The rest of the day was, Ian thought, simply strange and increasingly annoying. Here he was in a familiar environment, surrounded by familiar people, yet it was all so different at the same time. The students kept their distance, casting uneasy glances his way when he thought he wasn't looking. The instructors were the opposite - they kept asking him questions and watched him closely, as if they were worried that he was a bomb that would go off if they left him unattended.

What was with that? Did they treat all transfer students this way? Or was there something different about him in particular? Ian couldn't figure it out.

And Tom. Ian could feel the boy's gaze burning a hole right through him the entire day. It was making him nervous - what if he knew? What if Tom knew the truth? Ian suppressed a chill. Forget about it. Next class was P.E., and he had to figure out to hide his scars. Kids his age weren't supposed to have that many scars, not to mention a still-healing bullet wound.

As it turned out, he didn't have to worry. He changed in the bathroom, and tucked his shirt into his gym shorts so it wouldn't ride up. During the warm-ups and laps, he was careful to take it easy. His injury still hurt when he strained himself, and the last thing he wanted to do was to go to the nurse's office and get a physical examination.

They played dodgeball for the first half. Before he knew it, he was one of three boys still standing in the middle. And Tom was gaping at him. So were the others. There were watching him with a gaze that expressed a minor amount of disbelief.

What? He wondered. What's up with them?

The ball sailed his way, coming from the left. Without moving his head, his eyes darted in the ball's direction. He quickly calculated its trajectory, and decided that if he didn't move it would still only skim his nose. So he took a small half-step back, and the ball flew by, its breeze brushing his face.

Realization hit him suddenly, and he nearly groaned aloud. What was he thinking? He was a normal teenager in school, not some professional agent on the battlefield! He had been dodging the ball with an ease that made it look like he could tell the future. The instinct to dodge was second nature to him, and he'd been doing it without even thinking. Scowling at himself, he made sure that the next ball to come flying at him, hit him.

For the rest of the P.E. Class, they played soccer, and he made sure that he acted like a normal teen-aged boy. He ran no faster than the others, made just as many mistakes as the others, made as many goals as the others. At the end of the class, he doused his head under the fountain and panted for breath, so that he looked just as exhausted as the others. It wouldn't do to let the rest of the class know that he was only a little winded, and could have gone to another three P.E. classes easily.

The last class of the day was a Science nightmare. He had been away from his studies so long, he had no idea what the Professor was talking about. And of course, the man just had to pick him to answer random questions. By the end of the class, most students had seemed to have forgotten their apprehension of him, and gave him sympathetic looks. A few even talked to him.

"Don't take it too hard," a girl named Mindy told him. "The Professor's like that to all of the new students."

"Thanks," he mumbled in reply. It's gonna take me years just to catch up.

"Um, no offense, but you look like you can use some help with the project he gave us. If you want - "

"It's all right," he quickly interrupted her. "Thanks, but I've got a tutor. I've actually missed a few weeks of school because of the move and everything, so. . ." he trailed off, and offered a small smile.

"Oh, um. . .it's fine, then. I'll see you later!" Ian watched as the girl ran off. She was kind of pretty, but a bit thin, like she wasn't eating enough. Probably one of those types that dieted frequently.

"Ian, right?"

He spun around, eyes widening in alarm. "T-Tom!"

Tom blinked. Then, "How did you know my name? I don't remember telling you."

Ian mentally cursed. He pasted on a smile to hide his growing panic. "Oh! I heard someone talking to you, and just made a mental note of it. Yeah, since I'm new here, I'd like to try and get to know everyone."

He scratched the back of head, trying to seem nonchalant. Did he buy it? Ian kept smiling a nice, friendly smile. Tom merely stared at him. A few moments passed, both frozen in their places.

Ian's cellphone rang. The moment was broken, and he sighed inwardly. "Just a minute," he told Tom, and pulled out his cellphone. "Hello?" He listened for a long while in silence, then said, "All right, Ben. I'll be right over."

Flipping his cell closed, he offered Tom what he hoped was an apologetic smile. "Sorry, but I've got to get home. I'll see you around." I really hope not. . .

Without waiting for a response, Ian fled.

ARARAR

They were similar, Tom thought. This new kid, Ian constantly reminded him of Alex. Just little gestures, ways of talking, and that way he hunched his shoulders when embarrassed or flustered. Several times during the day, Tom had glanced at Ian, and was struck by how much he resembled Alex.

No one else seemed to notice it, though. So, what was going on?

Ian was a lot like Alex. That much was clear. But.. . He was so different from Alex. Alex never had been that...intense, that alert. And he certainly wasn't able to dodge balls without even really looking at them.

Tom slid a hand through his hair, and let a frustrated sound. This was so confusing!

It was like a mystery. So many clues, like jagged puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together.

First of all: Alex had been missing for three months. When he tried calling his house, he got a message that the line had been disconnected.. He'd gone over there after a few weeks to try and talk to Jack and see what was going on. The house had been completely empty, with a For Sale sign on the front yard. Everyone he talked to had no idea of what happened to Alex. And no one really talked about him anymore, like they'd forgotten that he'd once existed.

Secondly: Alex went away, and a new transfer student came in his place. A student who, while he looked and appeared different, seemed vaguely similar.

Thirdly: Ian knew his name. Tom didn't buy his little 'I heard someone else talking to you.' Besides Alex, Tom didn't really have many friends, and hardly talked to any of the other students. And, it was very clear that the new transfer student seemed to be avoiding any kind of social contact with others. For one, he sat by himself at lunch and made no attempt to talk to anyone. He just sat there, and watched everything with dark, watchful eyes.

Tom really hoped that his suspicions were false. He didn't want this kid to be related to Alex in anyway. Because Ian Daniels, despite his loner, although friendly attitude, was creeping him out.

ARARAR

Ian leaned his bike against the side of the house, and opened the front door. Or tried to. The door was locked. "What the heck?" He walked along the side of the house until he reached the front window. Running his hands under the window sill at the bottom, he felt for the key.

He didn't find it. Instead, taped in its place was a piece of paper. He pulled it off, ripping the paper in half during the process. Grumbling under his breath, Ian held the two halves together, and found a message scrawled on them.

"Just wait. Your uncle will come to pick you up."

"Uncle?" He reread the message to make sure his eyesight wasn't failing him. "I don't have an uncle." What was with this day? It was just getting more annoying with every passing minute.

The sound of a well-cared for engine met his ears then, and it was approaching quickly. Ian walked back to the front driveway to get a better look. He was just in time to see a guy on a large motorcycle pull up right in front of him.

The motorcycle was all black and silver steel, and the rider was all black leather and shiny black helmet. Ian watched as the rider came to a stop, and put down booted feet to hold the machine steady.

"Let me guess," Ian said. "You're my uncle."

The rider chuckled, and lifted off his helmet. "I've always wanted to be an uncle, you know."

Ian's face went blank. "You." He'd recognize that face anywhere, even though the eyes were missing a pair of sunglasses. Actually, this was the first time he'd seen the man's eyes, and they were a pale blue. This was a surprise, 'cause he'd always figured the man would have eyes as black as night, to match his sadistic personality.

"Hey, hey," the man exclaimed. "What's with that look? When your long-lost Uncle visits you for the first time, you're supposed to be thrilled."

"Oh, I am thrilled," Ian said flatly. Then he glared at the man. "You shot me."

"So?" Scare shrugged. "You survived, didn't you?"

Ian sighed. "Why are you here?"

"Didn't you read the note? I'm here to pick you up."

"No. I meant, what are doing here?"

Scare reached into a compartment, and pulled out a second helmet. He tossed it to Ian. "Take it easy, kid. I signed a contract with the bank, so I'll be around for a while. Now put that on, and get on the bike."

Ian pulled on the helmet. Unlike Scare's, it only had a visor that shielded the eyes. The rest of the face was left bare. "Why would they hire a guy like you? You like to shoot children."

"Come on," Scare put his own helmet back on, and his voice became muffled. "I don't get what your problem is. You know the whole story."

The teenager didn't respond as he clambered onto the bike behind Scare. He knew the story, all right. It was something he preferred not to think about.

MI6 had actually hired Scare quite a while before Scorpia had, and they basically wanted him to 'kill' Alex Rider. Scorpia wanted the same thing, so it all worked out splendidly. Scare had completed both missions to various degrees, and was now quite a rich man. However, MI6 apparently wasn't done with the mercenary yet, which was something Ian couldn't quite figure out. What else did they wanted the sniper to do? Surely, it was more than simply posing as an uncle.

Scare carefully began to back up onto the road. Ian reluctantly gripped the man's shoulders, not wanting to fall off. It came as a pleasant surprise, as Scare drove on, that he was actually quite a safe driver. Nothing like the madman road-rager that Ian had pictured him to be.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the ride. It lasted a little over ten minutes as they navigated the rush of traffic. At the end of it, they reached the bank. The familiar, several-story building that Ian was coming to hate with a passion.

Ben Daniels met them inside. He wore a crisp business suit that made him look like one of the bank managers. In truth, he was currently a field agent who, while technically on the field, was actually taking the day job of a desk jockey. While Ian was at school, MI6 happily put him to work filing papers.

"Hey, Ian! Scare," he greeted both of them.

Ian jerked a thumb at Scare. "Is he really my uncle?"

"Yup," Ben affirmed with a bright smile. "He wanted to help keep an eye on you, so we let him in."

"Oh, I see," Ian nodded in understanding. "The guy who shot me wants to be my Uncle. Probably so he get another chance to finish the job. Makes perfect sense."

"Still hasn't got over it," Scare spoke over Ian's head to Ben. "And it's already been a couple of months. Maybe you should get him some professional help."

"Mr. Beryl has already talked to him several times, and there's been some progress," Ben said. "but it'll take a while, I think."

Ian scowled. "Hey! Can we move along to the reason why I'm here?"

ARARA

I hate today.

And I hate the CIA. And MI6.

The purpose of this stupid meeting was to introduce me to the Assistant of the Director of the CIA, and his charming daughter, Jasmine. What was the CIA doing in a meeting room of a bank-which-was-not-a-bank?

Why, they'd heard all about the amazing teenaged spy, Alex Rider. And then they'd tried to make their own young agents. After a couple died, they'd decided to come see the real thing. Only problem was, Alex Rider was dead.

If only MI6 could keep their mouth shut.

Too make it short, the CIA did MI6 a favour. And in return, they get to meet me. The replacement for Alex Rider. And not just meet. Did I mention Jasmine?

She's a snotty eighteen year-old spy wannabe that thinks she knows it all. She's my tutor. Yeah, her. And she gets to follow me around for a couple of months just to see how I work. To see what makes me able to survive what the other teenaged spy wannabes couldn't.

The whole thing is stupid. The CIA just wants to get their claws in me. Since they can't have me, they want to create another me.

Don't they understand? Alex Rider is dead. Gone. Those memories, those tormented, haunted memories, those doings - those are gone. Gone with the death of Alex Rider.

He's dead, and here I stand in his place. A battered shell that's barely held together. A mere, empty identity, living a life that is barely there. Fake.

Ian Daniels.

That's me.

And they want to create another me.

I hate today.