So this is Rockshire High School.

Alex stood on the school campus, having just been dropped off by his 'mother.' It looked like an ordinary school to him. In fact, it looked a lot like his old school.

A deep pang struck him.

He would never see his friends again. He could never go back to his old school, and pretend that he was just another, normal boy. It was impossible now.

Slowly, he started forward, forcing his thoughts to go away. Forcing his mind to empty, to become blank. If he thought too much, he'd -

Those eyes, so glassy and wide, the horror, that neat hole -

No! Stop it, Alex, just stop it! Don't think!

For a moment, he nearly stumbled, but quickly regained his footing, and continued on. His face became an unreadable mask, as Alex 'Grohier,' a transfer student from Paris, stepped inside Rockshire High.

ararara

The secretary was a plump, overbearing woman. She meant well, he knew, but it was. . .a bit too much. Too much perfume, too much make-up, too much niceness.

He waited quietly as she checked through his papers, and entered his information into the computer. She checked, and rechecked everything, taking her time. Alex was left to stand there, breathing through his mouth in attempt to hold back the overwhelming smell of her flowery perfume. It permeated throughout the entire room – he'd even smelled it in the hall outside the office.

Finally, she printed something out, and delicately held the paper in an outstretched hand. "There you go, Awex," she boomed out, her voice loud, with a slight lisp. "That is your schedule, so don't lose it, awight?"

He took the paper from her without even looking at it. He already knew where everything was, having already memorized the setup of the entire school.

"Now if you'll just wait, someone will be along to show you awound, Awex. Awight?"

He nodded once. Then silently moved over to a plastic chair along the wall, and eased himself down. For the next four minutes, he sat stiffly, as still as a stone. His mind empty, his expression blank. He closed his eyes, fighting to keep the flood of thoughts from coming.

If he could just manage to . . .not think, then he'd be all right.

"There you are, Cindy!" The secretary's booming voice shattered the silence of the office. "He's just wight there! Awight?"

Alex opened his eyes to see a slender redhead standing in front of him. Her hair was in two short braids, making her look like a young child instead of a teenager. She stared at him boldly for a moment, then put her hands on her hips.

"Are you really from Paris?"

Alex blinked, then nodded. "Yes."

"Then say something in French."

"Why?"

"Because."

Alex sighed, then got to his feet. Why was everyone he met today so annoying? "I don't feel like it." Why couldn't he just go to class and get this whole ordeal over with?

"You don't sound French," she said accusingly. "Your English is too good – there's no accent!"

His head was starting hurt. "Can we just go to my classroom?"

She huffed, and pushed past him to lead the way. Alex followed after her, wearily rubbing his now-aching head. This was going to be a long day.

arararara

"What are you going to do?"

Alan Blunt frowned slightly as he heard the question. It was a perfectly good question, understandable, even expected, under the circumstances. It was just the issue which the inquiry was directed at.

He worked his tongue around the peppermint in his mouth, as if the exercise would help him think better. It didn't, really. He wasn't even sure why he kept popping the sweets into his mouth; he didn't even enjoy them. They tasted. . .bitter.

Ah, yes. What was he going to do? He eyed the impeccably dressed gentleman sitting across from him. The man was in his late thirties, with serious brown eyes that were as worn and weary as the Great Pyramid itself.

"It's under control," Alan Blunt said finally. "I've got him under observation for the time being, and the plan is being carried out."

"Yes, yes, I understand all of that," the man returned. "But what if it doesn't work? You're going to have to make the decision, sooner or later. Sooner is better than later," he added.

"I'm quite sure it will work," Blunt's frown deepened. It was almost as if he didn't believe his own words. "If not, I'm readying another plan. One with more. . .firepower."

The man looked at him. Then, "Very well. If your. . .plans fail, then I will step in. And I will not hesitate, Mr. Blunt. We cannot allow Alex Rider to continue what he is doing. In any way, we must stop him."

The man's gaze became a hard, warning stare. Alan Blunt wondered if the situation was as serious as the man made it out to be. Then again, he wasn't a part of that, so he really would have no idea. In any case, he had no interest in being a part the man's business.

However, he felt that it was very important that he kept Alex Rider from truly becoming that man's business. He waited until the man got up and left, then sighed heavily.

Things were getting rather irritating. Perhaps another peppermint would help.

ararararar

Why?

Why couldn't I just be like them?

So clueless, so innocent, so carefree?

They don't know. They don't know what it's like. To see someone die. To see them take their last breath. To see them struggle so hard, just to survive, because they didn't want to give up their life, their life which had been stolen from them.

It changes a person.

Turns them into something else. Something without a heart. Something dead and empty.

So why?

Why couldn't I have been born into an ordinary family?

Why couldn't I have been an ordinary boy?

Please, tell me.

Why?

ararararar

Two days.

It's been two days since Alex started attending Rockshire. So far, he'd learned a few things. First, it was a completely normal school filled with generally happy teens who wanted nothing more than to live life.

Second, Stronson's son was a huge tennis player. He was called Ricard, and spent all of his spare time playing on one of the tennis courts that the school had. As a result, he was rather snobbish, had very few friends, and was somewhat difficult to approach. Alex had no idea how he was supposed to get close to this character.

And thirdly, although he was the vice-principal, Stronson himself was rarely around. Alex had no idea where the man spent his time. But if he wanted to find the man, he'd have to become friendly with Ricard.

Which wasn't something he was looking forward to.

Alex stuffed his hands into his pockets, and turned away from the tennis courts. He'd spent the last fifteen minutes watching Ricard play against some poor tennis club member, and he had to admit – the snob was pretty good.

But his father still has to die.

Alex clenched his fists. He made his mind empty. Then he continued on, walking back to the main school building.

Back to the mission. How would he earn Ricard's trust?

Through tennis, maybe? It was possible. Alex himself wasn't a bad player, although he wasn't the best, either. Perhaps he could offer to play a game with Ricard.

From what he had seen, though, he would most likely lose. And then Ricard would probably smirk and sneer, and be his snobby self, feeling all superior, etc. No, what Alex had to do, was somehow catch Ricard's interest.

Make the game more interesting. More than just a game.

Alex's mind started turning gears. And he almost smiled as he thought up a few ideas. Almost smiled, before he remembered.

His father still has to die.