A/N: The events take place within a period of a couple months. Alex DOES NOT do it all in a single week. Now that would be an exaggeration, and as wonderful as Alex is, I don't believe he could do all that in seven days. The days of the week are there mostly to enhance the delivery of the plot. There's a John-working-for-Scorpia AU buried in there too.
Title: Double Agent
Summary: On Monday, Alex saves the world from an insane multibillionaire. On Tuesday, Alex assassinates the head of a corporation. On Wednesday, Alex reports to MI6. On Thursday, Alex pays a visit to Scorpia. Does anyone truly know who Alex Rider is?
Rating: T
Characters/Pairing(s): Alex, OMCs
Warning(s): Brief mention of child prostitution and murder of an underage OC
Words: ~1700
Disclaimer: All property pertaining to AR belongs to Anthony Horowitz
"There are only two sides to this question. Every man must be for his country or against it. There can be no neutrals in this war; only patriots and traitors." -Stephen Douglas
I. Monday
On Monday, Alex saves the world from an insane multibillionaire.
Simone Flaken is a small man with a bad comb over, impeccable hygiene, and a sense of humour that has gone sour. He, like every villain that Alex saves the world from, is rolling in money. He had gotten mixed up in a terrible accident in Berlin and decided that the world must pay.
Enter one Agent Alex Rider.
Disguised as a worker's son, he creeps through enemy territory and performs insane though amazing acts of espionage. He quietly gathers intelligence while knocking out the occasional man who gets in his way. In secret, he passes important information back to Britain via a crucifix 'round his neck. By the time Flaken realises what he is, it is too late, and he is already throwing a smoke grenade and getting the hell out of there.
Alex, true to his reputation, manages to blow up Flaken's biochemical plant, where the rich, rich man has been manufacturing a strange airborne disease with a long, impossible name. He parachutes out of the burning mansion and smashes into Flaken's limo, landing himself in the hospital and the billionaire six feet under the ground. He doesn't care about how much money was lost in the ensuring chaos. He just thanks his lucky stars that he's still alive.
On Monday, Alex Rider works for MI6.
-AR-
II. Tuesday
On Tuesday, Alex assassinates the president of an international corporation.
Known to him as only "the Target," he does not feel very sorry to kill the mean old bastard. Unbeknownst to most people, the man is secretly manufacturing a new drug that will pollute the streets of every major country in the world. A mysterious person wants him dead. A mysterious person is paying for someone to kill him. That someone is Alex Rider.
Hours after receiving his newest assignment, the blond teenager is lying in wait, hidden by the dense foliage of the trees around him. Because honestly, who builds an industrial unit in the Welsh forest? He balances a beautifully made rifle on his lap, sitting completely still. Waiting.
A few minutes later, the Target walks out accompanied by a guard. The two men exchange words. Mere meters away, the boy springs silently to his feet, rifle lifted to his shoulder. His precision is chilling. He aims for the heart. There is no hesitation present; he pulls the trigger. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knows that the shot is perfect, even as the bullet slices through the air. He is gone before the Target's body hits the ground.
Shouting follows, pandemonium ensures. But he knows that he is safe. They have not seen him; they do not know to look for a teenager carrying a golf kit emblazoned with a silver scorpion. Alex reaches into his pocket and pulls out his flight ticket back to Italy.
On Tuesday, Alex Rider works for Scorpia.
-AR-
III. Wednesday
On Wednesday, Alex neutralises a three kilogram plutonium bomb primed to destroy Europe.
The man whom he accidentally kills is a merciless African brute by the name of Allen Peggar. Peggar is, quite frankly, a telephone pole. Upright, he stands over six feet tall and enjoys staring down his unpleasantly hooked nose at his workers. It is in the heart of his factory that the workers comb over the plutonium metal, working out how to create a nuclear fission reaction. The men and women he pays know how to keep quiet; their work must stay top secret. They do not meddle in Peggar's business; they Do Not Ask Questions.
Alex asks questions.
Thus, he is not overly shocked when Peggar tries to feed him to his pet rhinoceros. The fact that rhinos seldom, if ever, eat people is of little concern to the man; he simply assumes that the enraged animal will skewer the boy. What the creature does with the body afterwards is none of his business.
To no one's surprise, Alex escapes by digging himself out of the pen in true Alex Rider style, despite being underground. He then goes on to set fire – he has grown a fondness for fire – to the factory. No one sees how he leaves the immediate area, nor does anyone know how Peggar mysteriously disappears. After the incident passes, several eyewitnesses claim that they saw the teen espionage champion break into Peggar's private study and threaten him with a Russian pistol, though the details vary. MI6, as usual, clamp their mouths shut and hush the press.
On Wednesday, Alex Rider works for his country.
-AR-
IV. Thursday
On Thursday, Alex murders a Belgian prostitute in the most embarrassing way possible.
He doesn't mean to see. He really doesn't. All he is focusing on as he climbs the stairs is the cool feel of metal against his ribs, the hidden gun his only lifeline. He puts his hand inside his vest as he comes to the top and kicks open the door and –
Oh God it is awful.
He isn't sure which is more frightening – the lewd, questionable acts he is seeing performed right in front of his eyes, or the fact that a tiny part of his brain is actually registering it with some degree of pleasure. But the rest of him, the sane part of him, quickly stomps on that notion. He curses his hesitation as he brings around his gun.
He is just aware of thighs and moans in a windowless room, and then the bullet is lodged in the target's back; he's falling over, already dead with a shard of metal in his heart. The prostitute yells. Alex shudders as he realises, to his horror, that it's a child. Not an adult. A child, a teenager. Skinny and dirty and probably no older than Alex himself.
Alex is sixteen. He knows these things happen. But the shock of it still startles him, until he snaps to his senses and places a bullet between the prostitute's eyes. No witnesses.
Alex shudders again. He is glad he is being paid a thousand pounds. With such a high risk of mental scarring, every damn shilling is worth it.
On Thursday, Alex Rider works for the money.
-AR-
V. Friday
On Friday, Alex uncovers a ruthless plot to dominate the world.
Brian Lee is a small Asian man with thick spectacles and bad teeth. Though he is filthy rich, his money does little for his appearance. In fact, Alex is pretty sure that Lee is one of the most ugly people he has ever had the displeasure of meeting. As if to prove that he is as ugly inside as out, Lee attempts to simultaneously drown and boil Alex at their first meeting.
It is bloody annoying climbing out of the industrial-size tank.
After escaping, the young spy sets fire – yet again – to the enemy's favourite Persian rugs, though he fails to burn down the entire Scottish mansion as was his plan. Regardless, he succeeds in pissing off the man beyond belief, which only serves to encourage his outrageous behaviour.
As he is making a run for it, Alex discovers the heavy depressants that Lee plans on injecting in every child in the world. The drugs will bring the future generations entirely under his control.
Why is Alex not surprised?
He breaks out of his seaside prison and calls for backup from MI6 who are, as usual, late. In desperation, he launches himself off a cliff and crashes onto Lee's sailing boat, in which the aforementioned man is trying to sneak away. Alex slams a scuba tank into the crevice between the man's legs, and though Lee is mauve with pain and unable to breathe, he manages to knock Alex out in the most painful way possible.
When he comes to, the blond is buried under a heap of bandages with the thanks of the prime minister ringing in his ears.
On Friday, Alex Rider works for the world.
-AR-
VI. Saturday
On Saturday, Alex sneaks an explosive onto a plane.
The metal is dense and, hidden in his rucksack, pulls unpleasantly at his back as the straps dig into his shoulders. He doesn't complain as he treks forlornly through the Amazon, blindly fighting his way through quicksand and snakes and black widow spiders. His German-built pistol is smooth and comforting against his leg.
The Target is boarding his plane when Alex comes upon him, and the teenager wastes no time in setting off a hand grenade disguised as a medallion. The guards are instantly distracted. The rest is too easy.
Just as he finishes his job, the Target sees him. He sees the man open his mouth and call out. But he doesn't look back – he bolts away, sneakers slapping against ferns as he runs. He is horribly aware that this is the very same spot his father saved Yassen Gregorovich's life. It is the same place, deep in the Amazon, with a different target and a different assassin.
The Target mumbles something and turns away, disgruntled. Alex doubles back and double checks his handy work. The bomb is secured on the bottom of the plane, already counting down the milliseconds.
His work here is done. He knows Scorpia would be proud. He knows John Rider would be proud.
On Saturday, Alex Rider works for his father.
-AR-
VII. Sunday
On Sunday, Alex helps himself to good ol' tea and biscuits.
It's on the nine o'clock news. The Royal and General Bank went up in flames less than two hours ago. No casualties were reported. The person who had set fire to the building hadn't seemed malicious. The head of the bank was not available for questioning.
Simultaneously in Italy, a raging fire that started two hours ago had destroyed one of the oldest museums in Venice. The fire had started seemingly out of the blue. Again, no casualties were reported. No one had been near the building when it caught flame. It was mentioned that the museum was owned by one Mrs. Julia Rothman, who died two years ago.
Sitting on his couch, the blond smiles. He's holding a satellite remote, connected to two expertly hidden fuses stashed in London and Venice.
On Sunday, Alex Rider works for himself.