Original written: May 2014

Updated (this version): March 2019

Hello, my friends! Welcome to the third story in The Soldier and The Spy! This is probably the third time I've rewritten this story, so hopefully I can get it right this time and actually complete it, lol.

Anyway, thank you for coming back to it, if you've read it before, and if this is your first time reading this fic, welcome! I hope you all enjoy the story!

Darkness.

That was what filled that room. Darkness.

Slivers of dim light filtered through the cracks of the small building, finding their ways through crumbling concrete walls and hastily boarded up windows and sliding underneath the heavy metal door that separated the room from the rest of the world, but none were as prominent as the single lamp in the back corner of the room, whose light flickered on occasionally and barely reached the old, slightly rusting, metal desk with its matching metal chair.

The table and chair were the only pieces of furniture within the room, save for the lamp, and a single, broad man with pale, blotchy skin occupied it, his size barely contained on the arm-less seat – months of being out of the criminal world had allowed him to grow lax in how he cared for his figure. His pale eyes were hidden behind an even darker set of sunglasses – unnecessary due to the lack of lighting, but still worn for the sentimentality. Dark clothes adorned his figure, stretched tightly around him as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk in front of him as his interlinked fingers supported his chins.

He was waiting.

The large steel door creaked as it was slowly pushed open, revealing a pair of men, silhouetted against the light coming into the room from behind them.

"Sir, you requested our presence?" one of them asked gruffly, with a hint of a Russian accent. His body, like his boss', was rather large and bulky, but unlike his commander he was built with muscle, and close observation revealed that his wispy hair was giving way to a receding hairline. His eyes were small, his lips thin, and his nose broad and flat.

The man at the desk nodded in affirmation, beckoning the two into the room with a single nod.

The steel door slowly shut behind the two males as they walked into the room, locking with a clang.

There was a click, and the small light cast by the lamp in the corner was suddenly overshadowed by a bulb hanging by cables above their heads, casting a dull, steady glow around the room.

The two men stood a few metres away from the desk patiently, backs straight and hands interlocked behind them, waiting the man to speak. And when he did speak, it wasn't something that they had exactly been expecting.

"How are you both?" he asked in a quiet, almost melodic voice. His eyes darted between the two and squinted behind his lenses, still trying to adjust to the light. "Doing well? Wives and families surviving? Happy?" Years of practice had allowed him to almost get rid of his Australian accent, and even switch to an American one, but retreating into the shadows had caused him to grow comfortable and it had become almost impossible to believe he had been from anywhere else.

The males that stood gave each other side glances, avoiding answering the question. With this man, there was never a straightforward answer. Anything that they said could get them killed, and the right answer was always either hidden or to not answer at all.

The boss stared at the two males for a moment longer, still expecting answers, before sighing at the silence. He knew he intimidated his people, but that didn't change the fact that he wanted to hear their voices. "I suppose I shall take that as a 'yes'," he muttered, before he sat up straighter at his desk, moving his elbows off it. "I have a request for the two of you," he told them, leaning back into his seat and looking over the two of them.

This was what the two males had been expecting, and they both stood straighter, staring straight at the wall ahead of them. Like old times.

"Why are we here?"

That brought both men's thoughts to a grinding halt again. What?

"Quoi?" the second of the men blurted out before he could stop himself, his eyes widening when he realised what he'd done. It was a dangerous move on his part, the danger only heightened by the fact that it was only now apparent there was a gun sat there on the desk, within arm's reach of the seated man. Whether the safety was on or not, the sitting man was a murderer, and would be quick to pick up the gun and shoot if he wanted to.

This second standing man was considerably smaller than the man beside him, but that didn't make him any less fit that his larger counterpart. His body was lithe and more built to suit a runner than a fighter, and he had a large, sharp nose, with round eyes, and thin, almost non-existent lips.

"I said, why are we here?" the boss repeated, sounding a little irritated.

"Because this is our home," the bulky male answered finally, an Eastern-European accent slipping into his speech; at this, the boss sighed, seemingly getting nowhere with the men he could safely assume were either idiots or too well trained not to speak their minds.

His forefingers moved up to his temples to rub circles into them slowly, and he took a deep breath before leaning forward and placing his hands on the desk and starting on the two again. "And why is this 'our home'…?" he asked, as if he was speaking to a pair of three-year-olds.

The two men hesitated for a moment, not quite sure whether this was safe territory for them to speak on, but eventually one of them decided to speak up. Because they had both realised that if one of them didn't talk, they were both dead and replacements could be found.

"Because our work was destroyed," the slim male answered firmly in a light French accent, a twinge of an American accent tucked into his speech.

"And who by?" The answer to this question was simple. Anyone who had been in the now destroyed organisation knew. Anyone who had been connected to SCORPIA, or even part of the spying world, knew.

Anyone who knew Brendan Chase, ex-executive of SCORPIA and escaped felon, knew.

"Rider," the large man answered automatically, almost as if he was trained to say it.

And anyone who knew that it had been brought down knew that it was the British who were responsible for it. Not many in the spying world knew of the agent's name, but anyone who had once been a member of SCORPIA knew the name and knew to hate it with a passion.

Chase nodded. "But, of course. The one and only Alexander Rider, son of John Rider, both spies for MI6 and infiltrators of SCORPIA."

The two men stood rigidly, staring at areas of the wall just past their boss' head, waiting for what he had to say next. He hadn't asked a question; they had no reason to speak. A trait that had been valued by SCORPIA when it had still been around. And a trait that Brendan still valued and instilled in what remained of his men.

"Rider has reappeared on the map, but the last men who attempted to kill him failed," Chase spoke slowly. "However… he is no longer under the jurisdiction of MI6 – he is vulnerable, weak, and alone." A slow smile curled onto his face, and he lifted his sunglasses to reveal his pale eyes, which matched surprisingly well with his fair hair.

"Perhaps we should let him know that we're still around…"

Hope y'all enjoyed!