Hi everyone! I know its been forever since I wrote. I apologize but like with everyone else life caught up with me and I have been kept very busy. I am glad to be able to get this story out for Christmas and I hope all you readers enjoy it.

As for Owned and my other stories they are currently kept on Hiatus until I have more time.

His footsteps where an unnatural rhythm as he rushed through the empty corridors turning corner after corner. It was exhaustion that finally slowed him; exhaustion both mentally and physically. A trail of blood followed him like a faithful dog, every step of the way he took. All was not his, some was of the peoples whose life he had just taken, and some though was from the many cuts and bullet wounds and any other injury he had sustained. Injuries both new and old given to him by the people whom after so long he had finally been able to kill. Just now to be stopped by the maze of a building he had been condemned in. He wasn't sure where he was, he just continued turning corners after corners never reaching an end or exit.

It must have been hours now since his escape, hours ago since he took the first man's life and many hours since that he continued his killing. He had been unrelentless; killing one after the other. How many had it been? 10? 50? 100? He was not sure, it had all happened so fast and then nothing. They where all dead now, the people who had spent so many months torturing him, humiliating him and breaking him.

Now only the pain remained, to remind him of every step of the way what he had become, what he had been through; the torture, the betrayal. Why had it surprised him when MI6 sold him out? Why had it hurt him, when death would not come to him, but to everyone else; Tom, Jack, James, some random stranger he knew not. Why could they die and not him?

He sagged, his body finally giving up, and he collapsed uselessly against the wall. Sinking down in a heap on the ground, he was a big mess of blood and ragged clothes. He knew he was dying and for once he was not afraid of it. For a fleeting moment he wondered what he must look like, his brown eyes so dead and empty, a face so completely emotionless it might have been carved in stoned, if not for the many scares that littered it, showing a history of pain, sadness and fear. He couldn't remember what he once had looked like all those years ago, at thirteen he had felt so invisible, so carefree. He knew that was what he had felt, but he could not remember what that feeling had felt like. The only thing he felt now was tired.

His hand loosened the hold on the gun he had been clutching in his hand, letting it now fall uselessly to the floor. His head raising to look straight forward, too tired to do anything else. And his eyes, which had been empty for so long gained a small since of humanity as they widened slightly at the sight in front of them.

"Snow." Alex whispered in amazement.

He watched the big window in front of him as the snow outside fell lightly covering the world in a blanket of diamonds.

He could hear it now. Now that everything was silent. He could hear the distant Christmas bells ringing.

The brown eyes continued to just stare out the window, watching the snow. Then with slow painful movements his hand found the gun taking its familiar grip and raising his arm. Barely able to raise his arm high enough for what it was needed for before he pulled the trigger and let his hand drop usulessly back to the ground.

The crack of the gun and the crack of the window breaking echoed throughout the complex. But no one would hear it for everyone who had once occupied the building were now dead.

Fresh cold air rushed in, seeping its cold into every corner. But Alex seemed to feel none of this as his eyes softened and a small upturn of his lip was the only indication of a smile forming.

He sat there breathing the fresh air. How long had it been? How long since he had seen the outside world? How long since he had gazed at the sky? Which had now turning dark blue as the sun set and the world was getting ready for night. How long had it been since he had breathed fresh air? Had it been days? Months? Or was it now years?

His eyes slowly lost their life as he sat there alone with the cold winter winds blowing in through the broken window and the music of the Christmas bells still chiming.

"Merry Christmas Jack." He whispered as his breath stuttered to a halt.

Merry Christmas…

And no Alex did not kill himself he simply shot the window to feel the fresh air. He died from injuries. I hope you all enjoyed.

-Tsubasa-