll of bandages. Quickly wrapping the wound up tight, he helped Walker up and supported the man as they hurriedly moved to a less conspicuous location, fetching his bike along the way. The journey was challenging, as avoiding the cameras was even more important now, and they ended up underneath Greenwich Pier by the River Thames. The shelter it provided from the sleet was a welcome change.

"Fancy seeing you here," Walker joked weakly, only daring to make a sound now that they were relatively safe.

Alex rolled his eyes as he unwrapped the man's bandages and tended to the wound properly. "That's a piss poor pick-up line, if I ever heard one. Especially since I live in this city, as I'm sure you know. You, on the other hand, are miles away from your usual playgrounds. So, what brings you here? Business?"

"Bad pick-up line or not," Walker grinned, "you still miss me."

Alex scoffed. "What is there to miss? Your incompetent, homicidal ass annoying me for homework help?"

"I'm not that bad!" Walker protested weakly. A second later, he bit down on the jacket that Alex had handed to him. It helped with muffling the yell of pain as the bullet was carefully extracted from his leg.

Raising an eyebrow at his former classmate, Alex said sarcastically, "Sure, you aren't. That's why I'm the one pulling you from whatever situation that was back there and tending to your wounds now." Walker mumbled something at that, along with some choice words, as Alex finished up extracting the bullet and proceeded to put pressure on his wound to stem the flow of blood. He was going to request Smithers to put some anaesthetics in his kit next time. "And don't think I didn't notice you avoiding my question. Are you here on business?"

"You know better than to ask that."

Alex shrugged. "Yeah, but I'd like to know if shit's about to hit the fan in my own backyard. The signs I'm seeing aren't exactly good. So, business or not?"

"Not exactly business," Walker answered warily. If the kid was seeing bad signs in their world, then he definitely needed to pay attention. Before things went to hell, as they tended to do around the teen. Give a little, take a little then. Besides, the kid did save his life. He hissed at the burning sting of his wound being cleaned, face twisted in pain, before gasping out, "The bosses... gave me some downtime... which we get to spend however we want.... I had a tip off from one of my contacts... about an operation the Liverpudlian mafia had with the Russians... that the bosses might be interested in... so I came to check out if it was worth bringing up. Demonstrate some initiative in finding opportunities for the organization. See if I could get a promotion or something by giving them the information. That kind of thing."

"What happened to get you shot then?"

Wincing, the man mumbled out sheepishly, "The two rival gangs were in the middle of a war over who gets to control what part of the operation and I misread the situation so made the wrong comment."

Alex sighed exasperatedly, shaking his head. "Really, Walker? That's not the first time you've landed yourself in hot water by misreading a situation. You're going to get yourself killed."

"And why do you care?" Walker snapped defensively. "Why did you even help me out back there?"

Staying silent for a minute, Alex focused on stitching up the man's wound. Then, he shrugged and muttered, "I'm not just going to leave you to die."

"Why not?" Walker demanded, a little out of breath from the pain. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," Alex answered calmly, cleaning up his makeshift operating room after bandaging the man up again. He hoped the metallic smell permeating his pores wouldn't draw any attention on his way home. "I'm just not going to let someone die needlessly."

"You have to want something from me," Walker insisted. "No one does favors in this business unless they want something."

"Fine," Alex threw his hands up in the air, deciding it was better to just go along with the man's views and save them from going around in circles with their argument. Besides, adding the life debt to the tally of favors to be repaid to himself would satisfy Yassen at least. And confirming information from several sources could only be a good thing. "If it makes you feel any better, you can answer some questions for me and I'll cash in the rest of your debt later."

"What are the questions?" Walker asked warily, only now realizing that he should have taken the gift of a free favour instead of pushing for an answer. Now, he might have just sentenced himself to death, since it was a life debt that he owed the kid. Damn it, he really should put a zip on his mouth.

"Amanda," Alex stated, crossing his arms as he leaned against a pillar. "Have you heard anything about what she's been up to lately?"

Walker's eyebrows shot up, a suggestive twinkle in his eyes. "Why? Did you want to ask her out? She's still fond of you but you'll have to compete with a soldier I hear she's been chasing after."

"No, Walker, I am not romantically interested," came an exasperated sigh. "I'm fifteen. Much too young for her. Who's the soldier?"

"Boring spoilsport," Walker mumbled. "And I don't know. Some SAS dude. Didn't get anything more than that."

"Any chance she's chasing after the soldier on your boss' orders?"

Walker fell silent, thinking as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position on the ground. No one was all that close to each other in their business. In fact, their class had mostly kept to themselves before Alex arrived at the island. The teen, being the most well-liked, had inadvertently brought all of them into being more social with each other. As soon as the teen was gone, they had mostly reverted back to their polite but distant habits. Thanks to Alex, their class still had the closest bonds in all of Malagosto history though. Finally, he settled on, "It's possible. But I can't tell for sure. I'm not familiar enough with her to know what she's thinking."

Good enough for now. If there was a real threat at the moment, it was only being kept to a few people. Satisfied, he switched gears, casually tossing out, "Klaus?"

"Haven't heard from him since the island," Walker shrugged. "People talk though. He seems to be gaining favour with one of the board, Zeljan Kurst. Everyone expects Klaus to rise up the ranks quickly."

"Does he hate me?"

"I don't think so," Walker answered slowly, taken aback at the question. "More indifferent."

Did the answer make sense? Klaus had never been expressive but the man had tried to kill him. Sicherheit said the assassination attempt was because Klaus wanted to climb the ranks. Perhaps a typical, pragmatic German then. Indifferent towards him as a person, but treating him according to the man's goal of the moment. It fit with the perpetually gruff demeanor that Alex had seen on the island. If he recalled Yassen's files correctly, Kurst had a nasty, mean streak with a propensity for holding a grudge. And there was a particular grudge against the Rider family. He would have to watch out for Klaus then. The man would do whatever he could to please Kurst. Nodding sharply, Alex asked, "How do you feel about working for the organization?"

"What's with the questions? You've never checked up on us before," Walker said suspiciously. Perhaps there had been recent attacks on the teen. Whatever it was, the line of questioning so far told him that Alex was reading something into the situation with SCORPIA. He resolved to do some digging of his own.

"I had no way of contacting any of you," Alex pointed out.

"Is that your way of asking for my number?" Walker waggled his eyebrow suggestively.

"I've never cared much for pedophiles."

Walker squawked with indignation, promising to get him back for that comment. Huffing, he answered grumpily, "It doesn't matter how I feel. Completing the island training means I'm locked into a five year service contract. Breaking that agreement would be suicidal."

Alex gave the man a pointed look. "A contract doesn't prevent you from feeling something."

Rolling his eyes, Walker leaned his head back onto the pillar behind him, opposite of the teen. "Fine. If you ask me, working for them isn't as appealing as it was before you ruined their reputation. The jobs aren't as good anymore. Neither is the pay. Every new board member they've brought on since the last time you took down one of their operations has been assassinated within a month so far. The board is getting desperate. And they're taking out their frustrations on the rest of us. If I was free of the damn contract and didn't fear having the whole organization hunt me down for betrayal, I'd have jumped ship already."

Considering the information, Alex sighed. Yassen had been busy. By that description, the assassin had to have committed at least six board assassinations so far. Seven, if you counted the Grimaldi twins as two. And he had helped Yassen with those ones by taking on an advisory role. He wondered exactly what Yassen was trying to achieve by taking out every single new board member. Retirement difficulties as a reason was too simple for this. SCORPIA was bound to respond by doing something drastic soon. Unless someone found out that it was Yassen committing the murders, the assassin didn't really have anything to worry about. He just hoped the intelligence agencies were prepared for whatever SCORPIA decided to do. Turning his attention back to Walker, he frowned. "Let me know if I can do anything to help get you out of there."

Walker snorted. "I don't think there's anyone that can get me out of the organization without being hunted along with me. They're still too powerful."

Alex shrugged. "They keep hunting me anyways. Might as well help you out." He paused as an idea came to him. "We can leave messages at this pier if we need to contact each other. I'll try to check it once a month."

"You're actually serious," Walker stared at him in awe.

"Think about it," Alex called over his shoulder as he walked away. It was time to leave if he wanted any sleep at all tonight. With the bullet wound treated, his former classmate would be able to manage things on his own. Slipping back into the shadows, he rode his bike home.

It was one in the morning by the time he arrived. Exhausted, he forced himself to take a shower to get rid of the sweat and blood. Just managing to set his alarm for school tomorrow, he flopped down onto his bed and instantly fell asleep.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Alex groaned, slamming his hand down on the clock to turn off his alarm. Four and a half hours. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes until his senses were more alert and got up to get ready for school. It didn't take him long to get the necessities done, leaving him with ample time for a leisurely breakfast and daily meditations. However, as he went down the stairs, he stopped short at the sight of four firearms sitting innocently on the living room coffee table. Walther PPK. Sig Sauer P226. AK-47. M40. Two pistols, an assault rifle, and a sniper rifle. Fuck. Yassen worked fast. The assassin must've dropped off the weapons while he was asleep. He needed to up security on the house. Preferably some that weren't provided by MI6. He had his work cut out for him if he was going to make his own security measures. Alex dragged a hand down his face and shook his head. Breakfast, dinner prep, combat breathing and meditation, practice disassembling and reassembling guns blindfolded, SCORPIA's condensed indoor workout routine. In that order.

About two hours later, Alex shivered slightly as he pedaled slowly into the parking lot of Brookland Comprehensive School, enjoying the light snowfall while chaining up his bike. He was early so there weren't very many people around yet. The peaceful stillness of a cold, winter's day was a nice change in pace. A serene moment in a chaotic world. Alex stood there, soaking it up. Who knew when he'd get a chance like this again. His world often moved too fast for proper enjoyment. It had taken him just over half a year to end up back at Brookland. Time that felt like a blink of an eye. And yet, ages ago at the same time. He didn't know how he would fit into the dynamics of the school after being away for so long but he was about to find out. Sighing inwardly, he checked over his bulletproof school uniform, courtesy of Smithers, once more and headed into the building. Time to face questions from disapproving staff and curious teenagers.

"Alex! Welcome back!" Ms. Bedfordshire, the school secretary, exclaimed warmly when he walked into the main office. Her smile turned into a concerned frown when she noticed the cast. "What happened to your arm?"

"Good morning, Ms. Bedfordshire," Alex smiled at the young woman. She always did have a soft spot for him. "I just had an accident on my bike but my arm will heal nicely. Can I get my schedule?"

"Of course, of course," she said distractedly, searching for the appropriate papers. "Here you go. It looks like your first lesson is maths today. And here's your locker number. You know your way around so I'll just let you get on with your day. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Miss," Alex replied, shooting her another smile as he took the papers. Walking back out of the office, he glanced at his schedule. Of course maths was first, Alex thought ruefully. What a way to start his Year 11, even if there was only half the year left. It was the last class he had been in before Blunt's sniper shot at him, forcing his departure from the school and out of the country.

Sighing inwardly, he adjusted his bag and walked off to put some of his stuff in his locker before going to his first class. The few people he passed by all did a double take and stopped to stare, whispering to each other as soon as his back was to them. Uncomfortable as he was with the attention, Alex ignored them, having expected something like this already. It was the same with his every return to the school. They whispered speculations about him being in a gang, in prison, or taking drugs. Always behind his back. To his face, they mostly treated him just like anyone else. That was probably because of his reputation for dealing with bullies. It used to bother Alex, especially the duplicity which he had enough of in his espionage life, but so much had happened that he really didn't care about his schoolmates' opinions of him anymore. That had become trivial. Instead, he was amused at his schoolmates' attempts at subtlety. They wouldn't last five minutes doing what he did.

Reaching the classroom, Alex briefly scanned it and made straight for the seat with the widest view of the room while being as far away from the windows as possible. He didn't want to make it easy for another sniper to take a shot at him. That would be foolish. Keeping an eye on the door and windows as he settled down, he reviewed the class notes that had been sent to him along with the homework to refresh his memory. And even though no one else had registered his presence yet, he was aware of every single student that trickled into the room over the next fifteen minutes. It was no surprise to him when his two best friends walked in.

"Alex!" Tom bounced up to him as his other best friend, James Hale, gave an uncertain smile. "You're back!"

"How were your holidays?" James asked, both boys settling into the adjacent seats.

Brief images of dogs ripping into human flesh, bullets flying every which way, and torture sessions to ring in the New Year popped into his mind. That wouldn't go over well. Smiling faintly, he answered, "Uneventful. How were yours?"

The two boys launched into a description of how they spent their Christmas and New Years while Alex nodded along at the appropriate intervals. Tom complained dramatically about his parents fighting and being behind in homework as always. But he was happy about his brother, Jerry, visiting and playing footie with him. James calmly relayed his holiday trip to the United States with his aunt and uncle. He really was lucky to have these two as friends. While Tom was already in the know and understood that he wouldn't always be physically or emotionally available, James was not. Alex could feel the gap widening every time he returned. In the beginning, James had tried to be supportive and reached out to him. Tried to be understand what was going on in his life, what he was thinking about. Even invited Alex on a trip to France with his aunt and uncle. But now, it was the blatant show of uncertainty. The avoidance of the subject of his disappearances. Instead, it was straight to the superficial, safe, topic of the holidays. And yet, his oblivious friend was still willing to stick by him without pushing for answers or holding his secrecy and reticence against him. He was sure it would somehow backfire someday when his espionage life caught up to him. It wasn't exactly ideal for maintaining relationships. But for now, Alex cherished the easy friendship and acceptance, enjoying the feeling of being normal.

Just as James finished up telling them about a skiing trip, the maths teacher, Mr. Donovan, walked in at the bell and called the class to order. The teacher did a visible double take, snapping his head up when he got to Alex's name on the attendance and received an answer, finally noticing his wayward student's presence and confirming that he did not read the attendance list wrong. Immediately, whispers started like dominoes falling as the rest of the class realized Alex's presence too. They quickly settled down when Mr. Donovan reprimanded them. However, for the rest of the period, Alex studiously took notes while ignoring the stares that his teacher and the rest of the students couldn't help giving him. The attention made his skin crawl as it messed with his internal danger radar and he fought to keep himself from acting on the paranoia. He hid a smirk when Tom glared right back at everyone but nudged his friend in a silent request to stop. A lesson for his friend in picking your battles, perhaps. He really was lucky to have Tom.

Once the class ended, Alex breathed a sigh of relief as the attention was taken off of him for a moment. He knew it would get worse though. Mentally bracing himself for the rest of the school's reaction, he stepped out of the maths classroom with his two friends and made his way to their next class. Along the way, he heard the usual whispers follow him, growing louder just by sheer number. A shift up ahead alerted Alex to a group approaching. He groaned internally when he identified who they were. Judging by their body language, Tom had not been joking about the gaggle of girls who had suddenly taken a fancy to him.

"Hi Alex," a stick-thin, blonde batted her eyelashes as Tom grinned at his predicament. Although he had never spoken to her before, Alex was pretty certain that her name was Jessica. Giving him a smile that he supposed was meant to be seductive but came off as maniacal, she asked, "When did you come back? It's been forever since we last saw you!"

"Just got back today," Alex answered politely, trying to sidestep them. "I just need to get to my next class, if you don't mind."

"Of course," a brunette simpered, pulling her friends to the side to make way for him while eyeing the cast on his arm. "Let me know if you want some one-on-one study time. Or someone to carry your books."

"Thanks.... but I think I'll be fine."

As he ignored the disappointed look in the brunette's eyes and stepped past the group, one of the girls shoved a piece of paper into his hand and whispered into his ear, "Call me."

The contact made him stiffen but he didn't react beyond that. He kept walking with his snickering friends by his side, aware that the girls had scurried off in a fit of giggles. Once they had rounded a corner, Alex dropped the phone number into the nearest trash can and cuffed his friends on their heads, muttering, "Useless arses."

Tom and James only grinned before doing bad imitations of the girls. Rolling his eyes, Alex contentedly listened to their fooling around, only hushing them when they reached their next class. That brief moment - when even James was distracted - was when Tom took the chance to murmur a quick warning out of the corner of his mouth about the way he walked attracting attention. Confused at first, he realized a second later that he had unconsciously carried himself the way he would among the SAS or SCORPIA. Confident, smooth motions with a sense of purpose that radiated a hint of danger and spoke of his training to anyone who knew what to look for. Clapping a hand on Tom's shoulder in silent gratitude for helping him keep his schoolboy cover, Alex gradually shifted his posture into something more awkward and unsure to mimic his classmates as he listened for his name in the attendance list.

The rest of the day mostly went the same way. Alex steadfastly ignored the staring and whispering, focusing on the lectures instead. In between classes, he was forced to use his evasion skills to avoid the girls fawning over him. That, in turn, meant avoiding the boys who were jealous of the attention that he was receiving from the opposite sex. By lunch time, he was so tired of it all that he quickly bought his food from the school cafeteria and hurried out to find a secluded spot to eat in peace. More than once that day, Alex rubbed his temples in exasperation. At least it helped that Tom and James accompanied him whenever they could even though his other friends from before Ian's death only greeted him before moving on, not bothering to stop and chat. That was fine with him. It meant less people to explicitly lie to. Less people getting hurt.

However, as much as the attention had died down as the day went on, it didn't completely cease. The scrutiny was exhausting. The routine was unfamiliar after being away for so long. He was still on edge from the last few months. The rapid shifts from military training and missions to regular school were disorienting. And he was ready to pull out his hair by the end of the school day, trying to conceal all that from the staff and students. Alex breathed a sigh of relief when the final bell rang and everyone's attention shifted away from him as there was a scramble to get off school grounds as quickly as possible.

"Wanna come around my place?" Tom came up behind him from somewhere as he put some of his books into his locker. They didn't have the same class for the last period.

"Can't," Alex answered without turning around, completely unsurprised at the sudden presence. He grabbed the materials he would need for the night's homework. "Got a packed schedule. Probably won't even get home until after dinner."

Tom shrugged. "Alright, mate. Maybe tomorrow then?"

Shaking his head, Alex finally turned around to face his friend, grimacing, "Sorry, Tom. They've filled every waking moment with something. Including weekends."

"They - ?" A pause as Tom worked out what he meant. Disappointment clouded his eyes. "Oh, that sucks. Aren't they afraid of overworking you?"

"Not really. Probably think it'll be a good test. Anyways, I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

With an affirmative and a clap on the back, they parted ways. Alex rode his bike home first, making a mental note to check on Tom tomorrow. He knew his friend's parents had finalized their divorce but that didn't necessarily mean the fights were over. Shaking off his thoughts, he unlocked the front door, grabbed a snack, and used the meal prep from that morning to pack dinner. A black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of his house as he shoved the last of the books and materials he would need that night into his bag, just in time to be picked up by the MI6 driver. There were no words exchanged the entire way to the bank and he stepped into the reception area at 1600 hours on the dot. Redwing warmly met him and promptly led the way to an office opposite of Smithers on the eleventh floor.

"Well, Alex, it's good to finally meet you," Redwing said, studying him intently when they had settled into the seats at her desk. "You've done good work. It's a shame that your missions have interfered with your education. At least we can fix that now and keep your options open."

"Let me guess," Alex responded dryly, picking up on her wording. "You don't want me to continue in this line of work?"

Redwing sat back, crossing her arms as she considered him. Choosing her words carefully, she explained, "Whether I want you to continue doesn't matter. But you are... very young. You still have a whole life ahead of you. The average life expectancy for our field agents in the past few decades is three years. Assuming the operative makes it past the first year. Which, impressively, you have. That doesn't mean that your survival is assured though. Nor does it predict whether you will want to change careers later on in life."

She paused, gathering her thoughts and some documents to show him. "The statistics aren't good. While 70% survive all their missions, only 30% of them are spared any permanent damage to their mental and physical health. Of the ones that survive, 80% of them don't continue in the field longer than five years because they've burned out. So they switch to desk work or change careers altogether. And 5% of the ones that do continue in field work are deemed unsafe around civilians before they get to the ten year mark. At that point, those ones are almost exclusively sent to warzones."

Redwing fell silent, grimacing at the next statistic. "Look at the data here. This chart shows that 20% of the ones that survive their missions will still die. By suicide. Because they aren't able to cope with whatever happened in the line of duty. And even more worrying, 10% of the survivors turn traitor. The question is, which one of these scenarios will you end up in? If you continue surviving, you will need to keep your options open. What happens after that is up to you."

Alex nodded slowly, appreciating the honesty. He already knew he needed to continue his education. There has never been any question about that. But right now, he couldn't imagine sitting in an office doing paperwork full-time, even if it was for MI6. "And if I survive and choose to stay in the field?"

"It would still be beneficial to get as much education as possible. Field work isn't only about your physical survival skills. The more knowledge you have, the more useful you'll be and the greater your chances of survival. Take last night, for example. We're not sure what you were doing at Greenwich Park so late at night - yes, we do know about that - but several samples collected by the local police for evidence contained your DNA. Your fingerprints are all over one of the guns. And the phone I'm assuming you used to call the police. Mrs. Jones has thrown a lot of red tape on this and ordered any evidence you left behind to be confiscated but that doesn't mean there won't be a leak somewhere. It's not a guarantee that it won't come back to you in some way, as you've seen with Skoda or that journalist, Harry Bulman. As it is, the evidence you left behind provides support for the Liverpudlian gang members' statements that were given to the local police last night. We're still working through the bureaucracy to keep them off your back. By the way, the mafia won't be seeking retribution on you. Their territories are close enough to the Hunt Syndicate's that your reputation is enough to get them to leave you alone. Not to mention that they are too busy fighting through the gang war that the fall of the Hunt Syndicate caused. Although, one good thing about your involvement is that it has given MI5 and GCHQ an excuse to look into the mafia's activities. So that limits the potential for revenge too. However, my point still stands. This whole situation could have been avoided if you were well-versed in the forensic sciences."

Several emotions flashed through Alex as he listened to Redwing's lecture. He hadn't even thought about the consequences of his actions last night. It sounded like he had set off a chain of events. Again. He just hoped that his meetings with Yassen and Walker last night hadn't been discovered by anyone. There was so much to keep track of, so many angles to consider. He thought he'd been gaining a handle on what this business involved but the whole situation with the domestic gangs threw that out of the window. There was only one way to fix this. With a determined nod, Alex said, "Okay, I am clearly out of my depth here. Where do we start?"

The chief science officer smiled. He couldn't help but think of a shark, successfully maneuvering it's prey into place, as she simply answered, "Homework and training."

The next four hours were spent alternating between Redwing and Smithers tutoring him in maths and the three sciences while the gadget master took his phone to do more updates. A retina scan and more advanced fingerprint scan was added. Every digit of the PIN number entered into the device would scan for his fingerprint as an extra layer of security to ensure that he was the only person who could access it. Smithers handed him some fresh medical supplies for his field kit with a wink when he got his phone back. He received a raised eyebrow for his request of including anaesthetics and another two pence coin in his supplies but it was given to him without questions.

As for the tutoring sessions, who taught him depended on whoever the two thought was better at a particular topic. Redwing set a brisk, demanding pace with very little humor. The few glimpses of humor that were there disappeared as quickly as they had come, leading Alex to believe that the woman wasn't unfriendly, just doing her best to keep them on track. He went through a pile of new material in her lectures. While the material was all information he would need to know for his GCSEs, he noticed a heavy focus on incorporating forensics, medical science and nutrition, biochemical weapons, and statistics. Redwing even gave him a more detailed explanation of how the nanocapsules in Rothman's operation worked. With the exception of a more relaxing pace, liberally sprinkled with humor throughout the lectures, his sessions with Smithers mostly went the same way. However, Smithers incorporated a heavy focus on making gadgets, showing him all the details in the designs for the ones Alex had already used in the past. At the end of the four hours, he sagged into his chair, rubbing his eyes. His head was exploding with the amount of information that Redwing and Smithers had managed to cram into the sessions. On the bright side, Smithers had found a way to make physics fun, instead of boring like he usually found the subject, by explaining the concepts behind the gadget designs and he looked forward to those lessons.

Since he wasn't allowed to wander the halls - or show up anywhere unaccompanied - due to the need for discretion, Alex spent the allotted one hour dinner break quietly eating his packed meal in Smithers' office while exploring the MI6 database some more, occasionally asking the gadget master a question. He skimmed the files on domestic intelligence to get a feel for the current situation and started searching for files on SCORPIA, as well as India. There wasn't much about SCORPIA to dig into that he didn't already know, either from personal experience or Yassen's files. He did bookmark John Rider's file for reading later though. In contrast, there was a lot of reading to do on India and the UK. But all too soon, the break was over and he was escorted down to the third basement floor, B3, to meet with his new Japanese, karate, and aikido instructor.

"Alex Rider," the short man greeted him softly as Redwing left them alone. The first thing Alex noticed was the accent. It was strange as it wasn't one that could be traced to any particular region in the world. "I am the Special Operations martial arts training master. My name is Kiyoshi Tomohiro but you will call me 'sir' or 'Renshi'. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Alex responded, automatically falling into parade rest with the familiar words. He carefully wiped his face of all expression as his heart beat faster at the man's karate title. "Renshi" meant that the man was a sixth-degree black belt at the very least. Alex had only ever been trained by a "Sensei", a third-degree black belt.

"Good," Tomohiro nodded a sharp approval. "It is not my place to question what the organization is doing with someone so young. I do not agree with it. But I will do my duty and train you. Do not think that I will go easy on you because of your age. Quite the opposite, in fact. I will be pushing you harder than any other recruit. Mrs. Jones has ordered you to be put on a fast track training program. She wants you to be able to speak Japanese, and behave, like a native within the next three months. To achieve this, you will only communicate in Japanese with me from now on. In the same time frame, you are to obtain another black belt degree. Today, we will just be doing assessments to determine where you are currently at. We will start with your language and culture skills. あなたは今日何をしたの? (What have you done today?)"

Taken aback at the abruptness of the switch in language, Alex blinked in silence for a few seconds as his brain scrambled to adjust and come up with the appropriate response. "私はいくつかの瞑想をし、学校に行き、そして家庭教師と訓練のためにここにまっすぐに来ました、先生。(I did some meditations, went to school, and came straight here for tutoring and training, sir.)"

The rest of the two hours with Tomohiro were just as brusque and disorienting. The first hour was spent jumping from one random topic to the next without preamble. They went through everything. The rapid-fire questioning ranged from his daily routine, romance, and thoughts on various people to biology, money, and politics. At one point, etiquette and celebrations from around the world were discussed too. There was no time to think about his answers, only respond. All in Japanese. Although Tomohiro remained expressionless, Alex was sure that he had fumbled some of the grammar and vocabulary. The second hour focused on karate and aikido but didn't go any better than the language assessment. He lost every fight, not landing a hit on his instructor even once. Sure, they were being careful about his fractured arm. But he had a feeling that he would have lost just as badly even if he had been at full strength. And all he had to show for it was a new batch of bruises littering his body. Alex groaned. Those were going to be a pain to hide from the school. Not hard, just annoying. At least he could enjoy sparring without the danger. He had missed going to the dojo that Ian had signed him up for since he was seven. There was no chance of returning there anymore though, he mourned wistfully. The change in his skill was too conspicuous and dangerous for it to be a viable option. Panting at the end of the session, Alex got up and did the traditional bow, waiting for Tomohiro's verdict.

"あなたはもう一級の黒帯ではありません (You are not quite a first degree black belt anymore)," the training master tilted his head curiously. "時折、あなたが使用している他の武道のスタイルがあり、経験はあなたが以前に評価されたレベルで戦わないことを意味する優位性をあなたに与えました。 しかし、いくつかの動きを除いて、あなたの空手と合気道の技術は、主に一級の黒帯として残っています。(Occasionally, there are other martial arts styles that you are using and experience has given you an edge that means you do not fight at your previously assessed level. But, with the exception of a few moves, your karate and aikido techniques largely remain as a first degree black belt.)"

"SASトレーニングは役に立ちました、サー (The SAS training helped, sir)," Alex said.

"確かに、それはしました (Indeed, it did)," the man murmured. Nodding slowly, he decided, "ジョーンズ夫人があなたになりたい場所にたどり着く可能性があるかもしれません。 却下されました。(You just might have the potential to get to where Mrs. Jones wants you to be. Dismissed.)"

Giving a salute, Alex turned on his heel to see Crawley waiting for him by the door. He was given five minutes to change out of his ghi that he had changed into at the start of the martial arts assessment. Wordlessly, he was led through the halls to Crawley's office on the fifteenth floor. Alex stopped at the doorway, staring at the office next door. Ian's old office. His uncle's stuff had been cleared out but, even after all these months, there was no sign that the office had been used for anything since then. How odd it was to be standing where his missions had all started. Where Crawley had shot him with a tranquilizer so Blunt could quietly transport him to the Brecon Beacons.

"Alex," Crawley called out softly, pulling him out of his reminiscing trance. "Close the door, please."

Shaking his memories away, Alex did as he was told and sat down in one of the chairs. The next hour nearly put him to sleep. Even knowing that the information was important to his chosen job, he struggled to pay attention as Crawley droned on about MI6's standards and procedures. There were a lot of them to go through, including how a normal recruitment and career should go. Of course, Alex thought bitterly, none of it had applied to his own experience. He burned with rage at learning that he had been routinely sent on suicide missions from the very beginning. Nothing to be done about it now though. The rest of MI6's recruits were lucky bastards to be given training wheels and proper guidance. No one else would be put through his recruitment experience if he could help it. But that was a fight for another time. Yawning loudly, he was relieved when the clock finally struck midnight and Crawley ordered a driver to send him home.

Slumping into the backseat of the car, Alex dozed fitfully for the entire twenty minute drive. When they arrived at his house, he muttered a quick thanks to the driver and was soon asleep in his own bed after a good shower to wash away the sweat from training. But before he knew it, his alarm clock blared loudly to wake him up for school and he did it all over again for the rest of the week. The only differences were the decreased attention he got from his school's population as they became more used to his presence and his sessions with Crawley alternated with Dr. Flint's therapy sessions. He despised the therapy sessions. Flint was mostly non-judgmental. And good at her job, if a little skittish around him at first. He didn't mind working with her. But talking about every detail of his past missions and home life, with a focus on emotions, was nothing like debriefings. It brought everything he had been trying to keep a lid on to the surface so that he felt like the grief and fear and despair were going to devour him whole, leaving nothing more than an empty shell. Like ripping off a scab so the wounds bled freely anew to the point of exsanguination. It left him emotionally exhausted but he wasn't getting much sleep either as his nightmares got bad again, his unconscious mind provoked by the therapy sessions. And they had only gone through his memories of life with Ian and the Stormbreaker mission so far. He could only imagine how much more wrung out he was going to feel as they progressed through the rest of his missions. Or how much worse his nightmares would become. The meditations helped him get some sleep at least and he silently thanked Yassen for what felt like the hundredth time. In his tired state, the meditations and combat breathing exercises had helped to keep him grounded at school so he didn't instinctively lash out at perceived threats from sudden movements or noises. All the same, it was a relief when the weekend finally arrived even though it meant training harder. At least he could stop worrying about accidentally hurting someone.

With the weekend, most people would probably take the chance to catch up on some rest and recharge. Not Alex. Besides early mornings ingrained into him from the SAS training and nightmares preventing a good night's sleep, there was just too much to do for him to relax like that. So, regardless of how much sleep he'd gotten, he still woke up at six in the morning to prepare for the day. Breakfast. Meditations and combat breathing. Practice disassembling and reassembling the guns blindfolded. Housekeeping chores to keep the place clean and a call to Wales for a short conversation with Wolf to reassure his unit leader that SCORPIA meant no harm yet. The warning to avoid Amanda as much as possible while not revealing anything and staying prepared for an attack went unspoken. They both knew what could happen. Once the call was finished, he did three hours of homework on his own. That left him with half an hour to make and eat lunch before taking the tube to meet Smithers for ICT tutoring sessions at 1300 hours. While Alex was definitely behind in his ICT classes, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. The stack of books he'd been given about computers when he was preparing for the Stormbreaker mission had helped decrease the gap. In addition to the normal curriculum, there was a clear focus on cybersecurity and hacking. Erasing his digital fingerprints. He knew these tutoring sessions couldn't have been purely for catching up on his education. As if Jones would have organized these out of the goodness of her heart. But he didn't care. He'd made his choice to stay in the business and these skills were only going to help him survive. And he was having fun, learning tons from Smithers. He almost didn't realize the hour was up. Reluctantly, Alex bid the gadget master a good day and made his way up to Jones' office for his politics lesson.

"Alex, take a seat," Mrs. Jones greeted, already sucking on a peppermint. "You were busy last weekend. Would you like to tell me why you were at Greenwich Park?"

"Exploring the city," Alex answered easily as he sat down. After Redwing's talk with him about the impact of his actions, he had anticipated the question and prepared a response for Jones. It would make his excuse more credible if he ever got caught on the way to, or from, his training sessions with Yassen. Rubbing his neck with a sheepish grin, he continued saying, "I figured it would be useful to know the city better, just in case trouble comes calling. But I guess I ran into trouble instead."

Jones gave him a calculating stare. Abruptly switching topics, she asked, "How were your lessons?"

"Fine. Why are you teaching me politics? I would have thought Treat maybe. Or someone else that's less busy."

"My father was a diplomat, I have a Cambridge degree in political science and Arabic studies, and the most experience in analyzing political situations in this division."

Alex stared. Besides her first name, it was the most personal information that he'd ever heard from her. "But that doesn't mean you have to be the one tutoring me. I'm sure there are others who qualify and are less busy."

"I'm trying to give you the best training and education possible," Jones gave him a pointed look with pursed lips.

Well, that was certainly achieved, Alex thought. Jones had given him some of the country's brightest minds in each field as his tutors. Including herself. He could also read between the lines. It said that secrecy was not the only reason why he wasn't sent to Fort Monckton for SIS training. The other reason was because Fort Monckton was standard. Jones wanted better for him. He wasn't sure if that was for his sake or hers.

Without giving him a chance to respond, she got right down to business. "Agent Treat's reports on your progress show that you have a solid foundational knowledge of the UK's political, economical, and legal system. We will be using that knowledge to debate different situations and their political impacts. I believe Agent Treat has given you a brief biography on each of the current politicians on Downing Street, yes?"

Alex nodded.

"And Crawley has started teaching you about the different criminal organizations?"

Another nod.

"Good. I want you to take into consideration each of those individual's roles and personalities, as well as what we know about the existing criminal organizations, when making your arguments. Let's start with the local gang war that resulted from the Hunt Syndicate's fall and how your encounter with the Liverpudlian mafia affects politics and intelligence work. What do you think are the possible outcomes of the gang war?"

The next hour was spent debating which criminal organization was likely to come out on top without intervention, which one would be preferable for the country's wellbeing, how the intelligence agencies could make sure their preferred one came out on top, and what policies and legislations each politician would be likely to put forth and support after the outcome of the gang war was known. While Alex had given it some thought, it was definitely not enough for the in-depth analysis that Jones was intent on making him do. He wasn't sure how successful he was in arguing his point, but he gave it a good go. And to his surprise, Mrs. Jones seemed to actually be enjoying their debate. There still wasn't much facial expression but it was the most lively and passionate that he had ever seen her. On the other hand, he left her office with a headache over how many things he was learning to consider when making decisions in and out of the field.

Unbeknownst to him, Mrs. Jones watched him go with mild apprehension. He had told her not to run things like Blunt had. She didn't intend to. Especially not after one of her more recent conversations with the prime minister had revealed that Alex had actually vouched for her and that was the reason why the prime minister had finally been persuaded to let Alex continue working with her. She didn't want to let Alex down. To betray him. She had already completely failed her own children. There was no fixing that. But maybe Alex could be her redemption. She certainly didn't want to fail him any more than she already had by not putting a stop to the missions from the very beginning. But with her job, she couldn't guarantee it. There were too many lives at stake. The country had to come first. Even now, with the training, she wondered if she was going too far. There was an extraordinary amount of talent and she would be a fool not to use it. Not just in a physical sense either. A couple of arguments had come as a surprise, giving her more issues to look into since she and her subordinates had never considered those angles before. The debate had proved that the teen could contribute invaluable insights to any situation, if given the proper education and guidance. It would only improve with experience. But honing and using Alex's talent meant there was a fairly good chance that she would have to choose between him and the country someday. Her answer, no matter how painful it was, would always be the country. Sighing, she rubbed her temples and called for Morris and Crawley to look into the points that Alex had made in the debate.

As Mrs. Jones silently fought against her conscience, Alex made his way down to the training basement floor for two hours of Krav Maga with Tomohiro. He had never learned that fighting style before so he was given a white belt and a brief explanation, in Japanese, of the history and uses of the martial art. He learned that the name translated to "contact combat" and it was developed by a Hungarian-Israeli boxer and wrestler, Imi Lichtenfeld, for the Israeli Defense Forces. Lichtenfeld developed it from his street-fighting experience and based the techniques on boxing, wrestling, judo, karate, and aikido. Although his own training in karate, aikido, and SAS techniques helped Alex pick up the moves quickly, the training was still brutal. Much like his karate and aikido sessions with Tomohiro, he lost every fight and felt the bruises blooming all over his body as he struggled with the simultaneous attack and defence techniques. Apparently, his situational awareness during combat, while perfectly fine for the SAS, was still lacking too. He wasn't discouraged though. Every loss only spurred him on, made him more determined to master the martial art. Because when things went to hell, this was one of the things that would determine his survival. At the end of the two hours, he left with a battered body but a spring in his step.

After Krav Maga, he gave himself five minutes to shower and get changed. Alex walked out of the changing room to see Treat already waiting. She grinned and beckoned him to follow. They claimed one of the small classrooms on the training floor that were designed for lectures and launched into a conversation in Italian. Stilted, on his part, because he only had a basic grasp of the language. Whenever he stumbled over the sentences, Treat patiently explained the grammar and gave him vocabulary to memorize which she would bring up later in the conversation to see if he still remembered it. At some point, Alex took out a notebook to write down what she was teaching him and marked some differences between Italian and other European languages that he was fluent in. All too soon, the hour was up and he was shuffled off to Crawley for finance lessons so he could keep up the cover of a banker in the future and manage his own financials. Much like the man himself, the lessons were dry and boring. Alex stifled a yawn as he studiously took notes on the time value of money, diversifying investments, and reading financial statements. Even this early in the lessons though, he was already able to note down a few things to look into for his trust fund and felt a little bit more prepared to handle his inheritance. But by the end of the hour, he was ready to fall asleep and almost didn't notice Morris coming into the office to collect him. Hastily shoving his notebook into his bag, Alex followed the deputy head down to the fourth basement floor, B4, where the shooting range and other weapons and explosives training took place.

"Alright, Alex," the deputy head turned to face the teen, crossing his arms. "Before we get started, I'll tell you a little bit about myself. I did about ten years in the British army as a weapons specialist before transferring to MI6. After the transfer, I was involved in a lot of arms dealing and weapons manufacturing operations. Besides the standard MI6 weapons training, you'll be learning some of the more specialized stuff that I've picked up along my career. But first, we'll start with guns. Your shooting results from the SAS are extremely good so I'm not too worried about you knowing your way around a handgun. We'll do a bit of practice with all of the models and shooting positions so I can see it for myself though. Choose one to start with and show me what you've got."

Alex did as he was instructed, choosing a Glock 22 and filing the detail about learning specialized knowledge away for later examination. He shot round after round with different firearms for fifteen minutes without stopping before Morris called for a break. Taking out the earplugs, Alex put the gun away and turned to face the deputy head, only to be met with silence and an inscrutable expression.

"That was very good," Morris said evenly. "I don't think the SAS emphasized enough how well you do with guns."

Alex kept silent, waiting for the deputy head to continue. He wasn't sure exactly what the man knew so he didn't want to reveal anything.

"Let's move on to explosives," Morris finally decided, leading them to a wall of chemicals, wiring, and prototypes. "Let's see what you've learned from the SAS."

So, Alex got to work, building an IED and activating one of the prototypes before defusing it. After he was done with each task, Morris pointed out mistakes and better methods, explaining a bunch of the theory and mechanics behind everything. Once again, Alex scribbled furiously into his notebook. His hand was cramping up by the time Morris called an end to the lesson and instructed one of the drivers to get him home. Taking the chance to get some rest, Alex closed his eyes and meditated for the entire ride. He was already planning on skipping dinner and didn't need to be exhausted on top of being hungry.

Once they arrived back at his house, Alex waited for the driver to leave his street before hurrying to put everything away. He had two hours before he had to meet with Yassen and was planning on making the most of that time. Hopping onto his bike, he cycled through the same route as last weekend - still avoiding the cameras whenever he could - but stopped at several different places to discreetly examine the surroundings. Sometimes, he went into back alleyways to scope out the environment, shivering in the cold winter air. From this initial exploration, Alex made several mental notes of security strengths and weaknesses, escape routes, blind spots, and anything else that could be useful so that he could map it out in his home office later. He only stopped exploring to hide in the shadows when he overheard a group of drunk men standing outside a bar, recounting the Greenwich Park incident. Except none of these men had been present that night and the location of the story had changed. So had the method used to "kill" him and the way he had subdued the gang members afterwards. Everything was exaggerated, right down to the build of his body and facial features. However, the detail that caught his attention the most was the name they used to refer to him. Phoenix. That was what the criminal underworld had decided to call him. What were the implications of this? Considering the abilities of a phoenix in mythology, Alex was inclined to say that he was going to be in trouble. He needed to get to Yassen. Now. Before he drove himself crazy trying to piece together the likely consequences and his next actions. Damn it, Yassen had known this name was going to be a likely possibility, didn't he? The assassin had just about said as much when the man had listed off stories about him that were in circulation. Why hadn't he figured that out sooner?

Still reeling from the revelation of his new name, Alex rode towards Oxleas Wood as quickly and inconspicuously as he could. Hiding his bike amongst the trees again, he silently made his way to the clearing they had trained in last week, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary as he pulled his coat tighter around him to keep out the freezing wind. It wasn't until he stepped into the clearing that a knife came flying towards him. Ducking instinctively, Alex wrenched the knife out of the tree it had embedded itself into with a swear and fell into a fighting stance, making sure to keep his back to the tree for some measure of protection. The anticipated attack never came.

"Quick reflexes," Yassen assessed. "But you should have been prepared for an attack before you even stepped out from behind the trees. We will work on your situational awareness."

"Yes, sir," Alex replied shortly. "The criminal underworld named me Phoenix, didn't they?"

"They did," Yassen said impassively.

"No one is ever going to actually believe I'm dead anymore, will they? How do I protect myself against this?"

"Not necessarily," Yassen patiently explained. "They do not know your real name. Your appearance, much like the stories themselves, are exaggerated. Most people will not be able to distinguish you from any other teenager if they come across you. The reputation that this name gives you is an advantage. Very few people are named after myths and legends. The majority of the criminal underworld will fear you and the name can be made to be influential if you play it right. In addition, there is the advantage that this name will prevent the intelligence agencies from squandering their use of you on unnecessary missions. However, it is true that those who know how to identify you will no longer believe in your death unless a body is produced as evidence for a prolonged period of observation. Unfortunately, that is the disadvantage of being named after a mythological creature known for rebirth. Which is why you have to become skilled enough to get yourself out of such situations. Shall we get on with training?"

Alex didn't answer, still considering the assassin's words as the man waited impassively for a response. It didn't sound as bad as he had first thought upon hearing the name. In fact, it kind of sounded cool, now that he wasn't worrying about his survival rate plummeting at a breakneck pace. Tom would certainly find it awesome when he heard about it. On second thought, maybe he shouldn't tell Tom. This was the kind of information that would lead to trouble if anyone had any clue that his friend knew what he did. Something else niggled at the back of his mind though. Going over the last week in his mind and settling on Walker's explanation of what he was doing in London, he finally pinpointed what his subconscious was trying to tell him. "Can you teach me Russian?"

Yassen blinked at the boy. That was not what he had expected. He didn't know how the teen went from panicking over being named after a mythological creature to asking for Russian lessons in less than a minute. There was a story there. But perhaps another time, he thought, as he focused back on the nervous teen.

"It's fine if you don't want to," Alex continued hastily after a few moments of silence. "I just thought I could try learning the language since I've come across a few Russians on my missions already and started learning a bit from a retired veteran a few months ago."

"You started learning already?" Yassen asked with mild interest. That was an unexpected development too. "Why haven't you continued with your previous instructor?"

"He's in Germany and never knew my real name. MI6 doesn't know about the lessons either." Alex looked down at his shoes and continued in a barely audible mumble, "Forget it. I just thought we might be able to communicate in Russian if I learned."

Yassen was silent for a few more seconds, an uncomfortably pleasant pressure expanding in his chest. He reached out and gently tilted the boy's face up with a finger. "I will teach you, Sasha. However, you have a lot of other skills to learn and improve on so we don't have a lot of time for language lessons. To cover everything, I will use a mix of Russian and English to instruct you in the other skills. Вы понимаете? (Do you understand?)"

"Да, я понимаю (Yes, I understand)," Alex said with wide eyes. He was glad that his lessons with Vadim Ivanov taught him to communicate that much at least. The almost fond expression on the assassin's normally glacial features had melted some of the ice even further upon hearing his rusty Russian.

"We will work on your accent as well," Yassen murmured, taking a step back and holding out a blindfold. "Пушки. Guns. Разобрать. Disassemble. Соберите заново. Reassemble."

Dutifully, Alex took the blindfold and wrapped it around his head to cover his eyes. When he felt Yassen press a gun into his hands, he took it while repeating the unfamiliar Russian words for the object and first verb out loud. The assassin corrected his pronunciation several times before letting him continue. Taking a deep breath, his hands flew over the weapon just like they had every morning for the past week to disassemble it. The process repeated for reassembly.

"Лучше, чем на прошлой неделе (Better than last week)," Yassen stated. "Все еще нуждается в улучшении. (Still needs improvement.)"

"Улучшении?" Alex asked, stumbling over the pronunciation of the one word he didn't understand.

"Improvement," Yassen answered before guiding him through the pronunciation. "Снова. Again."

Alex repeated the vocabulary and motions several more times with different models. However, Yassen did not waste any time in waiting for him to finish the task. As he disassembled and reassembled the guns, the assassin gave him a short lecture in Russian on where to get supplies like secure phones and fake IDS, punctuated with English translations. Then, he was tested on vocabulary and asked to summarize the important points of the lecture in English to make sure he understood everything. Throughout all of this, Alex's coordination for disassembling and reassembling the weapons worsened as he tried to focus on learning the language and absorbing the information being presented to him while talking at the same time. He could feel the man's dissatisfaction through the impassive face and mentally sighed. Yassen's standards were definitely much higher than SCORPIA's. He would have to change the way he practiced this in the mornings.

Thirty minutes later, Alex was sweating and his muscles burned. While he had started to get much more familiar with disassembling and reassembling the guns without his sight and sole focus on it, his speed and accuracy in the task were still incredibly lacking. His brain was swimming with vocabulary and information, blurring his memory's certainty of which pieces were taught by who. Ian, MI6, the SAS, SCORPIA, or Yassen. He had a feeling that the distinction would be important in keeping up whichever acts needed to be maintained to balance the different aspects of his life. Another thing to figure out on his own time. But for now, Yassen had him move on to shooting practice. Both, the handgun and sniper shooting, went similarly to last week. Even the reminders to use his left hand were the same. The difference was Yassen's insistence on lecturing him, still in a mix of Russian and English, on different topics while he shot. The assassin provided him with noise canceling earphones so they could communicate over the loud bangs of the gunshots for this. Considering the amount of information that he was being bombarded with through the earphones, Alex thought he was doing extremely well since he could still manage to hit bullseye 80% of the time. Yassen thought differently. And an hour later, Alex had been worked hard enough to improve back up to a 90% accuracy in both handguns and sniping with several more Russian words to add to his vocabulary.

Taking out the earphones and handing them back to the assassin, Alex was instructed to stretch as a warm up. Yassen attacked as soon as he was done, providing a litany of corrections to Alex's attempts at defending himself as he did so. Even as Alex landed on his back for what felt like the hundredth time in a spar that only lasted five minutes, thankful that Yassen was being careful to avoid his injured arm which was still in a cast, it was still a wondrous sight to see the assassin's lightning quick, fluid motions. No energy seemed to be wasted. Every movement had an efficient purpose. He wondered who would win in a fight between Yassen and Yermalov. The two men certainly seemed similar enough in skill to Alex's less trained eye. They even had similar personalities. Both reminded Alex of a cobra.

With a gasp, Alex was jolted out of his musings as the assassin wrenched his arms behind his back with a harsh reprimand to focus. His arms were freed when he gave a nod. But there was no time to soothe the pain as Yassen immediately launched into a lesson on ninjutsu, showing him each move and technique once. From there, Alex learned through accumulating even more bruises as the assassin attacked, expecting him to use the new knowledge to counter with a defense and offense. While attacking, Yassen kept up a running commentary, pointing out what he was doing wrong and giving him background information on the art of ninjutsu. Alex was surprised to hear that ninjas wearing all black to be invisible were only myth. It was a reputation borne out of the art's guiding principles of stealth and adaptation to any situation. Exactly what was needed to survive in their lines of work, he realized as another punch to his stomach knocked his breath out, signalling the end of that night's training. His mind was being pulled into several directions and he couldn't focus on any one thing. That resulted in more bruises than there should be, considering Yassen was holding back on speed and pulling his punches. At least he somehow managed to learn some more vocabulary from the lecture. The assassin's lips thinned in displeasure though. Without a word, they packed up and Yassen gestured for Alex to follow him out of the forest. He pulled on the coat he had discarded earlier when the sparring session had warmed him up too much.

"Куда вы меня везете? (Where are you taking me?)" Alex asked with raised eyebrows when he saw the black Audi A5 mostly obscured by the trees. Most definitely a rental.

"Главная (Home)." Yassen smirked at his staring. "Or would you rather bike all the way across the city this late?"

Alex shook his head. After eighteen hours of studies and training, it would be nice to just sit back and relax.

"We will retrieve your bike from where you have hidden it. Then, I will drop you off somewhere in your neighbourhood so we do not attract attention. And while I drive, you will give me the SWOT analysis on your Mrs. Jones' intentions."

Biting back a groan, Alex got into the front passenger seat. So much for sitting back to relax. At least his muscles would get some rest. He launched into the analysis as soon as they had picked up his bike. "Mrs. Jones has made me a permanent member of the SAS, will be making me an official member of MI6, is providing me with the best training and tutoring she has to offer, and given me access to classified files. The strength is that I will be fully qualified so she can use me more effectively. The weaknesses are that the SAS assignments could clash with MI6 ones and she is taking key people away from their jobs to train me. The opportunities are that she can use my connection to the SAS as leverage, legally use me in whichever missions she wants, and influence my life and views of the world. She has full control over me. The threats are the SAS fighting her control and classified information accidentally being leaked. Or tortured out of me."

Yassen spared the boy a glance before focusing back on the road. He wondered exactly how much SCORPIA training the teen had received and how much had been retained. The verbal report had been given with all the efficiency and conciseness of a trained SCORPIA operative. However, there was a possibility that the boy had developed the skill from doing MI6 debriefs. He would need to find out more. For now, there was more guidance to provide. "You have only considered the situation from MI6's perspective. What about from your perspective?"

Alex hesitated, thinking over the points he had just made. Slowly, he said, "Strength is the same for MI6 as it is for me. The SAS assignments clashing with MI6 is a weakness for me as well, but the other part is a benefit to me. MI6's opportunities are threats to me and the SAS. The potential for the SAS to fight her control could be an opportunity for me. The classified information is an opportunity and threat to me."

"Acceptable. Now that you understand the benefits and risks, I trust that you know how to use the situation to your advantage?"

Thinking through everything, Alex remained silent until he felt like he had made the connections. "Yes, I think so. But I've already agreed to being an official agent. What else does Jones want with me? It's like she's training me for something specific."

"Perhaps. If she is, you have a big role to play in her plans."

More silence. Alex bit his lip. "I don't know if I'm ready for that. The bigger the role, the higher the stakes and the more I have to lose. I don't know how much more I can afford to lose before I break."

"You won't break, Sasha. You are strong and resilient. And the training you are receiving from MI6 and myself will help you cope. We are preparing you to face anything that you could encounter."

It was nice to know that Yassen didn't think he'd break that easily. And it was strangely comforting to know that the assassin was looking out for his wellbeing. "Why do you call me Sasha?"

A ghost of a smile graced the man's face for a moment. "It is a Russian diminutive for Alexander, formed from the latter part of the name."

Alex stared. One of the world's most wanted assassins had given him a nickname. Coming from Yassen, it was practically a declaration of love and affection. Not that the man hadn't already declared his love outright. And he supposed this wasn't the first nickname that the assassin had given him either. He tried to let that reality sink in. "What is the diminutive for your name?"

"Another time, little Alex," Yassen said, unlocking the door for the teen. He wasn't ready to go into the history of his name. It was something that was supposed to remain buried in the past.

Alex looked out the window, startled that they had reached Chelsea already. Reluctantly, he got out of the car and retrieved his bike. With a casual, two-fingered salute, he rode home and barely made it to his bed before falling asleep. And did it all over again the next day.

For the rest of the month, a routine was established. Every morning, he would prepare for the day, do a short workout routine, and practice the exercises that Yassen had assigned him. The assassin switched out the gun models every week. To get better at disassembling and reassembling the guns blindfolded, Alex played educational videos on his phone in different languages and repeated some of the sentences while he went through the exercises. After that, on weekdays, he would attend his classes at Brooklands with Tom and James by his side. He spent a lot of time ignoring the disapproving looks from the teachers and the dwindling, whispered rumours from his classmates. Avoiding and deflecting advances from a portion of the school's female population too. At least the teachers couldn't find anything to fault him with for punishment while he was there. He was the perfect model student. Respectful, attentive, punctual, and hard-working. With the tutoring sessions that MI6 were providing, he had managed to finish all the assigned homework on time too. The only regret he had was not having any time to participate in school extracurriculars, especially football. It had been almost a year since he had last played. Still, the tutoring sessions continued after school, as did his MI6 training and therapy sessions. He continued to eat dinner in Smithers' office and used that time for extra research on topics that interested him. SCORPIA was at the top of the list. His family history was next. For once, it looked like Jones actually told him the truth. He would still need to visit the Rider properties in person sometime in the near future. Current events, domestic intelligence, India, and keeping tabs on people from his past missions followed after confirming his family history.

On weekends, he did his homework and house chores for the first half of the day and went straight to the bank for more tutoring and training after lunch. Once the weapons and explosives training with Morris was finished for the day and he was dropped off at home, Alex would skip dinner to explore different sections of the city on his bike. He took this opportunity to get his own secure phone in the process just so he could have one that wasn't attached to Yassen or MI6. The number was left in an obscure spot at Greenwich Pier, using SCORPIA code for Walker to find. There was no way of knowing if his former classmate would even check the place until the man either left a message for him at the pier or contacted him with the number. But it was a start to building his contacts and information network. He dedicated a portion of his next mornings after the explorations to marking down anything he thought was useful on a map in his home office, using color-coded pins. Once time was up for his reconnaissance, he met up with Yassen for more training and let the man drive him back to Chelsea by a different route every time when they were done. The pace of Yassen's training got more brutal with each session. He didn't know why but was grateful that it exhausted him enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

By the end of the month, Alex was all caught up with his regular schooling, even surpassing his classes' level. His tutors told him that, in another month, he would be ready to write his GCSEs without any trouble even though the exams wouldn't be until the summer. Due to Redwing and Smithers enlisting his help for various projects that his tutoring sessions had cut time out of their schedule for, there were certain topics that he could probably even write his A-levels for and pass with flying colors. As for his MI6 training, Jones and his other training officers had expressed satisfaction with his progress but there was always something to improve on, something more to learn. After Crawley had stuffed his head full with memorizing MI6 standards and procedures for just about every situation imaginable and introduced the history of all the major criminal organizations currently in play, he was made to learn about codes and ciphers, MI6 hand and radio signals, and etiquette of all things. Finance lessons continued but now, they were adding accounting lessons to the mix and just starting on traditional espionage techniques, still alternating days with his therapy sessions which had reached the point of talking about Egypt. Snake dropped by his house bi-weekly to monitor his physical and mental health from the SAS side too, pleased that his injuries had healed nicely and giving him PT exercises to strengthen his arm when the cast came off. The little sleep he got suffered even more for Dr. Flint and Snake's combined sessions. It wasn't helped by the politics lessons from Jones either. They discussed current events or his past missions, examining several factors in extreme detail as they debated intelligence decisions and what pieces of information to act on for the good of the country. These factors included history leading up to the events, political and economic circumstances, reliability of the journalists' sources, and official intelligence reports surrounding the situation. He learned about all kinds of laws from different countries that applied to the situations too. During the debates, he and Jones clashed more than once on their views but he was starting to see why she and Blunt had made the decisions they did regarding him. He still didn't like it. But he understood. And the number of factors to consider in every decision gave him massive headaches. The current headache was how to get the foreign and defense ministers, as well as the head of the entirety of MI6, on board with his employment by the time he became official. Alex was surprised that Jones was involving him in the planning for this but agreed that a meeting needed to happen, as much as he really didn't want to interact with them.

At least, throughout all this, there were some aspects of his training that he consistently looked forward to, and felt the improvement of, the most. According to Morris, he had an affinity for weapons and explosives. It helped that Yassen had expanded his knowledge and skill in those areas too. He could now disassemble and reassemble any firearm in twenty seconds while taking in a lecture blindfolded. Just as quickly and intuitively as he could with his full sight and focus on the task. His handgun and sniper shooting had improved as well. Not without an argument though. When Yassen had brought out the human-shaped targets for handgun practice, Alex had protested. His imagination of what would happen to a real human for each shot was all too vivid. It made him sick with himself. When Yassen had started to teach him how to take increasingly difficult sniper shots with those human-shaped targets, Alex nearly refused to continue training. He reminded the man that he did not want to be turned into an assassin. Yassen had quickly shut down both arguments with cold, hard logic that even Alex couldn't disagree with. The man was right. Assassin or not, the skills would be useful for survival. Even if he only ever used it for making sure no one had the chance to take him out with the methods that the assassin was teaching him. Once he had accepted the need for learning it, Alex quite enjoyed the peaceful mindset that he could slip into for the shots. The challenge of finding a way around a particularly difficult one. There were times when he barely registered the fact that the paper targets were human-shaped. Yassen had deemed his skill level as acceptable by the end of the month.

As for language and culture, he could now pass for a native Italian but Treat kept up the sessions to ensure the skills would stick, practicing German with him as well to the same end since he had become more or less fluent in the language during his stay in Berlin with Ben. His Japanese language and culture skills couldn't pass for a native yet though. But it was quite close. Tomohiro kept exclusively using Japanese to communicate with him to get to that point. Russian was a different story. He was still working on it. Based on what he and Yassen could communicate to each other with the language during the weekend training sessions, he estimated himself at an intermediate level for listening and speaking. There hadn't been any time to work on reading and writing yet. He would need to get started on that sometime. If he could even find some spare time for it in his packed schedule.

For the other combat and survival lessons, his karate and aikido had also improved far more than Tomohiro and Jones had been expecting, to the man's grudging admittance. And he picked up Krav Maga just as quickly. Within the month, he had achieved the second-degree black belt in karate and a first-degree black belt in Krav Maga. Alex thought the speed of progress might be due to the weekend training sessions with Yassen. The added frequency of the training and different styles had probably forced him to learn and adapt faster. So did the added responsibility of learning the differences between civilian-friendly techniques and those used by professionals that Tomohiro insisted on. In addition, Tomohiro might be careful to spar at just above his level and push him to the limit with katas but Yassen went further. Pushed him harder. Balanced the imitation of a genuine full on fight against him in the field while not hurting him too badly with teaching him the techniques. Alex was awed by the level of control it took to achieve that balance. And to truly learn the art of ninjutsu, the sessions did not only focus on basic hand to hand combat in the fighting style. There were efficient techniques to learn for incapacitating, blinding, harming, and silently killing targets. There was extensive weapons training. Swords, staffs, daggers. Even nunchucks and the shuriken. Also, how to use common, everyday objects as weapons. Alex had to suppress a smile when the assassin had brought pens and kitchen utensils to the training sessions. It was strange to see the legendary assassin holding something so normal. That urge to smile was wiped off his face when the man had attacked him with the objects, forcing him to defend himself. Once the basics of how to handle each weapon were covered, they were integrated into their hand to hand combat sessions. They could go from unarmed combat to armed in the middle of the fight, without even a second's pause, and back again. Yassen's blade often nicked him. Shallow, superficial cuts to hide along with his bruises. And besides combat, ninjutsu involved training in stealth, increasing his resourcefulness further, and testing his patience and endurance. It didn't end there. He learned how to use ropes in a fight and how to tie people up effectively. Pyrotechnics. Not that he needed more lessons in that area, the assassin had commented dryly. Disguise, impersonation, escape methods. Poisons and their cures. Even the theory of botany. It was like being back on Malagosto. Then again, Alex supposed he was getting the same SCORPIA training. With Yassen's standards, perhaps more. He certainly didn't remember tactics, war strategy, or psychology being a class on the island. Neither did he remember lessons on nutrition and planning proper meals. Not that he had spent enough time at Malagosto to know the full curriculum. But Yassen had actually assigned him some reading for tactics and war strategy. He nearly laughed hysterically at the surreal moment before mentally slapping himself out of the fit. One of the weeks was used to read "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu in any spare moment he had and they had a discussion during that weekend's sparring sessions. In fact, a lot of these topics were covered during the shooting or sparring as lectures given in Russian. There were only a few exceptions. Some of the disguise, impersonation, and escape lessons were done in the city as hands on practice after the lectures were given. Yassen would give him an objective and he would use the newfound knowledge to achieve it. They even went into the city to practice finding the right locations and angles for sniper shots in an urban setting, getting onto rooftops but never actually firing. Yassen gave him another identity for these ventures into the city that he could keep for future use as well. A passport, driver's licence, Swiss bank account that already had ten thousand euros deposited into it, and basic history for the identity of a twenty-one year old Jean Cadieux that was couldn't be traced back to MI6. Alex recognized it for what it was. An escape route, if he ever needed one. Or just another tool in his arsenal if that was what he wanted to do with it. Although he wasn't sure what he would use it for yet, Alex knew it was a gift that he wouldn't be able to repay. Just like the training itself. So he responded by working harder than ever.

However, on the last Sunday of the month, an already stressed out and sleep deprived Alex was handed a fully loaded gun and Yassen suddenly fired a shot at him mid-lecture. Alex returned fire while ducking instinctively and kept shooting until he realized there had never truly been a threat to him.

"What the fuck, Yassen?! You could have killed me! I could have killed you!"

Yassen fired again. Alex ducked involuntarily and released another shot.

"What the hell?!" He was breathing hard with his increased heart rate.

"I've taught you to shoot with a high degree of accuracy. Now, I am teaching you to control your impulses. Your accuracy is no good if you cannot remain calm and shoot what you are supposed to."

"So you're going to risk one of us killing each other?! We don't even have bulletproof vests on!"

"All the more incentive to learn."

"You could teach me some other way! What if I was too tired and wasn't fast enough to dodge the bullets?! Doctors recommend sleeping eight to ten hours a night - "

"Alex."

" - and that's assuming I don't have a schedule that barely lets me breathe while being watched for a single wrong move every second of the day! Instead, I've been getting six hours or less a night - "

"Alex."

" - with so much information crammed in that I don't know what's from school and what's from MI6 or you anymore! To top it off, Jones left the decision of how to handle an upcoming meeting with the foreign and defense ministers and the head of MI6 up to me and I have no idea what to do!"

"ALEX!"

Alex froze with a knife against his throat, not daring to so much as breathe. As harsh as the training had been, Yassen had never raised his voice at him or used a tone so hostile. So icy. Not even when they had run into each other on opposite sides of a mission. Maybe he had finally broken the man's patience and was about to pay the price. He hoped that MI6 would be able to find his body at least.

"Do you think your assignments will provide you the luxury of being fully rested and functional at all times? That the enemy will care if you have been getting enough sleep before attacking? That you have a sufficiently clear mind to defend yourself?" Yassen continued coldly. "Or that it will make a difference to your team if you accidentally killed them?"

Alex shook his head.

"Then, you will learn how to control your impulses the way that I teach you to. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Yassen released him and took a step back. "What is this upcoming meeting about?"

"Convincing people to let MI6 legally - "

A shot cut off the rest of his sentence and Alex raised his gun again, barely stopping himself from pulling the trigger.

"Damn it, Yassen!" The man just raised an eyebrow at him. Grumbling to himself, Alex continued saying, "Legally employ me. I'm supposed to figure out how to behave during the meeting to make it happen. Why are you using such a dangerous method to train me for this?"

Yassen was silent for a minute and gave him a calculating look, making him wonder if the man was ever going to give him an answer. Abruptly responding, the assassin explained, "I need you ready in two weeks. The assassination of every new executive board member recruited in the last year has made SCORPIA desperate. They promoted me to the board a few days ago for my reputation."

Alex stared, a bunch of questions racing through his mind. From Yassen's files, each of the old board members were former intelligence agents. The newer ones were the same or prominent crime bosses. Promoting Yassen, a contract killer, was a deviation from their normal patterns. That meant something. He was sure that news would cause ripples across the criminal underworld and intelligence agencies. Even more concerning was the fact that SCORPIA board members couldn't just retire from the job. Grendel had been killed by Rothman with a suitcase full of scorpions when he tried, if Alex remembered the files correctly. Slowly, he asked, "What does that mean for your retirement plans and why do you need me?"

"Tell me why I assassinated the board members and only targeted the new ones."

"... Because you wanted to retire but the board members want you to keep working for SCORPIA and you can't refuse them without being killed," Alex guessed. "Killing them off will allow you to safely retire because there will be no one left to come after you." He chewed his lip, thinking about the second part of the question. "Targeting the new board members is easier because they haven't established their power and influence within the organization yet."

"And it eliminates any new players," Yassen added.

Any new variables - complications - to consider went unspoken. Alex understood just fine. Yassen, and the rest of the world, already had several years' worth of information on each of the board members. It was better to keep it that way if they wanted to move against the organization. "If SCORPIA falls, there will be a war. That still leaves a chance for whoever wins to go after you in your retirement."

"Only if the organization falls. Retiring from field work is acceptable for now. Complete retirement will have to come later. It will be a peaceful retirement if a trustworthy successor is chosen before I leave SCORPIA on its own."

"Why do you need me then?" Alex paused. Warily eyeing the man, he said, "I hope you're not asking me to be the successor."

Yassen's lips twitched in amusement. "No, little Alex. You do not have the psychological profile to rule a criminal organization. However, I do need you to stage assassination attempts on my life. It would be suspicious if no one targeted me when all the others were killed."

"And you can hardly assassinate yourself, I suppose," Alex added dryly after a few moments of incredulous silence. He got the unspoken message. I trust you. And Alex wasn't going to betray that trust.