Work Text:
The boy’s shirt had once been white, but was now stained crimson with the blood of over a dozen tiny puncture wounds.
Grey duct tape covered areas that were marked as off-limits, including the inside of the elbow, the throat, the groin, and the heart. They didn’t want to hit a major artery by mistake and have the boy bleed out.
His arms had been stuck to the wall with more tape, the open palms pressed flat against the wall so that the vulnerable parts of the inner arm were turned away. It also made it all but impossible for him to avoid the darts being thrown at him, which suited the guards just fine.
They enjoyed the look of fear in the boy’s eyes, the panic and helplessness as they took their time lining up the shot.
And they especially liked his screams every time the darts found their target. Muffled screams, of course – they had taped his mouth shut as well. They weren’t interested in his pleading.
The boy had humiliated them, and they would make him pay for it.
It was a cruel game, but then they were cruel men. Perhaps one or two of the guards had second thoughts about hurting a child, but those few with a conscience had simply excused themselves quietly, citing the need for someone to keep watch elsewhere. They wouldn’t participate, but they also wouldn’t step in.
Everyone who worked at the complex knew when to look the other way. It was one of the reasons they had been hired.
The guards knew about the laboratory, of course. Many of them had even heard enough to know there was some form of virus kept there. But they knew better than to ask any questions. Whatever it was that their boss was doing was no business of theirs. All they had to do was guard the place.
And they had nearly failed at that. Earlier this evening they had run around for hours chasing after an intruder that had been spotted in the complex. Some of them had even been injured in the attempt. It was not a good look.
Worse than that, the intruder was a child. A fourteen-year-old schoolboy nearly ran circles around all of them.
He had made them look like fools. They enjoyed making him suffer.
The boy's name was Alex Rider, and he was having a very bad time.
The complex he’d been caught trying to escape belonged to Theodore Maxwell, a multi-millionaire with a fascination with biological warfare that had been a growing concern for MI6. As it turned out, the man’s fascination had gone beyond the theoretical.
Alex had seen clear proof that the man was planning something disastrous, but he’d been unable to get a message out to warn anyone.
When he’d finally been cornered, he’d been taken back to Maxwell, who had been pleased and relieved that his secret was still safe. But, the man had said, it was late, and they would have to continue their conversation the next day.
And then he’d given Alex to the guards for the night.
“Only don’t get too rough,” had been his only restriction. “I still want to show our young guest just what I intend to do with the virus.”
The delighted glint in his eyes as Alex was dragged off made it clear that Maxwell certainly wasn’t opposed to a little rough treatment for Alex.
The guards had clearly been able to read between the lines, or perhaps they had simply been eager to hurt Alex and needed no further prompting.
Alex had been dragged down to what looked like the guards’ breakroom and pushed against the wall. While two men pinned him down, another closed a U-shaped bar around his neck, which clicked into the wall behind him, rather like a bicycle lock. The bar fitted snugly around his neck, not too tight to cut off blood circulation but also tight enough that Alex couldn’t pull his head through.
When they stepped back and released him, Alex’s hands had immediately reached for the bar, trying to pull it off. But there was a locking mechanism, a key one of the men put down on the coffee table, far out of reach. He was trapped.
And then they had brought out the darts.
It was a game, of sorts. A twisted game of darts where the dartboard had been replaced by the body of a restrained teenaged spy.
There were scores, but no real points. Most of the rules seemed to be improvised on the spot. The point was not skill, but cruelty.
A particularly good hit might be awarded forty points, while a glancing blow might earn as few as five. Bonus points might be awarded for style or the reactions they elicited from Alex. Anyone who made Alex scream was met with cheers.
Despite the sadistic creativity, there were some restrictions in place for Alex’s safety.
Maxwell had decreed that Alex should be brought to him in the morning, so they had to be careful to avoid places on his body that might lead to serious injury. Anywhere above the collar was strictly off-limits, as were places where the darts might hit important arteries. The guards wanted to torture him, not kill him.
All the same, the guards were hardly careful. They were drinking and smoking while they played, and some of them were already getting clumsy. The restrictions might stop them from aiming to kill, but accidents were becoming more and more likely.
And tellingly, the penalty for hitting any off-limit areas was merely to sit out the next turn.
One of the guards was worse than the rest. A burly man, with dark, short-cropped hair and cold grey eyes, he seemed to hold a particular hatred for Alex. Alex thought of him as Neck Tattoo, after the tattoo of a tiger that crept up along the side of his neck.
Alex had tricked the man during his attempted escape, causing him to trip over a nearly invisible wire. There was a bruise forming on the man’s cheek from when he’d hit the floor. Alex had embarrassed Neck Tattoo in front of his peers, and it was clear he wanted to hurt Alex for it.
They’d left Alex’s hands free at first, leaving him to claw futilely at the iron bar around his throat. It was a torture all on its own, to be able to move his body, and yet to be pinned in place by the single bar.
Still, at least he had been able to twist his body, to take the darts on his arms instead of his chest. He would still be hurt, but it was something.
It had been Neck Tattoo who had suggested restraining Alex's arms.
It was only sensible, the guards had decided, because when he moved too much they may accidentally hit some vital area. But Alex knew Neck Tattoo just didn't want him to be able to squirm away again.
Despite being pinned at the neck, Alex had once managed to twist out of the way enough that Neck Tattoo’s dart had actually missed, hitting the wall instead and falling harmlessly to the floor.
The other guards had laughed, mocking Neck Tattoo for not even being able to hit a pinned target. Neck Tattoo had said nothing, but he had glared at Alex with such a venomous look that Alex felt a chill running down his spine.
When the guard threw his other two darts, he did so with enough force to make them stab down until the barrel and Alex had screamed so loud that it earned Neck Tattoo fifty bonus points, nearly enough to make up for the lost throw.
It wasn’t only the throwing of the darts that Alex had come to fear. After each round, the darts would have to be retrieved again. Most of the guards simply plucked the darts out quickly.
Neck Tattoo took it as an opportunity to hurt Alex more. When a dart wasn’t all the way in, he would stab it in further before pulling it out. Or he might tilt the dart, so that it came out at an angle, doing more damage that way.
Making Alex scream while retrieving the darts got you no extra points. Neck Tattoo did that just for the love of the game.
That time, when Neck Tattoo pulled back the dart from his arm, there was more blood than usual.
“Shit, that’s bleeding pretty heavily,” one of the other guards said, stepping closer to examine him. “Did you hit an artery?”
It was the first concern any of them had shown for his health.
“Just slap a pressure bandage on it,” Neck Tattoo said, bored. “He can handle a little blood loss. If you’re so concerned, tie his arms so he doesn’t squirm around so much.”
They’d found some bandage in the first aid kit and used a strip of duct tape to keep it in place.
After that, they’d taped his arms to the wall to keep him from moving.
It was the utter helplessness more than anything that was getting to Alex now. There was no escaping the darts or the pain they caused. All Alex could do was hope that the guards would get tired of torturing him.
Even the knowledge that they had to keep him alive was little comfort. He doubted that what awaited him in the morning would be any better. Not for the first time, Alex cursed himself for ever getting involved with MI6.
It was Neck Tattoo’s turn again. He took his place with a slight smile, a cruel glint in his eyes as he lined up his shot.
Alex clenched his eyes shut and braced himself for another round.
Pain was the first thing Alex was aware of, even before he was truly conscious. He groaned, the sound muffled by the strip of tape covering his mouth. For a disorienting moment, he didn’t know where he was.
But when he opened his eyes and saw the break room, it all came back to him. The lab with the deadly test tubes, his failed escape and capture, the guards dragging him down here…
And the darts.
Alex swallowed down nausea as he felt the ache of several dozen puncture wounds throbbing across the front of his body.
The darts were still there too, sticking out of his chest. Alex tried not to look, but he could feel them with each breath – a sharp, stabbing pain. Even as light as they were, their weight was a horrifying reminder of what he’d been through.
Alex must have passed out at some point. The break room was deserted now, only empty beer bottles and stubbed-out cigarette butts remaining. The guards must have tired of their game and gone to bed. Perhaps the cruelty had lost its fun with Alex unconscious.
A digital clock in the small kitchen area told him the time: 4:17 AM.
If he was going to escape, this would be his best and perhaps only chance. In the morning, the guards would return. They would take him to Maxwell who would no doubt want to taunt him before killing him.
Alex had met his type before. Evil men who were proud of whatever sick schemes they'd come up with and who secretly wanted the world to know. They wanted to brag, to show off, and what harm was there in telling a boy they intended to kill anyway? Maxwell would enjoy telling Alex his plan before he ended his life, perhaps even infecting Alex with the virus as he'd implied.
If Alex were still here in the morning, he would be done for.
But could he get free? The duct tape the guards had used to restrain his arms had a bit more give now than at the start, but he was still stuck firmly to the wall. If he hadn’t gotten free while they were actively throwing darts at him, how was he going to get out now, exhausted as he was? Despair threatened to well up inside him, but he pushed it down.
Alex had to try. He had nothing to lose, and it might be his only chance.
Desperation gave Alex new strength. He thrashed in his bounds, trying to find a way out. The movement caused a wave of agony to ripple through him. Alex’s chest throbbed with renewed pain as some of the wounds opened again, but he forced himself to keep going.
After about a minute or so of squirming, he had to stop. He was gasping for breath through his nose, his mouth still covered with tape. His heart was racing, and everything ached, but to his relief he discovered that had made some progress. His right arm now had more wriggle room than before.
He decided to focus on that side first. More deliberate this time, he pulled on his right arm, shifting it up and down and trying to loosen the tape.
The duct tape pulled painfully on his skin, but Alex ignored it. There was more room now, and he was able to curl his fingers into a fist. He heard a tearing sound as more of the tape came loose. Some more twisting and turning finally allowed him to pull his arm out from under the tape.
Now that he had one hand free, Alex wanted to do nothing more than to tear out the darts still sticking out of his chest, but he had to be careful or he would make the wounds worse.
Instead of going for the darts, Alex reached up and peeled off the tape over his mouth. It had become loose in places from a mix of spit and sweat and tears, but it still hurt coming off and left his lips and cheeks feeling raw.
It was a relief to be able to breathe freely again. Alex took deep gulps of air through his mouth, and tried to calm himself enough to think about his next move.
The thing was that even when he tore away the tape and removed the darts, he'd still be just as trapped as before, held in place by the bar around his throat. There had been no need for the guards to leave someone to watch over him – Alex wasn't going anywhere.
Despite his open mouth, it felt like he wasn't getting enough air. Fear and panic were threatening to overwhelm him again, but Alex fought to keep them at bay.
Stay calm, he told himself. Think. There has to be a way out, you just need to find it.
If they were going to take him up to see Maxwell in the morning, they would need to release him for that. He remembered the keys they'd used to lock him in and spotted them lying on the coffee table, in plain view but hopelessly out of reach. So no keys, but there was still a lock. He searched the bar with his free hand until he found the keyhole. Now he just needed something that could work as a lockpick. And he had it.
Hope surged in Alex’s chest as he realised there might be a way to get out after all.
He would need two hands to do this properly, so Alex used his free hand to start peeling off the tape holding his left arm.
As he reached over, the movement shifted one of the darts, which slipped out and clattered to the floor before he could catch it. It bounced once and then lay there at his feet, out of reach.
Alex swore. Although he wanted nothing more than to pull the darts out and hurl them far away, he would need them to pick the lock.
More careful now, he worked on freeing his other arm, gritting his teeth as the adhesive pulled at his skin. It took long minutes, but at last he was free.
Now came the worst part. Alex stared down at the two remaining darts, trying to quell the nausea that threatened to rise up again. The first one had been stuck in his right pectoral muscle, so that moving his arm had dislodged it. The other two were lower, one close to his sternum, the other somewhere between his lower ribs. The sight of them sticking out, moving in time with the rapid rise and fall of his chest, made his skin crawl.
Alex wiped his fingers dry on the back of his trousers and took a deep breath, then pulled the dart out smoothly. He gasped as it came out, although he barely felt it through the pain from the rest of his chest. A trickle of blood wept from the fresh puncture wound, staining his shirt even further.
He tried to repeat the process with the second dart, but it seemed to be caught on something. Alex clenched his eyes shut as he applied more force. Finally, it came free, but Alex’s hands were shaking as he held the darts and he had to take a moment to get his nausea under control, his breath coming in quick gasps.
When he felt a little steadier, he opened his eyes and searched for the keyhole again.
It was an awkward angle, and twice the darts nearly slipped through his fingers, but Alex was able to insert them and wriggle around, trying to find the latch. At last, the lock clicked open, and with a desperate cry, Alex pulled the bar away, relieved to be free from its chokehold around his throat.
Alex let the bar and darts fall and set to work removing the last of the duct tape they had used to mark the ‘off limits’ areas. He wanted it gone. The sight of it made his skin crawl, the memories of the sadistic darts game making his stomach clench.
He tore the tape from over his heart and the cross they’d put over his groin. He was about to pull away the tape from his arm as well, before remembering the way it had bled earlier, and the pressure bandage they’d put on it. His fingers itched to get it all off, but it would be best to leave that one on for now, or he may bleed out.
Cradling his chest, Alex slid down the wall, his legs and hands shaking as the events of the last night caught up with him.
He was exhausted. The pain and fear of his failed escape and subsequent capture had taken its toll on him, and part of Alex wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and rest.
His right lung ached. He still couldn’t seem to breathe properly, never quite getting enough air, and he wondered if perhaps one of the darts had done more damage than he’d thought. But there would be time to worry about that later. He wasn’t done here yet.
Alex gave himself five more minutes to recover. Then he steeled himself and reluctantly got back to his feet.
There was one more thing he had to do before he could leave.
For the first time that day, luck was on Alex’s side. As he painfully made his way down the corridor, he found the complex deserted, the lights dimmed for the night.
The guards and staff must have gone to bed after the security incident was dealt with. For now at least, Alex would walk around unseen. Still, time was pressing. In an hour or two, the new day would begin, and the moment they found Alex missing, the alarm would be raised again. Alex would need to be far away by the time that happened.
But he couldn't leave yet. Alex grit his teeth as he pushed open the heavy door that led to the lab.
The lights here were turned down low as well, but they never truly turned off. Just like the machines humming away all around him, they stayed on day and night.
The test tubes with the virus samples were where Alex had seen them earlier in the fridge in the corner of the lab.
There was a keypad next to the doorhandle. Alex punched in the code he had seen the scientists using earlier that day, wondering if it would have been changed after his break in. But his luck held. With a soft click, the fridge door unlocked and Alex pulled it open.
A wave of cold air greeted him as he reached in for the tray with test tubes.
Alex made sure he had a good grip on the tray. It was very light. The test tubes were made out of plastic, common for use in biological research. It made them harder to shatter, but he would still have to be careful. If he dropped the tray and the test tubes did somehow break, he would have bigger problems than his chest having been used as a dart board.
Holding the tray in front of him, he made his way back.
The guards’ break room where he’d been held was just down the corridor, and it had been equipped with a small kitchenette. It came with the usual: electric kettle, coffee machine, fridge. And an oven. Alex had spotted it while the guards were torturing him, and set it to pre-heat before he’d left. Now he made a beeline for it.
He carefully put the tray on the kitchen top so that he could open the oven door, then put the tray in, shut the door, and turned the heat as high as it could go.
Viruses couldn’t handle high temperatures. To keep it viable, the virus had to be kept cold. Preferably no warmer than 4-8 degrees Celsius. That was why it had been kept in the fridge in the lab.
Even a fever would be dangerous to a virus. Alex had learned once in Biology that fever was the body’s way of fighting infection by raising the body temperature, although of course a fever that was too high was dangerous for the body as well.
The oven was already at 110 degrees Celsius, and growing hotter with every second.
Alex watched in horrified fascination as after only half a minute the liquid in the test tubes began to sizzle and boil. A minute later, the plastic of the test tube itself started melting.
His shoulders slumped in relief. It was done. There was no way Maxwell could use it to poison the water supply now, or whatever else he’d planned to do with it. All Alex had to do now was get out, contact MI6, and get himself to a hospital.
The pain on the right side of his chest was growing worse, and he still felt like he wasn’t getting enough air. That was probably a bad sign, but he’d just have to manage for a little while longer until he found a doctor.
Alex checked the clock again. 5:20 AM. He was running out of time. It had taken him a little over an hour to free himself and destroy the virus. If he was going to slip out before the first shift arrived, he’d have to hurry.
He cast a last look at the slowly-melting test tubes.
"Time to get out," Alex muttered. "Things are beginning to feel a little too hot in here."
Bracing himself against the pain, Alex slowly began making his way down the corridor.