A/N: Hello everyone! It's me again, back with an edited version of AWOL. Updates will be SLOW.

I decided to post this here because some of you aren't comfortable with Wattpad, and that's okay! I would prefer you guys to go on Wattpad if you do feel comfortable with it, mainly because I really like it over there (sorry... lol). The inline comment feature is my personal favorite, along with the cool covers, the voting, and the "conversation" tab of my profile page to send you updates. I'm a lot more active over there, and you can check out my original works, as well as all my favorite stories that aren't fanfics. Anyway, if you're over there, stars and comments are my food!

I'm most likely going to post on Wattpad and forget to post here, sooooo if you want the benefit of that... YEP OKAY JUST SAYIN (*WINK*)

One last thing: Should this be rated "M" or "T"? I rated the unedited version T, but I realized that there is a lot of cursing, especially in the first couple chapters.

The first chapter is very similar to the unedited version, so please bear with me. Enjoy!

AWOL 01

Through his whole twenty-two fake years of living, he had never experienced anything as painful as SAS selection. His taunt, tortured muscles burned over an invisible flame with every movement he made. The balls of his feet, which were so used to carrying his weight, throbbed at the thought of stopping for one brief moment.

He had been captured plenty of times in his past—being a soldier was a tough job, after all—and had been tortured mentally and physically, but it seemed trivial to what he was going through now.

He was being hunted. He had been the hunted for quite some while now. Weaving stealthily through barren trees, he was careful not to leave any tracks behind. He knew that he was going against seasoned SAS soldiers, some specially trained in tracking down the enemy. But he had been trained too: trained not to leave a trace. Trained not to make a mistake.

The Sergeant had been impressed with him the moment he had walked into the training grounds. His age was a factor for doubt, as he was younger than most of the recruits, but the doubts of his superiors melted away once Selection began. He was the fastest. He lasted the longest. He never missed his mark. He knew he would make it in, but it didn't stop his adrenaline from rushing through his veins as he ran through the trees in his thick, navy blue trench coat. The lapels and the shoulders of the coat were soaked through, and the coat didn't provide the warmth that it was supposed to.

Snap!

He cursed under his breath when he heard the soldiers' boots, crunching against the frosty earth. They were close.

He ran, faster than he thought he could, but just as silent.

Cold air nipped at his face. His ears were numb from the cold, and his the feeling in his fingers were about to go too.

A small pack of supplies pressed against his rib cage as he ran, the items making little noises as he ran. He wished he could dump the items, but he needed the supplies if he was going to survive another day.

"I see him!"

His heart beat faster as he heard the cry.

Three days. He had lasted almost the whole length of the three days that were given to him. Damn it, he was not going to spend more time in Tactical Questioning than he needed.

Keep running.

His primary goal was to get away from the hunters. Fumbling with his supply pack as he ran, he reached for the map that pointed him towards his reporting location. He had to last one more hour before reporting there, where he knew he would be hauled away and questioned for a grueling twenty-four hours, despite what the Sergeant had said three days ago.

"Just shoot him with a fucking dart already!"

The snarl was accompanied by an ominous whiz!

He ducked into a roll as he heard the dart. Without stopping, he continued running, barely registering how close the dart had come to his neck. By now, he had abandoned all effort to remain silent. They knew where he was.

"What the fuck? Shoot again!"

Whiz!

He veered sharply to the right when he heard the dart whistling through the dry air. He was beginning to pant, and white puffs of air escaped his mouth. Even as his muscles burned and his feet screamed in protest, he knew he couldn't stop. There had to be a point where the others had to give up. They couldn't keep chasing him forever.

Whiz!

"Shite," he mumbled, feeling the needle pierce his skin, right through the vintage World War Two coat he had been given.

"Got him!" a cheerful voice said, laughing. His loud footsteps were slowing down until he was at a leisure walk. "Man, he was the best out of all of them. Loads of fun."

He was still running, but his vision was getting blurry. Brown bark blurred together with the white frost on the grass blades.

"Oomph!" He swore that the tree he had collided into hadn't been there a second before.

He lay on his back, his vision darkening. A figure leaned over him, and even with his hazy vision, he could make out the grin on his attacker's face. He tried raising his hand to punch the guy, but his body wouldn't obey him. Instead, he settled for a slurred, "I fuckin' hate soldiers," before he succumbed into darkness.

A*W*O*L

He jerked awake, his hands handcuffed uncomfortably above him. He had been stripped to only his pants. Horrified, he stared down at his chest, which was littered with scars—something that he never showed to anyone.

He sat there for ages, his arms pinned above him as he scanned the walls. He noted the camera implanted in the wall, the small bug right next to him, which he would have missed if it weren't for its extremely glossy finish, and the speakers above him. It was playing some sort of noise that grated his ears, but facing the real deal constantly made this seem like nothing.

He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. He might as well try to get some sleep. Staying awake meant nothing in this case, especially because he knew that breaking out (a feat that he could easily accomplish) would result in his failure to join the SAS.

BAM.

The door burst open. He didn't jolt, like a normal civilian, or even soldier, would. He just opened his eyes, gazing lazily at a straight-faced Sergeant and a female nurse, judging by her uniform.

It was obviously his time to be questioned.

He was uncuffed and dragged to another neighboring room where he was forced to stand to attention despite his trembling limbs. In front of him was a simple metal table with a single, thin folder.

"Damn," the Sergeant was eyeing his scars with fascination, circling him like a hawk narrowing in on its prey. The Sergeant halted in front of him, "You've been through a lot, I reckon."

He stood still, eyes never wavering from the Sergeant.

"What's your name, son?"

The friendly tone was a façade. He knew, and he had no choice but to answer with a hard, "I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question."

The friendly demeanor was dropped in a fraction of a second. The Sergeant was trying to derail his efforts, shouting, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I ASKED YOU A FUCKING QUESTION. ANSWER ME."

He was hiding a smile. Though he knew that this was all part of the Sergeant's tactics, he couldn't help but draw parallels to an overgrown toddler, screaming at him.

"ANSWER ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT. WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING NAME?"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question."

The Sergeant hit the table with a sharp yell of frustration. The Sergeant was trying to scare him, but it wasn't working.

The man seemed to realize this. He sighed, stalking towards the door and letting in two soldiers.

He knew what was going to happen. He was going to be stripped bare while the nurse sneered at him. He would stand there, unyielding, responding to everything with a short 'I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question'. Then, he would be thrown back into his prison. After a few hours of listening to the noises from the speaker, he would be screamed at again, but he wouldn't break.

He would never break.

A*W*O*L

"Trevor Lee: welcome to the Special Air Service. You'll now be known as Lynx."

The newly dubbed Lynx stood to attention in his new uniform with his new beret, standing in front of the Sergeant. They stood in front of the flag, right in the middle of the base. It was a familiar place, seeing as he had been there before, a couple years previous.

"Thank you, sir."

The Sergeant smiled, and unlike the smile granted to him the previous day, this one was genuine.

"I have to ask," the Sergeant paused in front of him, surveying Lynx. "How many times?"

Lynx stiffened, though he was sure the Sergeant didn't notice, "How many times what, sir?"

"How many times were you captured?" the Sergeant gave him a look that clearly said 'don't be stupid' and continued with a, "I'm not dumb, Lynx. I know torture marks when I see one."

Lynx gave the Sergeant an ironic smile, "I'm sorry, but I cannot answer that question."

He was sure that the Sergeant was going to seize him and demand answers, but instead, the man began laughing, choking out, "I knew I was right to pick you!"

Still chuckling, he stood and reached out a hand for Lynx to shake. The Sergeant gripped Lynx's hand, searching his face, "You are J-Unit's new sharpshooter. They're waiting for you in the hut. Dismissed."

Lynx saluted and left, leaving the Sergeant to award the next soldier with a beret. He headed to the hut labeled "J-Unit". Sucking in a long breath, he paused on the steps, rolling his shoulders back and cracking his neck.

Seventeen year old Alex Rider was gone. Twenty-two year old Trevor Lee's life had just begun.