Prelude

He'd really done it now, he thought, curled up in the back seat of the ostentatious government-owned Hummer. He'd been drifting in and out of sleep throughout the entire journey from London, watching as the weather changed to reflect his mood the further West they went. The soft thrum of the overly powerful vehicle's engine lulled him into a state between consciousness and not as he regarded the outside world from his protective ball. He registered his chauffeur – a government agent, obviously – eyeing him up every now and then surreptitiously, as well as the armed guard squeezed into the car. The SAS soldiers looked almost comical in their full army fatigues and semi-automatic rifles positioned on their laps, and Alex felt no small surge of bitterness towards MI6 who had only seen fit to provide him with this level of protection after it had been proven that he had powerful enemies. While Alex was glad for the protection, he was angered that the proof had needed to come in the form of Jack.

His greatest fear had been that people would take advantage of his bonds with the people closest to him, so he'd quietly and systematically pushed away all of his friends from school – even the tenuous friendship he had maintained with Tom over the years broke down from the strain, something he was both pleased and sad about. Jack had been his only true friend, and one he could not get rid of considering her connection to him. However, Jack's friendship was something he had never wanted to purge himself of, an emotional attachment that was eventually, in his opinion, selfish and short sighted. It was too late now.

Jack hadn't woken up since that day. The fire had spread through the house at an alarming rate, and despite his attempts to save her she'd maintained 30 percent burns having been knocked out from smoke inhalation. She had been put in a medically induced coma, one that she hadn't surfaced from. A machine breathed for her now.

It had been then that MI6 had realised the danger to his life. Jack was as safe as she could be, and Alex's request that he be given more training was put into action before the day was out.

Since the attempt on his life only three days had passed, yet he regarded it with a cold detachment, revisiting his memories with all the professionalism of a soldier being de-briefed. It wasn't healthy, but it was a coping mechanism, and MI6 seemed to have a somewhat lax approach regarding his mental health anyway. They obviously weren't expecting him to live to an age at which his past experiences could catch up with him. He couldn't blame them – he knew just as well as they did that he was only alive now due to a mixture of his fortitude and luck.

He'd only been in the car about 3 hours, although it had seemed much longer to him through the haze of sleep, when the armoured car trundled to a stop, uneven in the mud that constantly pervaded the camp at Brecon Beacons. His SAS guard jumped out of the car to start unloading the boot and the agent in the front seat surveyed the surroundings with a mixture of contempt and pity.

"I don't know what you did to deserve this, kid," he remarked lightly, "but good luck. You're going to need it here."

Alex nodded, confused. Hadn't MI6 told anyone what he was doing at the Beacons? Oh, right, he thought. Classified. Just like everything else in his life. With that, he opened the door. The soldiers accompanying him were cordial, if quiet, as they handed him his pack. He assumed they'd been told just as much as the agent regarding his situation. They told him that a short walk of about six miles was still required to get into the camp proper, and with that Alex left behind the civilised world.

My first Alex Rider fanfic, guys. Tell me what I'm doing right/wrong? Encouragement is nice, but so is constructive criticism. I hope you all enjoy it.