There was a boy hunkered in a shadowed alcove of a patio umbrella with an arm wrapped around the knee drawn to his chest, he wore an expression of dull contentment that matched the sky so artfully it could have only been shaped with the most delicate of care. He embodied the textbook posture of relaxation- of accidental casualness. It took active focus to detect the errors in his posture; the way that his left shoulder arched a little too inward, or how the hand around his knee rested a touch too light.

Admittedly, Yassen could have missed the mark himself. If he had anything better to do- if he were on a job, then yes, he would have overlooked the boy just as everyone else did. Only the stagnation of waiting and watching brought such illumination to the clearly calculating child.

The more Yassen looked (forcing his eyes to shift subtly enough to imply he was glancing at pigeons) the more numerous smaller details began to pop. The jacket around the boy's shoulders seemed slightly too large- not quite the wrong size but enough to know the child hadn't bothered trying it on before purchase. That concept leads to multiple other variables, possibilities that would narrow down when information presented itself. The boy cared little for his appearance, or put great effort into looking such way.

The child had a pastry on the table. Three bites taken, enough remaining to deter the store owners from shooing him off the patio, yet not so untouched it looked as if he still waited for someone. He had no drink.

It was a hot day- or as hot as muggy London could be. Everyone would have a drink on a day like this, especially a boy eating a crumbling pastry.

'He's watching.' Yassen concluded, trying his best to ignore the boy as he melded with the environment. Old tactics slid through his fingers like silk.

Point into the glass display case. Point at the sign while ordering. Use a slight foreign accent. Pay in cash. Fumble over coins ever so slightly, let them assume he had no reason to rush. Let them believe he fit here.

Waiting was his specialty but without stimulation even his mind went to rot. Yassen walked outside, observing the status of the child. The boy had turned, peeling back strips of baked dough to nibble casually. Something had caught his eye then, prompting the child to move. Maybe it was Yassen himself, a visual reminder that time ticked on outside the boy's meditative placement. Perhaps Yassen had reminded the child of something else. Too many variables.

A bicycle drifted by, chiming out twice on its bell. Yassen lifted his hand in an absentminded wave. Let them all believe he lived here, that he was one of them.

A group of pigeons waddled to Yassen's feet, cooing low and curious. Yassen did not look until they were so close he could mold false surprise and toss little bits of crumb on the ground. A dog barked somewhere. The cafe cashier turned on the television.

The boy rose having finished with his pastry. A motorcycle grumbled from somewhere, rising in roar as it waited at the adjacent stoplight.

"Cute, right?" the boy said. He squatted on the ground nearest Yassen's side. The birds warbled, stumbling around in a haze as the boy stirred up their anxiety. Yassen flicked another crumb to the ground, the birds waddled back. The boy giggled, invested in the birds. With a stretch, the child straightened and yawned. The boys back cracked softly, muffled under the coat and cotton shirt. The thoracic vertebra had popped. The child's shoulders forced into a new position.

There was something twitching in Yassen's head. A wire struggling to connect to output. Something hadn't settled right- the bird cooing or the boy's voice. Yassen knew he had never seen the boy before but still… the child's posture and tone felt foreign and wrong. It wasn't his words or the interest in the birds. The boy was interested in them…

The boy stuffed his hands into his pockets before walking off. Yassen watched him, mentally tracing the shape of the jacket. Too large, his jeans brand new but patched along the left thigh from a defective seam. Who would purchase pants with a broken seam upon manufacturing?

It was the giggle.

The giggle had been wrong. Airy, breathy in delight. It was the laugh, it had been wrong.

Why would a boy force a giggle? Why would-.

Yassen's hand shifted, trailing over the deflated shape of his front left pocket. His thigh closest to the boy, who had vanished around the corner silently in the rumbling ambiance of a motorcycle waiting at a stoplight.

Yassen hadn't been pickpocketed in... years now. Much less by a boy.

Yassen stood and calmly gathered his things and disposed of them in the nearest wastebasket. If he shouted, the cafe employee would make a fuss and scare the thief. Worse, they would want the police to get involved. Yassen hadn't anything of serious importance in the wallet- a false driver's license, cash, dead credit cards that would lead to nothing.

It wouldn't be horrible. Yassen had been trapped in monotony for days now, living off a false identity until MI6 relaxed. Then he could slip across the border, disappear again.

He didn't always agree with orders issued by SCORPIA command, much less a bright public assassination of Yassen's previous employer.

The boy was slipping further away, likely still thinking that Yassen had yet to notice. Granted, the move by the thief was excellently executed. Yassen could list only a handful of operatives that would manage such a maneuver with more grace.

Yassen was bored. SCORPIA would be annoyed if he compromised yet another identity. Due to being robbed.

Yassen's longer legs ate distance faster than a child on a casual stroll. Anyone escaping pursuit would look for a crowd to mingle with.

Few stores were open on this side of London. More likely the boy would forego a crowd entirely and instead make his escape to somewhere hidden. Alcoves were few and far between, but upper stories of most buildings were accessible from locked doors and fire escapes.

Yassen leaped and grabbed the bottom railing of a hanging fire escape. He hauled himself up to the landing. The metal stairs after were easy to climb, flakes of rust snowing downwards as he ascended as quietly as possible.

The motorcycle rumbled on in the distance, vanishing in the bustle of a million individual lives.

An air compressor kicked on. It vibrated loudly as it pumped cold air into the flats nearest to Yassen. He climbed, finding the roof lip and climbing over that as well to settle on the tacky tar rooftop of the apartment complex. The air ventilation rumbled. Somewhere a few streets over in a park, a kite flew merrily in the grey sky.

His thief perched himself near a dense collection of ducts. He sat with one leg free facing the best view of the city. To the North, a domed church glinted with tarnished bronze. The distant Thames sluggishly pooled about its dark wool waters. A patch of darker clouds to the East gave enough ambiguity to concern the weatherman. The boy surveyed London, relaxed with the same casual ease he had with his pastry.

The boy flipped through Yassen's wallet, carefully maneuvering and shifting aside papers and coupons to feel along the seams. Across the roof, Yassen could see the slight furrowing as the boy managed to find what Yassen knew as an emergency lockpick. The boy hadn't noticed that his location was now compromised. Yassen intended to keep his advantage for as long as possible.

Yassen pressed forward, only a half dozen strides before the boy spotted movement of some sort and sprang to his feet. The boy's eyes were wide and alarmed. He held Yassen's (now empty) wallet guiltily with both hands. The boy's fingertips were pressing carefully into the clear anomaly along the leather.

"What the hell?" the boy blurted. London accent. Standard associated with boys this age. Nothing unusual.

"Is this like… is this a shiv? No, are- are you like...a kidnapper?"

Well, it wouldn't do to clarify the boy's confusion with something worse.

"Oh lord," the boy mumbled. He shook his head, looking half exasperated and half accepting. "Of course this is my life now. Well, I'm going to leave, and… wait. How the hell did you get up here- no. Nevermind."

Half curious and half-amused, Yassen stepped forward.

The boy audibly groaned before stepping backward. His posture drooped into a natural slouch, every inch his age. Yassen stalked forward. He would be getting the wallet back.

"Oh bloody hell no."

The boy skittered backward like that of a panicking insect. He's grimace bared his teeth which at one point, had braces. The boy stuffed the wallet into his pockets, hopping backward while Yassen strode one step closer.

The boy hesitated on the far lip of the rooftop, his ankles pressing into the concrete ledge.

Yassen arched one eyebrow intrigued. 'What will you do now, child?'

The boy lifted his chin in defiance, raised one hand in a military salute, and jumped off the roof.

Yassen had to confess, he did not anticipate that course of action.

Four stories high as well as the decorative weight supports equated to lethal impact. If the child landed a specific way, it would result in only severe bone fractures. The boy had jumped off a building.

Yassen peered over the edge, already resigned to childish snot, screaming, and bright red blood. Perhaps even a corpse if the boy was as stupid as he seemed.

The boy was not dead or injured. In fact, the boy had somehow managed to skip across the decorative stone detailing on the second floor.

The boy was escaping down a vintage lamppost that held a decorative hanging basket. The child stumbled to the ground, hopped a few times to absorb the shock impact, and looked back up.

The boy waved, teeth reflecting sunlight. This…was interesting.

Yassen waved back.

Yassen never thought himself to be a man fond of surprising others, but he did feel a tad smug when he seemingly appeared in front of his little thief an hour later.

"How the-," the boy spluttered. The spitting likely due to the fact he was washing his face in a chlorinated public fountain. Interesting, most children cared little for hygiene.

"I believe you have something of mine," Yassen said.

The boy blinked and watched him, gawking outright. His eyes flickered behind Yassen. Calculating just how far he had tracked him. To a civilian, multiple kilometers may have been too far.

"You are a kidnapper," the boy said resigned and exhausted. He splashed the water almost glumly. "Well, I guess it could be wo-."

The boy splashed water directly into Yassen's face. It was childish, stupid, and Yassen completely fell for it.

His usual opponents did not fight like a child, however, one colleague of his did act like one. By the time Yassen recovered from the theoretical attack, the boy was sprinting across the clearing. The child was fast, maybe there was potential in there somewhere.

The boy wasn't predictable, but he was logical. By ignoring the standard locations any thief would go, and instead applying the thoughts of someone who wanted to avoid pursuit, Yassen could find him with little effort.

Clinging to the underside of a public bridge. Hiding in the fourth branch in a tree outside an insurance company. Snatching a parasol, towel, and somehow acquiring a dog.

At some point, exasperation peeled away to raw determination. Flashes of terror, of pre-determined movement, now guided the boy's hand. Reactions too quick to be learned on the spot, they had been built up slowly over time and the crushing weight of being hunted.

He was running from something or someone. Trying to stay out of sight, out of mind of a faceless entity.

The boy crawled up another fire escape, cleverly hidden behind an advertisement sign for the Natural History Museum. Yassen grappled the adjacent ladder, ascending quicker to wait on the rooftop for his prey.

The expression on the child's face melted away. It transformed into something pale and plain. An unnamed expression, an unnamed boy.

Yassen watched him, giving the smallest of nods. Approval in the shape of an acknowledged challenge.

The boy locked his jaw, shifted his grip, and plummeted down the railing.

Yassen followed.

There was an MI6 agent on his tail managing to follow him across London. Alex thought he had been good at hiding, but evidently, he slipped somewhere along the way.

"Why can't you just give up!" he hissed to himself. Skittering around one bend, his ankle nearly gave out. His shoes were starting to break, the innermost seam splitting from all his drastic escapes. It wasn't his fault. People threw out all sorts of clothing, but lord forbid they throw out shoes.

The agent still followed him, taking a split second to determine which route Alex ran.

Alex didn't know how the man was doing it. He had already pulled his popular tricks. Not even his reliable measures were working- this man was a caliber of his own.

It just meant that Alex would need to get more innovative.

"Okay, I've got this," Alex said to himself, stretching and flexing his hands. The wallet still rested snuggly in his pocket, cinched below his belt to make sure it didn't fall out. He wanted to split the seams, investigate that hard rod that reminded him distantly of Ian sewing things to his wallet.

Same tricks as his late uncle. Alex would have to be smarter.

Battersea was a nice area of London, South of the River Thames. On a normal day, he'd prefer to stay on this side. It was nicer, a bit more spread out with the public parks.

The other side of the river had taller buildings and more rooftops but also more police and cabby drivers looking for any scruffy kid to swear at. MI6 would know central London much better than southern, which meant that Alex had to stay low and move very fast.

Alex sprinted, catching a moving trolley with a bit of luck and a lot of hope. He could see his stalker pause on the street corner, knowing exactly where Alex had gone.

"Oi! Kid, you paying?" the cable car driver shouted, smacking the back of his hand on the metal tin towards the front. Small fee for basic lifts, which Alex knew.

"Yeah! Give me a mo'!" Alex shouted, trying to spot the nearest road sign. He needed to figure out where the hell he even was.

The next time the car slowed to a crawl, Alex leaped out to freedom. Already sprinting towards the Battersea Park, he took a brief second to think through is plan.

He knew that Battersea Park had a children's zoo. A few standard farm animals, then the exotics like otters, birds, and curious things from America. Alex personally knew one asshole emu that would attack him with the wrath of God.

With any luck, he would be able to lose his chaser in the confusing maze of metal chain link, impenetrable cages, and the demonic wrath of a grounded bird.

Alex barely made it inside the main fence (ducking behind a poor father pushing a double stroller filled with twins) when his attacker appeared once more. Calm, competent. Alex hated that of all things, the relatively unassuming petite man turned out to be an agent.

Alex had only targeted him because his shirt looked designer; any local flaunting that sort of quality on a normal day meant a heavy wallet.

Instead, Alex managed to pickpocket the only twink agent in all of MI6, and now Alex was hiding behind a stinky alpaca with cabbage breath.

The agent paused, scanning the streets with a disinterested look. He was underestimating Alex. While slightly offensive- it meant that Alex had the advantage of being ridiculous with his getaway. The river, just like he remembered, was just North of the zoo.

The agent turned away and Alex slipped under the wooden fence into the domesticated livestock pasture. The alpaca glared at the invasion of its personal space. A goat across the field looked near overjoyed with a new playmate.

"Not today, buddy!" Alex hissed out, patting the goat firmly before he inched through the wooden railings on the other side. He'd stay well away from the birds; the miniature horses only bit a little if you didn't watch your legs.

The geese though, they were mean bastards and they knew it too. One of Alex's main defensive tactics on why he decided to sprint through the zoo.

The far gates were a welcome relief. Rolling flowerbeds and exhausted yoga mothers sprawled in the shade. The London Peace Pagoda drew in tourists like flies. Idiots, Alex knew personally it was nicer to sleep there when it was raining.

Alex ran, a few people stepped aside to give him room. He contemplated stealing a dog from someone to fit in better, but with how open the park was the owners would likely start shouting and draw more chaos into the mix. Not to mention the poor dog would get anxious.

"Okay, almost there," Alex said, heaving through his breaths. The stitch on his right shoe gave out, every step flashed skin near his arch.

The River Thames burbled gently, slightly smelly because all rivers in London were. On nice days like this, residents would drift up and down the river in little boats or kayaks, ogling London from the waterline.

The Thames had strong waters in the center, where the larger tugboats would drift up and down burbling happily. Sometimes sailboats would pass through, waving at anyone on an evening stroll. Few boats ever drifted near the barrier walls, except fishing boats with enthusiastic men casting into the deeper water.

Alex grasped the railing attached to the sidewalk. He hauled himself up over the side of the barrier.

His body burned and his fingertips tingled in that way Ian once told him meant he hadn't enough air. He needed to calm his heart or breathe faster. A dog barked behind him, chasing a frisbee.

"Oi!" Alex shouted over the railing. His shout sounded more like a balloon aggressively deflating, but both the fishermen glanced up instantly. They were young. Likely late teenagers messing around on a day off. Alex wet his lips and shouted down: "You going my way?"

They squinted up at him, drawing in their lines. "What? Mate you're way up there!"

"No problem!" Alex hollered back, already climbing up over the second smaller railing. The drop was only a good ten feet if he jumped. He could manage it. "Hold it!"

He landed in the boat and immediately threatened to tip it. Both his escorts shouted in alarm, flailing at the uncoordinated rocking. Alex yelped and scrambled to sit in the middle and hang on if worst came to worst.

"You're a lunatic!" the one fisherman shouted. "Nearly flipped us! Where's your nanny, eh? Get out of my boat!"

"Take me to the other side! Or downriver!" Alex challenged, pointing at the wall which they were drifting away from slowly. "I'm already here! Fishing's better downriver anyways."

It wasn't, but these two wouldn't know that. They exchanged a look before the one grumbled and kicked the motor. It spat angrily before complying, starting up a nasal tin and the greasy stink of diesel.

They chugged along, slowly rising and dropping over the white-crested wake left behind from larger boats. A close call splashed river water across Alex's arm, drenching his sleeve.

"This is wild," the one teenager driving the boat said. He was grumbling angrily with one hand on the outboard. The boat was moving too slow for Alex's preference.

Chugging along, dark water sloshed with thick white foam. Alex hadn't been on the water in a long time- not since Ian had taken him to Mexico to learn to snorkel and scuba. They had practiced breaking across the American border there, how to stay low and out of sight.

He should have known. Normal families didn't do that. They wouldn't jeopardize safety over breaking an internationally border.

It had been for fun, except it wasn't and Ian was a liar and a spy and now he was dead. Alex didn't know where they buried him.

"Oi!" the bowman shouted, waving one arm forward. A boat cut across the rover, smoothing into idle as it drifted towards them quickly. The pointed bow lifted high now that the engine slowed. So high it gave the illusion of sinking backwards into the water like the Titanic.

"You're shitting me," Alex blurted, feeling resignation sink further than any anchor could. "How the hell did…"

"You know him?" the cap-teen asked, waving politely as the MI6 agent waved back.

Alex thought quickly. He could push the kid aside, grab the engine and kick it into high throttle. The movement would throw the other off also- but the larger engine would overtake him in an instant. The fiberglass hull would smash his aluminum bathtub like cardboard. Alex would sink, and the MI6 agent would drag him ashore exhausted and nearly drowned.

It would be easier to comply, to climb aboard and escape the moment he could. The agent would have to dock at some point. At that time they would be slow and near a high traffic port where Alex could climb onto something else and escape.

If Alex ran now, he'd likely end up throwing his two boat owners overboard. No matter how much he didn't want to be abducted, he didn't want to kill two strangers.

"Yeah, I know him," Alex said, making sure to lock eyes with the mute agent. "Thanks for the lift guys."

His boat buddies argued something, threatening to hit him with a fishing net when Alex scrambled and leaped off. The fishing boat teetered dangerously, prompting more swearing as some water drooled over the lip.

The hull of the larger boat slammed into Alex's stomach, hooking under his ribcage and keeping him secure even as he lost the ability of breath. Alex's shoes dragged in the water, kicking futile in the surf.

"Don't struggle."

A hand grabbed the back of his coat and hauled him up by the stitching along his shoulders. Alex felt his legs and body dangle uselessly, he hung there squawking.

"Oi! Thanks, mister! Got a freeloader there!" the boat captain shouted, waving in good cheer before turning the motor on and zooming away towards the reedy bank.

Alex heard the agent huff slightly, a wordless sound of nameless emotion. Alex hung there, irritated and feeling very much like a drowned cat.

"Are you going to jump if I let you down?"

Alex hated how deep and smooth his agent sounded.

"Fine," Alex clipped out sourly. "It's not like I can go anywhere."

"You could try," the man mused. "You'd drown."

Alex wouldn't, but he wouldn't say that. He'd wait until the agent took him to a marina, then he'd jump for it and escape somewhere. Climb onto a sailboat and hide under in the cabin, maybe swim to shore or hide near the boat lifts.

"Do not run," the man warned pointedly. He set him down gently, reinforcing just how high Alex had been dangling.

The boat was nice, surprisingly open to the elements. There was no below bow to hide. It was open and exposed to the air with twin vinyl seats arched into a point. The engine vibrated under a thick hatch, the exhaust bubbled near silent under the water. Alex couldn't think of how to sabotage the machinery without getting that hatch open- which likely had a hydraulics switch.

There wasn't an onboard jet ski or escape boat. There wasn't anything he could use for a weapon except a large oak paddle too chunky to sneak out of its mount.

The agent smacked the back of Alex's shoulder. Alex stumbled forward in a stagger, catching his hands on the back of the passenger seat and digging his blunt nails into its vinyl. The agent ignored him, walking up the aisle to settle near the driver's seat and lift the lever into throttle.

The boat lunged forward, bow lowering slowly as the trim-tabs and other boat mechanics worked their magic.

They were going too fast for Alex to jump off safely- not to mention the other boats in the Thames could hit him. The agent clearly knew how to work this.

"Where are we going?" Alex shouted, voice hoarse and echoing in his head. He wasn't sure the man could hear him. Alex saw the quick flicker of his kidnapper's eyes. He didn't bother responding, opting to guide the boat further down the river.

It took a moment for Alex to realize that they weren't even heading towards a marina. Instead, they were heading out towards the mouth of the river. A long boat ride, but his kidnapper showed no sign of slowing.

Had he miscalculated? What did MI6 want with him? Sure, they were furious because he bolted from foster care the moment he could… but to send an agent after him with such wordless anger?

What if it wasn't MI6, and this man truly was an insane kidnapper?

Well, Alex wouldn't stay steady with this sort of leniency. The boat had a thick paddle, which meant it also had other requirements for a sea-faring boat.

Which meant, next to the paddles in the inlet cubby, there would be flares. Alex hadn't ever loaded a flare with one hand, but he was ambidextrous from Ian's persistent teaching.

Alex managed his way slowly over, disguising his walk with the staggers of breaking a wave.

More wake disguised his left hand digging into the cubby, finally touching hard plastic of a universal flare. The gun kind; Alex wasn't willing to test his black belt with a near literal blowtorch.

"Step away from there," the kidnapper said not looking at him. The kidnapper's right hand rested steadily on the accelerator, keeping the lever at a gentle incline. Once he moved, it would jerk them both into instant idle as a safety mechanism.

"You're steering like shite!" Alex shouted over the shout of the wind. "Can't you drive better?"

The man ignored him, cutting over another crest of waves that sent Alex stumbling- and loading a flare into the gun.

A big fishing boat took control of the main passageway. The kidnapper swung the boat to the proper side. Red-right-return, or something along those lines.

Alex shrieked as the water splashed over the windshield, misting his hair. The kidnapper swung further to the side, shifting closer to the high metal groin wall that bordered inner London.

It would be a struggle, but he could make it if he swam hard. But…not before kidnapper could get the boat around, which meant that Alex would need to take over.

"Oi!" Alex shouted, pointing his right arm over and out- towards the fishing boat on their right. "Fuck you too, mate!"

Bait set, hook cast.

Kidnapper's eyes flickered white; he looked to the right side for a flash of a moment.

Gotcha.

Alex swung the flare gun around and pulled the trigger before he was in position. The flare shot with less speed than a bullet, but close quarters meant that his kidnapper couldn't do much to dodge. He was pinned from the captain's chair, the edge of the boat on his right, and the dashboard in front of him. The left side had the approaching flare, so the man dropped into a squat to avoid the fire just as Alex expected.

Alex lunged forward up swung his knee up to clip and (hopefully) break some teeth. Alex simultaneously swung the hard plastic of the gun down in an arc, disguising jerking the wheel to aim the boat's bow towards the edge of the river.

Kidnapper lifted his hand, grabbed the flare and broke it. Alex abandoned that idea, attempted to punch his kidnapper's face, then he leaped aside. The throttle slipped into idle finally as they neared fifty meters to the wall.

"And fuck you too!" Alex cheered, leaping aside to use the passenger chair as momentum. He gave one cheeky salute- then dove over the edge into the water.

With how currents ran along the edge of Thames, kidnapper would have to quickly adjust the boat or risk crashing. Maybe he would, but Alex couldn't imagine wrecking a fancy boat like that just to chase him.

The time Alex surfaced, forced his limbs to kick harder and faster, and touched the thick metal wall; kidnapper and his boat was zooming away at full speed to dock at the nearest possible place. Alex wouldn't have long.

Climbing up the edge of the Thames wasn't easy. Enough tourists and fishermen had placed floating air bulbs in the water, so he had something to grab. Thick algae clumped ropes tied them to the guardrail ten feet higher. Alex crawled up and out, spluttering seawater and feeling salty in multiple senses.

"Whoa! Kid, you okay?"

Alex spat out water, heaving. A concerned local on roller skates slid to a stop, kneeling worriedly next to Alex.

"You just crawl out the river? Kid, you okay?"

"No," Alex coughed out with a wince, rubbing his face tiredly. "Can you get me a cabbie?"

Alex didn't have any money on him- well, he imagined a cabbie wouldn't like the soaking papers and Alex didn't know if kidnapper had any cabbie coupons in his wallet. He'd have to bail the cabbie as soon as he could or find a bike to rob.

"We're a couple blocks from main, no problem, yeah?" the concerned local asked. He helped him to his feet although the local wheeled a bit on his skates. "I'll walk you."

"Thanks," Alex coughed, still feeling disgusting. The kidnapper would likely be scouring the waterfront street for him soon. "Mind if we head in a bit? Don't want to see the water anymore."

"Don't blame you." the local chuckled. "In a ways, yeah? There's a garden just-."

"Perfect let's go," Alex croaked. He would look better having a roller-skate companion. Hopefully, the MI6 agent wouldn't consider Alex's charisma, something the agent clearly had no familiarity in.

The inner-city parks looked nicer, cleaner and professional. Shiny bronze statues with golden stained hands and tourists taking selfies. Alex didn't like coming too far into the city, not when the 'Bank' was within such proximity.

"You have anywhere to go?" his companion asked him, casually rolling backward to keep pace with Alex. "Sure I can't call anyone?"

"Nah, I'm not far," Alex assured shakily. His limbs burned and his mouth tasted like bathwater. "Westminster."

"Not too far then," the skater laughed. "Just upriver! You're in Covent Garden, bit of a bloody mess falling out of your boat though!"

"Just a prank," Alex assured. "Flatmate a bit of an arse."

"Ah, always have one of them."

Alex avoided another roller-skater, one that apparently knew his companion. Alex slipped aside, slinking through the park in a fast walk.

He didn't have a change of clothes, his shoes still squelched with every step. He was feeling chilled down to his bone.

He wouldn't have long. He needed to change his face and clothes and hang low. The next chance he got, he needed to trade cities. Maybe run out to Cardiff, hide for a while before sneaking back and meeting up with Tom. His heart throbbed for his old friend, but if he was careful and managed to get his hand on a phone and fumbled through some of the more elaborate networks- maybe that Xbox username Tom never changed- Alex could arrange to meet and get an update on the world.

Until then, he needed to hideaway. He didn't know London as well as he should. Not as well as a spy. Chelsea was where he grew up, where he prowled the streets and knew every chain link fence and every hedge that was high enough to sleep under. He didn't want to go there, but it would be the best place to lay low until he could hitch a train.

"Okay, right," Alex said, splashing water on his face in the public toilets. He looked wretched in the mirror. Young, waterlogged. He could use this.

Alex stripped his shirt, hating the fact he was wearing bloody denim. Anything looser would be better, but he'd make do.

He tied the shirt around his hips, using sink water to splash and spike up his hair. He looked just like the average bloke, a bit of a jerk like the kids in his old gym class, but he would be disguised. Swiping a hat would help if he could. The wet denim hid the fact they were jeans but chafed horrid.

"Alright, Trafalgar square," Alex repeated to himself, closing his eyes. His mental map had never been better. Trafalgar Square, then straight shot to the gardens of Buckingham. If he couldn't manage a bike from all the tours, then he'd have to stay low and sprint to Westminster. Chelsea wasn't much further.

Alex made his mind, drank a dozen handfuls of tap water, and stilled himself. Then, he ran.

Alex found his kidnapper in Trafalgar Square, waiting under a ballcap drinking tea from a paper cup.

He wore all new clothing, different shirt, and pants. Alex almost missed him, but he had kept his shoes. Shoes took too much time to break in and modify and hide little pens and bits in. Alex remembered Ian with a fruit knife at the kitchen table, cutting rubber and melting it back after he slid in garroting wire.

Same shoes, same kidnapper. Alex knew MI6 tricks.

Tourists flocked to the statues lining the square, posing near the bronze men. A trick of the camera to look as large as the rearing horse. Laughing infants stroking the mane of a frozen lion on a pedestal.

The central fountains splashed around, a token of good-luck to anyone needing some.

Alex walked his way over and stuck his fingers to the bottom. He didn't like taking coins, felt a bit too much like stealing dreams. Stolen wishes and hopes- ironically all because of MI6.

Alex counted enough to rent a bike for a bit, at least manage to hop in a payphone and flag a cabbie.

Alex had a procedure in places like this. Tourists came and went on clockwork. Holding cameras and knickknacks and left them behind when their bus left.

Along the bottom of the fountains, hidden from pictures several bags and jackets clumped together.

Maybe the owners were still here somewhere, maybe not. Alex didn't look and snatched something red and thin, jamming it into the crease of his wet shirt on his hips.

Walk fast, snatch sunglasses on the corner of a flower planter. Part his hair to the side. Slip on the glasses. Slip on the new redshirt (button-up, cotton?) and rip his old shirt along the seams. Tie back his hair. Tie fabric on his arms.

He looked similar but different. A young kid itching for trouble or cigarettes to bum. He didn't look wet and scraggly, although his shoes would give him away. Always the shoes.

There were no bikes. Alex traveled to the far side of the square and took the road nearly parallel to Buckingham.

The gardens were thick and well-tended. For Queen and Country and her goddamn Tulips.

More tourists, more guards, and security and diesel smoke double-decker busses. Everything felt hot and sticky. Alex missed the Emu compared to this.

"Hey!" someone shouted, running up with flushed cheeks. Alex paused, looking at the college-aged girl who thrust out her hand. She had a note with something written on the side. "Your dad told me to give you this!"

Alex felt coldness drip down his spine. It wasn't from the water. "My dad?"

"Yeah!" the girl gasped, keeling over while keeping the note open. "He said...he pointed you out and...and seemed really sad. Told me to...give you this...and remind you to be home for dinner."

Alex wanted to refuse, to say it wasn't him. "Oh, thanks."

"No problem," the girl wheezed, waving goodbye.

Alex opened the note, staring at the blank clear paper. It was a postcard with no stamp, written on the inside with bold black font. Pressed firmly with strange shifting of the letters, written on the concrete ridges of the statue bases.

Don't be out too late.

It's supposed to rain, and I don't want you getting caught in it.

Be home for dinner.

"Shite," Alex said. He needed out of the city tonight.

For some reason, his kidnapper sent someone else instead of showing up to take him personally. Alex could ignore that and think it another trap, but something in his gut told him that his kidnapper didn't want to be noticed by the London police.

"A double-edged sword, eh?" Alex muttered, jogging to the nearest map of the eastern garden lining Buckingham.

There was a small bridge arcing over the river that bisected the garden. Or, he could keep on this side and end up too far north from where he wanted to go.

Was he being too predictable?

His kidnapper found a way to guess where he was heading before, so what was preventing him now?

Alex had to keep moving, get somewhere safe where his kidnapper wouldn't find him. His kidnapper wasn't fond of police? Then Alex would stay in the gardens and pop out the other side.

Alex set off at a nice pace, ditching the bandanna and bracelets. There was nothing to be done about his pants, which were really starting to hurt his thighs.

Alex jogged through the garden on the cobblestone paths. The bridge hoisted him up and over the bubbling creek. In the distance, the city shouted its own song and cry of life and activity. Alex used to love it.

Alex ignored Buckingham Palace. He had no business there, hopefully. The gardens shrouded him and his departure destination. Alex hoped he could make it far enough. His luck had never turned on him so badly before.

It was late afternoon and starting to get chilly now that the sun was descending. Tourists were leaving, cabbies drifting and honking as parents returned from work. Alex began a slow walk, exhausted and itching for sleep.

He hadn't expected his day to go like this, but… he hadn't thought many things through recently.

He wondered if Jack still thought of him, wherever she was. He wondered if she managed to go to school like she always wanted.

Alex kept walking. Then, he stopped.

Ahead of him, across the road where streetlights began to burn, stood his kidnapper. Leaning against the wall, just under a neon sign, glowing in the light of the nearby Hard-Rock Cafe.

"No," Alex said. He felt too exhausted to keep going. Alex stood in the shadow of Wellington Arch, made his choice, and began to climb.

It wasn't easy. Reminiscent of old rock-climbing lessons Ian ingrained in him. Pincer grip, hook grip, use his knees and thighs and squeeze until they creaked.

He climbed, using his elbows to haul himself up and over. Sitting on the stone roof of the famous arch, Alex began to army-crawl higher to the base of the statues. The stone men stood over him, looming in silence.

Alex sat, curling his knees to his chest. His pants were still wet, sticking to him tight and salty and the stolen shirt started to itch. His chest shuddered with broken wheezing. He was so tired.

Alex peered over the edge and scowled at his kidnapper. The man didn't look impressed- both his eyebrows lifted in a bland emotion. Alex politely lifted his middle finger.

"Oi!" Alex shouted, his voice hoarse and raspy from the unending running of the day. "Tell Blunt to go shove it!"

His stalker stared at him, stilling so slightly Alex was amazed he saw it. He didn't think the agent would scale the Wellington Arch just to throttle him. Alex wasn't sure how he managed to scale it.

Oh god, they were going to call the police on him to get him down tomorrow morning.

The man watched him, then turned around and walked away outside of the park.

Alex wasn't fooled. He knew the man was still watching him. The street lamps throughout the park activated. The night turned cold. Alex curled tighter, too afraid to climb down.

He really didn't want to face Blunt.

He didn't want to go back.

He really didn't want to go back.

Alex dozed off then shivered so thoroughly he woke up fetal on his side. He lay there, staring up at the stars. He didn't know many constellations. Ursa minor, ursa major, draco the dragon. Directly above him, he could count the shape of Orion.

Alex's stomach ached, his bones felt stretched. He wanted to go home but didn't know where that was.

"I shouldn't have taken the bloody wallet," Alex whispered to himself. He bit his lip because he was too tired to cry.

Alex looked over the edge, rubbing his nose. He stilled, staring at the ground in hunger. There was a McDonald's bag on the pavement, stacked next to a neatly folded blanket.

It was a trap, it was such a trap. His stomach growled, and Alex refused to obey it.

The man was still there, this time leaning against the gated entry to the park. The moment he spotted Alex, he straightened and looked directly at him. Then, with slow obvious movements, he pulled out a set of handcuffs from his pocket.

The man snapped the handcuffs on his left wrist, jingling it pointedly, then snapped the other loop to the iron rod of the gate. He tugged. The handcuff secure.

"What?" Alex whispered, voice a croaking noise. The man slowly settled himself on the ground. There was no lie, the handcuffs were secure.

Alex hated it, but he was tired and cold and so hungry. He looked over the edge and began to climb.

He touched the ground ready to sprint. The man made no movements. In fact, he closed his eyes and looked quite peaceful.

Alex darted forward, grabbed the bag and blanket before he sprinted back to the arch. A safe distance. Enough warning he could escape before the man even got out of his handcuffs.

"So," Alex said, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. The warmth was immediate. "What does Blunt want with me, eh?"

Alex opened the bag, not bothering to look at the man as he fished out the burger. Still wrapped, but he thoroughly investigated it. Rational brain warned him that it was poisoned or drugged, but he was so hungry.

"...What do you think he asks of you?"

Alex snorted, he couldn't help it. He lolled his head with one unimpressed look, throwing in a glare for good measure. "Oh, screw that. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"You're innovative," the man said, somehow sounding amused.

"Oh really?" Alex growled, scarfing down almost all the fries in record time. "That's what they're calling it now? I thought you all were pissed when I took a swan dive out of the bank."

"Ah," the man paused. "It was...unexpected."

Alex snorted. The world spun for a moment, swirling before regaining clarity.

Alex leaped to his feet, jamming his fingers down his throat. He vomited a mixture of partially chewed fries, stinging sour on the pavement. It steamed hot in the air, burning his nose.

"How the…" Alex whispered rhetorically, swaying as he struggled to balance on feet. His stomach was empty and still, his vision flickered.

He didn't understand. His hands weren't responding. His knees relaxed and slowly he slid to the ground. Unable to do more than stare dazed forward as his fingers went numb.

He could hear the clicking of metal, echoing around his skull with no definitive source. He heard footsteps, fluctuating and undulating through sound and sensation and Alex felt himself drift dazed into a sense of lethargy beyond all form of thought or cohesion.

Hands shifted, or maybe they weren't hands at all.

Alex woke up slow and dazed, staring at a truly horrendous painting on a hotel wall. A…an abstract impressionist of a water lily, composed entirely of shades of green. Alex was nearly positive Tom's grass stains on his practice jersey had more artistic talent.

The door to the attached washroom opened, spilling out heat and humidity. Alex itched for a shower, unsure of the last time he had the comfort of hot running water. He made do, but it never replaced the longing.

In fact, Alex was slowly gaining feeling and awareness of multiple things.

"You're awake," the kidnapper said. He looked wet and fresh. The kidnapper changed into his new clothing inside the washroom after a shower. Good god, Alex was trapped with a psychopath.

"You are...elusive."

Alex tried to open his mouth to manage some form of insult. He moaned a gargled noise and drooled onto the pillow.

Gross, Alex thought. Words were hard.

"Take your time," the man advised him, walking calmly to the nearby table which housed a small plastic bag with multiple food products inside. He pulled out an apple and a knife from somewhere Alex didn't see.

His kidnapper sat, crossing one leg across his ankle as he methodically vivisected the apply into small appropriate pieces. "The effects should wear off momentarily now that you are awake."

Alex struggled, limbs and muscles twitching through feeble muscle-flexing. It took a few tries to get them to cooperate, to move in a synchronized rhythm that elevated him against the pillows. Finally, Alex could meet his kidnapper head-on. Alex had never felt so terrified and comfortable in his life.

"How?" Alex asked although it sounded garbled and distorted. Almost like he had a stroke during the night.

The man finished slicing his apple to shreds and placed it on a small paper plate. "The food was not drugged. The blanket I laced with a topical paralyzing agent. Your exhaustion and malnourishment aided in your state."

"Oh," Alex said. That wasn't something Ian taught him.

The man stood, pawing through the bag again. He withdrew something that looked like Tom's muscle drinks. With careful hands, the man fished into his own bag (when did that get there?) and retrieved clear pills. He broke them inside the protein shake, shaking it once more for good measure.

"They are vitamin capsules," he said blandly. "They are not poisoned."

His kidnapper threw back an identical capsule, swallowing it dry. He then handed over the shake, waiting patiently for Alex's hands to respond and lift. They didn't. Alex seethed.

He hadn't expected his kidnapper to be so...coddling. He heard about people like this. That went after the young ones. MI6 never seemed the type.

"When are you taking me back?" Alex managed, slurring only a couple vowels when his tongue stalled.

The man didn't look at him. "Once you have recovered."

"You did this," Alex accused. "S' your fault."

"You are malnourished, exhausted, and exhibit several concerning injuries," he said pointedly. Alex noticed that he was wearing something much softer than his clothes prior. "You are of little use in this state."

"S' not like you cared before," Alex said. "Blackmail and all."

The man stared at him, piercingly. The agents Alex met before had never been like this. Even Ian hadn't been this...jaded.

"Circumstances have changed," he said. "I have...differing perspectives in relation to Alan Blunt."

Alex stared. His jaw drooped. Only due to the paralyzing agent, only that.

"Really?" Alex asked, struggling to sit further up. "You aren't going to tell him? That you got me?"

The man shrugged one shoulder, evaluating him.

"I'm Alex," he kept out the low bubbling relief. "I mean, I'm sure you already know that. The lockpick in your wallet is a lockpick. Because MI6 sent you, but it was a coincidence you found me, right?"

The man watched him, then very slowly nodded.

Alex could have screamed in relief. "Oh, thank god. I thought they were hunting for me again. Last time was the worst."

"Alan Blunt is a dangerous man to anger."

"I know, I know," Alex snapped. He shook his shoulders, feeling had finally returned. The shake had gone down easy, but now his stomach demanded the slightly browned apple wedges the spy had carved up earlier. "What's your name?"

The man stared at him. Very slowly, he opened his mouth and said flatly: "Yassen."

"Yassen?" Alex repeated, rolling the foreign syllables in his mouth. "Is that Russian? Did I get kidnapped by a Russian? Of course you are."

Yassen's mouth twitched slightly, an expression Alex quickly realized meant amusement. Yassen stood, tidying something before vanishing quickly out of the door into the hallway. Maybe to talk with the front desk or other spy-things.

Alex knew he wouldn't get another chance, and a spy's mercy never lasted long. Alex stood up shakily, stole as much food as he could carry, stole the knife Yassen had cut the apple with and snuck it into his cotton pants.

He also jammed his feet into Yassen's shoes. Was it petty? Of course it was. Yassen left from the door, so of course Alex couldn't as well.

So, Alex casually jumped out of the window.

Alex made it three blocks before he paused outside a street cafe, eerily reminiscent of the one he met Yassen for the first time.

Yassen was already there, wearing sunglasses and reading a newspaper. He had a cup of tea, a half-eaten danish, and an unoccupied chair across from him.

Alex slumped in defeat, settling heavily into the proffered chair. A silent minute later, a waitress appeared with a pastry (also reminiscent of the one Alex had the other day) and a bottle of orange juice.

"You are skilled," Yassen said flatly.

"Not good enough obviously."

Yassen hummed a flat noise, saying nothing until Alex ravenously tore into his pastry. Yassen then took a sip of his tea before he went back to reading.

"So what exactly you want from me?" Alex asked, ignoring the flaking crumbs sticking to his face. He was hungry, and free food was free food. "If this is about that thing…"

"No, it isn't," Yassen said. He barely blinked when Alex ordered yet another pastry, choking it down in record speed. Yassen finished his tea calmly, setting it aside for the waiter to pick up. "You're trained."

"So are you," Alex pointed out with a small sniff. "Shoes though, spies never want to give them up. Good try though. How did you get that boat?"

Yassen looked at him, making no effort to answer his question. Alex kicked back, swinging his legs up to rest on the arm of the unoccupied chair. His shoes in comparison were ratty, half-destroyed. His cotton pants and shirt looked very similar to pajamas.

"Where are we anyway?" Alex sniffed, picking dirt out from under his nails.

"Chiswick," Yassen said. "Take your feet off the chair. Now."

Alex knew that tone of voice from Ian, normally with an accompanying slap. Alex slowly withdrew his legs and curled up on the chair.

"Chiswick is really far away," Alex realized slowly. "Far way to drag me."

"I have a car."

"Well that's not creepy," Alex muttered. "Apparently a boat too. MI6 give you a company car?"

Yassen's stare pierced through him. Just to be sure, Alex shifted his legs, so he was sitting properly.

"London isn't safe, it is wiser to stay out of the city."

"Which I was planning before you chased me all across the Thames."

Yassen looked amused for the briefest of moments. "You pickpocket well. The Berlin technique."

Alex shrugged wordlessly. Ian had favored it that way, it wasn't as common but it worked the best. He grabbed a plastic straw, bending it and fiddling with the plastic.

"Have you used the Florence style?'

"Don't like it," Alex grumbled. "Cramps my hand and gets noticeable."

Yassen smiled ever so faintly. "Rotate your wrist ahead of time."

"Oh," Alex said. That would...help a lot.

Yassen made no further words, although he did pay with a randomly adopted accent as the waitress took the generous tip. Alex thought it odd, Ian never bothered with accents.

They walked back along the sidewalk, Yassen snatching Alex and shoving him to the side just in time to avoid getting hit by a bicycle. Alex hunkered his head low, dragged his feet just a little more. Yassen in response nudged him along like a parent penguin.

Yassen came out of the washroom in their new location, a towel looped loosely around the back of his neck to absorb any stray water droplets.

The boy, Alex, immediately on his entry, lunged off the nearest table with a forearm chop aimed at Yassen's exposed jugular.

Yassen lifted his arm, blocked the strike, and reciprocated with his own blunted jab. Pulled slightly, it would be inconvenient to cause internal bleeding in his curious project.

The boy puffed out a breath. Wordless frustration. He kicked, shifting style from sophisticated martial arts into a more...street caliber kick. Yassen countered this too with little difficulty.

"Oh come on!" the boy complained angrily, a small red hue to the back of his neck suggesting he had been silently stretching just prior to his attack. Good, it would damage muscles if not prepared thoroughly ahead of time. "Now you can fight too?"

"You're trained in this as well," Yassen pointed out bluntly. It was straightforward but addressing it increased the likelihood the boy would elaborate.

Alex scowled, pulling on the slight hollows of his face. Every expression emphasized his malnourished state. Inadequate.

"Yeah, it's no big deal," the boy grumbled angrily. He stormed off to one of the beds, leaving Yassen behind. Yassen noted, that Alex had somehow climbed onto the hotel standard wardrobe to launch his attack.

"So, what are you actually doing here?' Alex asked, flopping in a graceless sprawl across the entire double bed. Yassen paid him no mind.

"Can't you tell me anything?" Alex bemoaned, flopping about more aggressively in his irritation. Children were...irritating.

"You are to remain here," Yassen instructed coldly. "Eat your breakfast."

Alex scowled and obliged.

He scarfed down his food in such a way it suggested familiarity, both in his personal lifestyle and experience. He somehow knew how to loosen his throat to accommodate larger quantities in shorter times. A technique used by recreational binge drinkers, elite athletes, and food eating competitors. Also used by drug cartels for smuggling products across national borders and spy agencies for consuming temporary gear necessary upon infiltration.

The boy had remarkable potential, and immeasurable knowledge that Yassen knew would benefit SCORPIA directly. At this point, cooperation would be possible. If the boy rebelled, field interrogation protocol was simple.

"Okay, fine," the boy garbled, managing to scrape down nearly an entire glass of milk in one swallow. Yassen had laced the milk with an incredibly light sedative, as well as the mineral and vitamin supplement. He didn't know Alex's exact weight or metabolic rate but presumed half the dosage for a child would place him in a dazed state where he wouldn't protest to sleeping longer as Yassen left. "I'm done with breakfast. Now, what are we doing?"

"Nothing," Yassen said bluntly. He sat on the bed, turning on the local television to the news. British broadcasters tended to focus on worldly events before narrowing into London itself. It was unlikely they would still be discussing the death of Sayle, the "unknown man victim of public homicide" as they claimed. Yassen hadn't known how he had ever managed to stay employed for so long. The original request came nearly a year ago, from then on Sayle had been an absolute nuisance with SCORPIA before eventually, his time ran out. A year wasted.

"Oh god not you too," Alex moaned. He lay sprawled over his bed, closest to the wall and the air conditioner unit. "If you're going to watch the news, turn it to Spanish."

Yassen paused, then he flipped the channel. The boy continued to mumble, snarking out insults or exhaustingly bad attempts at puns. In Spanish.

'He's bilingual,' Yassen confirmed as Alex jumped into the unique category of Spanish idioms.

The news shifted, concerning internal affairs. Spanish and inaccurate subtitles ran across the bottom of the screen.

"La policia encontro rapidamente a un sospechoso en el caso de homicidio."

Yassen's focus sharpened as he translated and found the lie.

'The police quickly found a suspect in the homicide case.'

That was impossible, they had broadcasted it in such a way that suggested it was an isolated incident, not something of a larger scale.

Yassen had been near perfect with his cover, only taking risks with his hasty acquisition of the boat from London's nearest harbor. They wouldn't have found a viable suspect, because there was no suspect. SCORPIA had grown tired of Sayle's ridiculous antics and provided Yassen the order and cover to execute him. There would be no suspect.

MI6 was playing the public, trying to draw him out of hiding. They knew he was still within the country; perhaps they speculated he even remained inside the city.

He needed to leave as soon as possible.

"Wow, boring," Alex groaned in English. He yawned, stretching catlike and curling his toes. Yassen mentally counted two more minutes before he would restrain the boy.

Yassen secured the handcuffs around the boy's left wrist, subtly taking his pulse rate to determine the speed of the drug, Alex started to groan in irritation. Yassen clicked the other end of the handcuff around the air conditioner unit. The machine clicked, holding firm to the wall through the thick plumbing pipe used to cool the radiator.

"Is this really necessary?" Alex protested, weakly tugging on his arm. Tight, secure. Even breaking or dislocating his thumb would not free him from the wall. For extra measure, Yassen shifted Alex's ratty shoes further out of his reach.

Ten minutes, just to acquire new clothing for the boy, new shoes, and perhaps a disposable phone to call about future hotel reservations or rail times.

Yassen had never once in his life been mistaken for someone else unless he wanted to be.

This was a first. He had to admit, he wasn't entirely sure how to go about this situation.

The two police officers were incredibly apologetic the moment they shouted at Yassen to stop- quickly flipping once they realized that Yassen was not their target. A wanted individual who had been robbing banks in Eastern London.

"It's fine," Yassen tried to assure them, picking up the smallest shift of casual cockney to try and loosen the worries of the police officers even more. "Be on my way now, yeah?"

The one officer continued to apologize, over and over while his partner nodded. Yassen was very aware of the CTV camera on the edge of the nearest department store, likely recording the entire interaction.

The officers waved him on, wishing him a good day. Yassen smiled and kept his walk, already knowing he was compromised.

Of all things, bank robbery. SCORPIA considered such activities as amateur. Yassen would stab his foot before he ever felt the need to rob something so...petty.

Yassen acquired a disposable phone and managed to find a pair of shoes on discount that would loosely fit the boy before the police had ruined things. The shoes the child wore were in worse condition than Yassen thought. They nearly disintegrated in some portions although the soles remained good. Remarkable how the child could climb so capably.

Yassen turned the corner, staying a uniform distance from the small hotel housing Alex's drugged state. Yassen heard sirens in the distance, cutting off very quickly. Yassen estimated four kilometers away. They knew then, and they were closing in.

He could leave the child but restrained the boy would die quickly due to dehydration. If he anonymously called to the hotel, the police would gain custody of the child who then would be of use to MI6. The boy had been adamant in his disdain for the organization, which limited what precisely Yassen could do.

There was a car following Yassen, slow and disguised as tourists with bulky cameras. The car was not wavering on the road, staying affixed in its lane. Foreign tourists tended to drift towards the median, too accustomed to drive on the opposite side.

A jogger paused on the corner two blocks up, resting against the crosswalk light while stretching. The jogger did not appear exhausted- no flushing along his neck or throat to correlate with the heaving of his chest.

Yassen turned sharply down the nearest left alley. He needed to get out of sight.

Shouting, movement behind him. Yassen ran, careful to avoid metallic trash cans or subtle puddles that could splash in the direction of his escape. He could hear individuals in pursuit, spitting out low words that meant nothing to Yassen.

He had no gun, nothing that could operate as a distance weapon. Using the disposable phone to call in an artificial bomb threat would divert police forces, or work as a distraction to traffic if MI6 were utilizing the major routes of transportation. Yassen should have shortened the conversation with the police officers, limited the view they had of his face.

"Freeze!"

Yassen ignored the shout, wriggling into the nearest inlet formed in the brick from a chimney. He twisted, spreading his limbs to spider crawl as quickly as he could upwards. His palms burned, wrist popping under the sudden movement. His three pursuers shouted to one another, clearly catching sight.

"Freeze! You're wanted by-."

Yassen heard a horrible grinding noise, of metal tearing. He hauled himself up over the edge of the rooftop, slipping slightly on the old tin.

Across the alley on the adjacent rooftop, a metal reservoir perched near a small garden. The water tank, normally exposed to the open air to accept rainwater, had closed and latched its top door.

"Oh dear," Alex said, swinging his legs casually on the adjacent rooftop peering down into the tiny alley with the three MI6 agents. "Well, they look a bit hotheaded."

Alex yawned slightly, stretching his arms behind his head. All fingers were normal, no handcuff dangling from a pale wrist.

The water tank screeched again, it's single support buckling under the weight. It started to topple into the alleyway.

The agents shouted, screaming and rushing towards the exit. Alex may have said something, but it was drowned under the rattling noise of metal exploding and a tanker worth of water washing through the alley.

Alex snickered, wiping his hands on his pants. He spotted the shoes hanging from Yassen's side, physically perking up.

"Oh! Are those for me?" Alex asked, jogging his way around the watery crevice between them until he could leap from one roof junction to Yassen's. "Oh sweet, nice tread on them."

Yassen's eyes flashed to Alex's wrist, where not even a bruise had formed. "You escaped."

"Yep," Alex said, plopping down to trade shoes. "Tore out the radiator."

"What."

"Not like it's that hard," Alex defended quickly. "It only has drywall screws most times, so I just kicked it out and then used one of your knife things to snap open the cuffs and found you. Good thing too looked like those idiots really don't like you. Did you defect?"

Yassen accepted Alex's old shoes, stripping them of their laces. "You have my weapons?"

"You didn't hide them well," Alex shrugged, pointing over to the rooftop garden he had claimed. Near a planter of string beans, a shapeless black mass of fabric rested.

"Oh, also, really nice vest," Alex commented, casually leading the path. Yassen didn't need it, but he'd allow the boy to indulge him.

"What's the fabric? I've seen it before but never knew."

Yassen took a moment to process. This boy, a street rat, had somehow encountered high-level ballistic armor. Better than Kevlar, much more difficult to manufacture as well. "Ballistic armor."

"Huh," Alex said, then quietly shut down.

Yassen checked and pulled open everything Alex had smuggled out of the room.

All his knives, his two guns. His holsters, combat equipment, even his computer and phone which he had hidden.

He cast one questioning glance to Alex, who just shrugged.

The boy managed to exceed in areas Yassen hadn't ever considered. Trained in martial arts, knowing information on MI6 that potentially SCORPIA didn't know. Aiding Yassen in a pursuit scenario.

"Alex," Yassen asked, allowing his voice to teeter upwards ever so slightly as he revealed his minute wonder. "Are you capable of stealing vehicles?"

"Sure!" Alex responded instantly, perking up delighted at the attention. He had expected scolding, perhaps even a violent response. "I thought you said you had a car?"

"Not anymore."

"Oh it happens," Alex agreed knowingly. "Any preference?"

How long had the child been on his own?

"So, I should probably mention that I am technically a runaway," Alex said four hours into their slow backcountry drive. MI6 had a loose suspicion he was in London. The reason why only three agents had been sent to his position. It should have been a complete combat unit to arrest him.

"I just mean, since you are driving me around…" Alex said, gesturing wildly from where he sprawled in the passenger seat. "That means that now, you are a kidnapper."

Yassen ignored him, guiding the old diesel engine along the old English countryside.

"So, whatever you're wanted for, now I guess you aren't allowed to get close to public schools. Fun fact of the day right there."

Yassen said nothing. Alex sighed, sinking down in his chair until his head rested below the elevation of his knees. At least he was wearing a seatbelt.

"Where are we going?" Alex asked, catching sight of the setting sun and the rapid chill that England gained towards dusk. "And if you just say 'East' in that grumbly voice, I'll hate you."

"East," Yassen said.

"See, that right there. Can't you give me a city? Even a fake city! Something to look forward to!"

Yassen did not roll his eyes. "Norwich."

Alex beamed, looking delighted. He nearly pounced at the glovebox, finding an old map to unfold. It took up nearly the entire front seat as he fumbled with it, folding away the unnecessary parts of Knottingham and Cardiff until only the eastern trek remained.

Yassen genuinely hadn't imagined the boy to recall their exact route, not when Yassen avoided major freeways with an uncanny ability. They drove on old dirt roads, single-lane roads, or old stone villages with a single gas pump manned by a single mother. Alex traced the route, mouthing the names of roads as he learned them for the first time. Some roads weren't even drawn, in which case Alex would imagine them and trace it with his finger.

The boy was...exceptional.

"So, you never said," Alex's voice dropped into a serious note. "Why does MI6 want you too?"

Yassen kept driving, keeping his eyes open for any cattle or sheep that ran loose from their pens. "A conflict of interest."

Alex lifted his chin ever so slightly. "You seem interested in me."

"Truthfully," Yassen said. "I had no interest in you until you continued to evade me."

Alex jerked his head around, staring with wide eyes at Yassen. Yassen refused to look over, not wanting to identify whatever would be on the boy's face.

"Really?" Alex asked, demanding really. "You have no idea who I am? None? It was just- it was just that I kept running away? You don't care about me?"

"I am curious about how you seem so experienced."

"Oh, that."

They drove in silence. Alex slowly folded the map when it became too dark to follow the faintest lines.

"I had a... some family," Alex said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The seatbelt cut in under his jaw. "They died or got deported. They tried to get me too, so I ran."

Yassen nodded slightly. That was common. The death of an agent would cause unrest within a family, often the living kin would find themselves far too knowing of secret operations. They were dealt with accordingly. Alex it appeared was a loose end, still wanted.

"I work for an employer independent of MI6," Yassen said flatly. "They disprove of foreign operations."

Alex huffed a small sound, leaning on his chin as he stared out the window. Yassen could see his reflection, wide eyes and gaunt cheeks. Young, tired and aware of things he should not be. "Yeah, Blunt's a bit of a dick."

Yassen didn't smile, but he made sure that Alex knew he agreed.

Yassen drove through the night, pausing only to refill petrol. His phone, normally on silent, came alive in the shadow of a country road.

He updated his situation- MI6 exerting pressure, determined his location is within London. Will arrive in Waxham before dawn, vehicle assigned as scrap or repurposed.

He paused before he sent one more command through the secure link: Token acquired.

Alex squinted, crossing his arms against his chest to protect himself somewhat from the salty sea air. "So, that right there- yes, right there, is the ugliest otter I have ever seen."

Yassen almost sighed. "Alex, that is a seal."

"Ah," Alex mused. "I see...fur and... blubber?"

"No Alex, whales have blubber."

Alex squinted at the seal. It barked.

The other man, the one in standard fishing gear and a warm wool cap, looked at Yassen incredulously. Yassen kept his face flat, watching the boy as he slowly approached a large baffled seal.

"Are you sure, sir?" the man asked in a hushed voice, clearing his throat quickly at Yassen's icy glare.

Alex inched closer, extending one hand to the animal. It barked at him, flailing its webbed limbs. Alex shifted right out of harm's way, laughing in delight and awe over the massive animal. There was something innocent about it, childish and curious despite the overlaying experience and jaded edges.

"Yes," Yassen said. He blinked against the slight sting of salty air. "What information has been provided?"

The man twitched slightly.

"There are currently three operatives in Great Britain at this time, excluding yourself. No traffic through this port for two years, as per standard. Once you contacted, I was forwarded a missive via wishes of the board for you…"

Yassen frowned. "Wishes of the board?"

"Ms. Rothman, sir."

Nile. "Contents?'

"A summons, sir. An inquiry assignment for information. I believe you were requested for confirmation."

That was odd. Incredibly unusual, to request Yassen when Nile was already present. Two high ranking individuals usually presented as a trap when requested by a customer. To request Yassen from Nile meant it was genuine, but still an unusual circumstance.

"Understood," Yassen agreed. He would get more information sent directly to him once everything was en-route. "What transportation?"

"I have a boat already set to go," the man said nervously. "I ah, heard the missive you sent about the...boy. All supplies and materials are on board. I don't have any...gear that would fit him-."

"Leave it," Yassen said. "Alex!"

Alex swung around, sand sticking to his trouser legs and new shoes. He was beaming, looking delighted with bright eyes and wind-whipped skin. He looked familiar to Yassen, in the way that dreams sometimes did.

Alex waved, standing amidst a cluster of perplexed Grey seals.

"Yeah?" Alex shouted, running over with a grin. The boy had been trapped in the city for too long. "Oh, hey. You a friend of his?"

The SCORPIA employee balked, eyes jerking quickly back and forth between Alex and Yassen. Alex looked amused, stretching his arms before rolling his eyes and brushing past.

Yassen's lips twitched ever so slightly. "Alex."

Alex paused, groaning in disappointment. He turned around, glumly holding out his hand with his prize. He offered a cellphone and a stick of gum.

"Oh, wait no," Alex muttered, sneaking the bubblegum back. "I want this one."

The employee looked dazed, frantically smacking his pockets even as he saw his own belongings in Alex's hand.

"Bloody hell," the man whispered in awe, taking the phone back carefully.

"Have a good day!" Alex chirped. "Where are we going? North? I've never been to Orkney-."

"No," Yassen cut him off quickly.

He led the path, down a winding wood walkway built into one of the many stone coves of the harbor town. "We're heading to Belgium."

Alex slowed his walk until his shoes scuffed the stairwell He stood solidly against the cliff. His hair flopped about, taken with the ocean breeze.

His eyes were so bright, deceptively familiar.

"Oh," Alex hesitated. He chewed his lower lip, scabbing and chapped. He was dehydrated.

"I didn't know we were leaving the country."

"Is that a problem?"

Alex looked down, flickering his eyes to the sea. His hands curled around the wooden railings, thin and bony at the knuckles.

"I didn't realize we'd be leaving so soon," Alex said. "I... I have a f-."

Alex cut off his words, slowly closing his mouth as some sort of realization sunk in and hit him much harder than he expected.

He staggered, so shocked and wounded Yassen considered a physical blow of some sort.

"Oh," Alex breathed pained. "Oh, I've been an idiot. They're never going to stop hunting me, are they? I've never been...good. I've never been sneaky or that amazing at hiding at all. I was just lucky.

"They hadn't been looking for me at all, were they? MI6 didn't bother looking at me and I've been fine because of luck!"

Yassen closed his eyes and breathed with the pull of the tide.

"Yes."

Alex nodded, accepting it calmly until he faced the water and opened his mouth.

Then Alex began to scream.

Yassen set the ship to order, starting the motor and assuring that everything worked properly. Alex scoffed at the size of the vessel, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes and flushed face.

"You steal this one too?" Alex asked, dejectedly shuffling towards the side of the captain's deck.

Yassen ignored him, testing the depth finder and reviewing the programmed route from SCORPIA direct.

They would be heading to Antwerp, Belgium. Crossing the ocean, moving into the harbor before a direct flight would take them to...the Alps.

No, the plane would take them to Grenoble. From there, Yassen would pilot a helicopter just North to an unfamiliar location of Point Blanc, White Point, where Nile waited for him.

At least it was in a more…lenient global area compared to the United Kingdom.

Alex flopped into the first mate's chair, looking peeved and wounded by the betrayal of MI6. Yassen couldn't imagine it, but it had impacted the boy so severely it may be something of use.

"Alex," Yassen said, stepping aside as the computer ran through one more pre-departure check. "I contacted ahead. This vessel has all facilities for you, including sufficient clothing if you so wish."

Alex ignored his words. Alex turned back to the dashboard, eyes flickering to the flashing lights. "The radio contacts your organization?"

"Through complex avenues."

Alex looked intrigued, also slightly annoyed. "Good to see the technology is possible."

Ah, he's been alone.

"Can we go to America eventually?" Alex asked him, firm and serious. "I need to find people."

"Your relatives," Yassen said. "There is a possibility that MI6 may have lied to you and removed them instead."

Alex's expression didn't change. He said: "I know."

The boat chimed, alerting Yassen that all departure requirements had finished. They were ready to leave.

Yassen shifted the throttle into idle, progressing the motor until they could leave the harbor. Its thick hull broke waves, splitting the ocean into black glass behind them.

Alex gazed at the ocean fascinated. He ran down the stairs to the stern where his home country slowly faded behind them in hazy greens.

The boat moved well, accustomed to seafaring journeys. The route they took was secluded, isolated except for main shipping channels that SCORPIA already tracked to assure no interference.

Alex seemed mystified, relaxed and fearless in the presence of the great unknown. He was either brave or incredibly stupid.

"Come here," Yassen beckoned, pulling aside the unmarked metal case that the SCORPIA agent hastily loaded before they arrived.

"What's that?" Alex asked, already plopping into what he claimed as his chair.

Yassen opened the latches and took out the complex machinery. He plugged it into the computer. A new window opened, data scrolling as Yassen entered his own personal code and the twenty-nine-number password, with the necessary fingerprint scanner. He would have to personally confirm within two days, else all data would be considered a breach and destroyed.

"It's information programming," Yassen said. "My organization recruits members through three mechanisms.

"Individuals can apply to the educational facility in which they are trained, working after graduation to pay their debts.

"Other members may be recruited based on their occupancy within the functional world, however, they hold no benefits or acquire resources from my organization."

"Professional outsourcing," Alex summarized with a sharp eye. "And operatives."

Yassen gave him a very small expression that made Alex light up in delight. Alex asked: "What's the last one then?"

"Sponsorship. Operatives interact with the real world when on missions. On occasion, individuals within society with placements, skills, or opportunities appeal to my organization.

"The operative may choose to sponsor the individual, taking a percentage of their pay, their commendations, and their schedule. In turn, the sponsored individual is inducted into my organization under the direct supervision of the sponsor."

"What happens if the sponsor dies?" Alex asked, sharp and quick.

Clever boy. "The individual is placed with another sponsor by my organization."

Alex chewed his lip ever so slightly. "And you...want me for that?"

"It is the most convenient method in which to bring you with me."

"Because you're on secret missions, right."

Alex looked down at his hands, fiddling with them. It was easy to see his difficulty. He had spent extensive time constantly eluding one organization after they had apparently blackmailed and manipulated him, only to run right into another. "Would you ever get rid of me?"

"If you compromise my mission, yes," Yassen said.

"Good, I hate it when people lie to me. What's the name of your organization?"

Yassen watched the boy for every cue that he knew more than he should. "SCORPIA."

Nothing.

"Cool, sounds like Scorpion," Alex muttered, swinging his legs back and forth. "This...it would really piss off MI6 if I did this...right?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Okay then, sure why not," Alex said. He gave a single burst of laughter, looking alarmed but also a bit pleased with himself.

"Okay...sure. What do I need to do? Sell my soul?"

"Just basic information for now," Yassen said, mouth twitching ever so slightly again. "Your profile will be completed at a secure server, as well as a complete medical examination."

Alex recoiled, slightly overwhelmed. "I get health care?"

"Yes," Yassen said. "Dental and psychiatric aid upon request."

Alex gaped. "I get dental."

Yassen ignored his stunned confusion. The forms had finally finished, running with all necessary areas to be filled for the acquisition of a token. "Name."

"Alex," the boy said.

Yassen blinked once. He would not ask any questions.

Alex relieved once he realized Yassen accepted that as it was and moved on to the rest of the information. Some of it would change once he was given his medical evaluation; the rest was rough approximation due to the fact Yassen was going directly into another operation immediately.

The information-gathering finished, the file was sent to SCORPIA headquarters. Yassen began filing in his own operative number.

"What's that part then?" Alex asked, peering over curiously.

"My information," Yassen said. "Turn around and take off your shirt."

"W- why?"

Yassen tapped the device once. "Information coding. Lowers the statistical likelihood of accidental torture and interrogation at SCORPIA hands."

Alex blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it quickly. He gathered his words quickly: "So, an employee badge? But hidden? Because you're all stealth."

"Correct," Yassen said. He loaded the apparatus as Alex tentatively stripped his shirt. Yassen gave no warning. Using both arms to position Alex's left elbow into an outstretched side posture, his left shoulder blade flared and revealed the slight cavity in which the bone itself glided over in normal movement.

"Do not move," Yassen warned, taking the stapler and injection chip out of the information loader.

Alex held still, twitching slightly but Yassen made sure his shoulder blade would not drop. A moment, then Yassen pierced skin, injected the centimeter large chip into the tissue, and stapled it closed. Alex winced, arm reflexively trembling at the pain of it.

"That's it? All done?" Alex asked. His left arm jerked a bit as he struggled to find a comfortable posture. "No more stabbing me?"

"No more stabbing," Yassen confirmed, double-checking the autopilot was on the correct path.

"You are now under my registration."

They stayed inside Antwerp for no more than an hour before Yassen relocated onto a private jet. Alex followed obediently, never straying too far from Yassen's side.

There was a talent to it, a learned skill to stay in the shadow of an adult and never be noticed.

The MI6 agent that supposedly died must have taught Alex an assortment of things. Useful. Yassen would not have to start from scratch.

The jet left immediately upon their arrival. Alex had barely settled into his seat and buckled up before they were on the runway awaiting takeoff. Yassen paid it no mind, already knowing from the mission briefing that Nile had set up the transportation route ahead of time. Yassen wouldn't have to pilot until they landed, and then only for a short way.

"So what sort of mission is this?" Alex asked him, barely containing his excitement and delight. "Information you said?"

The cabin they sat in remained empty. Only the pilot and the second occupied the plane with them. It was unlikely anyone could overhear them with the roar of the turbines. They were in safe quarters.

"I am meeting another operative. Information must be confirmed, and I am requested."

Alex hummed, seeming content with that amount. He stayed quiet, curling up in his chair and dozing contently.

They landed smoothly, and operatives boarded fast. Shuffling back and forth with waiting staff to unload various goods and supplies. Minor technology for infiltration, bugs, and wires. Alex ignored them, and they ignored him.

Yassen had never wanted a token. He always considered them a waste of time and resources.

This boy arrived already trained, intelligent, and surprisingly sharp. He would be very useful once properly experienced with firearms and other means of combat.

Alex didn't seem surprised when Yassen turned on the helicopter, running through its own sets of information and pre-flight checks. A woman rushed over, hauling a trolley with various types of clothing on the shelves. Alex was keenly aware that he was wearing the same clothes given to him back in England.

"Cossack, sir," she said, supplying a thicker winter coat that Yassen accepted instantly.

Alex recognized the term as a code name and opted to stay quiet. Alex found something in his size, likely purchased ahead of time based on the information Yassen sent.

They lifted off the ground, adjusting for altitude changes and other measures Alex didn't know.

They climbed, soaring high over the French Alps as they ventured towards a destination Alex didn't know.

"Should I know French?" Alex asked, looking at the various snowy mountain peaks.

"Do you?"

"Fluent, but should I?"

Yassen gave a short nod, flipping more switches that did something to the tail rudders. Alex could feel his ears begin to crackle and pop as the air density challenged the inner pressure of his ears.

"This is Point Blanc," Yassen introduced, shifting to a French accent. Alex gave him an odd look for a moment before he nodded slowly. "We are meeting an operative called Nile."

"Does he know about me?"

"Likely. It's not important."

The building they approached looked like it was made by the world's worst architect. Alex couldn't imagine any construction team agreeing to such plans unless it were to make a facility for some unknown reason. A bunker, a military outpost, perhaps even a political warehouse of some sort. A far cry from the artistic masonry and carved moldings of London.

The building rested hidden within the Alps, relying entirely on the environment to compensate for its appearance. Alex imagined the man who designed this building likely had been shot.

There were spires poking upwards, all various lengths and altitudes that looked chaotic and unplanned. Towers and battlements made for efficiency, not for occupation.

Yassen guided the helicopter smoothly over the building, serving as a second purpose to gain a general idea of the layout. A circular central atrium with two wings of asymmetric length. Four floors high with crude windows at different heights. Maybe no architecture had been involved in the first place.

Alex noted Yassen's eyes flickering widely over the building, lingering on a few spires that quickly rose above them in their careful descent. They saw no living people, which was to be expected with the freezing temperatures.

They landed professionally, Yassen taking a few moments to flip off a collection of switches and dials Alex knew nothing about. With one hand, Yassen motioned to remove his helmet, careful of the wires and straps.

"Stay close," Yassen ordered without looking. He demanded obedience at Alex had no intention of wandering off. "Do not speak. This is a formal operation and any information given will be marked as treason."

"Got it," Alex nodded, squinting out over the mountains.

"Don't say anything important, try not to piss anyone off. Is that a ski jump? This place is for skiing?"

Yassen knew the question was rhetoric. The ghastly design of the building in no way or form could be interpreted as an Olympic training facility.

The helicopter blades slowly crept to a standstill, Yassen ignored them as he operated the multiple levers to open the reinforced cabin. Alex should have realized that helicopters could be bulletproof like cars.

They climbed out, walking over the sad-looking helipad before entering a metal door on the side of one of the towers. Yassen descended first down a narrow spiral staircase, giving Alex the illusion that the staircase had been built competent for once and not as crappy as the building. Alex almost tripped over one step a fair ten centimeters further down than the one prior.

The building was silent.

Alex did his best to walk silently, but the SCORPIA agent hadn't given him exactly soundless shoes. Yassen had something that looked well worn, standard or maybe preferred for his operations. Agents loved wearing familiar shoes.

The heating had been turned on high, clearly a forced central air because the difference between cold and hot air swirled across Alex's cheek and made everything feel muggy.

They walked, crossing near a set of thick clear acrylic doors. Alex would have imagined glass if not for how sharp the temperature change was. Glass would explode.

They set off across a courtyard, back into snow and invasive chill. Yassen didn't pause, Alex kept as best in stride as he could.

Movement up above- Alex glanced up and spotted what appeared to be a male sentry staring at them through a set of binoculars. Alex looked back down as subtly as he could, pretending he didn't see the muzzle of a gun protruding past the man's thigh. "Yassen-."

"I know," Yassen said with barely more than a breath. Alex doubted the man's mouth even moved.

They walked through another set of doors. Alex managed to slip in so close to Yassen's stride he managed to slink right through without getting hit. He would have been impressed by his catlike maneuver if not for how Yassen shifted his ankle just enough to click into Alex's calf, adjusting him further to one side. Know-it-all.

They stood in what appeared to be the main reception hall of the building.

A shocking contrast to the rest of the building so far; a bright cheery log fire burning in a massive fireplace with two stone dragons arching on either side. The first reminder of London masonry and one of the dragons had a chipped toe.

A massive chandelier hung with maybe a hundred light bulbs, all bright and burning so much heat it may be helping more than the fire was.

From atop the grand staircase with thick red carpet, a man appeared in a light jog; one of the security details, thankfully without a gun. He took one look at Yassen and Alex before he paled and swallowed visibly from across the room.

"We- we hadn't anticipated your arrival so soon, sir," the man said, curling his gloved hands into tight fists. "Just...just this way."

Yassen started walking, Alex fell immediately in stride with matching steps. They hurried down another hallway, this one decorated with decapitated animal heads mounted onto the wood paneling.

Alex dearly wished he could talk, because what the hell?

They walked, the guide acted like a lost child since Yassen ignored him entirely and took point position. Alex fell into step, mentally delighted that a man with an automatic rifle was being overpowered by him. Take that, douche.

Yassen came to a standstill in front of an impressive door, he knocked once, then entered without any confirmation. Alex followed, half-obscured behind the dark winter wear Yassen still had on.

Alex's clothes in comparison stuck out like a sore thumb. Bold and bright with an obvious winter brand. Alex itched for something more...incognito, something muted colors that at least disguised him better than bright orange.

"Ah, hello," the man behind the desk said. He smiled, standing carefully to outstretch one arm politely. Yassen did not take it.

Yassen kept his hands folded behind his back and his body language still. Alex evaluated the man as quickly as he could. He was ugly- was it a requirement to be in proximity to the building?

"I expected you later in the evening, I understand you came a great distance," the man smiled although his voice failed to convey any warmth in it. Alex knew enough about mad strangers, the ones likely to act polite before they kicked out your knees and took everything you had. This man was slimy and cruel, and Alex instantly hated him on sight.

"Formal operations are not delayed for any circumstances," Yassen said. He spoke equally flat and cold, but somehow still seemed more genuine than this disgusting man.

"Are you aware of the inquiry procedure?"

The man nodded, blinking slowly and indulgently. He waved his hands toward the fireplace where he had three chairs set out upon a zebra rug. Alex itched to avoid sitting down to face this man. Yassen somehow knew this. He didn't move the slightest.

"No?" the man said, sighing slightly as if disappointed. "I understand. Please do be generous to our other students; they come from families of great importance. Interactions are harmful to their education."

"Obstacles to a formal operation will be removed. Failure to comply is not the responsibility of SCORPIA."

"Of course, we wouldn't dare impede in any way with your little...quest," the man nodded politely.

Alex wanted to punch his face, maybe repeatedly. Force some color into his white cheeks, maybe break a tooth or two just for fun.

"Although, I must confess...your...agent failed to find anything of worry. Maybe SCORPIA should send more qualified agents the first time to avoid this...referral? I'm sure you're a busy man."

Two teeth. Maybe his nose. Alex would let Yassen kick a rib if he wanted.

"The third and fourth floors are restricted to our students here. We have already accommodated your representative from SCORPIA on the third floor. An escort will show you. Your things have been brought to the room already-."

Alex didn't breathe. He had recalled SCORPIA agents loading things into the helicopter, but not any sort of heavy weaponry like what the guards appeared to have. Did Yassen have experience with automatic rifles?

When Alex had found his things before (all in Ian's preferred hiding spots) he only had a few handguns and knives. Nothing elaborate, no broken-down rifle.

Alex knew he could steal, but he didn't know how to steal an automatic rifle.

The man stopped talking, waving one arm. Yassen looked over his shoulder with a blank look that spoke volumes to Alex. A woman appeared towards the doors, waiting patiently. Another guard.

Yassen's foot twitched ever so slightly, as little as shifting his weight. He had done similar when correcting Alex's posture while slipping in behind a door- oh.

Alex turned, trying to still the quick thrum in his throat. He would be on his own here, but he was under Yassen's protection...right?

"This way," the woman said. She had her arms at her side, face pinched in annoyance but still polite. They were all so painfully polite. It was setting Alex's hair on end.

Alex walked, nearly tripping once on the ridiculous shag carpet. If he didn't know any better, the setting would be akin to a cheap horror movie. Something he once watched with Ian in Italian with subtitles on, arguing grammatical tenses while Jack threw popcorn every time one of them stood up in their argument. He wondered if Jack was doing okay.

"This is the third-floor stairwell," the woman nodded towards a staircase that looked (thankfully) more industrially sound than the helicopter pad. The third floor didn't have any better decor, which both upset Alex's inner interior designer and delighted him to see that the man in charge was truly- that bad at aesthetics.

He wondered if it was for show, but no, he genuinely thought a flamingo leg candlestick looked good. Yassen needed to put him out of his misery soon.

"This is your room, the key is here," the woman said, pulling out an old-fashioned keychain with an antique golden key. Wonderful, old locks were the easiest to pick with the single inner mechanism. Yassen was going to have an aneurism.

The woman didn't wait for him, for which Alex subtly flicked her off and opened the door. It smelled like dust and Lysol pine cleaner and Alex regretted not getting his immunizations.

Could that rusty edge of the mirror give him hepatitis? Possibly.

"Great," Alex said. He peeled off the winter coat, tossing it onto one of the plush double beds. The comforter looked like red velvet. Maybe the director was colorblind?

Alex kicked off his boots, then thought better of it and put them back on slightly looser. If Yassen got himself into another stupid situation, he'd need to chase after and save his scrawny ass again.

This time, Alex doubted there was a convenient water tank nearby.

What was there? He could maybe snap one of the posts on the footboard of the beds, but it was weirdly shaped and some sort of African wood he didn't know the density of. The mirror could turn into a knife if he smashed it, but that would be loud enough to alert someone.

Yassen was a spy, an agent. It was obvious he'd have weapons. The easiest way to hide something was to place the expected thing in plain sight. A location so clear but slightly hidden, that the smuggled objects would be overlooked instantly. At least, Ian mentioned it and Alex always failed to figure out where his uncle kept hiding the spare key even with the hints.

The SCORPIA bags were set at the base of the two beds, separated across. Another day, Alex would examine how unsettling it felt to know an organization knew his trouser size.

In his bag, he found spare clothing and supplies. Some padding, basic armor that came in one-size-fits-all. If they had somehow gotten Alex one of Yassen's nice body armor, well, maybe he could overlook the creep factor.

'Look under the obvious,' Ian always told him. That meant that there was something obvious placed as a decoy. He dug, feeling along the hem and seam lines. He felt every bit of clothing, digging his broken nails into ever crack before he pulled out his makeshift armory. Four lockpicks, two...listening bugs maybe? A spring-loaded switchblade hidden in the heel of one of his shoes, and a wire contraption he had no idea what it was. He wasn't going anywhere near Yassen's bag.

'I'm already looking under the obvious,' Alex thought, plopping onto the bed next to his jacket. 'Yassen obviously has guns on him. Where else would there be a weapon?'

Alex paused, then slowly looked at the coat. Which had been given to him? By one of Yassen's agents.

"Oh please give me something," Alex muttered to himself. He flipped it inside out, tracing fingers along the seam lines and tugging on stitches to test the strength. Industrial nylon wire instead of cotton thread- Ian would ever get him with that one again.

Some of the inner mesh for his coat looked odd. Reflective where Alex couldn't fathom why. He reached over, pulling the chain on the bedside table lamp to better see. The inner mesh was strange, clear and stretchy in patches. Alex tugged it, pulling in various points before something gave and it unraveled in his fingers silkily.

'This is what we're talking about,' Alex thought, grinning wide as he coiled up whatever weird thread (wire?) he had. He unraveled it, pulling with all his strength to try and determine its weight capacity. His hands stung as the wire cut through skin and started to prick his capillary layer.

Where else? The seam of his jacket had nothing obvious with it, no sewn in lump. The hood also lacked anything. The zipper had normal teeth, paracord ties to the handles for the zip-.

Oh, the rubber nibs. Alex wriggled them free, revealing something small and electric and clearly fit his mental picture of what a 'spy bug' was. Much nicer than the electrical abomination over in his discard pile.

He found a knife in his decoy shoes. Tugging and prodding along the bottom of the winter boots he wore produced nothing. Maybe he had to click his heels or do a weird twist to make a spike pop out. He could make do with a silver lasso of sleuth.

Afterall, Yassen wouldn't know Alex left if he managed back in time.

Yassen would be pleased if Alex managed to stick one of the bugs in the lion's mane on the first floor. Maybe if he was sneaky, he could get it lodged in the poor zebra's head in the creep's office.

'Welcome,' Alex thought to himself with the smallest quirk of a smile. 'To SCORPIA.'