A/N: OMG, this is the final chapter! I can't believe it! So I included the epilogue in here as it was quite short, and I thought you might come after me with pitch forks if I didn't!

DISCLAIMER: For this entire story Anthony Horowitz has owned Alex Rider, why would that change now?

***

Alex stopped outside the hotel. He knew he couldn't go in, in case of cameras, but luckily he didn't have to. When he had borrowed Tom's phone earlier – correctly assuming that his would be bugged or tracked – he had called Amethyst. She should be coming to meet them.

A few minutes later she was there, white and obviously slightly scared but she still smiled when she saw David, immediately pulling him into her arms and kissing the top of his golden curls.

"So what do we do now?" she asked quietly.

"I have to get you out of the country," he replied. "With the entire of MI6 looking out for me and David, it's not safe for you to remain here. You probably won't be recognised at passport control – they're looking out for me, not you." He frowned and looked at David. "Though some hair dye wouldn't go amiss... and I can probably get you fake passports."

Amethyst nodded and the three of them started to walk down the street. Amethyst went alone into a twenty-four hour supermarket to get some temporary hair dye, chocolate brown, and they worked quickly in the public toilets to change the colour. Forty minutes and fifty pounds later, Alex was standing outside a shady-looking building with two fake passports for an Amethyst and David Walschmitt, who were returning home to Germany. He had decided not to go with them. He knew it was risky, but their chances of escape would be far higher without him.

He reminded himself of this as he watched them disappear into the subway, heading for Heathrow. They were safe. He knew just enough of their plans to meet up with them if he ever got out of this. Unfortunately, something told him that he never would.

***

Alex wandered along the street, occasionally pausing in front of shop windows, as if interested in the displays. He wasn't. He was simply avoiding the gazes of the suspiciously forgettable men who would every so often pass by. With a grey hat over his hair, a pair of green contacts in and a fair amount of foundation used to darken his skin, he didn't think anyone who hadn't met him would recognise him, but he wasn't taking any chances. He stopped again in front of an electronics store as another agent walked past.

The news was on. Alex was about to turn away, when a familiar photograph appeared on the many flickering screens.

"Jack..." he murmured, changing direction and entering the shop.

He walked over to one of the TVs and looked at it.

"Jacqueline Starbright was found shot dead today in a flat in London. There are no suspects as of yet, though the police state that, if the victim wasn't so unlikely, it would be a classic gang killing. The only clue they currently have is a small silver scorpion that was left on the body..."

Alex stopped listening, his shoulders slumping in despair. So MI6 had stopped protecting Jack. He had never thought about the consequences for her. This was all his fault. He may as well let them kill him. Was this really what his life was going to be like? Always on the run... no-one who cared for him... and the deaths of innocent people on his hands.

He would prefer to die. He was going to die...

... but he was damn well going to die as himself.

Out of nowhere, an extract from Macbeth wormed its way into his head.

"Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,

Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,

Raze out the written troubles of the brain,

And with some sweet oblivious antidote

Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff

Which weighs upon the heart?"

To which the doctor answered that the patient must minister to himself. Well... Alex knew the antidote now. And it was easy enough to administer.

***

Mrs Jones crossed the floor of Blunt's office.

"We found him," she said shortly. Blunt looked up. "He booked a room in a hotel about half an hour ago. We caught him on the security cameras. Shall we send in an agent?"

Blunt frowned. "No. Secrecy is hardly needed anymore. Send in someone from the SAS. One unit should do, one to enter the room and the others for back up."

Mrs Jones nodded, and placed the call.

***

Wolf listened to his commanding officer. It was an unusual assignment. Go to a hotel room in London and kill its occupant. Apparently it was a former spy who had turned against the government and harboured an international terrorist. When he looked at the photo and saw his one-time team mate, he didn't say anything, simply nodded and signalled the rest of his unit to follow him out. He didn't tell them who the target was.

***

Wolf kicked down the door. He wasn't really expecting the kid to be in the room. Surely Cub wouldn't be that stupid?

But he was there and now Wolf had to do his job.

Wolf stared, partly in surprise and partly in horror. The kid just sat there. He knew they were here to kill him and yet it didn't seem to bother him. What had been done to him, to make him look like that? The impassive face turned to look at him. "Are you here to kill me, Wolf?" asked Cub, his voice low and hoarse. Wolf nodded, silently.

The boy – no, man, no-one with that amount of pain in his eyes could ever be called a child- let out a low laugh. "Answer me one thing first."

Powerless to resist the already-dead man, Wolf nodded.

"Why?"

He frowned. The kid didn't realise? "I'm sorry?" he asked incredulously.

"I know why they want me dead; I'm just wondering what they told you."

"You sold out your county to Scorpia. You protected an international terrorist. Why wouldn't they want you dead?"

"Figures," muttered Cub. "Bloody spies – never honest."

Wolf's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'never honest'?" he questioned suspiciously.

"Just do your job, Wolf. You don't need the answers. If you don't kill me you'll just get fired, and someone else will do it."

Five minutes later, a gunshot was heard. Wolf had pulled the trigger.

Epilogue

"An investigation is pending into the mysterious, presumed-death of sixteen year-old Alex Rider. Police were alerted after a gunshot was heard from within the hotel room that he was staying in. Experts judge from the amount of blood that he was hit in a major artery and could not have survived, though as of yet no body has been found."

Tom looked up in horror at the television, his spoon clattering to the table unnoticed. 'death of sixteen year-old Alex Rider…"

His heart seemed to shudder erratically in his chest. His best friend…

'…death of…'

He couldn't think about it. Tom just stood frozen, staring at the morning news, unable to comprehend how the world could just carry on.

"…sixteen year-old…"

He couldn't understand how the sun was still shining. He didn't grasp how the news reporter could now be discussing something as trivial as the charity fundraiser at a local comprehensive.

"…Alex Rider"

Alex was dead, and still the world carried on. He had been a hero! He had saved all their lives! Tom felt disbelief replace the pain for a moment. How could he do all that and still no-one realise? How could no-one care?

He looked down at the cereal in front of him, the bile rising in his throat at the thought of eating. He pushed the bowl away. Oh gods… Alex.

The door bell rang, and Tom went to answer it, functioning solely on automatic. He numbly pulled the door open to be faced with a stranger. Brown hair, blue eyes, slightly above normal height, and around Tom's age.

Tom noted the facts clinically, shutting down all his emotions. He couldn't deal with this right now.

The stranger smiled wryly, and Tom felt a flicker of recognition. "Hi, Tom. I guess you've seen the news this morning, then?"

Suddenly that flicker burst to life inside him. "Alex!"

***

Alex smiled as he waved goodbye to his friend. He was due on a plane to Germany in just over three hours and had to get to the airport for check in. He double checked his passport, shaking his head at the picture of him as a brunette. He'd never thought he'd see the day that Alex Rider would dye his hair brown

Then again, he wasn't Alex Rider anymore. Alex Rider was dead. He was Alex Walschmitt and he was on his way to stay with his sister, Amethyst, and her son, David, in Germany.

He liked Alex Walshmitt. He had no baggage and no hidden past, just a normal guy returning from a normal boarding school in England.

Yeah, he decided. Life was good.

THE END

A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter seemed to pass very quickly, I tried to slow it down but it was like trying to stop an avalanche, it had way too much momentum for me to do anything about it! And I apologise to any Yassen fans who were waiting for him to wake up, but it wouldn't have helped the plot at all, so he got left out... I do however have plans for a sequel that definitely does involve Yassen, if any of you want to read it.

Anyway, please review, in exchange for me not abandoning the fic halfway through? Please? I'm not ashamed to beg!