Hello y'all! This is me again with Journey - Revised Edition! Anywho... to the story!
NOTE: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS, WHICH RIGHTFULLY BELONG TO ANTHONY HOROWITZ. I ONLY OWN THE PLOT.
(before Never Say Die and Alan Blunt hasn't be fired yet)
The sun peaked through the tall, bulletproof windows of the Royal and General Bank. Its warmth blazed through the glass, trying to reach a certain teen-aged boy, whose face was blank and cold, and eyes dark and hidden. The boy was grieving. That much could be seen. But what people didn't know was that this boy, who should have been in school, suffering through lectures and exams, was actually a spy. A spy for MI6 and a very good one too.
He'd gone through more missions than most agents twice his age. He'd seen horrors too terrifying to describe and he'd lost so, so much. He was technically illegal, but since when did the heads of MI6 follow by the rules? Exactly. He was simply to valuable an asset to let pass by. To them, it was all worth it. Not one mission they'd sent him on had failed. He'd saved the world multiple times. And for what?
Nothing. He was only sixteen; he couldn't be payed for his services. Was there some kind of twisted loyalty that kept him running from danger, kept him on the job when death seemed inevitable, kept him alive, kept him ready for the next mission? No one knew. He was so good at what he did that people almost believed the rumor. The rumor that spying was in his blood. That he'd been born to bear the weight of thousands of lives, at so young an age. He was invincible, impregnable. Some called him a savior. Others called him a murderer.
They didn't see under the mask, the facade that never slipped except for when he was alone, when he allowed himself to be broken, hurt, scared, alone, and lost. No-no one would ever see that part of him. He couldn't let them know. Then, they too would be taken away and he couldn't lose anymore. He couldn't let anyone get close enough to get attached to. So he let the rumors circulate. He was mysterious. A fighter. A killer. Not someone to be messed with. Alright, yes, some of it he made up himself and then strategically placed into position. He was, after all, a spy. That was his job.
When he walked through hallways in his black suit, worn only to the Royal and General Bank, people stared in quiet, hushed, and sometimes terrified whispers. Who was he?
I'll tell you.
His name is Alex Rider. Son to a murdered father. Son to a murdered mother. Nephew to a murdered uncle. Charge to a murdered guardian. Employer to a murdered housekeeper. See a running theme? Spy to the British Intelligence agency, MI6. And lastly, a boy who was slowly dying from grief and loneliness.
He had nothing. He would always have, nothing.
That was his fate.
Until now.
YES! I'VE GOT THE PROLOGUE DONE! *pats self on back*
Anyway, don't forget to vote and comment because comments are what keep me going.
Luv u all,
AgentAlexxRider