Disclaimer: Not mine. 'Nuff said.

A/N: Many thanks to Tigertopaz-Titanium Banana, who pointed out a major physics mistake in the second-last paragraph.

A Nation's Betrayal

Alex Rider was on the run, hiding from agents of the nation he had once protected.

Jack, his former housekeeper and guardian, had given information to as many criminal organisations as she could, in an attempt to force MI6 to stop using him. Instead, MI6 had deemed him a threat of potential blackmail against them, and had sent out agents to search for him and kill him on sight.

This was why he was running through the alleyways in London that twisted and turned like arteries of architectural hell. He was fitter than most, but he had been running non-stop since he had learnt of the plan to kill him, and was tiring.

As he passed a street that would eventually lead to his school, Brooklands, he wondered bitterly what his best and now only friend, Tom, thought he was doing. No doubt he was imagining Alex driving at top speed in an expensive car around a tropical country, having just enough time to order a martini 'shaken, not stirred'. Unfortunately, the reality of Alex's job was less like a James Bond film, and more like Bourne Ultimatum, except Alex had no leverage against his employers and no resources. He didn't have any special training to help him, either. All Alex had were his wits, physical prowess and the clothes on his back.

As he rounded the corner, he could hear the footsteps around him. They reminded him of Brecon Beacons in Wales, of going on 10km training hikes with soldiers from the SAS. He should have known then to quit while he had the chance. It was better that Jack be deported than have his childhood irrevocably stolen. Unfortunately for him, it was now too late. He'd done too much, seen too much and as a result, Blunt was ordering him killed.

He wondered if K-Unit was in the group following him. Surely not. Wolf had hated him when they'd first met, but they'd made up in a way, when he'd been in hospital after being shot by the sniper from SCORPIA. Snake and Eagle hadn't really cared, but they wouldn't kill a kid they had trained with. Ben had become friends with him during the ordeal with Snakehead. But maybe they didn't know it was him. Maybe all they had been told was that he was a rogue agent with blond hair, standing 1.8m tall.

His breath now came in ragged gasps, and his legs hurt as much as his arms had in Kenya, dangling above the crocodiles, slowly losing his grip. Back then, he had thought it was the most scared he'd ever been. Now he knew that hadn't been true terror. At least the danger had been tangible. This was worse; he knew it was there and knew that they were all around him, but he couldn't see them. They might be that man, looking in the window, or the woman reading a newspaper. They were everywhere, but he couldn't find them, much less avoid them.

Turning down a small street that he thought he could use to confuse his trackers, his heart sank as he realised his folly. He swore. The end was blocked by a brick wall, part of a building. There was no way out. Now they were closing in on him. The woman with the dog, the couple who had been kissing. The man he had thought was a banker – just like his uncle, he thought ironically.

Alex turned around slowly.

"It's over. Give up," one of them said.

He opened his mouth as if to say a final biting remark, but they didn't give him the chance. Already, he was toppling backwards, eyes glazing over and blood spurting from his chest in a ghastly parody of a water fountain.

Alex Rider was gone, dead. He was no more, and Tom Harris would never know why he had disappeared.