Disclaimer: Anything and everything recognizable from the books...is mine. NOT. That stuff belongs to Anthony Horowitz. Jeez I wish it belonged to me.

Warning: There will be violence, language, and graphic . Hopefully nothing too graphic though. No torture. No slash. Yeah.

This is my first fanfic. Like, my virgin fanfic. I started it but I kind of left it, I didn't finish. I got maybe 1000 words in before I went to write Doing Nothing. Behold, I am coming back to it. I left it to write Doing Nothing—my 1st finished, published Fiction.

Chapter 1

Ben Daniels looked at Yassen Gregorovich and nearly shivered at the cold, heartless eyes of the assassin, whom was once thought to be dead.

After months of hard work, Ben was trusted. Or at least as trusting as Gregorovich would get. It had taken a near-sacrifice and the murders of others by his hand to finally ease the constant suspicions of Gregorovich and to get him to even begin accepting Ben, but Ben knew that he would never be fully trusted.

Now was almost the time to act. Gregorovich was planning the assassination of a potentially revolutionizing guest speaker. "Inform Campbell and Azarov that the plane will leave early tomorrow morning." Ben nodded and turned to walk silently out the door. He felt the assassin's eyes bore into his back until he closed the door behind him, allowing his breath to whoosh out in a releasing of his own nervous tension. Immediately Ben started cursing himself in his head.

Did he feel tenser than before other jobs? Yes, definitely, and that was what worried him. Gregorovich was a master assassin; trained to pick up on the little details, to notice things, and to hide things—his reactions, suspicions, fears. Working with one of the top assassins in the world was nerve-wracking. Any second he could decide you'd outlived your usefulness or something.

Entering the sitting room, he rested his eyes on Yaromir Azarov, who was carefully cleaning his preferred gun with practiced hands. Truthfully, if Azarov wasn't an assassin, Ben would have liked the Russian. Assassins don't make friends, he thought. Azarov had humor and emotions. At least that was how it seemed. He was an old pro, who was content being told what jobs to do and had done much in his younger years. He was soon to be retired, and Ben suspected he had even earned Gregorovich's respect somehow. He supposed it was his knack for staying alive. There were few assassins who lived to a ripened age. Azarov was careful and appeared leery of strangers, but had taken a… sort of liking to Ben.

A few times when Ben had slipped with his own emotions, Azarov had covered for him with his own humor and opinions. Afterwards, he would look at Ben with something indecipherable in his hard brown eyes. It was those glances that let Ben know Azarov had his back for some unknown reason. It made him feel a tad guilty that he might have to put a bullet in the old guy one day.

Now Campbell… he was young, about 21 or 22. Younger than Ben. He had been hired along with Azarov. Unlike Azarov, he had startling blue eyes of ice. Crazy eyes to match his crazy personality. He wasn't particularly muscled or strong. He was good with his explosives, the only reason Gregorovich had accepted him or at least tolerated him. That and his hatred of the government. Why he hated it so much was lost on Ben, maybe a past experience or grudge. Campbell wasn't going to last. His mind was sick and it wouldn't be long before his boss would tire and put a bullet in his head—Campbell was a pain in the ass and always found ways to push everyone's buttons.

Ben crossed over to behind the recliner and Azarov looked up from his work. "We leave for the business trip tomorrow morning." Azarov nodded and proceeded in his work. Campbell glared up at him from sofa where he was sorting ingredients for his homemade explosives. He muttered and glared but returned to his work. The only time he was sane it seemed, was when he was making bombs. Even then, he had a crazy air of fervency to his movements.

The next day, the team convened at the park of their target's city. The plane ride had gone smoothly and their weapons were safely concealed in their lead-lined suitcases (A/N). They had traveled separately to lessen the chances of getting caught. And if one got caught, the rest would continue with the mission. Once they found each other at the park, they continued on to a local safe house to go over the plan.

Ben would keep surveillance for any suspicious activity on the ground. Campbell would rig the target's car for the possibility of his escape, however slim. Azarov would 'befriend' the target by playing the old man card; who would suspect a seemingly-frail old fart? He could act well. When he put on his act, you would never suspect a strong, capable assassin. Gregorovich would wait behind a door while Azarov led the target past. He would jump out and incapacitate him. He would question him, and then he would kill him.

Oh, this was not going well. It was getting too far along. Alex wanted to groan in frustration at the incompetence. He was going in undercover as one of the audience. Evidently the crazy guy of Yassen's had some explosives on him that were unstable and something had caused them to explode. The result was… grotesque, to say the least. He allowed his eyes to rest briefly on the red showered on the floor and walls and several people. Now everyone was in a panic.

Alex pushed against the flow of people and spotted Yassen duck through a door going after Azarov and the target. He cursed as someone, who was gigantic, thank-you-very-much, knocked him to the ground. Someone stepped on his hand, ouch. He then felt a strong hand on his shoulder pull him up.

It was Ben.

"Alex, what are you doing here?" He looked at this dark-haired boy in disguise with a sinking feeling. "They pulled you in. Why? We've got this handled."

Alex laughed. "No offense, but does this look handled to you? And we've got reason to believe that there is a traitor in our ranks. I am here just to suss them out so they don't blow the whole operation. Now, only you know I am here, and the target is in danger so let's go save his ass." Without a backwards glance, Alex moved off in the direction door he saw Yassen disappear through. The door opened to a hall. At the end of the hall, it split off into two directions, so he and Ben split up. Time was of the essence.

Most of the civilians were cleared out now and several SAS teams entered, some with guns at the ready and others helping a few lagging people. Yassen evidently had called backup. Prearranged—he apparently didn't fully trust his team to get the job done, and he was right. Campbell had blown it. He knew that his plan would somehow be discovered, so unbeknownst to the others of his group, he had gathered his own small army to distract any authorities while he got the job done. And now, dozens of black-clad villains flooded the area, attacking the SAS, who retaliated. The floor turned slick with blood.

Alex came to a half-closed door and peered in. There was Yassen and his target. The unfortunate man was sat in a chair, and Yassen was yielding a rather large, serrated knife that was already covered in blood. Alex nearly sighed in relief to see that the scared man was well but for a few shallow cuts and bruises.

He silently pushed open the door. "Yassen." Alex's voice was soft, with a cold undercurrent. "Let the man go." He raised his gun and trained it on the lithe body of the assassin. The man turned to stare at Alex. And smiled. Huh. Creeepy.

"Ah, little Alex. What brings you here?" For a brief second, his countenance morphed into something akin to amusement before effortlessly resuming the cold stare of a deadly assassin.

"I think you'll find that this is what I do, Yassen."

"Yes, of course. You work for MI6, no? But I recently heard it was as an unwilling employee." He trained a smile on his lips. "What do they use?"

"I fail to see how it concerns you. Put the knife down."

Shrugging, the assassin casually tossed the knife so it landed well out of his reach. "You could join me. I had hoped you would never tolerate working with the people who murdered your father. We would appreciate you and care for you."

"Who is 'we'? Last I checked most of Scorpia was in the ground."

Yassen appeared to look slightly annoyed by that fact. "Yes. I heard about your clash with my old employers. However I have built my own organization. It is small and appreciates those in it."

"Still, no thank you."

Yassen's face quickly morphed into an oily, persuasive mask, and his voice was like heavy silk. "Alex, you would no longer be forced into missions, we would take care of your loved ones, you could live a normal life—and be free of MI6." He took a small step forward.

Alex looked at him blankly, betraying none of the pain and longing he felt. A life spent free, able to live in peace. "I couldn't do that. I'm in too deep, and I've become addicted to the rush of adrenaline and action. I would go stir crazy just sitting around, leading a normal life. I have accepted the facts."

"Then work for us, for me, Alex. You would no longer be a puppet to be thrown whichever way MI6 pleases, the members of my organization are appreciated, those who have rightfully earned anyway—and you would have no trouble—"

"Yassen!" Alex raised his voice in a frustrated manner. "You are an assassin, a terrorist, you and your organization will go around and use methods," he spat the word in disgust. "To get what you want, or to dominate the world, or whatever other shit you want to do. This is not about what I want for myself. This is about the thousands, millions, of other people out there that would have died if not for me stopping people like Sayle, Dr. Grief, General Sarov, Damian Cray, Rothman…ya get the picture?" Alex's voice steadily flowed into the 'sarcastic-and-exasperated' range. "Hell, children were the primary targets of a few of these psychos. Harod Sayle wanted to kill a bunch of goddamn school children just to get revenge on the Prime Minister because he was bullied by him as a kid! What a dick! We've all got pain to live with. I may have been reluctant, but in the end I understood. Oh, I still dislike Blunt with a passion, and I will never forgive him, but I understand." Alex broke the word into three separate, quietly spoken syllables. "What choice do I have? I would never be able to live with myself if I let so many people die because I sat by and did nothing."

Alex stopped and glared at Yassen. "No," he said quietly. "I just couldn't do it. I couldn't work for you, and I would appreciate it if you would let the man go."

During Alex's rant, Yassen stared at him with a mild look of amusement. And, if anyone was present who knew the assassin, truly knew him, they would have been able to discern the slightest look of pity and sorrow. Yassen stared at Alex before he raised his hands reassuringly, and reached behind the chair, untying his target. The target quickly shot out of the chair and was out of the room in a flash. Alex inwardly sighed and hoped MI6 found him before Yassen's men.

Somehow, Yassen seemed to know what Alex was thinking. "Oh, little Alex. Do not worry about him. He was never in any real danger." Yassen smirked lightly as Alex tensed. "Golov." Alex half-turned to see a ginormous, heavily muscled, scowling man enter the room through the door. He acted as a great door himself.

"Who's Grumps here?" Alex demanded, backing up to keep both in his sight. Yassen didn't even grace him with an answer, just raised a single eyebrow. Without taking his eyes off Alex, he informed Golov that he was no longer required to wait here. "Tell the others that Plan B is in operation. I may as well make some use of this little visit. Goodbye, little Alex." Before Alex could remember his gun, Yassen disappeared behind a door that was hidden from Alex's view. Always have an escape route.

Alex cursed and went to find Ben to update him.

In the auditorium, chaos ensued. Alex looked on worriedly. He had to find a way to stop this, to greatly weaken the enemy somehow. He had to find Yassen Gregorovich.

But first: update Ben. Alex spotted him slipping through a backdoor. Cursing, Alex scrambled out of the way of two men engaged in hand-to-hand combat, and went after him. Once through the door, Ben was easy enough to find. He was mumbling and shuffling around some papers spread on the floor.

Ben stiffened when Alex cleared his throat, letting him know that he was there. It would not be fun to startle a spy hopped up on adrenaline. "Ben," Alex informed quietly. "Gregorovich isn't here for the guest speaker, he was here for me, to convince me to join him. When that plan didn't pan out, he initiated a back-up plan. I still don't know what it is though."

Ben turned from his search to look at Alex. His face was tense, and his eyes held a trace of fear. "Alex. I didn't find Gregorovich on my hall, but by the time I got to yours, you were all cleared out. The guest speaker is fine. A couple of our agents managed to pick him up. I was informed by HQ to look for some plans." Here he grabbed a few of the wrinkled papers and held them up for Alex, who took one to study. "This is most probably what he would want. Alex, these….these, in the wrong hands could do damage! The flash drive containing the digital copies of these files is missing!"

Alex looked at the files which lay open on the floor. "What are these?"

"Various projects and plans. One is of a skeleton key essentially to open any lock. There's a bunch of tech blueprints; here's a bulletproof vest that absorbs the shock completely. There's another guest that was going to present his research on genetic modification to the Board. Research on regrowing limbs, superhealing, strength increase, speed increase, things like that.

The speaker was going to present the vest. The key was going to be presented to the Board afterwards. Everything in these files is on the flash drive."

"If Scorpia gets a hold of these, they would monopolize the products. The government would get zip and criminal organizations; Gregorovich's would especially benefit." Alex studied the plans in his hand with a troubled expression. "Ben, these genetic modifications could be used as a weapon, making assassins genetically altered, giving them a huge advantage. Who knows what they could branch off of this baseline."

Leaning back, Alex took a calming breath and regained the professionalism of a trained spy. "Now that we know what he is after, we need to do everything we can to stop him. The prototype of the vest is here somewhere. We need to prevent him from getting it, but foremost we need to regain possession of the flash drive."

"The key is here too." Ben inserted. "The speaker was planning on giving a demonstration to some representatives of the government. It would be here."

"Okay, we'll have to split and cover as much ground as we can. Find the prototypes before they do, but if they already found them, obtain them through any means necessary. Who knows where the prototypes have gotten to in all this chaos."

The auditorium was the center of the building. Alex could hear the sounds of combat just behind the door in front of him. Cracking the door, he planned his route to the other side. He would take the least dense route, weaving, and rolling with the punches.

Alex was just about to make a dash for it when he spotted Yassen. Before he could lose him, Alex made a beeline towards him, planning on a confrontation. Before he could reach him, one of the larger balaclava-clad men intercepted him, perhaps recognizing him as Alex Rider.

Everything about this man screamed lethal. His eyes were cold and black, but smirked as he cut Alex's path off and engaged in combat. He moved with a grace that seemed improbable for a man of his size, movements flowing easily from step to step, obviously a master of martial arts. He carried himself with an air of experience and confidence, and Alex knew that this was an ex-Scorpia assassin.

Alex ducked, blocked, side-stepped, twisted, and retaliated. Power resonated in every blow, and he was swift in his blocks. Alex used his small stature to his best advantage, working to gain the upper hand. Once again, Lady Luck saved Alex. A black-clad assassin from another battle stumbled back onto the floor behind Alex's own opponent. The assassin tripped over his fallen comrade and Alex dove for the chance, quickly hitting a pressure point and knocking him out.

What Alex failed to notice was a lean, balaclava-clad man sneaking up behind him.

When the assassin wrapped his arm around his throat, Alex reflexively reached up to claw at it, twisting, exposing his belly. He jerked as something slid into him. A fiery pain erupted in his center, spreading through his chest and stomach and up his back.

The last thing he saw as time slowed down and his world dimmed was the blond-haired, lithe figure of an assassin aiming his gun at him. A shot rang out and he saw nothing as he tumbled down to the ground and the dark abyss crept, oozed up to meet him, the ringing in his ears fending off every other sound.

Please, please, please. Any tips would be welcome. What did you like? What was kind of iffy? Etc. I am still working on my writing, and feedback would be awesome. If there are any spelling mistakes or anything like that, please let me know.

Please R&R.

~ryddance