It was the next day; three days of him as a French transfer student. Three days of him pretending to be a normal schoolboy, which was something he wished he could be, and something that he could never be, never again.

Staining to keep his mind empty of such dark thoughts, Alex now strode over to the tennis courts. It was lunch break, so he had an hour to become Ricard's friend. A short hour to somehow get close to that snobby, arrogant brat. It was nearly impossible, but Alex walked towards the courts with an idea in his head.

Ricard was currently snickering as he tried to bully a small boy into playing against him. The boy was smart enough to realize that he'd lose within three seconds, and that if he'd lost, he'd have to suffer through Ricard's mockery. It was clear that the rich kid had an uncanny skill for making someone feel lower than a grain of dirt in a matter of seconds.

Alex stepped through the gate in the chain-link fence, closing it behind him. "Hey," he called out. Both boys looked over at him, but he focused his gaze on Ricard in particular. "Are you Ricard?"

"Yeah, what of it?" Ricard retorted. The smaller boy took this chance to get out of there, wasting no time at all.

Alex put on a confident smile, and picked up a spare tennis racket that had been leaning against the fence. "I heard you're somewhat decent in tennis."

"Huh?" Ricard scrunched up his round face as he eyed Alex, his expression showing both suspicion and disbelief. "You wanna play?"

In answer, Alex swung the racket in a back-hand motion, as if testing it out. Shouldering it, he cocked his head in a confident manner. "What's the matter? Don't want to play?"

Ricard wasn't sure what to think of this. "Why should I play you?"

Alex made a grin. "Because if you lose, you have to follow me around for the next twenty-four hours, and be my slave. You'll have to do whatever I want."

"Huh?!" Ricard blinked, his jaw going slack. "Are you ki-?!"

"You scared?" Alex said the magic words. At once, Ricard's face hardened.

"All right. But if I win, you have to be my slave. For twenty-four straight hours, got it?"

Alex smiled. It was his own smile this time, but it wasn't one of joy or amusement. It was nothing more than the smile of a predator who had finally cornered his prey. He crossed over to the other side of the net.

"Let's play."

cccc

"Sir?" A young man poked his head into Alan Blunt's office. "Mr. Algonthin is here?"

Alan Blunt looked up from the mess of papers on his desk. He regarded the young aide with a severe expression. "Send him in, then."

"Yes, sir!" The aide pulled his head from view, and hurriedly shut the door. Moments later, it opened again, this time admitting a tall, thin man. He seemed to have more bones than meat on him, and it was a wonder that he was able to move as gracefully as he did.

Algonthin went straight to one of the chairs placed in front of the desk, and folded his long limbs into a sitting position. His dark eyes bright, he quietly watched Alan Blunt.

"I apologize for not informing you earlier," Blunt began. His tone made it clear that he wasn't sorry at all. "But it is a matter of extreme importance. The position needs to be filled, you understand. With Mrs. Jones no longer here, it has become a bit of a barn. Too much duties left undone."

Algonthin just blinked.

"So as of this moment," Blunt went on, completely unfazed by the new Deputy Head's lack of response, "I am handing this Rider business over to you. I'll have the information transferred over right away. I want this handled as quickly and quietly as possible. And," Blunt paused, interlocking his fingers, and resting his chin on them, "I want the boy unharmed."

Then he straightened, as Algonthin merely blinked again. Not even a muscle on the man's face twitched. It was sort of creepy. But being the professional he was, Blunt didn't let it bother him. "You have one week to bring Rider back here, alive. That is all."

Immediately, Algonthin abruptly stood, his movement startling in its suddenness. He whirled lightly on one heel, and within three strides, was at the door. Without looking back, he opened the door, stepped through, and closed it quietly behind him.

Finally alone in his office, Alan Blunt leaned back in his chair, heaving out a heavy sigh. Algonthin was sure to get the job done. He was ever so efficient and excellent at what he did, despite his rather...strange personality. The man was the best choice for Mrs. Jones replacement, after all. This would be a good first mission as the new Deputy Head.

Undoubtedly, the man would spend all evening and night studying every scrap of information that related to Alex Rider. And in the morning, he would have a plan of action that would be nearly guaranteed to succeed. Algonthin definitely would bring the boy back within seven days' time. Perhaps earlier.

Blunt pulled a peppermint candy from the half-empty jar on his desk. As he unwrapped it, he wondered if he was going soft.

If had it been any other MI6 agent, he wouldn't have hesitated in ordering their immediate assassination. But Alex. . .he was just a boy. A child. A useful child, at that. And the fact that MI6 had killed his father – that was a lie. Scorpia had lied to him – and the results of that lie were very ugly indeed.

He was getting soft. He was thinking that there was hope for the boy. Once they'd get him back, maybe they'd get their child agent back. Soft and stupid, he scoffed at himself. Alex would never want to work for them again. And besides, he had killed.

Killing changes a person.

But that was one reason that it was very important to get him back. They needed to see what those changes were. To see if he truly was a remorseless killing machine. Blunt hoped not. It would be . . .unpleasant to have to kill the boy.

He placed the peppermint in his mouth, and grimaced. Like usual, it was bitter.

ARARARARARA

"Ha!" Ricard crowed, raising his racket above his head in triumph. "I won! I hope you like being a slave, Alex, 'cause that's what you are for the next twenty-four hours! Ha-ha!"

Alex was leaning on his racket, trying to get his wind back. He couldn't believe how much stamina that kid had – by just looking at his slighty chubby build, you'd think he'd move like a slug. Alex himself was very athletic and quick on his feet, but that had meant nothing in this game. Ricard was nothing short of a prodigy.

But losing the game was no big deal. In fact, Alex had been counting on losing. The little bet he had instigated would now enable him to get close to Ricard's father. Close so he could kill him.

His slight smile slipped right off his face.

"Hey, slave!" Ricard called out, making sure his voice was loud enough so everyone in the near vicinity could hear. "I'm thirsty! Gimme some water!"

The boy's tone grated on Alex's ears, but he kept himself in check. The best way to handle this type of character was to act like one didn't care. So he set his racket aside, and put on an easy smile.

"That was a good game, wasn't it?" He said lightly. "And I lost, fair and square. You'll have to teach me, some time."

"Huh?" Ricard seemed a little taken back. This. . .wasn't quite the reaction he was expecting. He tried again. "Get me some water!" he demanded.

"Sure, sure, Master Ricard," Alex made a deep bow, his light smile still in place. And he jogged out of the court to fetch a bottle. As soon as his back was turned, his fake smile faded, and he heaved a sigh.

He'd done it. Tonight, he'd see Ricard's father. And tonight, he'd have to kill him.

Would he really be able to do it?

ARARARARARA

Will he hate me?

If he knew, would he hate me?

I would. I would hate me.

For I am the one who will kill his father. For I am the assassin of Scorpia, a murderer.

His family, his loved one, his father – I will kill him.

I will empty my head, my heart, and I will kill.

And he will hate me. . .

. . .

. . .I do.

I do hate me.