General

Being a spy is supposed to be cool. I was expecting a fast car, a snappy suit and some lethal gadgets. But instead they sent me to maximum security prison to wheedle information out of a mob boss. Even the guards don't know I'm from the right side of the law, any preferential treatment from them and I'd be dead by morning. So my spy job is wearing an orange jump suit and eating mush three times a day. I got a beating from an inmate yesterday and the guard stood by and did nothing. I could have taken them both out, I'm trained in combat. But it would have blown my cover so I took the licking instead. I'll have that guy's badge when I'm out of here. They've put me in the same cell as the boss. He's about as talkative as the walls and he looks through me like he already arranged to have my body sent to the bottom of the Hudson.

By ryanthomas36, October 20, 2014.
General

Alex had discovered the unpleasant reality. He'd been hurt, threatened, manipulated, shot at, beaten up, and almost killed. He'd found himself in a world where he couldn't believe anybody and where nothing was quite what it seemed. And he'd had enough.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, June 13, 2012.

Found in Alex Rider, Ark Angel, authored by Anthony Horowitz.

General

The adrenaline floods my system like it's on an intravenous drip - right into my blood at full pelt. I think my heart will explode and my eyes are wide, letting in every ounce of the fading light. My body wants to either run fast for the hills or work to find weaponry, but instead I stay right where I am. Sometimes freezing is the best of the choices, and let's face it, there really are only three. I want to quell the hammering in my chest, but there's no way that will happen now. I don't regret it though, coming here to the compound, it was my mission after all. How come all those spies in the movies weren't ever scared? Maybe they were, maybe they were scared all the time, perhaps that's what bravery really is. The compound lights come on, unusual for this time of night. My adrenaline surges so fast I almost vomit, I can taste the saliva thickening my my mouth to a rancid paste. At some point I'll have to move. In the shows I watch there is an earpiece that says, "Go" or at least some tactical information, but with the new technology the enemy has developed it's just not an option. All I get is a black jumpsuit and meal ration...

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 11, 2015.
General

Ryan could feel the cuffs digging into his wrists and rope around his ankles; his left cheek lay firmly in the muddy dust that coated the cold concrete floor. From a high window came rectangle of daylight, sending white beams to illuminate the grime and show the dust that swirled in the air. If he could reach it he could find out where he was. Even if he couldn't tell the exact location, even just knowing if he was still in LA would be something. He strained his ears for sounds, for cars or for ships. Were there gulls or garden birds? Was this industrial or residential? Again he focused on the window, the frame was new but it wasn't the sort you could open. There must be ventilation shafts. He knew how to get his hands free, he just didn't relish doing it. Enough pressure in the right spot would break his thumb, then it would be time to check out and report in.

General

The room should be empty but it's not. A boy sits in the corner, he could be a beefier reflection of my older brother but he's not Jack. He stares at me with eyes that tell me he wasn't expecting my company either. His lips almost move then his eyes dart back to the frayed laces of his runners. I want to know what he was going to say but it's just not a good idea. We are never alone, not really. From behind me comes that scent of jasmine the director wears and I turn to meet her eyes directly. It's odd to be at her level, just six months ago she was obviously taller. I want to ask her why she gets make-up and perfume and I don't but I already know what the answer would be. I get my black uniform like all the others and a pack of hair bands at Christmas from "Santa." In her hand isn't the usual dossier but two. A joint mission. Hell. I don't even know this kid. How don't I know him anyway? It's not like the academy is a big place...

General

On his face were sunglasses, but not the kind your Granddad wears when he wants to look cool in his old fly-boy jacket (though he does). No. These were more like something you'd expect on the face of an astronaut. They were utterly shiny, dark silver and so seamless. They simply wrapped around his face from one side to another, perfect as if only ever touched by gloved hand. And like all sunglasses, they hid the part I always found easiest to read and without that all I could do was take note of the mouth, the posture and his sense of personal space. It made my job harder, that's for sure, but I can gather enough intel while looking engrossed in my latte, no problem.

General

Watching him take a sip, it took my every urge not to swat the glass away, yet his was the only way to save my own life. He tilted his cup higher, drinking the entire thing in one swig, and wiped the remaining red liquid from the bottom of his lips. I wondered how long it would take to go into effect. I wondered how long it would take before he became dizzy and forgot where he was, or before his vision blurred together and his body went numb. Minutes? Hours? How will the occupants of the restaurant respond? I try to keep my thoughts off my face. Everything seems to switch into slow motion. For a moment, I doubt myself. Did I poison the correct glass? His lips are moving but I do not hear a single thing, not even the piano player striking those ivory keys. I watch those lips until I flit over to look at his eyes. Is this the last time I will ever see them? This is. This is the only way I can live. A fair trade, one could say, one life for another. His hand reaches across the table. Just his touch alone sent shivers through my body. Guilt is creeping into my gut. It takes all of my strength to withhold tears. he stands from the table. What is he doing? He digs in his pocket to reveal a black box and falls to one knee. A gorgeous silver ring is revealed. Its lone diamond lights up the dim room. I stand as well, one hand cupping my mouth and the other holds my heart into place. Tears are streaming down my face. I can not hold back any longer. He smiles. He must think these are tears of joy. It quickly fades as he begins coughing, and coughing. The ring tumbles to the ground with him. Wine colored blood has stained the floor.

By tara, February 28, 2018.