Disclaimber: I do not own Alex Rider or NCIS

Alex sighed as his seatbelt clicked, he was finally doing it. He was leaving Britain for good, and he was not coming back because he knew the moment that he did MI6 would know about it and his freedom would end. He had always thought about leaving but he had never actually acted on the thought before his last mission where he met with a man who had the skills to give him a ID that would even fool MI6, or it would long enough for him to get out of the country.

Alex's POV

I was so tired of being used, and not being able to do anything in my life that MI6 didn't want me to. I had to cut off all of my relationships with the outside world which, sadly enough, was very easy. I had no family left and I had been kicked out of school one year ago, on my sixteenth birthday, also courtesy of MI6. My only friend left had been Tom and I refused to sever all ties between us. So of course they took care of that to, I was officially dead to everyone except for the heads of MI6 and a select few others who survived meeting me. They continued to use me and it was no surprise that earlier this year I had been diagnosed with PTSD. That didn't even slow them down, the day after the diagnoses I was back on another mission. That was the mission that I met the man that would make the ID.

I was now Adam John Barret, 18, with black hair and glasses, I had been studying abroad in France since my first year in high school and I was just now returning after finishing college early with a degree in mathematics and computer science . My mom, dad, and sister, who I has purposely named Jack after Jack my housekeeper, had all been killed in a car crash one month before I went to study abroad, and that also explained the scars that were covering my body, although it did not explain all of them like my bullet wounds (I had been shot two more times since my first incident with the sniper, once in the shoulder and once in the thigh right above my knee) and the small circular burns that were given to me when I was captured on a mission and tortured viciously for information, along with some other scars that if you looked close enough you could tell that they were not from a car crash but I was not planning on letting anyone look close enough to notice.

I was now sitting on a plane that was going to Washington D.C, where I would start my new life away from MI6