Chapter 1: File 106.1: Riptide
Chapter Text
File: 106.1
Villain Alias: Riptide
Real Name: Perseus Jackson*
Date of Birth: August 18th
Age: 24
Place of Birth: New York
Status: Demigod (Greek) (Unclaimed)**
Race: Caucasian passing (potential Polynesian heritage)
Eye/Hair Color: Green/Black
Height: 6'0
Other Notable Features: Dozens of scars, mostly on his arms and back.
Family: Sally Jackson (Mother) (Deceased?), Unknown (Father), Gabriel Ugliano (Stepfather) (Deceased), Tyson Jackson (Stepbrother)***
Childhood: Perseus was known as a trouble maker wherever he went, getting kicked out of at least five schools in seven years. There is evidence that Gabriel Ugliano, his stepfather, abused him and his mother for several years and that he had undiagnosed ADHD.
Abilities: Hydrotelekenesis, able to breathe underwater, can heal himself with water, possibly communicate with ocean/river life (no confirmation). An extremely skilled swordsman.
Crimes: Believed to be the murderer of Gabriel Ugliano, multiple accounts of manslaughter, destruction of cities, global terrorism. Possibly killed Sally Jackson, though there is no proof other than her mysterious disappearance years ago.
Current Imprisonment: Olympus Penitentiary for Demigods
Assigned Personnel: Doctor William Solace
Threat Level: 10/10****
* Don't call him Perseus, only Percy. Failure to do so will result in many horrible scenarios including but not limited to: refusal to talk, near death experiences, and overall bodily harm. Just don't do it.
** Unsure where his godly heritage is from. Definitely an ocean deity of some kind. Possible contenders: Anapos, Alpheus, etc. The Greeks loved their sea gods. Note to self-- Poseidon possible father? Look through databases to see if there are any modern children of Poseidon running around. Would explain why he is so powerful. Also, do some research on the Big Three Pact of 1946.
*** Tyson Jackson might actually be Percy's half brother, but is by law his guardian (due to the disappearance of Ms. Jackson) and refuses to have them tested. Either way, neither of them know who their blood father is. Another subject to avoid if possible. Sally and Tyson are safe. It is clear that he loves them deeply and would do anything for their safety. Interesting to consider, seeing that many believe Percy to be his mother's maker. Note to self-- Percy might be lying about not knowing who his father is. Just a feeling.
**** Keep him in containment away from the other inmates, make sure that nothing that could be used as a weapon gets near him. Anything that resembles a pipeline should be removed (yes, even for the toilet). Use a dehumidifier to make sure that he can't pull water from the air, restrain him whenever he needs to be moved or personnel go into his area. Stay vigilant at all times, for he is smarter and more cunning than he makes himself out to be. Unclear whether or not this is intentional. Either way, only get close if you absolutely have to.
Will Solace very clearly remembers the first time Riptide made national news.
He was still in med school at the time, surviving on little more than coffee and ramen noodles, and it had been three days before finals. Of course, he was doing everything in his power to cram for those oh-so-important finals-- most of which included studying at his favorite Cafe, a little place called Over the Rainbow run by a wonderful lady named Iris. Over the Rainbow had a small television in the corner, though very rarely was it ever actually on. Fleecy, the one other employee besides Iris herself, claimed it was because Iris wanted to promote an environment free from distraction and bad mojo, but personally, Will thought that Iris's seemingly nonexistent understanding of technology beyond the 1980's was the more likely reason. Either way, it didn't matter much to him, seeing as he had been, you know, studying and all that jazz.
Honestly, Will has no idea what lead up to the television being turned on in the first place. Everything before that moment was a big ball of nothing in his memory, probably due to the caffeine and horrible diet. What he does remember is Fleecy picking up the remote and turning it on, switching the channels around until she suddenly froze with an odd look on her face.
If Will had known anything about Riptide before hand, he would have commented that her reaction, soon to be his own, was quite appropriate. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you asked), he knew nothing about the soon to be notorious villain. What he did know, however, was that he was curious why Fleecy had that look on her face. That's why he turned to the small television, temporarily ignoring the half dozen medical books and piles of notes around him on the small table he had claimed.
That's when he saw it. An industrial warehouse by the waterfront, one of the hundreds that littered New York's coastline, completely consumed by a hurricane of water and dragged into the depths of the harbor. At first, Will thought that some kind of freak storm had appeared, though had be bothered to look outside he would have noticed that it was still perfectly sunny.
That's when the camera man, who was clearly in a helicopter of some kind, suddenly zoomed in onto a figure in the middle of the storm. Will knows that he will never forget that moment for as long as he lives, the memory etched so deeply into his mind that it still gave him nightmares years later. The casual movement of the figure's arms as the water bowed to his command, the windswept ink black hair that danced in the wind, that cruel smirk painted across his face and his eyes-- gods his eyes. They moved like pools of water, glowing with unimaginable power that could only belong to unbelievably powerful demigod. Will remembers the figure looking right at the camera with those eyes, remembers how his smirk grew as he raised a single hand holding a bronze sword. Even now he could clearly recall the wall of water that suddenly engulfed the screen, the destruction of the camera and the bone chilling scream that was abruptly cut off.
Yes, Riptide had one hell of a first appearance to the national stage, and it was far from his last. He loved to publically kill his enemies, drowning them in their own blood, slaying them with his bronze sword, throwing them into the mouth of a great white shark. He terrorized New York for years before the combined might of several heroes was finally enough to take him down. He was then promptly sent to Olympus, where Will was now employed.
Now, Will never asked for Riptide, now identified as Perseus Jackson, to be assigned to him. It was common procedure at Olympus to assign villains to certain doctors throughout their imprisonment and rehabilitation, a way to make sure that they had a constant familiar face to help them through. The thing is, Will was convinced that the Warden of Olympus would see Percy as a lost cause, put him into the deepest cell the penitentiary had and leave him to rot. If the Warden had been anyone but Chiron, that's probably what Percy would be doing right now.
Will theorized that Chiron knew Percy somehow, before he became the villain that terrorized an entire state and killed without mercy. It would explain the deeply sad look on his face when Percy first arrived, and his insistence that he could be saved somehow.
That was probably why Will was assigned to him in the first place, now that he thought about it. He made it clear from the beginning that he didn't think anyone was beyond redemption, taking on villains that others had long given up on. For all Will knew, all of the other doctors had flat out refused Chiron. Either way, he had accepted the assignment hesitantly, wondering just what he was getting himself into.
Riptide was undeniably terrifying-- a force of nature in more ways than one and a mystery wrapped around one of the most powerful demigods of all time. Percy Jackson, however...
Will Solace didn't know what to think about Percy Jackson. He was sharp, undeniably so, and had an knack for detecting bullshit with the accuracy of a bloodhound. He rarely ever talked about himself during their sessions when he actually decided to cooperate, which wasn't often, but he had no problems talking about those he loved. His brother Tyson, his mother, a friend named Groover. Will had the impression that Percy was protective and loyal to the highest extremes, so much so that his idea of casual conversation included discussing in intricate detail the punishments he would inflict on those who dared harm his family in any way.
When Will briefly touched on Gabriel Ugliano, his stepfather that had been murdered nearly a decade ago, a dark look had passed Percy's face. It was moments like those that Will was infinitely grateful for the thick, demigod-proof glass was between them, for he was sure that all the water in his body would have turned into ice (or steam) in reaction to Percy's sudden moods.
"He had what was coming to him," was all Percy would say about the subject, and then refused to speak for the rest of the session.
Percy had a similar reaction whenever Will asked about the hundreds of scars covering his body. There were simply too many to ignore, ranging from understandable white lines that probably came from swords and daggers during Riptide's many misadventures (read: mass murders) to a half a dozen cigarette burns in a perfect line across his left wrist. Will's gentle probing would prompt Percy to unconsciously rub at whatever scar he was questioning, a far away look in his stormy green eyes. Sometimes that look meant he was enjoying whatever memory came from the scar, a sadistic mind reminiscing in the pain he's caused. Other times...
Other times, that look meant Percy was the one in pain.
There were so many horrible things about Percy Jackson-- his complete lack of remorse for murder and torture, the way he justifies every action with a disturbing amount of detachment, his possessive loyalty towards those he deems worthy, and a dozen possible mental disorders swimming around in his mind that no doctor could ever properly diagnose. There's no reason that he should feel any kind of sympathy for a monster like him, even if his job was to rehabilitate. Yet...
He couldn't ignore the obvious signs of abuse. The scars that were a little to perfect, a little too deliberate to be nothing more than battle injuries. His wild attempts to control the pain he gives others, a retaliation for the pain he went through. The way he completely shuts down if asked to relive too many memories. His deeply rooted instinct to fight whenever someone he loves is threatened, like he couldn't bare to imagine a world without them.
Riptide was easy to hate and call a villain. Percy Jackson was a complicated mess that Will knew he would never completely understand.
When Will expressed this sentiment to his fiance-- who just so happened to also be one of the heroes that brought Riptide down-- one night while they were watching some random show on the couch, he didn't seem to understand. Or, more accurately, Nico di Angelo believed that Percy Jackson wasn't all that complicated.
"He's a manipulator," he told Will, mindlessly twisting his engagement ring. He always did that when Will brought up a topic that he was uncomfortable with emotionally. "He'll lead you along while you're useful, and then discard you when your purpose has been served." There was a specific note of bitterness in Nico's voice that worried Will, though he couldn't place why. He knew that Riptide and Ghost King, Nico's alias, used to be allies of some kind, but he had no idea what happened between them to break it off. Whatever it was, it followed Nico around like the shadows that constantly leaned towards him, another dark mark on Nico's already well beaten heart.
"Chiron seems to think that he can be saved," Will said gently, grabbing his fiance's hand and rubbing his thumb along the pale, scar ridden knuckles. It looked so much like Percy's hand, though his was much tanner than Nico's could ever be. A perk of being a son of Hades, he guessed.
Nico scoffed at Will's words, more frustration leaking into his voice. "He only thinks that because he trained Percy when he was younger, before the whole Riptide thing."
"Chiron trained him?" Will said in amazement. "You know what, that actually makes a lot more sense. Explains why he's so insistent that Percy gets the best treatment he can." Chiron was probably one of the few immortals that actually cared about the mortals they interacted with, which was probably one of the main reasons he even took the job at the Penitentiary. As a trainer of heroes, there's a good chance he would know many of the demigods that ended up there, a part of him even blaming himself for their crimes.
"Did you ever meet him, you know... before," Will asked hesitantly. Sensitive topics were always hard with Nico, especially when Will wasn't entirely sure where the boundaries were drawn. They've both gotten a lot better in the years they've known each other about establishing those boundaries, but it was still a draining process. Camp Half-Blood, one of the two camps where Greek demigods go to learn how to control their powers and become a hero, was a mixed bag. Many of Nico's greatest memories came from Camp Half-Blood, and in many ways he considers it home. But some of the worst memories, the ones that still gave him nightmares, also came from his time there.
Nico sighed, his fingers twitching in Will's hand. "Not for very long. He was still training with Chiron when my sis- when I showed up, but he left pretty quickly after that. A quest or something. After he came back... he was different then how I remembered him being. More ruthless. Quieter. A tendency for violence that he didn't have before." He paused, as deliberating on how he should continue. Will didn't say a word, silently supportive. "There... there was another demigod, Clarisse La Rue, a daughter of Ares. From what I know, she and Percy never got along well. Something happened-- I'm still not entirely sure what-- but one day they started fighting. It escalated quickly. Percy... he nearly drowned her before anyone realized that it wasn't just some petty fight. If someone hadn't stepped in in time..." Nico shuddered. "I saw him right after they saved Clarisse. He had this look on his face that I'd never seen anyone with, like he was disappointed he wasn't able to finish the job. After that... well, he left Camp Half-Blood for good. The next time I heard anything about him was when Riptide first showed up."
There was more Nico wasn't telling him, but Will decided to leave it be for now. All he could think about was that quest Percy went on, how he came back different. Something major must have happened. If he could figure out what...
"I'm positive Percy was abused somehow, but he won't say anything about it. Probably doesn't even realize it was abuse in the first place," Will said absentmindedly. Nico's face twisted momentarily before smoothing back out again.
"You're probably right, but it hardly matters at this point. Nothing can excuse what he's done," Nico said darkly, and that was the end of the conversation. Will still had so many questions he wanted to ask, but he let it go. Right now, they were fiances enjoying each others company.
Besides, the beginning of an idea was starting to form in Will's mind. It was crazy, potentially life threatening, but what else was new? His husband was a hero that was put in life or death situations all the time, and Will regularly interacted with dangerous villains that would gladly snap his neck given the chance. If used incorrectly, it could kill him.
If used correctly... it could potentially save Percy Jackson and all of the other villains at Olympus.
Percy Jackson never thought he would miss running water as much as he does now.
Realistically, he knew he would miss it in some ways, seeing as his powers were centered around water and all, but this was just ridiculous. He's been camping dozens of times with his mom and brother, mostly in remote locations where an available bathroom wasn't around for miles. Quests that the gods sent him on often forced him into wooded areas far away from any kind of civilization. In both instances, the lack of bathroom or shower never bothered him much. Now though, he would do anything for his cell to have something resembling a constant water source.
It's not like Percy can blame the penitentiary. In fact, during his first week imprisoned there, he actually did have running water for the small toilet that occupied one of the corners of his cell. It was much weaker than the average plumbing, but it was still something. At the time Percy thought they were unbelievably stupid for giving him access to a pipeline, even if it was small. They should have known better than anyone that a little water was all he needed to wreak havoc on anyone who got close, and he did. He was able to drown the guards that entered his cell to feed him (which is a horrible way to go, your lungs filled with toilet water and all) and spent a few precious minutes outside of that gods forsaken box. Of course, it was only then that he realized that he actually didn't know how to leave the penitentiary. It was only a matter of time before he was cornered and restrained again, but not before he was able to take out a few more guards.
That was months (or, what he assumed was months) ago. Now his toilet operated on gravity and highly pressurized air (which, let him tell you, is not fun). He wasn't given any water to wash his body with, so he had to make due with baby wipes and dry shampoo. They amped up the dehumidifier, which Percy thought was highly necessary. Sure, he was known for finding and using water in the most obscure of places, but he's only managed to put water out of thin air once or twice before, and even then it wasn't much. The only thing these bastards were accomplishing by bringing down the already nonexistent humidity was making Percy's skin dry and cracked, which was super annoying mostly because it meant some part of his body was always itchy.
When he brought this up to Dr. Solace (his own personal shrink-- gods his mom would be so ecstatic if she knew. She was always trying to get him to go to one... before) the good doctor tried to turn his plight into a therapy session. Sure, that was his job description to a T, but it was still annoying.
"Why do you find yourself so attached to water, Percy? I imagine it provides a comforting constant."
Percy just blinked, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. "Let me get this straight: I'm complaining about the jackasses who run this place and their decision to make my cell drier than the Sahara and your first instinct is to turn this completely understandable complaint into a half baked moment to talk about my feelings? News flash doctor: everyone in the fucking world is attached to water. I'm not special because my daddy happened to have dominion over it or something. This is reaching, even compared to some of our other conversations."
Ok, maybe his mom wouldn't be thrilled to know that he wasn't taking this therapy thing seriously, but Percy felt like she would understand given the circumstance. Being stuck in this penitentiary (when he had infinitely more important things to do) was really grating on his last nerves. His ADHD had gotten used to the constant erratic change in focus that quests and missions provided, and wasn't entirely sure what to do now that all he had for entertainment was this doctor that seemed to think talking about his emotions would magically make everything better. As far as Percy was concerned, nothing could get better while he was still stuck here.
It wasn't like he hated Dr. Solace or anything. In fact, when the dude wasn't being a complete shrink, he was nice to talk to. That wouldn't stop Percy from killing him if it meant finally getting out of this gods forsaken place, but it at least meant that he would consider keeping him alive if the situation allowed it.
Dr. Solace's bright smile dimmed a little bit at Percy's words, but to his credit, didn't seemed all that phased. "I apologize," he said, writing something small on the corner of his ever present clipboard. "How can we make your situation a little more... comfortable?"
"Stop with the pointless dehumidifying. Or at least give me some lotion so that my skin can stop doing an impression of cracked glass in the winter. Both would be preferable."
The doctor pursed his lips in thought. "I don't know about the dehumidifying, but I can probably work on some lotion."
Percy sighed, tilting his head to the sky as if to ask, why me? Of course, he was the last person to ask the gods about anything, especially lately. He's never held them in any kind of regard other than devine annoyance or dead meat, his dad even more so. "Fine," Percy mumbled. "It's better than nothing."
Two days later, Percy had the lotion he asked for. It wasn't the best-- probably the cheapest shit at the closest convenience store-- but it was better than nothing. It made the lack of humidity somewhat bearable. Plus, Percy could ask for as much as he wanted and for once, no one at this stupid penitentiary could deny him because Dr. Solace put it under special circumstances or something like that. Now his cell was filled with of cheap ass lotion bottles-- which was fun in more ways than one.
For example, it was watery enough that he could manipulate it quite easily. He didn't make his manipulation obvious (after all, he wasn't that stupid) but it definitely helped to pass the time. He could imagine each and every mortal and god he wanted to choke with it, the methods he would use the lotion to get what he wanted. Who needed a sword and a dirty river filled with pollution when you had lotion?
Percy threw one of the bottles from where he was laying on the thin mattresses this prison called a bed (because apparently having a bed frame made him a threat to himself and everyone around him), making the bottle go higher and float longer than the rules of physics allowed. He would get out of this place eventually, that was obvious. Nothing could stop him forever, especially when it came to his mom.
A flash of pure anger raged in Percy's chest for a moment, the image of his mom disappearing in a flash of golden light along with the Minotaur racing through his mind. Without even realizing it, he threw the bottle of lotion hard enough to hit the ceiling. The impact was enough to crack the plastic, making drops of the lotion splatter all over the cell. Percy took a deep breath and clenched his fist, holding onto his anger for a moment longer before shoving it down.
He would find her. He didn't care what he had to do, who he had to kill, how many more gods and so called heroes he had to defy. Whoever took Sally Jackson from him would pay deeply. He would burn down this damn penitentiary and everyone in it if it meant being able to keep searching for her.
Percy sat up, ignoring the broken lotion bottle now laying limply on the ground. Instead, he grabbed a new bottle, laying back down to continue his game of throwing it and controlling the lotion. At least my time here has been good for one thing, Percy thought to himself fondly. Now I have a few more ideas where to look.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
The barest hint of a smile crossed Percy's lips.
I wonder what Uncle Hades would think of a little visit from his nephew.
Chapter 2: File 110.2: Talon
Notes:
Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this so far! For those of you who know a little bit about comics, you'll probably recognize the name Talon, and yes, I did take some inspiration from Batman and the Court of Owls for that name. Annabeth's villain name was originally going to be 'Owl' or 'Grey Owl' or something like that, but I decided both sounded too tame and needed a little spicing up, hence Talon. Still got the owl theme going, but it sounds much scarier, which fits Annabeth much better. Anyway, enjoy!
Art Source: https://tamaytka.tumblr.com/
Annabeth Picture: https://64.media.tumblr.com/ec048035e3cd8f03293ef3cd23654589/tumblr_o7k9sc1P6F1tipfd6o7_1280.jpg
Chapter Text
File: 110.2
Villain Alias: Talon
Real Name: Annabeth Chase
Date of Birth: July 12th
Age: 24
Place of Birth: Virginia
Status: Demigod (Greek) (Claimed)*
Race: Caucasian
Eye/Hair Color: Grey/Blond
Height: 5'10
Other Notable Features: Dozens of scars, mostly along her arms and legs.
Family: Frederick Chase (Father), Athena (Mother), Lisa Chase (Stepmother)** Bobby Chase (Stepbrother) Matthew Chase (Stepbrother)
Childhood: Annabeth ran away from home when she was seven years old after a very rough childhood with her father and stepmother. Eventually she befriended two other demigods, Luke Castellan (Son of Hermes, deceased)*** and Thalia Grace (Daughter of Zeus, current Hunter of Artemis) and they found their away to Camp Half-Blood.
Abilities : Photographic memory, near infinite affinity for gaining knowledge. Is really good at crafts and weaving(?). Extreme battle prowess, skilled fighter.
Crimes: Multiple accounts of manslaughter, international terrorism, theft of security sensitive information.
Current Imprisonment: Olympus Penitentiary for Demigods
Assigned Personnel: Doctor William Solace
Threat Level: 10/10****
* Annabeth was claimed by her godly parent Athena when she was twelve. This is quite impressive considering that most demigods aren't claimed until they're 16 or older, after they've gone on a few quests and have done an action heroic enough to gain the attention of their godly parent. This put Annabeth in the position to become one of the youngest heroes to ever enter the public eye, as demigods are only allowed to do so after they have been claimed.
** Possibility that Mrs. Chase was abusive towards Annabeth, especially since she knew of her godly heritage. A few days before Annabeth ran away, Mrs. Chase was admitted to the hospital due to a near death experience involving several broken bones and extreme strangulation, and while there is no hard evidence, Mrs. Chase claims Annabeth was the one who orchestrated it in the first place. This more than likely led to Annabeth's final decision to run away, and is made even more prominent in the fact that it took over a week before Mr. and Mrs. Chase submitted a missing person's report to the police.
*** Luke Castellan, formally known as the hero Scar and then the villain Backbiter, was killed by Annabeth. Luke had allied himself with the Titan Kronos and planned on destroying the Olympians so that the Titans could rule once again. Annabeth, twelve at the time, killed him in retaliation, potentially saving the entire world as a result. This is the act that caused Athena to claim Annabeth. Note to self-- why did Luke ally with the Titans? Why didn't Annabeth join him, especially since at that point they had known each other for years? Where does Thalia play into this? Extra note to self-- Annabeth doesn't like talking about them much. Be careful. She's scary when she's mad.
**** Keep her away from the other inmates, make sure that personnel that have to go in her area have NOTHING that can be used as a weapon. Don't get close, even if you are behind the glass. You can give her soft pencils and paper to draw on, but these supplies must be cycled through every two days. If another personnel must go into her area, someone else must monitor them both until the personnel has left entirely, then that personnel must be searched thoroughly to make sure that she did not put anything on their person. She will manipulate you give at any chance, so be extremely cautious when talking to her. Never say anything personal about yourself.
Of all the villains at Olympus, Talon scared Will Solace the most.
To many, that fear would seem unfounded. 'Talon?' they would say in disbelief, staring at Will like he had grown a second head. 'But she doesn't have any real powers. You're surrounded by villains who can control your actions with just their voice, literally take the air from your lungs, and even manipulate reality itself, but you're most afraid of girl who just so happens to be smart?'
Will just smiles at those people, silently pitying them and praying that they would never have a personal encounter with Talon for as long as they lived. Calling Talon 'smart' was probably the biggest understatement since some poor bastard said Zeus wasn't a faithful husband, and if she ever heard someone say it to her face, Will had no doubts in his mind that she would ruin their life. Knowing what she's done in the past, it would probably involve a very horrible, very public humiliation that would taint the reputation of whatever individual she chose. That was the thing with Talon: she could kill you. In fact, she could think up of dozens of different ways to execute the perfect murder and make sure it never got traced back to her. But that was too easy. To Talon, death meant that you were no longer around to pay for your crimes.
No, death was too simple. She'd much rather drag out your suffering by turning the very fabric of society against you, break away any semblance of sanity you ever thought you had until you were nothing more but a shell of your former self. She'll fabricate dreadful lies, spread horrible rumors, make sure that you suffer blow after blow that you'll never recover from. It was only then, after you've suffered so much that you couldn't even find solace in taking your own life, that she comes for you. And when she does, she'll stab you right in the heart with her Imperial Bronze dagger.
It wasn't even a question of if she would do those things. The destruction of dozens of major companies, politicians, and even countries could be traced back to Talon's handiwork. For years she was a boogie man, a faceless shadow that the entire world feared without realizing it, the idea that you could be next without ever knowing how or why. In fact, the only reason she got caught was because of her own unwavering pride catching up with her. She wanted to be recognized, consciously or not, for her accomplishments. It made her unintentionally sloppy, which eventually lead to her discovery and arrest.
Even now, Will could physically watch the pride Annabeth felt for her actions during their sessions. It was in the the confident way she moved through her cell like a queen planning a war, the brilliantly complex architecture she sketched as Will asked her questions, ignoring him entirely. It was in her piercing grey eyes as she watched every tick of Will's face, analyzing every fault and noting every weakness.
So yes, Talon, Annabeth Chase, whatever you wanted to call her, scared the shit out of him. He's met children of Athena before, but none of them came close to that of their sister, who seemed to be her own breed entirely. Unlike Percy, who she was technically neighbors with though they had no way to communicate with each other, she didn't say much. But when she did, it was scalding, clipped words that cut directly into your heart and retreated just as fast. Just like her dagger.
Like Percy Jackson, Will never asked for Annabeth Chase to be put under his care. She was another case that no other doctor wanted to take, another mad demigod with no chance of redemption, another lost child that Chiron couldn't let go. Once again, after everyone else had rejected Annabeth Chase, Chiron turned to Will. He shouldn't have taken the responsibility, Will knows that-- but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't stand the idea that Annabeth couldn't be helped, that she was simply a lost cause. At that point they might as well just kill Annabeth, but laws were weird when it came to demigods. No one wanted to face the wrath of the gods any more than they already had to, so even the worst of the demigod villains would be spared from what would most definitely be the death penalty for anyone else.
So no, Will couldn't just let Annabeth go like everyone else. Even after he accepted the assignment and realized just how terrifying she really was, even after her manipulations led to a near escape and two deaths, Will couldn't let her go. At first, he didn't know why. Maybe it was because of his experiences with Nico and how he was judged so harshly for his past. Maybe he wanted to make Chiron at least a little bit happy, something that seemed to happen less and less these days. Or, of course, maybe his own stubborn nature refused to believe that anyone could be lost. Whatever it was, it allowed Talon to come under his care, and he was going to do everything he could to help her.
Which is why Will stood in front Chiron's office, contemplating his next actions. There was an idea he wanted to run by Chiron, one that had been brewing in his mind for several months at that point. At first he had dismissed it as crazy and nearly undoable-- after all, the number of safety precautions alone that would have to be taken were enough to fill several textbooks-- but, like Annabeth and the other villains he took care of, Will couldn't let it go. Chiron of all people would be open to it, especially since two of his own former students were apart of the idea, but he couldn't shake the nagging voice telling him that what he was doing was wrong and would inevitably come back to bite him.
Will bit his lip, forcing himself to move before he lost his courage and knocking on the door. Chiron called him in not a moment later, and Will forced all of his doubts down and opened the door.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," the doctor said with a smile, taking a small glance around Chiron's office. It was well organized yet well loved, filled with small personal trinkets throughout his years as a mentor and occasional hero. Chiron himself sat behind a desk, sitting in his wheelchair that hid his human half from the rest of the world. It still stunned Will after all this time that what he knew to be fake could look so real, even with the explanation of the Mist that Chiron explained to him. It was no wonder it took so long for humanity to find out that the Olympians were still wandering around and influencing the world with a veil that could hide monsters and immortals so effectively. Even after the goddess who controlled the Mist was killed, it still went on with a life of its own, still hiding the very world that most everyone knew about by now.
Chiron folded his hands together on his desk, leaning forward slightly. "Not at all, Dr. Solace. Take a seat. I assume there is something you wish to discuss with me?"
Will nodded, doing as Chiron recommended and sitting down in the plush chair that was directly in front of his desk. "Yes sir, I do. It's actually something I've been mulling over for a long time, and I wanted to hear your opinion of it." Will took a deep breath, allowing himself one last moment to get his thoughts together. He could feel Chiron's intense gaze burning into the skin of his face, but it was far from unkind. It was more parental than that, something that he's had thousands of years to perfect. It didn't make Will feel any less nervous, but it gave him the push he needed to start.
"I have an idea for a different type of therapy we could use on some of the residence, specifically the Seven. Or, uh, you know, the group that I have." The Seven was what the rest of the doctors at Olympus called Will's little group of lost causes, and though he didn't necessarily appreciate the sentiment behind the name, it was definitely easier than saying all of their names individually. "It would be somewhat difficult to carry out, but I do believe it could do a lot of good in the end."
Chiron bit his lip, leaning forward slightly. "And what might this be?"
"Group therapy. A way for them to talk and interact with one another and connect through their shared experiences. They've all been pretty much isolated from the entire outside world besides me, which is hardly good for their already cracked mental states. Many of them won't even talk to me about their moment to moment feelings, let alone the traumas they had as children. Our goal is to help them, right? Well, right now I don't feel like I'm doing much. This though, I feel like we could get somewhere with. It would take a lot of precautions, and I've already got a list of ideas that we could do-- but in the end, I do think it will help them. If, you know, you're okay with it."
Will watched Chiron's face closely as if to take in whatever emotions he must be feeling at the moment. He should have realized that it was a pointless task. Chiron's had literal millennia to school his guarded emotions, and there was no way he would let them go just for a few precious students. Or maybe Will was just that bad at reading other's faces.
"How much do you know about Annabeth Chase?" Chiron suddenly asked, startling Will. It took a minute for him to remember that he still had her file with him, having just come from another practically useless one sided session. He can't even remember the last time she told him anything that wasn't meant as a barb towards his general being, let along anything about herself. Sure, he had files with detailed history of her actions throughout the years, but as far as what he truly knew about Annabeth Chase, well, that remained at near zero.
Uh, not much," Will admitted, unsure where this was going. Was this Chiron's way of exposing his obviously flawed plan?
"Neither do I, to tell the truth," Chiron said, slowly stroking his beard. "I've known her since she was only seven years old, and even then she was an enigma. Perfectly calculated. More brutal and effective than any other hero I've ever taught before. The other children, even the older teenagers, avoided her and flinched when she spoke too suddenly. Truly Athena's child in every way, even before she was properly claimed." Chiron chuckled, his face turning horribly sad. "Everyone knew she was a daughter of Athena from the first moment she arrived at camp. It was hard not too, especially since she looked and acted so much like her mother. We couldn't do anything about it, not even move her to the proper cabin. She had to remain isolated from her siblings until she was claimed, which for most demigods, wouldn't happen until she was sixteen or older.
"But Annabeth refused to wait that long. Even as young as she was, she did everything she could to gain her mother's attention. Slaying monsters, risking her life countless times, but nothing ever came from it. I watched her turn from hopeful to spiteful for five long years and did nothing about. The only people who would approach her at that point was Luke Castellan and Thalia Grace, whom she had arrived at camp with."
"Wait, isn't Luke Castellan the villain she killed?" Will asked, feeling slightly embarrassed at his interruption. Chiron didn't seem to mind.
"Indeed he is. To this day I still don't know why she decided to kill him. They were so close that I would have thought that she would join him or let him go before she would kill him, but she did, and in doing so, saved all of humanity from another horrible war the the Titans. She was claimed for her actions, but... something about her changed. She no longer asked to go on quests to help others. She would often refuse to give sacrifices to the gods, something she had never done before. She started disappearing and reappearing at camp at random, never telling anyone where she was going or what she did. One day she simply didn't come back."
Chiron looked deeply into Will's eyes. "I believe your idea could work. Annabeth and the others-- they often fell because the support of others around them caved in. If they could find that support in one another, it could change everything. Right their paths. But you understand the risks that this will entail? What will need to be sacrificed?"
Will swallowed around the barbs that had formed in his throat. He knew exactly what Chiron was asking.
"I understand," will managed to croak out. "I understand completely."
Annabeth Chase wished that she could read an actual book.
Sure, the guards and higher ups allowed (gods, how she hated that word, allowed) her to read via giving her hundreds of unstapled sheets of paper (because apparently having the frame of mind to actually sort said pieces of paper into the correct order or using a staple to keep them in order was too much), but it wasn't the same as holding a real book in her hands. The feeling of each page at your fingers, the smell of ink and wood filling her nostrils. A civilized society would either kill her or give her actual books, but this society decided to be somewhere in the middle.
Anyone else would have said that Annabeth's current predicament wasn't all that bad compared to what it could be. She doesn't have any real like her fellow demigods, so while the security on her cell is certainly high (near unbreakable) it wasn't anything uncomfortable. She was allowed (allowed) to draw and read what books she asked for as long as they were permitted by the Warden. From what little else she knew about the others imprisoned at Olympus, she basically lived in luxury.
But that was the thing about children of Athena, however much she hated the association with her godly parent. Athena's spawn had no problem living in discomfort, the bare minimum to survive even, but cutting them off from the rest of the world? Forcing them to rely on others for information, limiting what they can learn? Being a prisoner, insulting their very person (their very pride)? That was worse than any kind of torture could possibly be. Torture at least stimulated the mind, forced it to compartmentalize and process the pain. This nothing, these barren, horrible walls of nothing got to her more effectively than any torture could.
It almost made her want to seriously talk to the shrink, Dr. Solace. While he wasn't on her level of intellect (who was she kidding-- no one was) but he was definitely better than anyone else in this prison. When he wasn't gently probing at her darkest feelings and trying to get her to respond, he often just rambled about things that were happening in the world. Unfiltered, full of passion and obviously well read, it was the only time Dr. Solace seemed to be comfortable around Annabeth. While she rarely put in her own opinions on whatever matter he decided to discuss, it was certainly more intellectually broadening than anything else she had going on.
Of course, in the end, she had no one else to blame but herself for ending up in this horrible prison. She had remained virtually undetected for years, hiding in plain sight, defying the gods each and every day without them ever realizing it. Getting back at the divine bastards that thought themselves superior compared to the disposable waste that was humanity, doing what Luke should have done in the first place.
Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut, immediately regretting thinking about Luke. She slowly counted to ten, packing any thoughts about her once friend into tiny containers and sending them to the far corners of her mind. It was a helpful trick that she's made good use of over the years, a way for her to keep her perfect composure from shattering. She couldn't let anyone see her be weak (couldn't allow them), especially not Dr. Solace and the guards that regularly rotated shifts around her cell. They weren't supposed to be there during her session with the doctor, but she could still feel them, judging and ready to pounce the moment she blinked in the wrong direction. They might accidently kill her in the struggle, but no one would particularly care. No one would mourn. Talon would be just another villain in the footnote of history.
No, Annabeth told herself, grinding her teeth together as fortified door to her area opened, signaling the start of another session with Dr. Solace. I will get out of here. The gods will pay for every single unanswered crime, every abandoned child, every time they've ignored humanity during its darkest moments. I will make sure of it.
When Dr. Solace entered, he looked even more nervous than usual. His fingers tapped rapidly against the file in his hands, one Annabeth doesn't recall seeing before. It was surprisingly thick and sturdy, filled with dozens of papers and notes than she couldn't see from the outside, but knew were there. The good doctor loved his notes, but even this seemed a little ridiculous. It wasn't her file, no, she knew the exact creases and approximate weight of that, having studied it so many times. This was something different, and whatever it was, it was effecting Dr. Solace greatly.
"Hi Annabeth," the doctor started, which was odd. Usually he asked her how she was feeling that day, if she needed anything or a random fact he read and thought she would find interesting. Annabeth narrowed her piercing grey eyes at him, wondering if there was some kind of trick woven into whatever he was doing. It wasn't in his nature to purposely trick people, she knew, but that didn't meant he wasn't forced into doing this.
He didn't wait for her reply: another first. "Today is not going to be a normal session. I, uh, actually from now on none of our sessions will be 'normal...'" he trailed off, rubbing the file in his hands. "In fact, everything around here is about to become much different. Not in a bad way-- I promise that, but... just different."
Annabeth still said nothing. For once, Dr. Solace seemed relieved about that.
"From now on, you and six others will be apart of a new program, one that I will be supervising. It will be a version of group therapy, a way for you guys to interact with one another. Now, this will be a great stretch of privilege's... "
Dr. Solace's voice faded from her ears, and a low ringing sound filled Annabeth's head. Group therapy? What the hell is he talking about?
There were so many questions she had, who these other six demigods were, why he suddenly decided to switch the 'treatment' she had been on for so long, what would be done so that they could talk to one another. But another, weaker question also passed through her mind: is this how I get out? Individually they can contain us, separated from outside intelligence and communication, but together? This could mean...
It could mean a lot of things. It could be a trap, a way to test her. It could be a genuine attempt from Dr. Solace to help her and her fellow demigods, whatever help meant. It could mean freedom and revenge.
Annabeth stared at the doctor, small pieces of what could end up being a useless plan coming together. She found that she didn't mind the possibility of failure, the possibility that this group therapy, these other demigods, might not work out in her favor. Her mother was the goddess of battle strategy; plans fell apart and came together all the time on the battlefield. What mattered was how you adapted.
I can adapt, alright, Annabeth thought, and that's why I will win.
Soon, the gods will know the wrath of a thousand Titans, and that's when they'll wish that I had never killed Luke.
Chapter 3: File 113.3: Siren
Notes:
Happy New Year everyone! Those of you with eagle eyes will notice that Piper doesn't have a relationship tag like everyone else, but it's not because I don't like her! I've always been a bigger fan of Liper and Valgrace rather than Jasper, and I just wanted to do Valgrace in this fic. She still holds a special place in my heart, though :)
My Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/alexthemagicaldevil
Art Sources: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/tamaytka/144735584025
Piper Art: https://64.media.tumblr.com/4b0a4ee36090dd765c9e37cb8a99b75b/tumblr_o7k9sc1P6F1tipfd6o6_1280.jpg
Chapter Text
File: 113.3
Villain Alias: Siren
Real Name: Piper McLean
Date of Birth: June 3rd
Age: 23
Place of Birth: Oklahoma
Status: Demigod (Geek) (Unclaimed)*
Race: Cherokee
Eye/Hair Color: Multi/Brown
Height: 5'8
Other Notable Features: A few scars, nothing too noticeable
Family: Tristan McLean (Father)**, Unknown (Mother), Thomas McLean (Grandfather) (Deceased)
Childhood: Born to the famous Tristan McLean, from a young age Piper was caught stealing multiple times, which gradually grew worse as she got older. She was mostly raised by her fathers assistants, which likely fueled her stealing habits.*** She never made it to Camp Half Blood.
Abilities : Charmspeak (controlling others with her voice), supernatural beauty, fluent in French, moderate fighting skills.
Crimes: Stealing on a local, state, federal, and global scale, multiple accounts of manslaughter, international terrorism.
Current Imprisonment: Olympus Penitentiary for Demigods
Assigned Personnel: Doctor William Solace
Threat Level: 10/10****
* While officially Piper is unclaimed by her godly parent, it is quite obvious that Aphrodite is her mother. Her powerful charmspeak probably protected her from many unknown monsters throughout her childhood, though it is hard to say because no one in her immediate everyday life knew or told her she was a demigod until she was 16, quite an impressive age seeing as most demigods who don't get any training or find one of the camps have an astronomically low chance of surviving past 12. It is likely she will never be claimed by Aphrodite, as most gods tend to distance themselves from the deeds of their more villainous children.
** Mr. McLean claims that he never knew that Piper was a demigod, only that her mother left them both after she was born. It seems that he is extremely susceptible to the Mist, even more so than the average mortal. Piper only found out she was a demigod after a group of earthborn kidnapped her Mr. McLean and she saved him using her charmspeak-- which she didn't even realize she had. From several different police reports throughout the years of Piper being caught stealing, there are many of times where she claims that she didn't steal anything. In fact, she just asked for something, and it was given to her. It wasn't until hours later that the 'theft' was then reported, and Piper arrested. Note to self-- how was saving her father not considered heroic enough to be claimed, especially since children of Aphrodite have the highest rate of claiming compared to other demigods?
*** There is some evidence that many of these assistance's were in fact monsters, and that Piper was abused by them. Mr. McLean was rarely around during Piper's childhood because of acting, so she would have been left at their mercy from a young age. Funnily enough, there are a few instances where these assistances suddenly disappeared, though they were never reported, likely because of the Mist. Piper's stealing got worse and worse with each new assistant-- a way to gain the attention of her father? Note to self-- did Piper known that many of these assistance's were monsters? If not, is this evidence for her killing tendencies accruing much sooner than previously believed?
**** Keep her contained and away from other inmates, make sure that she is unable to talk and use her charmspeak at all times. (Note-- this can be overridden if she is wearing a Mute, a device that is able to detect the distinct vibrations charmspeak creates and can immediately incapacitate her if she uses it). Restrain her thoroughly if someone needs to go into her area, and make sure that someone on the outside is always watching. Heterosexual females and homosexual males are preferred guards, as they are much less likely to be attracted and manipulated by her looks and charmspeak if either the standard mouth clamp or the Mute malfunction. Be extremely cautious around her at all times, and if at any point you feel unsafe, leave the area immediately.
From the beginning Will Solace knew that Siren would be the most difficult of the Seven to accommodate for.
Yes the others have their issues-- manipulating metal, turning into infinitely small animals, controlling the very mechanics around them-- but Siren was slightly more complicated, even before Will decided to try out his group therapy idea. How was a villain who's main power came from her voice supposed to communicate without everyone else having the constant fear of becoming puppets to her every whim? Of course, when she was only interacting with the guards and Will, this problem was much easier to get around. The cell she was in could become sound proof from the outside with a push of a button, and since it was required for someone else to be watching her at all times, it was simple to contain and deal with any problems that came up.
Then there was the Mute-- a frankly brilliant device created by a child of Vulcan (it was Vulcan, right?) that is able to detect the vibrations unique to charmspeak and instantly administer a sedative to take out the user. This made one on one interactions, mainly between himself and Piper, much easier to conduct. Before the Mute, she would have to communicate using a piece of paper and a pencil, which could take a surprisingly long time to do considering that Piper instinctively wrote in either Ancient Greek like most Greek demigods tend to do, or French like many children of Aphrodite are naturally proficient in. Of course, there was a pretty good chance that Piper was just messing with him, but there were times when she seemed genuinely frustrated in her inability to communicate effectively.
Now, don't get Will wrong. He definitely felt sympathy for Piper's situation, and there were plenty of times before the Mute that he considered asking if she could take off the mouth clamp preventing her from talking for just one of their sessions. Everything was safe, right? If anything went wrong, it would be easy to fix.
But then he remembered Dr. Oliver, who had been in charge of Piper's care before Will. Unlike many of his other patients, someone had opted to take her in without much fuss. Will could still here Dr. Oliver's voice as he explained his reasoning, how children of Aphrodite, while viscous, were easy patients to care for. He would ask for Piper's mouth clamp to be removed fairly often, if Will's memory served his correctly.
Two weeks later, Dr. Oliver killed three guards and a fellow doctor before slicing his own throat open with a piece of glass.
It was Piper. No one could dispute that-- especially not later when video footage was found of her using charmspeak to get Dr. Oliver to do things. No one wanted to take her as a patient after that, and like every other time, Will was the one who finally said yes. He shouldn't have. He didn't even have Chiron as an excuse this time. All he could think about after he saw that video footage was how Piper had every chance to escape, every chance to tell Dr. Oliver to let her go. Instead, she waited until he was so under her control that he would commit a brutal murder suicide without hesitation.
So, whenever he felt that sympathy bubble up in his chest, he thought about Dr. Oliver. It was quite the effective reminder.
After she was given the Mute, communication became much easier. For short periods of time he and Piper would talk to one another, and never once has the Mute had to sedate her because she used charmspeak. He was still cautious as hell whenever he entered her area-- he would be a fool not to be-- but it was in those moments that he was fairly glad that he was constantly being watched by a guard when he was in her room. They were supposed to give the doctors privacy during their sessions with inmates, and usually Will was all about having less eyes on him and his patients, but he found himself going the opposite direction when he was with Piper.
Maybe that wasn't fair to her. After all, Piper was one of the few that would actually talk about her childhood (though there were still subjects she refused acknowledge, her dad and the assistances who raised her being the prime example) and some part of her did seem to feel remorse for the things she's done.
(But then she would get that look in her eye: a type of satisfaction and pride in the people she's killed, the people that she convinced to do horrible things with nothing but her words. The suicides, the murders, the destruction.
Dr. Oliver).
Anyway, the point was, there were a lot of things Will had to keep in mind when it came to these group therapy sessions, and most of them had to deal with Piper. He had to make sure that the Mute was functioning at all times, that there were safety measures put into place so that she couldn't control the others and himself if something were to go wrong, keep track of the guards that would constantly be watching them-- there was a lot. And Piper herself seemed a little bit put off by the idea of group therapy, though, to be fair, pretty much all of the Seven were (well, there was one exception to that). When Will first mentioned it to Piper, she had squirmed a little bit, like she was uncomfortable.
(Dr. Oliver, Dr. Oliver, Dr. Oliver-)
"Are you sure that's a good idea, given that, you know, a lot of us are considered terrorists and whatnot?" Piper had asked, her voice slightly rough from how little she got to use it. Will had to make sure he didn't look at her eyes too hard, or else he would become distracted by the different shades of color that constantly changed from moment to moment. He was very much into guys and only guys-- the ring on his left hand was proof of that-- but even he couldn't deny that Piper was gorgeous. Most children of Aphrodite were, but there was something slightly different about Piper. Maybe it was how she did everything in her power to make herself less noticeable, the uneven cut of her hair, the casual hold of her body that spoke nothing of the unwavering arrogance that Will saw in most children of Aphrodite.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was how her voice was charming even without the use of charmspeak. There were a few reports that claimed Piper McLean was able to convince people to do things for her without ever enchanting them, and while Will wasn't sure of the truth behind those reports, he could definitely understand why many believed it.
"We'll just have to wait and see," Will had replied, hoping his uncertainty wasn't too obvious. At the time he had hoped that he would feel better about it the closer they came to the actual date of the first group session-- but in hindsight, he knows he was just trying to be optimistic. Now, sitting in this large room that the guards and engineers had spent weeks to prepare for his Seven, he feels his nerves twitching with each breath he takes.
What if I should have separated the Romans and the Greeks? Those two groups don't usually get along very well-- or what about the different rivalries that their parents have? We didn't miss anything, right? All precautions taken, everything functioning as intended--?
Will was so distracted by his thoughts that he startled greatly when a voice came over the loudspeaker, nearly falling out of his chair.
"You alright in there Dr. Solace?" asked the guard. "They're about to bring the first one in."
Will composed himself, taking a deep breath. He could do this. Nothing would go wrong. It couldn't.
"Go ahead," Will replied with the fake confidence he hoped to eventually gain. "Lets begin."
Piper McLean is sure she's never seen a group that was quite literally as colorful as the one she was in right now.
She had to strain to see everyone properly, even if they were all placed in a circle that should theoretically make seeing everyone easy. The various cages they were placed in, most much more complicated than her own simple bulletproof box wrapped in thick glass, obscured her vision slightly as they were rolled in one by one. To her right was a girl that was already there when she was brought into the giant, nearly empty room. The girl's grey eyes watched her every move with a striking sense of purpose, though Piper had no idea what that purpose was. Her cage was similar to Piper's, though she notably didn't have the sound proof casing that seemed to follow Piper everywhere these days. Instead, her arms were strapped tightly to her chest, showing that while the guards here feared Piper for her voice, they feared this girl for her actions.
Piper felt a twinge of empathy for her, knowing exactly what it feels like to be uncomfortably restrained. Either she was used to this treatment or she was much better at hiding her discomfort than Piper, because she didn't even attempt to move around. Piper would have smiled at her, let the girl know that she wasn't alone, but she still had the damned mouth clamp on. The forced clenching of her jaw made in near impossible to do anything with the lower half of her face, so instead, she looked to the other two people in the room, both next to the other girl.
The first guy was in a cage like they were, though his had some kind of machine attached to the outside. What it did, Piper had no unearthly idea, but... was that a bottle of lotion in his hands? Whatever it was, he was gently tossing in the air before catching it over and over again. He barely glanced at his two companions, his windswept dark hair ever so slightly covering his eyes. If Piper had seen him on the street, she would have immediately labeled him as one of those bad boy types and steered clear-- but then again, that would make Piper in the biggest hypocrite to ever walk the earth.
Actually-- see took that back. That honor belonged to her dear sweet mother.
Next to the bottle thrower was the only person not stuck in a cage, Dr. Solace. Piper instantly noticed that he wasn't wearing his silver ring, something he seemed slightly nervous about. He kept rubbing the spot where it was supposed to be with his other hand, a tick he was prone to even with the ring on. Piper might not be the most intellectual person out there, but she was good at reading body language. Great, even. Right now she could tell that Dr. Solace was really unsure of himself, even as he plastered on a smile.
Piper sighed to herself, the movement constrained by the mouth clamp. No one was talking, the silence echoing in the large room. That problems was almost immediately solved when the guards rolled in the next cage, which contained what Piper could only describe as the world's weirdest air conditioner and a guy that was rambling at a mile per minute. He was saying something about the mechanics behind his weird air conditioner-- though Piper barely understood a word and the guards looked as though they couldn't care less. When the cage was eventually put into place and the guards left, the guy inside abruptly stopped his talking, looking straight at Piper.
If there was one way to describe this guy, the only thing that was coming to Piper's mind was Latino elf. She felt bad for thinking that, but with his curly hair and mischievous and skinny features, it felt like the only appropriate thing to call him. He also found her attractive, Piper could tell, but not in the way that most males did. He found her attractive more like... the way Dr. Solace did.
Before Piper could attempt to figure out what that meant, he was off talking again, this time to her.
"Hello Beauty Queen," he said with a quirked smile. "Lovely to meet you, especially since we already have so much in common! You know, being in prison and all. I'm Leo Valdez, but you can call me--"
"Leo," Dr. Solace said gently by firmly. "I thought we talked about this."
Leo pouted at that, and if Piper had the ability to, she knew she would be uncontrollably smiling in that moment. While Piper was used to men attempting to flirt with her and call her beautiful in a variety of ways (most which ended with their own brains splattered against the wall through her encouragement), but this guy, Leo, didn't feel like he was patronizing her. It felt more like good natured teasing, the way he interacted with most people around him. If Piper could only get this damn mouth clamp off and reply, then she would tease him right back. This was already more interaction with another person besides Dr. Solace that she's had in (months, years, decades?) a while, and she found herself craving it more than she realized.
Leo let out a long, dramatic sigh, and Piper found herself slightly startled when she could actually see his breath. It must have been freezing in that cage if it was cold enough to do that, but Leo seemed completely unbothered in his grey jumpsuit, nearly identical to the one Piper was wearing herself.
"Yeah yeah yeah, I get it," Leo mumbled, fiddling with his hands as if he was going through the motions of putting something back together. Piper found herself disappointed when he stayed quiet after that, and the room went into silence until the next cage was brought in.
The cage, which was slightly foggy for whatever reason, was placed next to Leo. The boy inside, who Piper could barely see, didn't make a sound as he was rattled around rather harshly. The only definite feature she could make out were his eyes, an electric blue color that almost glowed. It made her shiver and tear her eyes away, instead deciding to gage everyone else's reactions. Leo looked like he wanted to say something but restrained himself, and girl next to Piper was giving glowy eyes the same intense treatment she gave her (and, assumingly, Leo) and the boy with the bottle still hadn't looked up. Dr. Solace definitely looked nervous now, but still, he persistently smiled.
Soon enough, there was another one. This cage was surprisingly small compared to everyone else's, which made Piper even more confused when she realized just how big the guy inside was. His shoulders hunched over, knees above his hips, neck at a slightly awkward angle as his eyes darted around in anxiety. "Hi Dr. Solace," he said politely, very unsure about himself the entire time. He even thanked the guards once they began to leave, which Piper didn't understand in the least.
Just how many of us are in this 'group therapy' think anyway? Piper wondered to herself, taking note of how all of the cages and Dr. Solace formed a perfect circle.
Well. An almost perfect circle. There was still a gap right next to the doctor, just big enough to fit one more cage.
Oh well, shouldn't bee too long before they show up as well, Piper thought, turning her head to look at the entrance to the room so she could watch the last demigod enter. When over five minutes had passed with nothing, she turned back. There had to be another, right? Why else would there be a gap next to Dr. Solace?
"Are we going to start or what?" asked the boy with the bottle, finally looking up from his constant motion of throw and catch. "This situation can only get so awkward before I projectile vomit and sitting here in silence isn't helping."
Piper was inclined to agree, but like before, couldn't voice this. She wished the fucking Mute would activate already so that she could speak like a normal person.
"We're still waiting for one more member," Dr. Solace replied, staring intensely at the door. "She always takes a little big longer to move around than the others. Don't worry, she'll be here shortly."
Dr. Solace's prediction became true after another minute, when the last and final cage was rolled into the room with a loud CLANG! It was huge: thick mirrors that greatly distorted the light, some kind of plastic shield covering it entirely, and small girl a few years younger than Piper herself trapped in the middle. Her eyes, which were an eerie amber that reminded Piper of a mosquito she once saw trapped in a jar of the same color, were pinpointed at her feet. No amount of movement from the outside, even as everyone else in the circle strained to she her, could grab those eyes attention. Sound seemed to be the only thing she reacted to, though Piper couldn't understand why.
Soon, the last of the guards left. Then, it was just seven caged demigods and a mortal doctor in a giant room.
Dr. Solace cleared his throat.
"Hello, everyone," he said, "and welcome to the first group therapy session in Olympus Penitentiary history."
Chapter 4: File 116.4: Firesmith
Notes:
So, I'm gonna be honest: Leo's picture might just be my favorite of the bunch (besides one other, and you guys will soon see why). I love the fire and the lighting around him, it's just so cool.
Leo Picture: https://64.media.tumblr.com/41182a273d85a60a7d224682c4863438/tumblr_o7k9sc1P6F1tipfd6o5_1280.jpg
Artist: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/tamaytka/144735584025
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
File: 116.4
Villain Alias: Firesmith
Real Name: Leo Valdez
Date of Birth: July 7th
Age: 23
Place of Birth: Texas
Status: Demigod (Greek) (Unclaimed)*
Race: Hispanic
Eye/Hair Color: Brown/Brown
Height: 5'6
Other Notable Features: A few bones in his left wrist weren't set right, some scars over his arms.
Family: Esperanza Valdez (Mother) (Deceased)**, Unknown (Father)
Childhood: Leo and his mother were quite separate from the rest of their extended family for unclear reasons, leading Esperanza to raise the boy by herself. When Leo was eight a fire in the family workshop killed his mother, and he got sent into foster care, as no one else from the family would take him. Leo was bumped around quite a lot during these years, causing trouble wherever he went before he finally ran away, joining a gang (The Dragon's Den) and eventually gaining a reputation as Firesmith.***
Abilities: Immune to fire and resistant to most types of extreme heat, pyrokinesis, manipulate machinery to a certain degree as well as building them. He is extremely smart, especially when it comes to math and engineering, and while he has no formal fighting instruction, he is not to be underestimated in a battle.
Crimes: Involvement with a dangerous gang, buying and selling of illegal substances, multiple accounts of manslaughter, international terrorism.
Current Imprisonment: Olympus Penitentiary for Demigods
Assigned Personnel: Doctor William Solace
Threat Level: 10/10****
* With Leo's supernatural skills in mechanics and his ability to 'talk' to machines, it's pretty obvious that he is a son of Hephaestus, but we can't officially put it in his records because he is unclaimed. As far as anyone knows he hasn't done anything that would be considered heroic enough to be claimed, but since he is known as a villain now, the likelihood of him being claimed has dropped significantly. Also, Leo is the first child of Hephaestus to have the extremely rare ability to create and control fire in nearly 150 years. The last time someone had this power, the Great Chicago Fire happened. Note to self-- what other children of Hephaestus in the past have had this ability? Why is he the first in so long to have the ability? Another note to self-- he doesn't like talking about his powers all that much.
** His mother, as mentioned before, died in a fire when Leo was young. When we interviewed some of his living relatives on why they didn't take in Leo after she died, many of them claimed he 'had the Devil inside of him.' A few even said he was the reason the fire started in the first place, or even that he did it on purpose. Most of them say that they didn't know Leo was a demigod, but that they knew something was wrong with him since he was young. Is this the reason that he doesn't like talking about his powers? I can't imagine he would kill his mother, who from all accounts (including my own) he loved dearly, but it's hard to be sure.
*** Before Firesmith, Leo was simply known as an excellent repairman that would fix the most technical problems for practically nothing. When The Dragon's Den, a prominent gang known for drug running, smuggling, and illegal mechanics heard about this, they eventually roped him in and gave him the nickname 'Firemith,' partially because of his affinity for mechanics, but also because of his ability to touch boiling hot objects without much trouble. Leo spent a few years with this gang, gaining recognition in the local area and becoming one of the most valuable members. Then, one day, for reasons we are still unsure about, Leo suddenly destroyed them all. None of the known 50+ member of The Dragon's Den survived Leo's attack, and soon after he destroyed the gang he began going out of control, quickly becoming one of the top villains in the world. Note to self-- why did Leo suddenly turn on the people that have housed him for years? He never had a history of violence before that moment, only troublemaking.
**** Keep him separated and away from the other inmates, in a cell that has little to no mechanical structure within. Make sure he has nothing that could be used as a weapon, which in his case means nothing that he can fashion into something that works as a weapon or escape tool. Keep the temperature in the cell low enough that he struggles to create a significant flame. The cold, like the heat, doesn't bother him too much due to his naturally increased body temperature, but the actual creation of a flame will be dampened. Leo is much smarter than he looks or acts, so always be on your guard. And for all the gods and Titans, please bring nothing flammable into his cell. I can't believe I actually had to write those words, but apparently it's necessary.
Firesmith is easily the most talkative villain Will Solace has ever encountered.
Now, that isnt't exactly saying much. When it comes to villains, especially the ones at Olympus, the bar is literally on the floor. And yet every day, with every new interaction, with every word that comes out of Firesmith's mouth, Will is continuously surprised by the sheer volume that near continuously flows without pause.
This doesn't mean that Firesmith actually says anything, which is always confusing for Will to explain. Yes, he'll talk and talk for hours and never has any problem with Will's company, but rarely does anything of value come out. He'll tell elaborate stories in great detail (most of which Will is sure is exaggerated), describe the exact methods to deconstruct any vehicle and put it back together, and make puns and horribly timed jokes with every opportunity, but Firesmith never talks about anything important. Not his mother or her death, not his time in foster care, not about his introduction to the gang he would eventually burn into ash, not about anything related to the reasons he was in Olympus in the first place. Whenever Will tries to bring them up, Firesmith immediately changes the subject with no amount of tactical grace, but at least he'll keep talking. Will couldn't say the same for his other patients.
But... there are moments. Moments when Leo Valdez slows down his insistent rambling just long enough for something else to peak through. His humanity. His guilt.
His anger. His madness.
"I never burned anyone on purpose before them," Leo said once, somehow through Will's gentle probing and his mindless talking bringing himself to the very topics he so forcefully ignored. "I didn't like fire, at least fire that wasn't from a forge. Brought up too many bad memories." Leo was always in motion even in moments like this, his hands moving with smooth, practiced sweeps as if we was disassembling a piece of machinery only to put it back together. He looked everywhere but his hands, but Will always found himself drawn to them.
"I didn't want to at first," Leo admitted softly, his normally cheerful face twitching. "I... I didn't mean to. But I was just so angry and then... then it was too late. They couldn't stand the flames like I could. And I couldn't just stop there, you know? I had to burn them all or else they would never stop looking for me, would never let me live in peace. By the time they were all ash, I realized fire wasn't just something to be afraid of." Leo's eyes found Will's then, his brown irises flickering with heat even as frost gathered on his eyelashes. A gaze of perfect calculation and recollection. A gaze of satisfaction and pleasure.
"What's that Ray Bradbury quote? It was a pleasure to burn," Leo said the words with admiration, with longing. "Now I've never read anything by that dude, don't get confused. No way in Tartarus could I sit still long enough to read something that long, but still. I know exactly what he means." Leo's mouth quirked up into a sharp smile, and heat in his eyes growing hotter for just a moment. "By the time I was finished with them, I didn't want to stop, so I didn't. It was a pleasure to burn, and I needed to show the world just how pleasurable fire could be." A shrug, and just as quickly as it had come, the heat in Leo's eyes faded back into their usual brown. "Too bad I was put in here before everyone could truly see it, you know doc? A damn shame indeed. Anyway, then there was this one time I found this car from like the stone age—"
It was moments like that that made Will simultaneously love and hate his job. He sees the glimpses of humanity under the impossibly vague label of villain, but he also sees the darkness. Not evil, not entirely, but something close, like the deepest parts of Nico's shadows. It swirls in these demigods with horrible vigor, snuffing out whatever light it could. Will just hopes that he isn't too late, that if they can hold on for just a little longer, he can help them bring out the light that remained. That they can bring out the light in each other.
Leo is actually the one that inspired Will's idea for group sessions, when somewhere in his rambling, he admitted to missing the sight of other people. "Not that you're bad or anything doc," Leo had quickly reassured. "I just get bored after a while, you know? Seeing the same people over and over again, doing the same thing over and over again, it could be nice to have some variety. Or something." Of course, during his first week here, Leo had also burned two guards to death because bringing flammable substances into his cell wasn't quite as enforced as it is now, which prompted the only enter if extremely necessary order. It also prompted his transfer over to Will's care, which by that point, he didn't even try to reason through. Will didn't have the heart (or the courage in that moment) to tell him no one was really allowed in here but himself. Still didn't stop the idea of getting the Seven together in the same room, or the hundreds of hours in preparation to make it happen.
And, well. One thing led to another, and here they are.
It's surreal to have them all here, in one place face to face, even if it was through layers of reinforced glass and specialized cages. Somehow, despite the countless hours of discussion and preparation, even up to the order to gather everyone, he expected something to go wrong, for one of the higher ups to cancel everything at the last possible moment. But it happened! Is he currently scared out of his mind? Of course! But that didn't stop the immense surge of satisfaction in his chest.
None of his patients seem to share his enthusiasm, however. Even Leo kept his mouth shut, eyes dancing around the room as he took in his new space. In many ways, Will is relying on Leo to get the ball rolling, hoping that his ability to talk to anyone and anything will get something out of the others.
"Why don't we start out with something simple?" Will suggests, shifting in his seat. He knew it would be unnerving to have all of their gazes on him at once, but he still wasn't prepared for the sheer intensity. At least Hazel couldn't actually see anything from the inside of her cage, so her gaze isnt't as direct as the others. Still. "Lets introduce ourselves! I know you all know who I am, but for the sake of things, I'm Dr. Solace. It's amazing to see you all here."
Silence echoes in the chamber. The demigods glance between Will and each other, and Will gets the sense that many of them were sizing each other up. Percy and Jason in particular seem to have narrowed in on each other, as if sensing without a single word that there is something polarizing between them. Will's hands are starting to get clammy in the silence. Well, if no one is going to volunteer, then maybe he can convince them to go around in the circle—
And of course, that's when Leo Valdez decides to open his mouth.
Leo Valdez is not known for his desire to keep his mouth shut.
This, that is, this group of what he can very easily put together as very powerful demigods like himself, is the most amount of people he's seen in months. Perhaps years. You know, probably not years, but close enough. Part of his brain immediately latches onto the various cages they were trapped in, trying to figure out the mechanics and their purposes— but a bigger, more insistent part of his brain is begging for some kind of socialization. Being almost completely isolated from the entirety of the human race with only his imagination to keep him company has been grating on him in horrible ways, especially on the days his mind wants to drag him back to the past.
No thank you, not today Hades, depression may be strong but Leo Valdez's denial is stronger. He's become an expert at distracting himself over the years, and look! He promised to the doc that he would try and behave around the others, but come on! So many new people, so many puns, so little time. He tried to keep his mouth shut, he really did, but with seemingly no one willing to be the first to speak up, there is really only one option left.
"Well I'm Leo Valdez, hot man supreme, greatest inventor of our time, lady lover and heart destroyer." Well, maybe that last part isnt't exactly right, but hey, gotta come out strong. "I for one can't wait for you all to to witness the amazingness I have to offer. Anyone wanna go first?" Leo turns towards the cage on his left, the one with only the two glowing orbs visible through the foggy glass. He swears the orbs are moving, not with a sense of motion but with electricity. It's fascinating and Leo desperately wants to get a closer look to prove his theory, but alas, cages. As cool as they are, when (absolutely when) Leo gets out of this stupid prison, he wants to destroy this cage. He's not entirely sure how yet, but he'll get there eventually. "What about you, my sparky friend? What's your name?"
The sparks shift towards Leo, and gods does he wish he could see the person inside better. Everyone else's cage has glass you could see through, so what gives with this one?
"Uh," the person inside murmurs, voice deep and probably male. "I'm Jason. Just Jason, I guess. No add-ons."
Leo's mouth curves into a wicked smile, a few too many teeth flashing in the light. "Jason! Nice to meet you after all this time, though I don't know how long you've been here. Hard to tell with the you know, prison thing—"
"Is this really necessary?" comes from somewhere to Leo's right. He looks over to see the blond girl in a straight jacket two cages over, the one Leo had immediately labeled as The Scary One when he first entered the room. Something about her gray eyes sent shivers down his spine, something even the frost around him never managed to do. Now, those eyes are locked onto Dr. Solace, narrowed and deadly. "What's even the purpose of all this? Why are we here?" Despite the cold neutrality of her voice, there is something else in there, something Leo found familiar. It takes a moment for him to realize what it is: frustration and disappointment.
Dr. Solace taps his fingers on the edge of his clipboard. "Well right now we're introducing ourselves to each other, as I said before. Hard to get anywhere else without it. Would you like to go next?" He says that last part pointedly towards The Scary One.
After a few moments of venomous silence that has Leo convinced something is about to go down, the girl huffs. "Fine. I'm Annabeth. Annabeth Chase."
Bottle Boy—the one in the cage next to The Scary One's (Annabeth's)—turns to her with something like surprise. "You're Talon," he states bluntly. "I've heard about you—the campers at Camp Half-Blood talked about you all the time. Never thought I'd ever see you in person."
Talon—that vaguely tingles Leo's memory, though he can't remember why. Then again, he tries not to think about those years he spent under The Dragon's Den's thumb, which is probably where the name would have come up in the first place.
Talon/Annabeth/The Scary One's eyes shifts over to Bottle Boy, as if only now taking the chance to truly look at him. Leo isn't sure he could've handled that much intensity without spontaneously combusting, but to Bottle Boy's credit, his face doesn't change from it's calm indifference, sea green eyes easily meeting the demigod next to him. The only evidence of any kind of reaction is a single raised eyebrow, dark and questioning.
"And you're Riptide," Talon says, giving a shrug even with the straight jacket restricting most of her movement. "Can't say I've ever given much thought to meeting you."
Riptide? Now that's a name Leo knows for sure he's heard before—though like with Talon, he can't remember why.
Riptide's mouth turns into a smirk at that, and in that moment, Leo knows that if anything close was ever directed at him from this guy, he would burst into flames, purely as a defense mechanism. Well. If he wasn't trapped in this stupid cage he would. Talon doesn't seem bothered though, and that almost scares him more.
Oh boy, Leo thinks to himself, jittery energy boiling under his skin. These guys are going to be fun.
"Call me Percy," Riptide/Percy says. "Riptide's my sword. It always got on my nerves that they never bothered to come up with something else."
"Ok!" Dr. Solace interrupts, likely feeling the tension in the air thickening with each moment Annabeth and Percy stare at one another without either of them flinching. "Who's next?"
Leo is about to look back over to Sparky (Jason, but Sparky was totally better), when the girl with the gag (or something like a gag) in the cage next to him suddenly taps on the glass. Leo is once again struck by her beauty, something that while he always talked a big talk about, he didn't usually notice in women. But somehow, even in that drab gray jumpsuit that did absolutely nothing for anyone, she manages to look like a knockout, a Beauty Queen as Leo had said. Now holding the attention of the entire room, she points forcefully at the gag on her face.
"Oh!" Dr. Solace exclaims, fumbling for something in his coat. "I am so sorry about that—I can't believe it skipped my mind." He pulls out a silver remote and pushes a button, and in the next moment, the metal gag falls off of Beauty Queen's face and into her lap. There's still a portion of it around her throat, but Leo barely notices it because he realizes he can feel the mechanism within give, something he hasn't felt in so long and oh how he longs to get his hands on it. He can't do anything at this distance, not even nudge the mechanics one way or the other, but gods does it feel nice.
Beauty Queen sighs in relief and massages a hand along her jaw. "Much better," she says, her voice slightly raspy and thick with disuse. She clears her throat and turns towards Leo for a moment, her eyes swirling with brown and amber and green and gold and blue and holy shit, that's sooooo cool. The kaleidoscope of color draws Leo in more than he would like to admit, her mouth curving with a mischievous glint as she quickly passes by him and examines the entire room. "I'm Piper," she continues, her voice clearer and richer than before. "Nice to meet you all, given the circumstances."
"That is certainly one way to put it," Leo can't help but retort, which gets a snort out of Piper. Leo's chest flutters with joy at the sound, and age old desire to make them laughlaughlaugh and they'll never let you go coming back in full force. It's a dangerous desire given how it's screwed him over in the past, but he can't help it.
"I'm Frank," blurts out one of the cages to Leo's left, the one next to Sparky. Leo honestly can't tell if the cage is small or the demigod inside is huge, or maybe even both, but just looking at it makes him feel claustrophobic. He vaguely reminds Leo of a bodybuilder he once saw on T.V: broad and bulging in the chest, thighs thick enough to snap a tree, and a bit of a gut filling him out around the middle. The only thing that doesn't fit is the slight chubbiness to his cheeks, like he still hasn't quite grown out of his baby face. The jumpsuit is two sizes too small if the near five inches of ankle and shin is anything to go by, emphasized by how he has to continuously hunch over in order to keep his head from hitting the top of the cage. Compared to the rest of them, Frank looks more like a contained animal rather than an imprisoned demigod. "It's nice. To meet you all. Uh. Yeah. Hi." A slight flush comes to Frank's cheeks as he rubs a hand over his short hair.
"Hi, Frank," Leo echoes in a monotone voice. "I know this is your first time, but you're supposed to add and I'm an alcoholic—"
"Ok!" Dr. Solace interrupts once again as a small chuckle ripples through the room, Frank flushing a slightly deeper red in embarrassment even as quick smile crosses his face. Dr. Solace faces the cage next to him, which holds the one demigod who hasn't introduced herself. She looks comedically small in her large cage, especially with Frank on her other side, arms wrapped around herself in a hug as if she could become even smaller. Her thick, curly hair bobs with every tilt of her head, amber eyes darting around without truly looking at anything. Leo eyes the strange shifting, waving his hand as her eyes pass him. They don't zero in on the sudden movement like normal eyes would, instead moving right past him as if he isn't there.
Huh. That's interesting.
"Hazel," Dr. Solace says gently, and the girl's head snaps towards the sound. "Would you please introduce yourself?"
Hazel purses her lips together, eyes flickering down. A bit useless to introduce yourself when your name has already been spoken, but nevertheless, she speaks in a quiet, surprisingly deep voice. "Hello. I'm Hazel. It's nice to meet you all." Her face raises approximately in Leo's direction, her eyebrows furrowing. "And I'm an alcoholic?"
Leo lets out a surprised jolt of laughter, loud and full of warmth. "See!" he exclaims, gesturing towards Hazel (as much as he can with the space he has). "She gets it! It's nice to see at least some people here know what good humor is—"
"And I assume you're the authority on what good humor is?" Piper asks casually, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. "Why do I have a feeling that's just a recipe for disaster?"
Leo grasps his chest in mock offense with a gasp. "You wound me Beauty Queen! And to think I considered you a kindred spirit!"
"What is going on," Jason says, almost like it's an afterthought he didn't mean to speak into existence.
"The fuck if I know," Percy responds, once again throwing his bottle in the air like it's the most normal thing ever. "Aren't we supposed to be the most dangerous villains in the world or something?"
"Apparently so," Annabeth says darkly. She sounds just slightly pissed off. Leo's cells threaten to spontaneously combust again.
"This is uh, not what I expected if I'm going to be honest," Frank admits sheepishly.
"What did you expect? A bunch of Disney villains recounting their woes in song and bonding through mutual failure and the power of friendship?" Leo asks. Frank flushes with embarrassment again, and oh boy is Leo going to have fun with that.
"I mean, I feel like that's a bit closer to what I had in mind as opposed to... whatever this is," Piper says with a shrug.
"Definitely thought there would be more evil cackling," Jason adds. "This is just... strange."
"You have an interesting definition of strange," Percy says. "Personally, this is the most normal I've felt in months."
"Yes, because any of us are experts on normal," Annabeth drawls. "I'll be stunned if any of you actually made it through high school."
"Not gonna lie, that kinda hurts, but fair enough," Leo says. He thinks back to his sophomore year, how he'd been sent to yet another foster home in a different school district than the one previous. It was three months in to that special kind of Hell when he finally decided that enough was enough and ran away for good. Six months later he would start his illegal repair business on the shady side of town, and six months after that is when The Dragon's Den would first approach him with the promise of a permanent place to stay, food, a salary, and protection. And well, as they say, the rest is history. Not quite, but close enough.
"I made it through high school," Frank says, somehow still embarrassed. "I was homeschooled my last year, but I guess it counts, right?"
"Congrats dude," Jason replies, sounding and looking as genuine as two balls of electricity can look. "Not many of us can make it that far before the shit hits the fan."
"Isn't that the truth," Piper says with a breathy laugh. "Gods, I was so close, was in my senior year and everything. Too bad they kind of look down on failing half your classes, nearly double the amount of absences you're allowed to have, and an extensive criminal record."
"I'm pretty sure I killed too many of the teachers before any of them could actually pass me," Percy reminisces. "And that was in middle school."
Annabeth raises an eyebrow. "Monsters?"
"Monsters."
"I always thought my teacher was a monster," Hazel says distantly, so quiet it takes Leo a moment to realize she spoke at all. "I never found out for sure, though."
"That's too bad, they were always the most fun to send back to Tartarus."
Hazel grimaces at that and doesn't reply. She seems the tensest out of all of them, but Leo would be tense too if he couldn't see anything around him, especially the people talking. That would be strange, to be surrounded by people and yet unable to identify them by anything except a voice and a direction. It sounds lonely, if Leo is going to be honest. Even more lonely than he's been over the past several months.
Their strange back and forth goes on for a little while longer after that, mostly spurred on by Leo's enthusiasm to hear them all talk more. He finds out where all of them are from, including two fellow southerners (Annabeth did not seem to appreciate his excitement for that, though Hazel looked a little relieved) and a Canadian bro ("How about that maple syrup, eh?" "Dude, we don't all talk like that.") Before Leo could go any further, Dr. Solace's voice comes through.
"Unfortunately, we're nearing the end of our session today," he says, suddenly shattering the strange air of companionship that had been slowly forming around the seven of them. It's almost like they had completely forgotten about Dr. Solace's existence, so engrossed they had been in each other. It immediately stops all forms of conversation, not even a whisper among them as the doctor wraps up, congratulating them on making it through the first session without incident, and that he hopes it continues as they go from here. It starkly reminds Leo that they aren't just here to socialize or meet the other inmates, but to talk. Every moment is being watched and analyzed, progress is expected to be made, feelings are expected to be shared.
The others seem to understand this as well. It fills the air with tension, all of them eyeing one another as if wondering what secrets will eventually come into the open. If any would come out into the open.
The guards are called in, and one by one starting with Percy, the Seven are taken back to their cells, back to their isolation, back to nothing but their own thoughts for company. Leo does his best to linger on every single one before they're gone from his sight, even waving to Piper as she's dragged out. He doesn't want to relive the moments that brought him here, doesn't want to talk about the gods or monsters or people that pushed him in this direction.
And yet for some reason, in that circle, with six other demigods all condemned as villains around him, it didn't seem so bad. In fact, he finds himself wanting to know their stories, an ember of curiosity that refuses to burn out. That ember especially sparks when he thinks about Sparky, about Jason, the faceless balls of electricity swirling right next to him, so close yet so far.
And who knows, Leo thinks as he grows closer and closer to his cell. Maybe one day, we can even break out of this place together.
He has to smother the laugh building in his throat, biting his lip so hard that he tastes blood on his tongue. Oh, he can dream and dream, and what a wonderful dream it will be. But still, Leo tries not to get his hopes too high.
After all, what are the chances that they also want the opportunity to slaughter their godly parent?
I guess I'll have to find out, one way or another. Leo smiles at no one, his teeth stained with blood. Maybe, just maybe, we can burn the world together.
Notes:
William Afton Voice: I always come back. Maybe. Depends on my mood.
Thank you to all of those that have still commented and showed their enthusiasm for this fic, it means a lot even if I never respond.
So. Yeah. Hi. Vaguely concerned that my writing style has changed to the point that it's noticeable. Also don't really care. How about the PJO show coming out soon, fellow demigods?
Chapter 5: File 118.5: Tempest
Notes:
I have no idea how often these chapters will be able to come out. College is no joke lol
Jason Picture: https://64.media.tumblr.com/f23132adc4f2fd4164c66642163cdcc7/tumblr_o7k9sc1P6F1tipfd6o8_540.jpg
Artist: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/tamaytka/144735584025
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
File: 118.5
Hero Villain Alias: Tempest
Real Name: Jason Grace
Date of Birth: July 1st
Age: 23
Place of Birth: California, USA
Status: Demigod (Roman) (Claimed)*
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Eye/Hair Color: Blue/Blond
Height: 6'1
Other Noticeable Features: A scar on his upper lip, various scars typical of demigods familiar with the battlefield, SPQR tattoo on his left forearm.
Family: Beryl Grace (Mother) (Deceased), Jupiter (Father), Thalia Grace (Sister) (Daughter of Zeus, current Hunter of Artemis)**
Childhood: Jason was given to Lupa to train for Camp Jupiter when he was only 2 years old, meaning he's spent most of his childhood training and honing in on his powers. Officially claimed by Jupiter when he was nine years old, Jason had spent over a decade of his life as a powerful and well known hero before he became feared as a villain.***
Abilities: Aerokinesis, flying, weather manipulation, lightning immunity, creation, and manipulation, extremely skilled with weapons and most forms of hand to hand combat.
Crimes: Multiple accounts of manslaughter including the public execution of a Camp Jupiter praetor, destruction of cities, global terrorism.
Current Imprisonment: Olympus Penitentiary for Demigods
Assigned Personnel: Doctor William Solace
Threat Level: 10/10****
*It's rare for gods to publicly tie themselves to their demigod progeny as tightly as Jupiter has to Jason Grace. He is believed to be one of if not the youngest demigod to be claimed by their godly parent, when at nine years old he single handedly fought off a group of monsters threatening Camp Jupiter long enough to not only allow the camp enough time to gather their forces, but to save a fellow demigod from almost certain death. Since then Jason had become one of the most prominent heroes on the west coast, gaining a reputation as a formidable fighter and a powerful leader, considered by many to have a guaranteed spot as a camp praetor if he ever decided to run. By all accounts Jason was a level headed and kind person, a protector of law and order with a strong desire for justice, a perfect disposition for the son of the king of the gods. It's what made his seemingly overnight shift towards villainy so shocking, and probably a huge reason why it took so long for him to finally be apprehended.
**While it's rare to find two demigods with the same mortal and immortal parents, what is practically unheard of is one mortal having children with both the Greek and Roman aspect of the same god. Yet somehow, that's exactly where Thalia and Jason Grace find themselves, as a daughter of Zeus and son of Jupiter respectively. Their mother Beryl Grace, a well known Hollywood television actor, somehow managed to seduce and have a child with both aspects of the god of lightning. From Thalia's accounts, him leaving for a second time made their already unstable mother finally snap for good. This escalated into what Thalia believed at the time to be her mother sacrificing two year old Jason to Hera/Juno, which is what finally made Thalia decide to leave her mother and eventually find her way to Camp Half-Blood with Annabeth Chase and Luke Castellan. The two didn't even know of each others existence until a few years after Jason was claimed, when the Hunters of Artemis helped out a group of demigods that happened to include Jason. From several accounts their relationship had grown to be very strong over the years. Note to self—Thalia is the one who finally managed to apprehend Jason. This is—predictably—is a sore subject and should be avoided if possible.
***Tempest's shift from heroism to villainy was... dramatic to say the least. In many respects we still don't understand what exactly happened. Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano (Daughter of Bellona, praetor of Camp Jupiter, Warspire) believes it had something to do with Jason's relationship with Octavian (legacy of Apollo, former praetor of Camp Jupiter, former Augar, deceased). The two had butted heads for years, especially in Octavian's time as praetor. And then one day, practically out of nowhere, Jason very publicly—are very violently—executed Octavian for all of Camp Jupiter to see. No amount of questioning from the people who knew Jason best could explain this, and Jason himself refuses to elaborate. Note to self—see if I can get notes from Octavian's time as praetor, or interviews with his closest circle. Maybe that can explain something.
****Keep him separated and away from other inmates, in a cell that conducts electricity as poorly as possible. It's impossible to fully dampen his abilities over air, which is where most of his power comes from, but we can make it harder with yet another amazing invention by a child of Hephaestus/Vulcan(?), glass that can totally contain lighting and can withstand some of the strongest wind speeds known to mortals. This means that while Jason can use his powers, they cannot be used to break out of his cell. This also means that it is paramount that no one enters his cell without constant supervision or something he can use as a weapon. Be on constant alert. Just because he has been mostly docile since he has gotten to Olympus doesn't mean he can't flip a switch at any moment.
Of all the villains Will Solace expected to be assigned to at Olympus, never in a million years would Tempest have ever crossed his mind.
This is mainly because throughout most of Will's life and obsession with the semi-divine, Tempest had been considered a hero. No, not just a hero, but one of the most powerful demigods to ever walk the earth, a beacon of order, justice, and kindness, the perfect template for what all heroes should aspire to be. Will remembers seeing Tempest on television as a child, how even then, as young as he was, how perfect he seemed. The golden crop of his hair, the sparks of electricity in his impossibly blue eyes, the Californian tan on his skin, the confident and effortless manner in which he held himself. Perfect. That's what everyone said, that's what everyone knew. Tempest was perfect: the perfect demigod, the perfect hero, the perfect leader, the perfect son of Jupiter. He was more than worthy of his namesake and the thousands of heroes that came before him, and he proved that every single day.
Tempest may or may not have been Will's first crush. Oh who was he kidding, Tempest was definitely Will's first crush. Impossible to reach in his perfection, but one Will dreamed about all the same. It's a huge reason Will ended up where he is today, why he wanted to work with demigods, why he's here at Olympus Penitentiary in the first place. (It's also where his initial fascination and crush on a certain Nico di Angelo came from, before he truly got to know the son of Hades, and oh boy if kid Will knew that one day he would marry not only a demigod but a hero he might have fainted with excitement).
And that's the funny part, isn't it? While Will never directly met Tempest, Nico talked about him all the time, to the point where Will felt like he knew him. Nico would go on and on about how kind Tempest is, how he made sure everyone was included, how he never made a decision without hearing every possible side. "I could never be that nice," Will remembers Nico telling him once. "But it's hard not to admire it. Jason Grace is certainly the best of us, not that he'll ever admit it. I think it's physically impossible for that dude to be anything but a hero."
Which is why a few months ago, while Will and Nico were enjoying a lazy night in with some crappy Chinese take-out, mostly ignoring the low volumed T.V in favor of a good old fashioned make-out and necking session, Will got the shock of his life when the normal evening news switched to the footage of Tempest's first act of villainy.
At first Will didn't notice any of that, too focused on the way Nico had moved to straddle his lap and made it his mission to kiss Will within an inch of his life—but his attention was quickly diverted once Nico suddenly pulled away. Will had opened his eyes in confusion, wondering what Nico was doing and if he would please come back and keep doing that thing with his tongue, until he realized that his fiancée was looking back at the T.V.
"Nico?" Will had said, partially whining but mostly in good humor. "What on earth are you looking at?"
But Nico didn't respond, his olive skin growing pale and dark eyes wide. It was only then that Will finally craned his head to look at the T.V behind Nico, trying to understand what had captured his attention so thoroughly—
—Just in time to see Tempest, from impossibly high in the air, drop what looked to be a fellow demigod in his hands and watch them fall to their death.
The footage cut just before that demigod hit the rolling green hills below.
Will's mouth opened and closed, struggling to process what he'd just seen. "Nico?" he repeated, more of a whisper than a word. Nico pushed off Will's lap to stand up, still staring at the T.V as if it could provide him answers. His hands had been shaking, Will would realize later, once the shock of reality finally began to settle. Nico's hands never did that, not in the heat of battle, not in the face of monsters or even gods. But here, right now, they trembled so fiercely that they practically vibrated with energy.
A moment later, the semi-familiar misty cloud of an Iris-Message appeared next to Nico, the face of a panicked Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano on the other side.
"Nico," she said, oh so scared and nothing like the unshakable Warspire Will had seen so many times. "Jason—"
"I know," Nico interrupted. "I just saw. On the evening news. Reyna what happened? Don't tell me that—was that Octavian—?"
"Yes. I... I don't know, Jason just suddenly grabbed him and no one could react in time to do anything. And now he's flown off and I think..." she trailed off. "I don't know what he's doing now. I need you and everyone you can get here now."
And that's what happened: the Ghost King and several other Greek heroes on the east coast rushed westward, hoping the Romans could keep the damage at bay before they could all truly come together and figure out what was happening.
A little over a month later, Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, the great hero Tempest for so long, was captured and imprisoned at Olympus Penitentiary as a villain. He was also put under Will's responsibility, at Will's request. It was strange seeing the hero he had idolized for years trapped inside that foggy glass cage, knowing the hundreds of people he had saved, the monsters he had slayed, and then how one day he decided to throw it all away.
Will had expected Jason to be more like the others: a bit violent, openly dangerous, tinged with cruelty and madness, a distaste for all of Olympus in general. But Jason wasn't like that at all. Instead, while he spoke little it was never with any kind of venom, he never used his powers, and overall, he had a kind of acceptance for his situation that the others didn't. "I know why I'm here," he had said to Will once. "I know what I did, why I did it, and the consequences that would probably come from those decisions. There's little point to dwell on it any further."
"Do you regret any of it?"
Jason's eyes—bright, electric blue like Will had seen on the T.V all those years ago, the only thing visible through the glass—looked at him. For a moment, he paused, thinking it over.
"No," he finally said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "I don't. If I had to do it all again, there are some decisions I would change, but not that. If anything," he added after a moment, looking away from Will, "I would have done it sooner. Stopped waiting for the miracle I knew wasn't coming and got it over with. Maybe things would've been better that way."
Jason isn't like the rest of the Seven in many ways. In fact, for a while Will had debated whether or not to include Jason in the group sessions. Jason was likely to know most if not all of them (well, except for Hazel, but that was a different story altogether) and his penchant for righteousness, still present even months after being declared a villain and put into Olympus, might clash heavily with the rest of the Seven. They were going to clash regardless (these past few weeks have definitely proven that, if anything else), but having a once beloved hero mixing in with them had the potential for unnecessary conflict.
So far, three sessions in, nothing has come of it. It's like pulling teeth trying to get these Seven to say anything meaningful, as Will had expected, but Jason in particular has been keeping his mouth shut. He seems to be content with simply listening to the others and putting in a comment or two here and there, nothing that reveals much about himself or his opinions on whatever crazy topics of conversation come up. He's become a mediator in some respects, a neutral voice in a sea of chaos. It's a role that balances out Leo's impulsive shenanigans with great ease, and even with their limited interaction with one another, Will can see the instinctual push and pull between them becoming more ironed out as time goes on. Leo will push the group into heated (forgive the pun) territory, and Jason will pull them back just before it sets someone off. Time and time again it happens, and time and time again Will feels his blood pressure skyrocket only to ease moments later.
It's an interesting dynamic, one that Will wasn't ready for, but is thankful for nonetheless. It's not necessarily a dynamic that promotes companionship, but it is one that has Leo increasingly attached to Jason, looking to the other demigod constantly as if to gauge his reaction and playing off whatever he finds. There's a pattern from the sessions that Will grows to expect, the knowledge that even though things are moving slowly, they are moving, and so far, nothing bad has come from it.
Will Solace will only realize he has made a miscalculation during their fourth session. But until then, he will be content with what he has now, and where it will be going.
Jason Grace wakes up that morning as he does most days, that is, with a sudden jolt and a gasp for air.
Nightmares. Quite typical for demigods, especially ones as powerful as Jason. He's had nightmares that eerily mirror his everyday life for as long as he can remember, so regular in their timing and subject matter that he rarely acknowledges them. Of course, after he decided that he was done with Octavian's politics and the gods' agenda, the nightmares changed into something... else.
These days, Jason no longer sees visions of monsters, of himself or one of his friends dying horribly, or of the countless battles he's fought in the name of his father. Instead, he sees the moments that would come to define him as a villain, the brutal destruction and loss of life that came from his hands.
He sees Octavian falling to his death, eyes wide and arms outstretched as if Jason would decide to save him at the last moment.
He sees buildings crumbling under the sheer weight of his power, destroying everyone and everything still inside.
He sees the individuals that were connected to Octavian and the gods, the ones that benefited from their meddling and corruption, begging for their lives as he skewers them, as he fries them with lightning, as he tears the very air from their lungs. He sees every moment with stunning clarity, a perfect recreation meant to force Jason to relive the horrors of his actions. Nightmares of the worst kind.
But that's what's different now, isn't it? Nightmares increase the sleeping body's heart rate, pump it with adrenaline, ready the fight or flight response, fill it with fear that often wakes you up covered in sweat and the feeling that you've just run a marathon. But these visions, these nightmares don't feel like that at all. His heart rate still increases, the adrenaline in his muscles still jerks him to consciousness, but the fear that's followed him for his entire life just... isn't there. Instead, he wakes up with a sharp jab of satisfaction, of pleasure, of desire to relive those moments again and again. He wants to see the fear on Octavian's face, hear the screams of everyone he executed, feel that rush of power as structures said to be impenetrable fell with such ease under his will.
These nightmares, this prison, they should be his punishment for everything he's done. It's the right thing, the type of justice Jason would have approved of before he was labeled a villain. But they aren't. They feel like a reward, a promise of more to come, fuel to his ever burning fire that tells him one day, he will continue to enact the justice this world needs. One day, he will be so powerful that no one, not even the gods themselves, will be able to stop him.
It's terrifying. It's thrilling. It's horrible. It's amazing.
Jason is mostly content to stay in Olympus for as long as they deem it necessary, believe it or not. Even with Dr. Solace's prying questions, the glass that keeps him locked from the outside, and the stuffy air of his cell, Jason knows when he's outmatched. He knows that it will do more harm than good to be a disobedient prisoner, to be uncooperative and violent. He will be patient and play along for as long as he has to, even if he refuses to answer certain questions.
But then the group sessions start happening, and Jason finds himself in the center of some of the most dangerous villains of their generation, which he guesses includes himself now. Riptide, Talon, Siren, Firesmith, the Beast—forces of villainy like nothing the world has seen, all gathered in one place. Hell, he was part of the team that took down the Beast, one of the few that could get close enough without getting ripped to shreds. And while Jason never interfered directly with the others, he did have plenty of contacts and those he would consider friends among the Greek demigods that would talk about them. Thalia confided to him on her relationship with Annabeth Chase before she became Talon, and Jason was her shoulder to lean on when Talon was finally apprehended, the one who hugged Thalia while she cried and grieved for her oldest friend. Nico di Angelo, the Ghost King, in particular had a lot to say about those four, especially Riptide. There was a certain bond between them, all being children of the Big Three with heavy expectations on their shoulders. Nico and Thalia were always nice to talk to. Before, of course.
The only demigod Jason does not recognize is Hazel. It's strange—the only reason Jason wouldn't have heard of her is if she appeared after Jason was already imprisoned. Not impossible exactly, but it means that in the roughly four months since he's arrived at Olympus, Hazel appeared, did something so villainous that she was immediately placed into the highest threat level, captured, and imprisoned. Possible, but quick. Almost too quick. Jason's almost certain she's Roman; she doesn't have the same impulsive disorder that he's come to associate with the Greeks, something he can see clearly in their group sessions. There's something slightly more calculated about Hazel's intensity, the order of it, the way she instinctually obeys authority. qualities Jason recognizes in his fellow Romans. Of course, he could just be looking into things too much, but Jason doesn't think he is. But that still raises the question: where did she come from? There's no way a demigod with that kind of power would stay under the radar for as long as Hazel must have. Someone should've found her, sensed her, something, and yet here she is.
Jason can ponder all he wants, but there's little he can figure out unless he actually asks questions, which he's not keen on doing. Part of him is relieved that he can see them much better than they can see him, but then again, some of them, Talon and the Beast specifically, will probably figure it out sooner or later. What happens after that, well, he doesn't know.
And then there's the interesting problem that is Firesmith, or Leo Valdez. Because since the group sessions started, Jason's dreams have changed again. Not as dramatically as before—he still relives the moments that got him here, they still leave him aching for more—but there are moments when things are different. When instead of seeing Octavian or one of the dozens of nameless people, he sees Leo Valdez. He sees Leo's wicked smile, the mischief in his warm eyes, the bits of frost gathering at the ends of his curls. The others appear occasionally, but not nearly as frequently or as long as Leo does.
That's what woke Jason Grace this morning. Not a nightmare from the past, not a vision that promised the future, but the smile of a globally feared pyromaniac.
What is he supposed to do with this information? Well there's little Jason can do while he's all alone in this stupid cell, but that changes a couple of hours later when a familiar bunch of guards enter the area with an equally familiar cage with them. It can mean only one thing: it's time for another group session. And well, Jason can't complain much about getting the chance to see the others.
The session starts off like any other. Dr. Solace asks a mostly innocent question, everyone is silent for a minute, and then Leo finally decides to start because he clearly can't handle the silence. It's cyclical. Expected. A little awkward, sure, but it's leagues ahead of the one on one talks with Dr. Solace.
This time around, the subject of conversation somehow tilts towards who they were before the whole 'international villainy' thing. More specifically, they start talking about their dream jobs from when they were kids.
"I was obsessed with NASA as a kid," Leo exclaims. Like always, his hands are moving in strange yet precise patterns, his whole body full of uncontainable energy. At times Jason finds himself hypnotized by those hands, so distracted that he completely zones out of the world until something finally startles him back into it, usually Leo himself. It's probably the ADHD, he tells himself. Gods know how many times he's unintentionally focused on something while important events were actively taking place inches from his face. "The rockets, the telescopes, everything. I never wanted to be an astronaut, but hot damn did I want to build something like that. Seemed so much cooler than getting shot into space and dying from a structural malfunction. Not that that would ever happen to anything I built. Nah, the Valdez design would be the pinnacle of perfection, the industry standard, the best the world has ever known and would ever see!"
"Sounds pretty arrogant if you ask me," Talon (Annabeth, it's so weird to think of them with non-villain names) says bluntly. "You can't just assume everything you build will be perfect. How would you improve anything?"
"Well that's why I have to build it first!" Leo responds. "See what works, see what blows up in my face. I'll get there eventually. I always do." He looks at Annabeth with a grin, pressing his hands against the glass of his cage. It immediately steams from the heat of his hands, and Jason distantly wonders how Leo's body temperature compares to the average person's. Or demigod's. "What about you, Annie? What did little you say when someone asked for your dream job?"
Annabeth's gray eyes twitch at Annie. Jason remembers Thalia once saying that nothing in the world is scarier than a pissed off Annabeth Chase. It seems, like with a lot of things, his sister is correct. "An architect," she eventually says. "I don't like building structures, but I like designing them."
"Ha! You and I could've made some interesting things together, Annie," Leo laughs. "If, you know, we weren't here."
Annabeth's eyes twitch again, but it doesn't feel as threatening this time. "I know."
"I remember working at SeaWorld always seemed like fun," Percy says. He still has that bottle in his hands like every other session, and it continues to baffle Jason every time. "I saw the ads for it a lot. Pretty sure I would have more fun freeing the animals there than training them, though." Like other comments Percy has made, this one tingles something in the back of Jason's mind, like he's trying to remember something just out of reach. It's long been assumed that Riptide's godly parent is a sea deity of some kind, and many of the things that casually come from Percy seem to confirm it. Even so, Jason can't help but feel like something about him is familiar, like a warped mirror with a reflection that isn't all there. Percy seems to have the same idea, if the looks he gives Jason, or at the very least Jason's cage, mean anything.
And hey, will you look at that! Percy is giving him that same look right now, laser focused and moments away from certain violence.
"Hey Piper," Percy says without looking away. "Any dream jobs the gods crushed?"
"Most definitely my chances of getting on Broadway," Piper quips back. Jason thinks she relishes every moment without that gag-like device on her face, savoring every word spoken like it's the last one she'll ever get. "Can you imagine me on a stage in front of people like that? Kid me apparently could, but adult me knows better." She shifts her gaze to Frank. "What about you, big guy? Anything special?"
Frank shrugs, his response to most questions thrown his way. It’s odd to see the man behind the Beast, especially since Jason knows from personal experience that the Frank in front of him is nothing like the villain he fought before. The Beast was full of rage and would fight anyone foolish enough to get in his way. Frank Zhang can barely make it through a single sentence without looking like he will die from embarrassment at any given moment. “I always wanted to be in the military like my mom,” he says. “I was planning on signing up after I finished school but… a lot of things happened.” Frank glances over towards Hazel, clearly eager to move on to someone else. “Hey uh… anything you had planned, Hazel?”
Hazel blinks. She rarely speaks unless someone else directly addresses her, and Jason gets the feeling that the others are trying to figure her out as well. Some questions seem to go completely over her head, and other times Jason can’t help but feel like her responses are… What's the word he’s looking for? Out of date? That doesn’t make any sense but it’s the closest word he can come up with.
“I’ve always wanted to work with horses,” Hazel says after a moment of contemplation. “There was a stable near where I grew up, and I worked a few summers there. It was nice.”
Percy nods in agreement, breaking his death glare on Jason to look at Hazel. “Horses are great. Definitely better than people.”
Hazel gives one of her brief, sad smiles that never fail to fill Jason with a distant sort of melancholy. “Definitely.”
Dr. Solace goes to say something—likely moving them all along to the next topic of conversation—but Percy cuts him off before anything leaves his mouth. “What about you Jason?” he says, somehow managing to make the toss of a bottle menacing. “Everyone else has gone. What was your dream job?”
Everyone is looking at him now, expecting an answer. Jason stares at Dr. Solace, hoping that he’ll convince the others to move on but knowing it won’t happen. Because how is he supposed to explain that even as a child, the idea of a dream job, something completely unrelated to being a hero, never once crossed his mind? How is he supposed to explain that for the longest time he distanced himself from anything dealing with the mortal world to the point that he doesn’t know what most average jobs entail?
He doesn’t know. But here they are, waiting, and he didn’t take the time given to him to come up with something.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had one,” Jason slowly admits. “Never thought about it.”
Percy raises an eyebrow, still tossing that bottle. “Really? So you’re telling me that before you decided to get yourself in enough trouble to land in the closest thing the mortal realm has to the Fields of Punishment, you didn’t have any hobbies? Interests? A fucking personality?”
Jason digs his nails into his thighs and takes a deep breath. Now is not the time to lose your shit, Grace. The last thing he wants is for these bastards to realize that he can still control the air currents outside of his cage. Jason has impeccable control over his powers, has for well over a decade of his life, but he is still a powerful demigod with domain over a highly abundant resource. No matter how in control Jason is of himself, intense emotion can still override it.
“I guess,” Jason grinds through his teeth, “if you want to think of it like that.” He wants that to be the end of it, for Percy to let it go and for Dr. Solace to move them along.
But he should’ve known that won’t be the case. Riptide is known for many things, and one of them happens to be his stubborn persistence.
“Huh,” Percy says. “I guess I should’ve known Tempest would be the most boring piece of shit to ever walk the earth, but then again,” he gives Jason a cruel smile, the green in his eyes swirling like a whirlpool. “That’s what I get for giving goodie two-shoe heroes like you the benefit of the doubt. Though you can’t be that goodie-goodie if you ended up here, can you?”
Well. There goes Jason’s cover, if it was ever there in the first place.
“What,” Annabeth breathes, looking back and forth between Percy and Jason, eyes narrowing with furious calculation. “How did you know—”
“Oh I knew from the moment he opened his mouth,” Percy interrupts. “First off, there’s only so many demigods named Jason out there, let alone ones powerful enough to get here.” He says Jason with a particular venom, something personal and filled with hatred. “Second off, and for me this is the real kicker, there are only two people alive that have those eyes, and I happen to know both of them.” The bottle cracks in Percy’s hands, and for the first time, everyone in the room is starting to look afraid. Dr. Solace specifically has the universal expression of ohshitfuckballs plastered across his face as Percy goes on. “One is Zeus, the big man himself, lightning bastard extraordinaire. The second? Well the second is Thalia fucking Grace, and wouldn’t you know it, she has a little brother! Tempest, the best hero of our generation, the Golden Boy of the gods, gracing us with his presence! Now isn’t that funny?”
The room echoes with stunned silence. No one, not even Leo, dares to move so much as an inch. Jason and Percy stare at one another, two opposing storms gathering on either end of the chamber. After a minute, Jason finally speaks.
“Are you done?” he asks blankly. “Anything else you want to say? Anymore childish insults up your sleeve? Or can we move the fuck on like we were supposed to five minutes ago?”
Percy lets out a bolt of laughter. “What, isn’t there anything you want to say? About maybe, I don’t know, how Mr. Perfect got himself imprisoned with the worst of the worst? I can’t imagine what would turn the Golden Boy to the dark side. Did your Roman friends not kiss your ass enough or were you just bored?”
“I’m not surprised you can’t think of anything,” Jason says coldly, the smallest spark of electricity moving across his skin. “Thalia always did say you lacked both imagination and common sense.”
The bottle cracks further, white-pink lotion splattering across Percy’s hands. Before the demigod can shoot back a retort everyone already knows to brace for, Dr. Solace shouts, “Enough!”
Red light flashes through the room, the shrill sound of an alarm filling the air. Instantly, well over a dozen armed guards rush into the space, the barrels of their guns pointing every which way. “Please take them back to their cells,” Dr. Solace yells over the alarm. “I think everyone needs some time alone.”
The guards move everyone with efficiency and without hesitation, no less than five guns pointing at a single person at a time. Percy gives Jason a death glare as he leaves, which Jason returns, as much as he can anyway. Annabeth and Piper still look stunned as they leave, which Jason somewhat expects. What he doesn’t expect is the look Leo gives him as he’s dragged out: no longer is he grinning, no longer does he seem to warm as he glances in Jason’s direction. Instead, all that’s left behind is a twisted expression of fear.
Jason can’t bring himself to look at the others. He knows something like this was bound to happen, but it still hurts.
Jason Grace is brought back to his cell somehow feeling lonelier and angrier than when he woke up this morning. He didn’t even realize his hopes were up, that he had found some kind of comradery with that group of villains, until Leo looked at him like that.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
Tempest did a lot of things alone. Not everything, but enough. As a hero he had constant help; as a villain he had to figure it out for himself. This is no different.
He will get out of this prison, with or without the help of his fellow villains. Afterall, fate itself has promised him justice, and nothing gets between Jason Grace and a promise of things to come.
Notes:
Happy new year sluts
Chapter 6: File 121.6: The Beast
Notes:
Hello. Welcome. It's time for my favorite awkward goliath sized shape-shifting demigod, of which there is only one, but still.
Frank Picture: https://64.media.tumblr.com/5ba0a09a86e96358fdc6354637c2c21b/tumblr_o7k9sc1P6F1tipfd6o9_540.jpg
Artist: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/tamaytka/144735584025
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
File: 121.6
Villain Alias: The Beast
Real Name: Frank Zhang
Date of Birth: June 5th
Age: 22
Place of Birth: Vancouver, Canada
Status: Demigod (Roman) (Unclaimed)*
Ethnicity: Chinese-Canadian
Eye/Hair Color: Brown/Black
Height: 6’5
Other Notable Features: Excessive scars typical of powerful and battle prone demigods.
Family: Emily Zhang (Mother) (Deceased), Unknown (Father), Xiu Zhang (Grandmother)**
Childhood: Frank had a fairly peaceful childhood compared to most of his demigod brethren, and from his grandmother’s and his own accounts, he didn’t know he was a demigod until he was nearly 17. Records show that he was planning on making his way to Camp Jupiter once he graduated high school, but after his mother’s death in a military related accident, those plans seemed to change.
Abilities: Can shape-shift into what we can assume to be any animal imaginable, extremely skilled in several forms of hand to hand combat and weaponry, most notably archery and other aiming related weapons. Other abilities that should be noted are his capability for strategy on the battlefield, his inability to feel pain in moments of extreme anger, and his supernatural endurance during fights.
Crimes: Destruction of cities, multiple accounts of manslaughter, global terrorism.***
Current Imprisonment: Olympus Penitentiary for Demigods
Assigned Personnel: Doctor William Solace
Threat Level: 10/10****
*Officially, we don’t know who Frank’s godly parent is, though Xiu Zhang, his grandmother, claims to know and won’t say who. Despite her refusal to tell us who Frank’s father is, she has told us in a series of interviews that the Zhang family comes from an ancient and powerful line of legacies and those connected with the gods, which apparently is a reason that Frank’s father was drawn to Emily, his mother. Supposedly included in this lineage is Poseidon himself, though none of this explains Frank’s ability to shapeshift into any animal on the planet. In fact, from looking through the records of Greek and Roman demigods throughout history and their powers, none of them have anything similar to Frank’s ability. Note to self—Xiu Zhang once said in an interview that, “All Zhang’s fight like a swarm of bees.” Does she mean this literally? Is there more to Frank’s shapeshifting that we aren’t seeing?
**Emily Zhang died during a military accident in Afghanistan, in which she essentially sacrificed herself so that the rest of her squad could survive. This, understandably, drastically changed Frank’s life. He was put under the guardianship of his grandmother, pulled from school, and completed his last year of school at home rather than going back. He was supposed to arrive at Camp Jupiter once he finished school, as indicated by Camp Jupiter’s records and in Emily Zhang’s will, and as we know from Xiu Zhang, Frank left to train with Lupa as planned. But that’s where the timeline and our understanding of Frank Zhang’s movement stops. Frank never made it to Lupa, and there is no evidence that he made it to the states before completely vanishing from the face of the earth. It’s not until nearly three years later, after the Beast was finally captured by Roman demigods, that Frank appeared.
***At first, the Beast was considered a mere legend. Reports of seemingly magical and intelligent creatures like bears, tigers, and even the occasional dragon had circled the west coast for years, but nothing ever came of it. For the most part, it was brushed aside as mortals coming across the occasional monster and getting lucky. All of this changed during a series of brutal attacks against mortals and demigods alike, all committed by these strangely intelligent and humanoid creatures coined as simply the Beast. When it became clear that these attacks were committed by the same creature, the Roman heroes (including Tempest (Jason Grace) and Warspire (Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano) ) banded together to take it down. But they were in for a surprise when the Beast was finally captured. Instead of it being an ancient monster from the depths of Tartarus, it was none other than the missing Frank Zhang. Note to self—Frank claims to not remember almost anything of those three years he was considered missing, but I have my doubts. There’s something about the way he talks about that time… I don’t know. I guess there’s only one way to find out.
****Keep him separated and away from other inmates. His cell should be as fortified as possible to prevent creatures of impressive strength from breaking through, as well the smallest gaps possible so that he cannot change into something that can crawl through. Someone must be constantly monitoring his cell so that in the event that he tries this, they can activate the electricity field to prevent him from escaping. Do not provoke him or do anything that has the potential to make him angry. If any evidence of provoking him makes its way to me, it will result in immediate reassignment and the possibility of termination. Do. Not. Do. It.
Will Solace is almost certain that the Beast and Frank Zhang are two different entities.
Maybe that would explain why two such opposing personalities could exist within the same being, and even where the Beast’s shapeshifting ability comes from. Maybe Frank Zhang’s powers didn’t come from his godly parent, but rather an evil spirit that calls his body home. Maybe the rage that caused the Beast to rip over two dozen people to shreds didn’t belong to Frank, but instead belongs to something made entirely of vengeance and evil.
This theory makes sense, somewhere deep in Will’s brain. But in reality Will also knows that if there truly is something possessing Frank, no one has found it. And they’ve tried, several times. Logic dictates that if some of the most spiritually connected beings in the world can’t find anything, then there’s probably nothing to find. That means the shapeshifting, the evil, and the rage of the Beast all belong to Frank Zhang.
And yet, despite this irrefutable logic, Will still struggles to grasp onto this reality. All of the villains under his care have personalities that exist on a spectrum, as most people do. Their temper and what they’re willing to put up with changes on a day to day basis, depending on who’s around them, how they slept, and a half dozen other things that go into complicating human behavior. There’s a pattern that comes from it, a regularity that one can learn to predict if they pay enough attention. This helps one know when they find the extremes, what triggers those extremes, and what can be done to make sure those extremes aren’t triggered.
But Frank doesn’t work like that. He is made up of nothing but extremes, with no way of knowing when he will suddenly swing from one end to the other. Most days he is calm and gentle, an awkward young man who stutters through most of his words and blushes at the slightest hint of perceived embarrassment. For the most part he is honest and straightforward, a startling contrast to the rest of the villains Will deals with. Frank openly talks about his mom and the impact her death had on his life, his love for his grandmother, and his guilt for what he did to the people he killed. In fact, he’s the only villain in the Seven that seems to have any sort of genuine remorse for their actions. During those calm and gentle days, Will almost convinces himself that Frank shouldn’t be imprisoned at Olympus, that he is simply a deeply misunderstood demigod that has no business being lumped into the same category of villainy as Talon and Firesmith.
But then there are the days when for no perceived reason, a switch flips inside Frank’s mind. When his personality is no longer that of someone who would apologize for being a burden to a person who spat on his face, but something full of rage and blood-lust.
At first, the trigger seemed obvious. The first recorded incident of Frank’s sudden shift to violence occurred when two guards transporting him to a different cell began harassing him. Jeers, insults, slurs, childish taunts that would make any reasonable person angry if all they could do was sit there and take it. And for a while, that’s what Frank was forced to do. But as it went on longer and longer, as the harassment became more and more extreme, Frank’s passive acceptance transformed into a feral rage. By the time the guards started insulting Frank’s mother, he no longer appeared completely human, his teeth growing into long, saber-like points, eyes glowing a pupil-less red. The guards noticed, but by then it was too late.
Frank broke out of his transport containment and tore those two guards to pieces. Three others fell to the same fate trying to subdue him. By the end there was so much blood and gore in the hallway where it occurred that no one could pass through it for a week while it was cleaned up.
It took two weeks for Frank’s rage to finally calm. There was nothing particularly special about that day, just that overnight Frank’s monster-like features had reverted back to their normal human ones. Frank asked what happened, stared at the blood on his fingernails, and didn’t ask again. No one wanted to get close. No one wanted to be next on the long list of victims consumed by the Beast’s rage.
Predictably, Frank’s assigned doctor refused to treat him anymore. Predictably, Will was asked to take him in.
Predictably, Will said yes.
Since then, three other similar incidents have happened. While it was put into place that no one should provoke or harass Frank under any circumstance, none of those three incidents were triggered by events similar to the first. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any trigger at all, which makes everything much more difficult than it should be.
It’s why when the plans for the Seven’s group session started to become more serious, nearly half of the security measures put into place were designed to contain Frank. The electrical current ready to shock him at a moment’s notice, the tranquilizing gas prepped to knock him out before his rage became too strong to overcome it. His heart rate, hormone levels, brain activity, all of it constantly monitored in hopes of predicting an incident before it happens.
It’s why Will suddenly ended the session where Percy revealed Jason’s identity as Tempest. He wanted to try and mediate the situation, hopefully get everyone back on track and maybe even get something out of it, but just before he could try, Will got the signal that Frank’s vitals appeared to be showing the beginnings of a rage. And, well, let's just say that was the last thing this session needed. Frank didn’t look any more stressed out than usual, or even compared to the rest of the Seven at that point, but Will wasn’t going to take any chances. So he ended it.
In the end, it was probably the best move, even if it wasn’t the one Will wanted to make. The Seven had their clashing moments, but nothing compared to this. Will just hoped that some time and distance would help.
But first, they need to make sure Frank doesn’t go into an episode. For the past few days, his vitals have been calmer than before, but still show signs of stress. He’ll pace back and forth in his small cage, occasionally shifting into a dog or cat to continue doing so. He rarely sleeps, only eats about half of the food given to him, and whenever Will tries to talk to Frank, he can barely understand him through the stuttering. Frank doesn’t explain what’s bothering him so much, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.
Jason Grace. Tempest. Tempest was one of the heroes that captured the Beast. Frank claims to not remember much of the three years he was missing, but he does remember being captured.
“Not everything,” Frank had once told Will, pacing in a very similar manner to the way he is now. “Bits and pieces, just enough to know that it was terrifying, and that I never wanted to feel that way again.”
Will knew something like this could happen, but it’s still disappointing. He didn’t expect anyone, let alone Percy Jackson, to put together the pieces of Tempest’s identity so quickly. Then again, how many times has Will emphasized to everyone at Olympus who works closely with Percy to never underestimate him? That despite his demeanor and background, Percy Jackson is smarter than almost everyone gives him credit for? Somehow, Will failed to listen to his own advice, and now here they are.
Another couple of days pass before Frank’s vitals are back to normal. It’s not until then that Will introduces him to the idea of returning to the group sessions.
“I know everything was really…tense and stressful,” Will says cautiously, a testing of the waters. “And I understand if you’re hesitant to go back, but I’m sure the others would love to see you there. You were doing so well.” Specifically, Frank has been warming up to Jason and Hazel, ironic and understandable at the same time. Their personalities mesh together a little easier than the others, probably something to do with the Roman/Greek split between them.
Frank doesn’t look up at Will, his eyes trained on the ground, body posture hunched over in a laughable attempt to make himself appear smaller. “I can if you want me to,” Frank says softly, shifting back and forth. Will checks Frank’s vitals on the monitor in his hands, noting with relief that they are still well within normal range.
“But do you want to?” Will asks gently. “You don’t have to say yes. We can arrange something else if need be.” Inconvenient, but possible, Will thinks to himself. At this point he’ll do most things to see that his program keeps going and isn’t deemed a failure, if only because there is evidence of genuine improvements and progress. Maybe the Seven will never be able to completely function in normal society again, but maybe there will come a day when they can live outside of these prison walls.
Frank is silent for a minute, face scrunching in deliberate concentration. Then, he finally looks up, a look of pure determination crossing his features. “I want to,” he says firmly, leaving no room for second guessing.
“Ok,” Will replies. It’s strange to hear Frank speak with such conviction, but in many ways, it’s nice too. Frank can use a little more confidence, and if these sessions somehow help that, then Will has no issue making them happen. “I’ll see to it that we get started again in the next new days.”
And then Will leaves Frank’s cell, ignoring the burning sensation of eyes on the back of his head as he does.
These days, Frank Zhang finds that the line between himself and his rage is a thin, flimsy thing.
Sure, there are days when he can’t control it fully, when the remaining impulses of Mars’ influence in his mind echo like the deep, dark pulsing of a distant war drum, but those days are growing further and further apart. The rage never leaves, not entirely, but it doesn’t consume him either. They’ve become one and the same, interchangeable and fluid.
For years Frank thought it would never happen, that he would forever be controlled by the separation between his humanity and the beasts living inside of him. His grandmother once told him that the inhuman rage was an unfortunate side effect of the family gift, but one that would, with time, patience, and practice, lessen its chokehold on his throat.
“Zhang’s fight like a swarm of bees, with the strength of lions, and the courage of dragons,” he can still hear her voice in his head from when he left for Camp Jupiter, before everything went to shit and the grief of losing his mom burned like a wound oozing fresh blood. At the time he still didn’t understand this ‘family gift’ both his mom and grandmother mentioned, but they assured him it would come with time. “But you must be careful, Fa Zhang,” she had warned him with something more than her usual intensity, making sure he was looking her in the eye before she continued on. “Our family gift can be a curse, especially for the first year after it is activated. It brings out an ugly anger within us that renders our capabilities closer to animals than human beings. You, like your mother, myself, and all of your ancestors before you, must learn to control it, but you must also learn to let it become one with you. Remember that.”
And Frank agreed, not at all understanding what she was talking about. He didn’t try to ask. He knew his grandmother well, and that meant she wouldn’t answer his question if she thought he could figure it out himself. Frank, with barely a bag full of clothes, his favorite bow and arrows, and a letter of introduction to give to the praetors of Camp Jupiter in hand, left his grandmother’s house and into the unknown.
Frank isn’t lying when he says he doesn’t remember much of the three years he disappeared, but he does more than he admits. Like for example, how the reason those memories are fuzzy in the first place is because of Mars, his godly father. Not that Frank will ever be claimed, now that he’s a villain.
Mars appeared to him sometime after he initially crossed the Canadian/United States border, scaring Frank half to death as he introduced himself as the god of war and his father. “I’ve been curious to see what becomes of you,” Mars had said, eyes flaring with darkness of a thousand deaths. “Your mother’s blood is powerful and ancient, and now you have half of my blood in your veins.”
Mars had raised his calloused, scarred hand, and hovered it inches from Frank’s forehead. Frank remembers the terror overtaking his body in that moment, the ice in his muscles, unable to do anything but stare helplessly up at the god of war. Few people came close to making Frank feel small, but Mars seemed to tower over him endlessly, like an ant trying to comprehend the size of a skyscraper. All he could do was watch as the palm of Mars’ hand pressed against his forehead, and then the pain, dear gods the pain. It shot through his body with the crack of a whip, so sharp that Frank swore his skull cracked open with the impact. The scream ripped from his throat was raw and breathless, an expression of human suffering that suddenly turned monstrous.
And then everything about Frank was monstrous, his body no longer his own, his thoughts a jumbled mess of impulses and rage. He only remembers flashes after that, the splatter of blood from prey, the occasional pain of an injury. There were moments when he became human once again, moments when he began to grasp onto the beast inside of him and tame it into something human, but those moments were quickly shattered by the continuous presence of Mars invading his mind.
Come on, the god of war would hiss in his ears. Your mother fought with the viciousness of an entire army. Show me what you’re capable of.
The rage would come back, and Frank would be no more. Over and over again this happened, each time bringing pain and misery. Frank thought it would never stop, that he was doomed to be stuck in this cycle of humanity and beast, never free from either.
Is that all you got? Pathetic, I’ve seen kittens with more ferocity.
Again. Prove that you are worthy to be a son of war.
If only your mother was here to teach you how to be a true warrior.
There were times when Mars would talk in his mind for longer periods, when he would ramble and rave and roar and all Frank could do was try with all his might to hold his sanity together with whatever threads he could find. For the most part they were nonsense, background noise in the greater game of rage and pain fighting for space in Frank’s body. But as time went on, something about them changed.
I miss your mother, he would say longingly. I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone who will compare to her.
If only she hadn’t died in that war.
If only I had not planted the seed within her to go.
If only I hadn’t wanted to see her one last time on the battlefield.
And somewhere within Frank’s bumbled brain, those bits and pieces started to fit together in his mind. His mom had been mostly retired from the military for years before she suddenly decided to rejoin for a tour of Afghanistan. “It’ll only be a few months,” she had promised, hugging Frank tightly as she prepared to leave. “A year at most. Then I’ll never go back again, I’ll be here whenever you need me.”
But the war had taken her. Frank’s grief had always centered around that idea, that this was the last time, that she would finally be back for good. Why had she suddenly decided to go back after so many years? Why did Frank remember moments when his mom would look off into the distance, looking into some far off place in contemplation as if remembering the battlefields she’d fought on? Hadn’t she more than served her time?
If only she hadn’t died in that war.
If only I had not planted the seed within her to go.
If only I hadn’t wanted to see her one last time on the battlefield.
“You killed her,” Frank managed to say during a moment of lucidity. “You killed her.”
I did not kill her! Mars insisted with a roar, nearly sending Frank to his knees. It’s not my fault she sacrificed herself for some lesser soldiers, that she decided to throw everything away!
“You killed her!” Frank screamed. “You selfish fucking piece of shit god, you killed my mom!”
And with a whip crack nearly identical to the first time Mars had touched his palm to Frank’s forehead, the rage consuming his body was no longer a force of Mars but an extension of Frank. For a moment, the beast and the human became one, a united front of clarity and purpose. Frank’s fingers became claws and his teeth elongated into sharp points, but he did not fully change into a beast. He could feel his own willpower again, an agent that would allow him to become animal and human at his own command.
“I will slaughter you,” Frank promised with his human/inhuman vocal chords. “I will make you pay!”
But he never got further than that before Mars dove into his mind and took over once again, trying to push Frank to do his bidding. You will do no such thing, boy.
And yet, Mars’ control was not as complete as before. Frank could break away more and more often, but he still had little control over the beasts inside or the rage. All he knew was that he had to make Mars pay, but he couldn’t find the god of war no matter how hard he tried. And so he found the next closest thing: demigods. He could smell them from miles away, find their trails with the slightest shift of the wind. The animals inside him found it cathartic, pleasurable even, though all Frank could focus on was Mars. A part of him felt deeply guilty for killing demigods that had nothing to do with the god of war, but for the most part, the rage kept it suppressed. One less demigod, one less pawn for the gods to play with.
But killing demigods had a side effect that neither Frank or his rage considered, though they really should have. That is, a monster going on rampages and killing their brethren was bound to catch the attention of the heroes. The same heroes Frank had admired for so many years, the same heroes he would watch one the news reals with awe, the same heroes he was so excited to meet when his mom told him he was a demigod.
The same heroes that captured and imprisoned him.
The same heroes that branded him a villain and a monster.
They were right of course, but they didn’t understand. He tried to explain to his first caretaker at Olympus, Dr. Rowan, what happened and how what he did was mostly out of his control, but Dr. Rowan didn’t take his words seriously. Time and time again he urged Frank to “tell the truth,” and to “stop blaming your acts on someone else,” as if everything Frank was saying was a lie. As if he couldn’t even imagine the gods doing something so selfish and evil.
When he gets transferred to Dr. Solace after the uh, incident, he keeps his mouth shut about anything related to Mars or the gods or his rage towards them. He doesn’t feel Mars’ influence these days, whether the god of war simply decided enough was enough or he couldn’t anymore, Frank has no idea. His rage still flares up from time to time, usually when the grief of losing his mom spikes up, but all and all, he’s in control. The rage of the beast and of Frank are unified on the destruction of Mars, and that seems to be enough.
But then the group sessions start happening, and Frank finds himself in the middle of six other interesting if terrifying villains, all of which have a confidence that Frank has been trying to find for most of his life. There’s something like comradery between them all, if fragile and prone to strains. Soon it’s just another part of life, something to look forward to.
That is, until he finds out that the villain right next to him is Tempest.
He can still feel the sparks of lightning coursing through his body, the searing stab of Imperial Gold, see Tempest’s eyes staring at him with an intensity Frank thought only gods could possess. It’s not rage that threatens to consume him but fear, an animalistic part of his brain remembering just how much Tempest’s hits hurt.
Does he want to go back to the group sessions? It’s a question he considers long before Dr. Solace asks him about it, as he paces back and forth in his cell. A part of him instinctually doesn’t, wants to hide away and forget that he ever met the others. But another, deeper part of himself wants to know why Tempest, why in fact any of them, were imprisoned in the first place. What if they had a similar story to Frank’s? What if they too have been screwed over by the gods? What if they were searching for one chance, any chance, to leave this prison?
And so Frank agreed to attend the group sessions again, constantly reminding himself to stay calm, to take deep breaths and center himself when things begin to become overwhelming. His mom taught him to do it so long ago that it’s become second nature, and he wonders if she taught him knowing one day that he would be facing this rage and fear. She must have, even if it served him well long before the rage came.
The next day when they’re gathered in the chamber, it’s awkward. There’s no other way to put it, no way around the tension hanging in the air, specifically between Riptide and Tempest. Frank has never seen or heard of Riptide before, but he has no problem understanding what a fierce reputation he must have as a villain, has no problem imagining him snapping someone's neck without as much as a flinch.
Dr. Solace tries to coax them into saying anything, but for the most part, only silence answers his questions and comments. Not even Leo, who seems to hate silence and stillness above all else, can be persuaded into saying much, his eyes constantly darting around the room and hands twitching with nervousness.
This goes on for the next three groups sessions, in which Frank is starting to feel like whatever comradery had been gained between the seven of them had sputtered out. With Jason’s, with Tempest’s secret now out in the open, it calls into question what other secrets the rest of them are hiding, and whose will be revealed next. Frank knows for certain that he doesn’t want it to be him, not with the fear of no one believing him a constant presence in the back of his mind.
When the fourth session comes, Frank expects it to be yet another hour of silence, and unanswered prompts. He can see the frustration growing within Dr. Solace with each passing session, but he continues to keep his composure and patience. The doctor opens his mouth, undoubtedly about to say something that will not get a response, when the sharp cry of a siren suddenly fills the room. Red lights flash, and a robotic voice declares, EMERGENCY, EMERGENCY, PLEASE FOLLOW PROTOCOL. EMERGENCY, EMERGENCY, PLEASE FOLLOW PROTOCOL.
Frank instinctually cringes away from the sound, his eyes darting over to Dr. Solace when he curses and dashes out of the chamber. A second later, the door slams behind him and the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place echoes through the room.
EMERGENCY, EMERGENCY, the robotic voice declares again, much more muffled this time around. PLEASE FOLLOW PROTOCOL.
“What the fuck is happening?” Leo demands, his fingers twitching furiously.
“Must be an escape attempt,” Annabeth replies simply, not looking the slightest bit bothered by the commotion. “Someone got out of their cage.”
“Lucky bastard,” Piper murmurs under her breath. Frank can tell the others share her sentiment from their grunts and jerky nods of agreement, well, except for Tempest, his the two blue dots impossible to read behind the obscured glass.
“What’s the over under on their escape, you think?” Percy asks.
Annabeth considers it for a moment. “Depends on how far they got before getting caught. The further along they were, the higher the chance for success.”
“They’ll be caught,” Jason says simply, bringing everyone’s attention to him in the blink of an eye.
“And what makes you say that, Mighty Mr. Hero?” Percy snarls back sarcastically. “Is being able to predict the future part of your Golden Boy powers?”
“No. I just know the protocols at Olympus. If there was truly a danger of someone getting out, things would be much different right now.” Jason’s eyes shift around the chamber before landing on Percy, contemplative and attention stealing even through the glass. “And in case you forgot, I’m not a hero anymore. I’m a villain, just like all of you.”
“Curious how that happened,” Piper says, leaning ever so slightly towards the glass of her own cage. “I know I’m not the only one who would like to know how the Roman’s Golden Hero got stuck here with the bottom of the barrel like us.”
Another ripple of unspoken agreement goes through the chamber, though Hazel noticeably doesn’t react. Does she not care, or maybe she’s just that good at hiding her emotions? It’s hard for Frank to tell, and Hazel seems content to not put in her opinion unless someone directly addresses her.
“Well,” Jason says after a moment. “I killed one of the Camp Jupiter praetors, quite publicly I might add. From there I decided in for a penny, in for a pound, and took out the entire Storm & Lance company in Los Angeles. I’m pretty sure they’re still finding bodies in the rubble.”
Silence permeates the air for a few seconds before Leo’s faint, “Holy shit,” breaks it.
“Which praetor was it?” Frank finds himself asking, almost without thinking. He almost immediately regrets it when Jason’s eyes focus on him, but he forces himself to keep his gaze steady.
“Octavian,” Jason replies slowly.
Percy snorts. “Good riddance. I hated that guy.”
The blue orbs spark with intensity. “You have no idea.”
“Storm & Lance,” Annabeth says abruptly. “I know that name.” Her gray eyes train on Jason, searching for something. “It’s tied to the Olympians, isn’t it? It’s one of their puppet corporations.”
Jason makes a grunt of surprise. “I didn’t know other people knew that.”
Annabeth scoffs, her shoulders twisting in what must be the uncomfortable confines of her straight jacket. “Of course I did. They were next on my list before I got caught.”
“I know that name too,” Piper says, her tone far off and cruel in a way Frank hasn’t heard before. Her eyes narrow, mouth curling into a scowl. “They sponsored human traffickers that were prominent around my school. I knew some of the people they took. After they were gone, they would use the Mist to make sure that no one remembered to look for them, but I remembered. I remembered every single one.”
“This is an Olympian corporation?” Frank asks, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice. “Why… why would they want something like that?”
“Trust me, it’s far from the only one,” Leo says. “Hell, the one I got caught up in… I wish all they did was human trafficking.” He shudders, the frost in his hair fluttering around the cage like a snow globe.
“They’re pieces of shit, that’s why,” Percy growls, answering Frank’s earlier question. “They want complete and total control over the mortal world so that they can take their pissing contests wherever they like. Doesn’t matter who gets caught in the crossfire or what damage it causes.”
The chamber goes silent once again. Frank studies the villains around him, the red light pulsing around them like a steady heartbeat. He considers Percy’s words, his instinctual protest rising from within him, insisting that there’s no way all the gods can be that bad, and then the other part of him that knows it’s perfectly possible. He’s seen what Mars can do, why can’t it be possible, hell, probable— that the others are the same?
“What if we could take them down?” Hazel says suddenly, startling everyone. “What if we could make sure they never hurt anyone ever again?”
A murmur goes from demigod to demigod, a small, nearly inconsequential spark. Franks feels it deep within his chest, a mote of rage begging to be released. He can see it clearly: his teeth digging into Mars’ throat, the taste of the war god’s divine blood spilling onto his tongue. There’s no way to kill a god, everyone knows that, but the thought still brings Frank pleasure.
“Even without the logistics of actually doing that, we still have a big problem,” Frank finds himself saying. “It’s that well… we’re in here and the gods are out there.”
“We could change that,” Annabeth says, staring up directly at one of the alarms. There’s a smile on her face that makes the hairs on the back of Frank’s neck stand up, and when she looks back down, her eyes are full of storms. “We could find a way to break out of here and destroy them all, one by one.”
Notes:
I love comments and kudos and bookmarks they feed me in the war to keep my sanity during the battle that is writing this fic while also having to function as a regular human being. Please. Thank you.
I have no idea when the next chapter will come out, but I fucking love Hazel Levesque my queen. Underrated and underappreciated. She will be kicking ass and taking names, but until then, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Chapter 7: File 126.7: The Golden Queen
Notes:
Holy shit. Here it is.
Honestly, when deciding to continue this, it was mostly because I really really REALLY wanted to write Hazel and in all of her villainy glory. I know everyone loves Percy and Annabeth, but Hazel was my favorite character from the HOO series, and I've always hated how little love she gets from the fandom.
So yeah. Here we go.
Hazel Picture: https://64.media.tumblr.com/c325f92c3474c49821ef089f028c49bd/tumblr_o7k9sc1P6F1tipfd6o4_1280.jpg
Artist: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/tamaytka/144735584025
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
File: 126.7
Villain Alias: The Golden Queen
Real Name: Hazel Levesque
Date of Birth: Unknown
Age: *READACTED*
Place of Birth: Louisiana, USA
Status: Demigod (Roman) (Unclaimed)*
Ethnicity: African-American
Eye/Hair Color: Gold/Brown
Height: 5’3
Other Notable Features: Excessive scars typical of powerful and battle prone demigods.
Family: *REDACTED* (Mother) (Deceased), Unknown (Father), Nico di Angelo (Half-brother)**
Childhood: Highdn fjeigh djguredh ahfur cnhguti c nghrduik gnhguf fgignie vghrius gurei jgudi hgi hgug hgjtsi0 ghgj hghbldospam *REDACTED* From what Nico di Angelo (Ghost King) has been able to tell us, he did not suspect Hazel was capable of the extreme violence she would come to enact.
Abilities: Metal manipulation, earth manipulation, can see and talk to ghosts, has an extremely powerful connection and control over the Mist. Skilled in self defense and cavalry battle tactics, as well as hand to hand combat.
Crimes: Destruction of cities, multiple accounts of manslaughter, global terrorism, and the slayer of *REDACTED*.***
Current Imprisonment: Olympus Penitentiary for Demigods
Assigned Personnel: Doctor William Solace
Threat Level: 10/10****
*While Hazel hasn’t officially been claimed by her godly parent, we know from the Ghost King and her own accounts that she is the daughter of Pluto. This is… interesting for several reasons. For one, there's the Big Three Pact of 1946, which says that Zeus/Jupiter, Poseidon/Neptune, and Hades/Pluto will not have any more children with mortals. Of course, Thalia and Jason Grace exist, and there’s Nico di Angelo—though that’s a completely different story altogether—but even so, the god of the dead is not known for his… kindness towards mortals. Secondly, it’s absurd to think that Hazel has been alive for this long, is as powerful as she is, and a child of one of the Big Three, and no one ever knew she existed. Note to self—Ghost King is really shady on the details on how he came across Hazel, and a lot of her file is redacted even from my view. What does any of that mean?
**I have no idea why Hazel’s mother’s name has been redacted from her file. Honestly, I know very little about Hazel’s past before she got in contact(?) with the Ghost King, and no one will tell me anything but the bare minimum. Even then, I’m not sure how much of it is true.
***This… this is the one piece of redacted information I actually know. I had to sign like 10 legal documents and waivers before anyone told me, and I’m not allowed to explicitly talk about the incident even in my own, private notes. One of the higher ups in Olympus is required to regularly read my notes to make sure this is being done. A part of me understands the need for secrecy, understands the damage that could be done if someone got ahold of this information… but another part of me wonders how I’m supposed to make any progress with Hazel if I can never address the reason she’s at Olympus in the first place. I guess only time will tell.
****Keep her in a cell separated from the other inmates. Make sure it is made of absolutely no metal, and anyone who enters her cell also must be wearing no metal on their person. She must never be able to see anyone outside of her cell, for it could give her the chance to use the Mist against us. Use one way glass transportation units whenever she needs to be moved from place to place. In addition, she must be partially sedated at all times, just enough to mess with her concentration. For the love of all the gods, please, just don’t be stupid.
Of all the villains at Olympus, only the Golden Queen can claim the title of God-Slayer.
Almost no one knows this, hell, Will Solace himself didn’t know until a few weeks after Hazel Levesque was transferred to his care. Unlike most of the others in the Seven, Will requested to be the Golden Queen’s assigned personnel, mostly due to Nico’s request that he do so.
How and why Hazel and Nico suddenly found each other Will has no idea—Nico isn’t allowed to tell him any of the details, but Will knows something about this whole situation isn’t right. A few weeks after Tempest was captured and put under Olympus’ jurisdiction, Nico abruptly left with little warning and some flimsy half-excuse, something about his father needing his help with something. Will’s learned not to ask too many questions, especially when it comes to Hades and the seemingly endless list of tasks that he needs his son’s help to complete. Nico’s relationship with his godly parent is… interesting to say the least, but Will has practically nothing to compare it to. He’s met other heroes before, but he isn’t nearly as close to them as he is to Nico. From what he knows, the gods are usually fairly distant from their children, even from the ones they’ve claimed. Nico, on the other hand, sees both Hades and Persephone regularly, and occasionally refers to them as his parents.
This dynamic is something Will has never heard of before, not even with Jupiter and Tempest (well, before Tempest, you know). Then again, Nico is an anomaly even amongst his fellow demigods. Despite his reputation as a capable and reliable hero, many of them seem to put as much distance between themself and Nico as possible. Apparently it used to be a lot worse than it is right now, which Will struggles to comprehend most days—but Nico never complains, and at times even has an eagerness to him when it comes to completing Hades’ tasks.
Besides, Will felt that Nico needed some distance and time to cool off. Since Tempest’s capture, he’d been cagey and constantly nervous, jittering and twitchy, staring off into nothing and unhearing of everything around him. Tempest’s sudden switch to villainy clearly affected Nico deeply, and if this sudden trip to the Underworld helped him in any way, then Will was perfectly fine with it.
A couple of weeks later, with only minimal contact with Nico, the news broke out: a new villain was on the loose in Louisiana, and the entire city of New Orleans was in a state of emergency. The villain was coined the Golden Queen due to the color of her eyes and her ability to manipulate gold, specifically the golden weapons of the demigods that tried to capture her. Will watched on with tension and shallow breath, knowing that somewhere, Nico di Angelo was fighting the Golden Queen. Hoping, praying, demanding that he comes home safe, that this villain is captured and he becomes himself again.
Soon enough, Will’s hopes are answered. Well. Half answered.
Because Nico di Angelo, the Ghost King, son of Hades and one of the most powerful demigods on Earth, manages to capture the Golden Queen. He comes home, no worse for wear, straight into Will’s waiting arms.
But he’s not himself. He’s not better, the way the trip to the Underworld was supposed to make him better. If anything he becomes worse, radiating grief and pain and misery.
“It’s my sister,” Nico eventually reveals to him. “The Golden Queen is my sister. I… I had to imprison my sister.”
At first this makes Will only more confused, because he knows Bianca is dead, and that she looked nothing like the images of the Golden Queen he’s seen, but then it clicks. “Another child of Hades?” he asked, stunned and trying to put the pieces together.
“Close,” Nico had replied, his eyes distant, dark bags under them making his face seem sunken and skeletal. “A child of Pluto.”
A week later, Hazel Levesque, the Golden Queen, daughter of Pluto, arrived at Olympus and was put under Will’s care. Seeing her so close, seeing how young and small she was, was conflicting. Will knew what she was capable of, and yet, she was a mystery. She was clearly a powerful demigod, but until a few weeks ago, as far as anyone could tell, she didn’t exist.
It took a while for Will to get the truth. Or, at least, part of the truth.
The reason Hazel Levesque is in Olympus, under some of the tightest security of anyone in the Penitentiary, is because she killed a god.
Hecate, to be precise. Goddess of crossroads, magic, and of course, the Mist.
No one knows how she did it. No one knows why she did it. Will isn’t allowed to ask Hazel these questions, or even write them. Olympus and its servers are some of the most secure in the world, and yet the threat of these questions and answers getting out are so great that they can’t even exist.
How is Will supposed to help Hazel if he can’t know anything about her? How is he supposed to do his job and duty as a doctor in this facility if Hazel never has a chance?
And as time goes on, Will realizes something: he’s not supposed to help Hazel. No one—for the exception of Nico, who has no say in the matter—wants him to. He’s just supposed to keep his mouth shut and go through the motions of pretending to care. It’s definitely what the higher ups keep encouraging, scolding Will for asking questions and brushing off his concerns. As long as Hazel Levesque’s secrets don’t get out, they couldn’t care less about her wellbeing.
But Will is stubborn, and, as Nico has pointed out to him several times, surprisingly vicious. He doesn’t give a shit what everyone else thinks: he’s going to help Hazel in any way he can, if only for Nico’s sake. And if he can’t talk to her directly about anything, then by the gods, she can at least talk to her fellow demigods.
Not that Hazel talks all that much during the group sessions and not that the sedatives they give her on a daily basis help with that. She only speaks when spoken to, and only in short, quiet answers. What little she does reveal only makes Will more confused about where she came from, or really why she would kill a god in the first place. She seems too kind, too meek, too flustered at the slightest bit of indecency and cursing the others partake in regularly.
But then Will watches some of the news clips back, studying the Golden Queen, and he sees the ferocity hidden beneath the surface. He watches as she impales a metal pipe into the chest of a police officer, twisting it into a knot before ripping it back out. He watches as she uses the Mist to distort the reality around her, forcing the demigods chasing her to fight each other instead. He watches as the ground splits at her feet, swallowing entire buildings whole, and mountains form with a wave of her hand.
Will might not understand where she came from, or really anything about Hazel Levesque, but he can’t forget that she, like the rest of the Seven, is absolutely capable of destruction
Unfortunately for Will, he wouldn’t realize exactly how capable the Golden Queen is until it’s too late.
Despite Hazel Levesque’s growing experience with a physical, living body, most days she still has to remind herself that she’s no longer dead.
She needs to breathe. She needs to eat. She needs to sleep. She needs to move. She needs to blink. None of these things were necessary in the Underworld, especially in the Fields of Asphodel, where she spent her time wandering the endless expanse of souls and nothingness or sitting at the base of bare, sickened trees, staring at the castle of her father in the far distance. Her memories of life, and more starkly, her subsequent death, remained clear and painful (always painful), but somehow, she has forgotten about these little details.
Then again, she has spent most of her existence dead. Over 60 years have passed since Hazel Levesque and her mother died a painful, righteous death destroying the beginnings of Gaea’s rise, in a land beyond the gods and their flimsy protections. At least, according to Nico. Her half brother. A child of Hades with an actual relationship with the god of the dead, something Hazel cannot even begin to fathom.
Over 60 years.
“A long time has passed since you’ve been alive,” Hazel remembers Nico telling her when he first approached her in the Fields, after first commenting that she was different from the rest of the souls there, and Hazel pointed out that he is alive. “A lot of things have changed. Do you want to see it?”
He’d held out his hand then, pale and ghostly but still very real. “Souls aren’t allowed to leave the Underworld,” Hazel had replied, even as her first impulse was to take his hand and never let go. Of course she wanted to see the living world, of course she wanted to see what became of the place she and her mother sacrificed their lives to save. But she also knew the stories, knew what happened to the souls who tried to escape death and those who helped them.
Nico had smiled then, small and sad but so, so full of life. (And, she will later realize, grief. The grief on Nico di Angelo’s face was so prominent it’s a wonder she couldn’t taste it, a wonder she never called it out.) “Something tells me we can make an exception for you. Come on, sister. Let me show you the world above.”
And Hazel, unable to resist, took his hand. What was it the judges of the dead had told Hazel after she pleaded for her mother not to be sent to the Fields of Punishment, after she gave up her chance in Elysium if it meant Marie Levesque did not suffer in death as she did in life? It’s a shame. You could’ve been meant for something more Hazel Levesque, daughter of Pluto. Your destiny could’ve been brilliant.
Well, Hazel has never given much credit to destiny. Or fate, for that matter. But she does believe in second chances, in a fresh start. She believes in making choices and existing with them much more than she has ever believed in a higher power, despite the evidence of their presence. Gods don’t care, can’t care. To be blessed with infinity is to never appreciate the finite, a fact that has come to her with sharp clarity after over half a century wandering eternity.
So Hazel lets herself be led by Nico, watching on with a slightly jealous sort of awe as he easily pushes past the borders of Asphodel, steadily up and up towards the living. Hazel doesn’t look back, not towards the Fields, and especially not towards the castle of Pluto. She thinks about her mother, lost somewhere in Asphodel, and then brushes it aside. There’s nothing more she can do for Marie Levesque. Even if Hazel could find her, by some miracle or act of fate, she would be nothing more than a shade. Just another wandering, confused, empty soul with no memory or comprehension of life. The most Hazel can do is let her mother wander in peace, whatever that means in a place like Asphodel. Hazel certainly never found it, not with her ever present memories and the low burning anger simmering somewhere in her essence, like coals refusing to cool. At the gods. At herself. At the world.
At Hecate.
At least she knows that justice has been served. There’s no way the gods would have let Hecate get away with working for Gaea, not once they found out it meant their destruction and the earth titan’s rise. The gods might be selfish creatures, but Hazel can count on that selfishness for something. They might not be able to kill her, not in the way Hazel’s anger sings for, but they can punish her. And when you have eternity, those punishments can become quite creative.
Hazel should know. She’s spent decades in Asphodel coming up with punishments for the goddess of magic, the painful, terrible things she would do if she had the chance.
But that means nothing now, because when Nico finally pulls her out of the Underworld and into the living, all she can process is the light.
She feels her essence become solid, the warmth and color flooding her body, breath entering her lungs with a gasp. One moment Hazel Levesque is immaterial shadow, dead and cold, and the next she is flesh and blood, living.
She squeezes Nico’s hand, blinking rapidly as she has not had to do in over 60 years. After a minute, the world finally stabilizes, and she looks around. Somehow, the place before her is familiar, in a distant, mind tugging way. It’s on the tip of her tongue, so close, and yet all Hazel can do is marvel as she struggles to understand the scene before her.
“Where are we?” she asks, voice hoarse as if with disuse.
And Nico smiles knowingly, sweeping his arm across the world as if revealing something magical. The blue of an ocean twinkles in the distance, the graveyard they’re standing in covered in flowers and candles and so much color. “We’re in New Orleans,” he says. He looks down at her, that sad, grief filled smile pointing at Hazel once again. “Welcome home, Hazel.”
The world is everything and nothing like she remembers it.
There are so many parts of New Orleans she recognizes, from the view at the waterfront, to the smell of spices, to the sounds of Cajun accented English and French shimmering in the air like visible heat waves on a scolding summer day. When she reaches into the memories of her first life, before Alaska, before the gods, when it was just Hazel and her mom against the world, these things remain the same.
But then there’s everything else.
Nico isn’t wrong when he says things have changed. And Hazel, despite preparing herself for this inevitability (what little time she had to prepare), can’t quite wrap her head around the New Orleans before her.
The cars. The roads. The stores. The strange devices in everyone’s hands. The people. Gods, the first time she sees a Black man and a White woman holding hands while walking down the street, she nearly has a heart attack. Nico has to calm her down, explain that things are different now, that these days, few people will give that couple a second glance.
“Well, I guess that’s not entirely true,” Nico rambles on, and Hazel forces herself to listen to him closely, if only to distract herself. “There will always be assholes that have a problem with it, especially this far south. But they will be fine. Should be. Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m making this worse.”
Language echoes on the tip of Hazel’s tongue, beaten into her by years of paddle wielding nuns, but nothing comes out. She glances at the couple again, clearly in love and happy for it if the beaming smiles glowing on their faces as they look at one another mean anything. Things have changed. But only so much.
For some strange reason, that thought calms her. Not that things have changed, but that some things are still the same. She’s glad that they can freely love one another, elated even, but another part of Hazel aches for something familiar and knowable, something that assures her that she isn’t completely lost in this new world. This evolved world. This couple can exist without the looming threat of a manhunt and a lynching like her neighbor in her first life, a series of events Hazel can recall vividly with an acidic taste of terror on her tongue, but there are limits. Perhaps not like her time, but limits nonetheless.
In the coming days she and Nico spend in New Orleans, he teaches her anything and everything he can about this evolved world. All the new technology and world events, things people do and don’t do, the colossal thing that is the internet. He tells her about the Roman and Greek demigod camps, how they’ve been accepted as heroes by the general public, and how Nico himself is one of these heroes.
“They call me the Ghost King,” he says, and Hazel can’t help but giggle.
“Why not just Nico?” she asks, half serious, half joking. “The heroes of old never went by something they’re not.”
Nico shrugs at that, nonchalant in everything except the way he refuses to meet Hazel’s eyes. “Probably because it’s better that they see us as something other than human. Makes them feel better when one of us dies in battle against a monster protecting them.”
Hazel thinks about her first life, about the danger that came from merely existing as a Black girl with a single Black mom living in Louisiana. She thinks about the classmates she once knew, the ones who died on the wrong end of a police officer's baton, neighbors who called her mother a witch, strangers who would spit at her feet and slur in her direction.
Something other than human indeed. Yet another thing about this evolved world that hasn’t changed.
“Besides,” Nico continues, likely sensing her wandering thoughts. “It’s fun. Who doesn’t want a super secret identity?”
That makes Hazel giggle again, right before she asks: “Can I be a hero?”
Nico pauses, clearly caught off guard. “You want to be a hero?”
“Of course. Something tells me you need someone to watch your back.” And I’d like a chance to give those monsters a taste of their own medicine.
Nico rubs at the back of his neck. “I’m sure we can figure it out,” he says, in a way that makes Hazel feel distinctly lied to. Before she can call him out on it, he says, “Any thought to what your hero name would be?”
An image of Marie Levesque appears in Hazel’s mind, a moment during one of her conversations with the other side. Not the show she would perform for customers, with the overwhelming stench of incense and dramatic flare of possession, but something more personal. Something real. Something Hazel wasn’t supposed to see.
The image, like all memories Hazel’s kept from her first life, is stark and crisp, perhaps unnaturally so. She sees her mom with her legs crossed, hands on her knees, face tilted towards the ceiling, eyes closed with the assurance of power and serenity. A breeze from nowhere gently moves her mane of curls, so similar to Hazel’s own, the only evidence that Marie Levesque is not fully there.
She looks regal. Royal. Queen Marie, they called her mom, when they did not call her witch or something worse. A ruler in peasants clothing, majesty of the unknown. She did not possess a drop of divine blood, yet magic flowed through her like a river after a storm.
“And you have it too,” she once told Hazel, placing a warm, strong hand over her daughter’s heart. “You have magic given to you not by your father or any other divine being, but by our ancestors hundreds and thousands of years before us. Mortals who learned to listen, learned to converse, learned to share with what cannot be seen with the naked eye.” There had been a glint in her mother’s eye when she said this, something that turned her eyes more gold than amber, and Hazel had been enraptured. “Remember that, Hazel. We have always been able to make our own magic, despite the gods insisting they are the only ones who can give and take power. In the whole of the universe, they are nothing. Just parasites, leaching and consuming what does not belong to them.” Her hands had then moved to cup Hazel’s face, thumbs gently stroking her cheeks.
“You are special, Hazel, more so than most. And no god, no matter how powerful, can take that away from you.”
It was one of the last things her mother had said to her before she became trapped under Gaea’s and Hecate’s influence.
Hazel extends her senses to the ground below her, feeling the earth and materials within hum at her presence. Almost immediately, she finds a little nugget of gold, and it appears at her feet with the slightest of tugs. It’s just like she once told Sammy Valdez, all those years ago in the stables: Gold is easy. Hazel smiles at her brother, thoughts slowly swirling in her brain with the inevitability of decision.
The Ghost King. Well, who says there can’t be a Queen as well?
“I have a few ideas,” she tells Nico, kneeling down to pick up the gold nugget and pretending that she is only fixing her shoe. The gold is hot against the flesh of her palm, and she relishes the burn. Once she stands up, she says, “I’ll let you know if any of them stick.”
More time passes in New Orleans. Nico continues to teach her, continues to show her everything this world has to offer. Ever so slowly, he opens up about himself. How he is also a demigod out of time, how he lost his sister, why he was in the Underworld in the first place. How he’d gone to see his sister in Elysium in a moment of need, only to find out that she’d opted for rebirth without telling him. How he’d wandered the Underworld for an unknowable amount of time, and eventually came across Hazel.
Hazel doesn’t know how to feel about this series of events, whether or not she should think of herself as a replacement for Nico’s now rebirthed sister. There’s so much sadness in the son of Hades, sadness that anyone else could easily turn against the world until they’re bitter and petty, and yet Nico doesn’t. When he tells Hazel these things, when he says he saw her soul and believed she deserved a second chance at life, it doesn’t feel like he’s using his grief as an excuse. It’s just how things are.
(And part of Hazel, selfishly, gloriously, is endlessly grateful that these series of events transpired the way they did. For if whatever horrible thing happened to Nico did not send him to the Underworld at the same moment his sister went for rebirth, if his sister did not drink from the Lethe and step back into the mortal world without telling him, then Hazel would not be alive. And Hazel, even after only a few days of life, knows she would not change a thing if it means feeling the warmth of the sun caressing her skin.)
And on and on they go, near mindless yet undeniably happy at each other’s presence. A few weeks pass before Nico brings up bringing her to Camp Jupiter, and Hazel agrees. One more night, they eventually settle on. One more night in New Orleans, and then Nico will bring her to the Roman camp.
It’s during this last night that Hazel finds her.
She and Nico separate for a moment, just long enough for Nico to find food and Hazel to explore the area they’re in. She’s observing the slowly growing nightlife, the people and color and sounds, when she suddenly sees a mystics booth.
Now, these are far from uncommon in New Orleans, but something about this booth calls to Hazel in a way she can’t place. It seems… familiar. Magnetic. Hazel is drawn to all kinds of mystics like her mother was, and New Orleans nearly buzzes with underlying magic, but this booth feels different. Sharper. Meaner. Intense.
Hazel strolls closer, just enough to see the people inside. Two are customers, browsing the various trinkets the booth has to offer. The third is a woman at the register, a pencil twirling over her fingers. Her hair is a dirty blond, pulled back into a tight ponytail, skin nearly as pale as a ghosts, and a furred scarf is wrapped around her neck. It takes Hazel a moment to realize why she looks so strange: the air around her is pulsing ever so slightly, distorting her form, as if looking through a thick sheet of glass. Magic.
I know that magic, Hazel thinks to herself. Why do I know it?
Hazel reaches for the magic with her will, brushing across it gently. Instantly, the woman’s head snaps towards Hazel with unnatural speed, locking their eyes together with the shock of shattering glass. For a moment, the woman’s eyes are a dark, wavering blue. But now that Hazel knows the magic there, knows the glamor this woman is hiding behind is distorting her appearance, she pushes her will through, forcing the truth to reach her eyes.
Hazel’s vision doubles, her stomach dropping as if suddenly weightless. It’s a sensation she’s only felt once before, a lifetime ago, one she never thought she would feel again. But as her vision settles and the world becomes solid once more, Hazel finally realizes why this woman seems so familiar.
What Hazel once saw as a scarf morphs into a weasel, a low hiss bubbling up in its throat. The pencil in the woman’s hand becomes a torch, a white flame flickering on one end. And those eyes, once blue and perfectly mortal, darken until they’re black as pitch, devoid of all light and color.
“Hecate.”
Hazel doen’t mean to speak, but the name comes from her mouth before she can stop herself. The woman, the goddess, tilts her head to the side like a curious cat. “Hazel Levesque,” she says, her voice low and airy as if in a whisper, yet echoing in the somehow condensed space around them. It’s only then Hazel realizes she can no longer hear the rest of New Orleans around her, that everything has become nulled and hazy beyond the space between demigod and goddess. Even the people within the tent have faded away, unable to reach this pocket of magic and power.
This pocket of the Mist.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Hecate continues. “And yet here you are, standing before me.”
“How are you here?” Hazel demands, anger steadily pumping more and more venom into her blood. Memories flash in her mind, of those eyes, of the Mist, of Hecate and Gaea’s voices pushing and pulling her mother’s will and turning her into a puppet for their amusement. “The gods were supposed to take care of you. They were supposed to punish you.”
Hecate lets out a laugh, a light, sinister sound that makes the hair on Hazel’s arms stand to attention. “This that what you thought would happen?” she asks, cruel and mocking. “Did you really think the gods would give up a force as useful as the Mist to punish me?”
“You tried to dethrone them,” Hazel snaps. All this time she thought justice had been enacted, all this time she thought they would be furious—
Hecate shrugs. “What the gods don’t know won’t hurt them. Now,” her torch flares blue, filling air with scorching magic. “I suggest you leave and forget you ever saw me. Better for both of us.”
And Hazel feels something like wires wrap around her body, tugging and strangling, and in a split second she knows what Hecate is doing.
Ever since they got to Alaska, Marie Levesque’s eyes have become something other than her own. No longer a glimmering amber, but a dull, pulsing brown that nearly swallows her pupils whole. Her limbs move with an unnatural smoothness, speaks in a voice underlying with something other, and every time she looks at Hazel, her expression never shifts from its blank indifference. Hazel can just barely make out the strings that hold her mother in place, those faint silver threads, the ones that command Hazel to take and take and take from the earth, to rebuild what Gaea lost, to create her god-slaying children.
Hazel looks down and sees those silver threads now, digging into her skin. If they find blood, if they get inside, then she will be a puppet to Hecate just like her mom, another thing for the Mist to play with.
Hazel has tried to break the strings so many times, tried to unravel the knots holding Marie Levesque in place, but each time has been in vain. And each punishment for trying, for daring to go against the goddess holding the life of her mother around her fingers, has only escalated. Beatings, cuts, bruises, and burns were Hecate’s and Gaea’s favorite. But near the end, they would go after her mind. Nightmares, hallucinations, anything to blur the veil of reality. And still, again and again, Hazel would go after the strings.
Hazel clenches her hands into fists, trying to resist the threads. They dig in deeper, painful and insistent. They know she will give in eventually, as all mortals do. Relax, they encourage, humming sweetly into Hazel’s mind. It will all be over soon. Just give in.
On the last day of Hazel Levesque’s first life, when Gaea and her children are moments from rising, she finally manages to cut the threads.
It’s by sheer luck, or something close to it. In Hecate and Gaea’s horrible glee, so sure that they had finally won, the threads slackened. And Hazel, with her venom and hundreds of years of magic and agony flooding through her veins, raises her hands and tears.
The threads shred into ribbons, and in an instant, Marie Levesque comes back to herself. Hecate and Gaea roar in rage, the strings reaching back towards their puppets, but Marie Levesque is a queen of the mystics. She was tricked into servitude before, and she would not let Hecate take her again. A shield wraps around them both, keeping the threads out with a flash of gold and amber.
“You will never take my mind again,” Queen Marie hisses. “And you will regret ever using it in the first place.”
With a shove, Hecate vanishes, screaming as she is banished by the very puppet she controlled for so long.
Hazel looks up at Hecate. The goddess is relaxed from where she still sits in her chair, torch lazily waving in the air. More silver threads emerge, their grip tightening and tightening, their encouragement for Hazel to give in turning into commands. But Hazel still pushes through, a scream welling at the base of her throat. She strains against the threads, a snarl pulling back at her lips, her eyes locked onto the goddess that took away what little Hazel had of her first life and lets her see the hate.
For a split second, not even a moment of time, Hazel sees it: fear.
Hecate fears her.
Hazel’s snarl turns into a wicked grin.
In the end, Hazel and Marie Levesque know what they have to do.
There’s still time before Gaea awakes. They are the power that brought her life, and now, they have the chance to be the power that keeps her asleep.
Something about Hazel’s magic had changed, in that moment when she ripped Hecate’s control from her mom. Before, she had always seen her demigod abilities, the ones from Pluto that allowed her to call metal and gems and earth, as completely separate from the magic from her mom. But now she feels it: the connection between earth and the mystic, between reality and imagination. Between the divine and the mortal.
Hazel unleashes that connection with the power of a thousand suns, with the blood of gods, with the blood of every mortal generation before her, the ones who loved and listened and fought against everyone and everything that tried to destroy them. She unleashes her full might against the island and creatures she had created with her own power, a might that becomes even greater when her mom grabs her hands and allows her magic to become Hazel’s magic, for Hazel’s magic to become her magic, for them to become one.
For this is something gods and titans alike will never be able to understand or accomplish: Mortals are not powerful because of the individual, but because of the many. Because of the need to survive. Because of the need for connection.
Gaea screams in rage, but she can do nothing as the island comes down around her, as Hazel and Marie Levesque reshape reality into their own image. A reality where Gaea will never be able to wake, a reality where she failed because she underestimated the connection between a mortal mother and her daughter. A reality where even the gods will feel and understand what happened, what was attempted in the land where they cannot reach.
And as the island falls into the sea, as it all crumbles around them, as the oil begins to rise and rise, Marie Levesque cups her daughters cheeks and looks at her with love and pride.
“Oh Hazel,” she says, smiling even as she knows what awaits them both. “You were always my greatest gift, my most powerful magic. Thank you for reminding me.”
And Hazel smiles back, and brings her mom in for one last hug, one last act of love. “I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you,” her mom whispers back.
And then the island breaks, and the oil fills their lungs, and Marie and Hazel Levesque are no more.
Hazel reaches into her blood and finds the same magic, the same connection between reality and imagination, and tears.
The silver threads shatter into millions of stars, dust in the wind. Before Hecate can scream or even react, Hazel is on her, tacking the goddess out of her chair and onto the ground. With a wave of Hazel’s hand, the weasel disappears and thick bands of earth and metal emerge to pin Hecate to the ground. She struggles and tries to call on her own magic, a delicious panic filling her eyes when he finds that there is nothing to call.
“You are no god,” Hazel hisses. “You are a parasite, one that feeds on the universe without giving anything in return.” She grabs onto the Mist, the force Hecate’s hidden behind for so long, and drives it into the goddess’s very being.
No. Hecate doesn’t deserve the title of goddess. None of them do.
“The gods didn’t punish you, but that’s alright. None of them have the strength to do what I can.” The Mist drives deeper, and with a thought, Hazel reshapes Hecate’s divinity into something else. Into something mortal. Into something that can be killed.
Hecate understands moments before a golden nugget, barely the size of a pebble, drives straight through her heart. She gasps in pain, and her blood, once the ichor of divinity, comes out crimson red.
Hazel lets her sit with the pain for just a minute longer, drinking in her pain and fear, before she drives her fist through Hecate’s body.
When Hazel comes to, the pocket of Mist she and Hecate had existed in beyond the eyes of reality is gone. She doesn’t remember blacking out, doesn’t remember coming back, and in a near blinding rush everything hits her all at once. She hears the screaming of mortals, near deafening after the hushed buffer of nothingness. Hazel is still kneeling over Hecate’s body, and after a moment she realizes that it’s different. It actually looks mortal now, with mortal blue eyes and mortal pale skin. Because Hazel made her mortal. Because Hazel killed her.
She pulls out her fist, still buried within what was once Hecate’s chest, with a thick squelching sound. Satisfaction and righteousness roars in her veins, and she savors the feeling of hot mortal blood dripping down her arm—
“Hazel?”
Hazel’s head snaps towards her name. And there, across the street, is Nico di Angelo, eyes wide with shock and a long black sword clenched tightly in his hand. “What did you do?”
Hazel looks down at the corpse once more, before back again at Nico. “What needed to be done.”
What she needs to do again, and again, and again and again until all the gods are as mortal as the rest of them. She needs to punish, to show exactly what mortal magic is capable of.
But Nico won’t understand, she knows. Nico is a hero, not for mortals but for the gods. He does what they ask, uses their power as his own. In order for Hazel to do what is necessary, she has to go through him and every other hero protecting the gods.
Which is why, before anyone can try to take her down, Hazel splits the earth at her feet and runs.
In the end, Hazel lasts 8 days before they manage to capture her. She puts up a good fight, a great fight even, but she can only keep going for so long. There’s too many people going after her with too many resources, and she has to sleep sometime.
They capture her, interrogate her, sedate her when they realize she’s not going to stop fighting. They imprison her deep under the earth, which normally would mean their death sentence, but the drugs keep her mind distant and her abilities locked. They assign her to a doctor, one she cannot see and barely talks to.
That doctor introduces her to 6 other villains also imprisoned within these walls. Slowly, with time (for that’s all Hazel really has, and if she knows anything, it’s eternity) these villains reveal little bits and pieces about themselves. And while Hazel can’t see them, can barely speak around the fogginess in her brain, she does understand them. Connect to them. And connection is all she needs.
So when the alarm goes off and the sounds of Dr. Solace running out of the room fades away, when these villains start talking about their distaste for the gods and their want to bring them down, Hazel sees her chance.
And just like magic, it catches and spreads until the seed takes root in their brains. They have a long way to go, a near impossible task ahead of them, but it hardly seems to matter.
Deep within Olympus Penitentiary for Demigods, an emergency is being subdued with the frenzy of an apocalypse. At the same moment, where no one is paying attention and everyone has forgotten about, 7 villains begin to plan.
Notes:
Holy shit, things have been crazy. Sorry for the gap, and doubly sorry that nothing plot-wise really progressed here. I was planning on adding more, but this chapter may or may not have gotten out of my hands lol. I just love Hazel too much. I promise the final chapter will finally get to the prison break, but I cannot promise when that will be. Until then, stay safe, enjoy the chapter, and happy pride!
The war continues on, so I humbly ask for your contributions in kudos, bookmarks, and comments. Please I beg.
Next up is what you all have been waiting for: Jail break time :)
Chapter 8: Incident WS-12
Notes:
Holt shit guys. Three years, two major life changes, and several mental breakdowns later, we're here. We're fucking here.
I was not expecting it to be this long or elaborate, but it was hella fun to plan and figure out. Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Incident Report(s) Summary: D12-LK40
Number of Incidents: 3
Incident One: MM12
Persons Involved: Dr. Mallory Mason and prisoner 45.2
Notes: Prisoner 45.2 attempted to attack Dr. Mason during their weekly in-person session. Dr. Mason was able to react accordingly and get out of danger, guards subdued 45.2 before anyone got hurt. Discovered that 45.2 had been planning an escape involving plastic forks and a jagged piece of metal that somehow got into the prisoner’s cell. Items have been removed and an investigation has been launched to figure out how these items got into 45.2’s cell. 45.2 is currently in solitary until the investigation has concluded.
Incident Two: GR151
Persons Involved: Prisoner 136.1 and guards
Notes: Prisoner 136.1 escaped from a group of guards during transport. Penitentiary went into shutdown for 20 minutes until the prisoner was apprehended and temporarily placed into solitary. No evidence of an elaborate escape attempt, no contraband found into the prisoner’s cell. Likely spur of the moment. Only injury was a guard with a broken wrist.
Incident Three: KS20
Persons Involved: Dr. Kelson Starbourgh, guards, and prisoner 109.3
Notes: Prisoner 109.3 attempted an elaborate escape attempt that put the penitentiary in lockdown for 56 minutes. Several guards and one doctor were injured, no deaths, and an investigation has been launched into how prisoner 109.3 was able to escape the cell. As of the writing of this report, the investigation is still too young to present any concluding evidence. It will be specified and updated when the investigation concludes.
Summary Conclusion: Overall, a quiet month for Olympus Penitentiary. No deaths, no successful escapes, and only one instance of lockdown. We believe this is evidence of improved security and successful discouraging of prisoner incidents. We hope to see a continued pattern in coming reports.
Electronic Signature: Chiron
Progress Report: WS-22
Personnel: William Solace
Prisoner(s): 106.1, 110.2, 113.3, 116.4, 118.5, 121.6, 126.7 (Referred to collectively as ‘The Seven’)
Notes: As expected, it has been difficult to coax the Seven into discussing more difficult topics. I suspect that with the revelation that Jason Grace is Tempest, this will become even more difficult, especially on prisoner 121.6. That being said, there is something to be said about their interactions with each other. Despite the rough going, they are much more open in a group than they ever were one on one. I believe this shows that at least we are heading in the right direction, even if there are roadblocks along the way. If I continue to have patience for the Seven, and if the Penitentiary continues to support these group sessions, then I am certain these prisoners will be well on their way to significant progress.
Electronic Signature: Doctor William Solace
Over the course of a week and a half, a storm begins to gather over Olympus Penitentiary.
This goes unnoticed by everyone, of course. The weather can be unpredictable, especially with the mood of who knows how many divine beings influencing every shift of the wind, every cloud formed, and every unexpected storm. So the employees and surrounding residents of the area don’t pay the growing threat of rain any special attention, only check the weather prediction on an assortment of sources and sigh when the likelihood of a storm becomes more and more inevitable.
The prisoners of Olympus only become aware of the storm after the guards, doctors, and other various employees start commenting on it. It looks like it’s going to be a big one, a guard says. There goes my plans for the weekend, another complains.
After a week and a half, the gathered storm starts pouring wave after wave of rain mercilessly onto the ground below. Bits of lingering water cling onto those who move in and out of Olympus, leaving behind dripping trails on the white tile floors. The roads flood in places where water can’t drain quickly enough. The persistent droning of rain fades into the background of existence, only interrupted by the occasional low rolling of thunder.
Within Olympus, most of the imprisoned demigods don’t care about the storm. And why should they? They’re trapped inside with no way for the might of nature to bother them. There are bigger, more pressing things to worry about than a bit of rain and thunder.
That being said, most is not all. In fact, to seven ( The Seven) demigods within the penitentiary, this is the most important storm of their lives.
And to one demigod in particular, this storm is everything. Because unlike almost everyone else on the mortal plain, Jason Grace knows this storm is not natural. He knows this because of one simple, undeniable fact: he is the one creating it.
And if Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, Roman hero turned villain, wants this storm to succeed in its purpose, then he needs to make it bigger.
“Okay, so we all want to leave,” Percy Jackson says, passing a bottle back and forth in his hands. “But how do we get out? Not sure if you’ve noticed, but this place is a little more secure than your average jail cell. It’s not like we can just take out the guards and punch our way through.”
Annabeth Chase turns towards Percy for a moment with a cruel, knowing look in her gray eyes. “I know. Which is why it’s a good thing that I have the layout and the security measures for Olympus Penitentiary memorized.”
Jason Grace lets out a grunt of surprise. “No offense, but how is that possible? There’s no way you’ve seen enough of the penitentiary to memorize it.”
Annabeth shrugs, a casual move that still somehow drips with smugness. “Because the servers this place runs on aren’t nearly as secure as everyone thinks they are. I always knew it was possible I’d end up here, or that I’d need this place for one reason or another, so I hacked in and found everything I could ever want to know about the structure. Based on the blueprints I memorized—and they are memorized, because I never forget anything I don’t want to—I know exactly where this room and my cell are. And if you guys describe your path from your cell to here, then I’ll know where you all are as well.”
The room goes silent for a couple of moments as everyone absorbs that information, the emergency alarm still going off without a care in the world. Not that any of the villains care about it anymore, not that they even notice its presence.
“Okay,” Leo Valdez interrupts in the silence. For the first time since the others have known him, his voice is calm and even, and his hands are still without the frantic energy and movement they’ve come to associate with him. It’s damn near creepy how much these two things completely change Leo’s presence, like a gazelle that suddenly turns into a lion. Prey suddenly turned predator. “You know the layout. You know the weaknesses. You have the knowledge to get everyone out of here.” Leo’s hands slowly press onto the glass of his cage, the frost steaming at his touch. “And with my help, I can make sure we exploit that knowledge for everything it’s worth. The very mechanisms of this place will bow to us. Those fuckers will never know what hit them.”
Annabeth and Leo’s eyes gain a similar gleam to them, and it suddenly occurs to everyone in the room that the two demigods before them are perhaps the smartest mortals they’ve ever known. And now it seems they’ll be the leading force to get them all out of this prison.
In the moment, it’s difficult to tell if that’s for better or for worse.
“I think we need to slow down a little bit,” Piper McLean says, making a timeout symbol with her hands. “It seems very clear that you two will be great at moving us around and bypassing the systems. But,” she emphasizes, savoring the word on her tongue. “First, we need to get out of our cells long enough to do something. From where I’m standing, I don’t know how that would be possible.”
“Why are we assuming all of this would be done from our individual cells?” Percy questions. “Why not during one of our group sessions? Hell, why not now?”
“Because too many eyes will be on us while we’re in a group,” Frank Zhang answers, a little shy like he’s afraid to speak up. “So many resources are focused on us when we’re together, from the moment we leave our cells to the moment we’re back.” He pauses, looking up at the light flaring in time with the alarm. “As for right now, I think the same issue applies. Sure, no one is looking at us right now, but everyone is on high alert. Too many variables. If we’re all in our cells, it’s one more element we can use to our advantage. It’s a lot more ground to cover, but if we play it right, we can keep surprise on our side and prevent a complete lockdown for as long as possible.”
Annabeth hums, her eyes going distant with thought. “Back to Piper’s point,” she starts, moving slowly as her thoughts translate into words. “We need to be out of our cells first. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how I would get out of my cell, and the easiest solution seems to be during a transfer, right before I’m completely restrained and after I’m already out of the cell. Every two weeks they bring me to the penitentiary library to pick out new books. If I were to escape, that would be the perfect moment.”
“The penitentiary has a library?” Jason asks, astonished. “What the fuck.”
“I’m the reason it has a library,” Annabeth answers. “They got tired of me asking for books, so they mass ordered a couple hundred. Then I convinced Solace that I should be there to pick out the ones I want myself.” Her smile says it all, a wicked thing that speaks of strategy and cleverness.
“So that’s how you would get out of your cell,” Percy says. “But then there’s the rest of us. And I don’t know about you guys, but the only time I take part in a transfer is when I’m coming here, and as that’s already been discussed as a no no, I’m wondering how that’s supposed to happen.”
“Well, if she gets out, she can get the rest of us,” Leo muses. “If she brought me a tool of some kind—and I mean literally anything— I could get out of my cell. Then she could lead me to everyone else and BOOM!—freedom, baby!”
“So now Annabeth has to break out of her cell during a transfer, presumably kill all the guards present, find something for Leo to use, and make her way to Leo’s cell, all without sounding the alarm and immediately getting caught,” Frank says. “That’s… a lot.”
“When you put it that way, sure,” Piper replies. “But that’s half the fun! All of those things need to happen before we continue… the only question is what can we do to make sure it’s possible.”
More silence fills the room, the seconds ticking in time with the alarm. They only have so long before the emergency ends, they know, before eyes are back on them and their ability to discuss this crazy idea slips away. The air fills with that anticipation, with that excitement of demigods who have been bored out of their minds finally having a goal in mind.
“A distraction,” Hazel Levesque speaks into the tension of the room, pulling in taunt. “Annabeth needs a distraction. Something so severe that no one in the penitentiary will even think about looking our way.”
“A distraction…” Jason repeats. He turns his head to look at the ceiling of the cage above, imagining he can see straight through it and into the endless expanse of the sky. “Annabeth,” he says, and for a brief moment, the demigods in the room swear they hear a breeze pass through, despite being very much indoors. “Tell me: is there any place in this penitentiary that could be fried with lightning?”
And Annabeth Chase smiles. “Oh. Oh. I like the way you think, Jason Grace.”
“Well, it’s just like Piper said,” Jason replies, unable to stop himself from mirroring Annabeth’s— Talon’s— smile. Something giddy is forming in his chest, a glittering feeling that makes him want to cackle with glee. “If we’re getting out of here, let’s make it fun. And if we’re making it fun, then I think it should all start with a bang.”
Overall, Jason’s job is rather simple: create a lightning strike powerful enough to knock out all power within the penitentiary. It’s the perfect distraction for several reasons, especially if it comes from a storm everyone already assumes is natural: One, it puts no pressure and raises no suspicion on any of the Seven. No one knows that Tempest has been able to influence the weather since even his first days of imprisonment, when he realized that they didn’t put him in a cell deep enough underground to block his connection. With this, they’re able to keep a low profile, just like they want.
Two, if Jason succeeds in knocking out the power, then a large portion of Olympus’s security measures will be gone. This will make it easier for their group to move around undetected, and allow them to access to otherwise tightly locked portions of the penitentiary that are necessary for their bat-shit insane plan to work.
Three, it is absolutely severe enough to distract the staff of Olympus, creating a chaos so complete that no one will look too closely at a couple of more people running around. Especially if Annabeth is able to get some of the items discussed.
So yeah, at a first glance, Jason’s job is easy. There’s only a few issues with it—
One: The timing. Jason can’t just power off the penitentiary willy-nilly; he has to do it at the exact moment Annabeth Chase is getting transferred from her cell to the library. Jason knows the date and time, and even knows exactly how long it takes for the guards to strap her in the transfer cell (information she had been all too quick and eager to share), but that doesn’t make the precision needed for this to work any easier to deal with. Which leads to the second issue—
Lightning. Jason Grace is the son of Jupiter, lord of storms and lightning, but there is one simple fact he cannot ignore: lightning is not his thing. Air currents, tornados, hurricanes, storms—those things have been at his beck and call since he was a child. It’s easy to fly, easy to use the wind like another limb, but lightning? He can call it of course, but it takes more energy and concentration than he can usually afford. Thalia has always been better at it, to an extreme degree. Lightning sparks in her hands and along her weapons without as much as a twist of her wrists, reaches for her when calls it from the sky. Jason has never really thought much about their differences in powers, but now he wishes he had half the control Thalia did over lightning. Which then, leads to the third issue—
The energy. The amount required to conjure the storm they need, to maintain it over the course of a week and a half, and then bring down the lightning strike that takes out the penitentiary’s power? It’s ridiculous. In fact, Jason’s sure that by the time he’s done, he’ll be next to useless during the rest of the escape.
But it’s the only real opportunity they have. So Jason counts down the days, hours, minutes, seconds, all of his energy focused on the storm. He only sleeps in couple hour bursts, scarfing down the food given to him knowing it won’t be enough to properly fuel the amount of power he’s putting out. It’s fine. Jason Grace, Tempest, is a Roman. He is built to endure the harshest of conditions, to stop only when he’s told to or he’s dead. He will make it through. He will make sure the others can do their parts, and only when it’s done, when they’re all out of this blasted prison, will Jason Grace collapse in victory.
The storm gathers. A permanent headache throbs at the base of Jason’s skull. The moment of reckoning inches closer and closer, and no one in the penitentiary notices. Jason’t always been quiet and kept to himself, and now it pays off: nothing about his behavior seems any different than before. They’re too afraid of him to see the growing lines of exhaustion along his body, the deep concentration etched onto his face.
The timer ticks down. Jason Grace readies himself. The storm rages on.
Across Olympus Penitentiary, Annabeth Chase replays the plan over and over again in her mind. It’s not as if she can forget it, but it helps to keep her calm. The details of it, the function of each moving part, the likelihood that something will go wrong. It’s the calmest she’s felt since she first came to this wretched place, strangely enough.
It’s terrifying that she has to rely on other people for this to work. People she quite honestly knows very little about, people she cannot leave or betray if she wants to leave the penitentiary for good. People she has to care about.
She still doesn’t know how to feel about that.
But then, as she knows it would, the time comes. Guards enter her area with a transfer cage, hesitant to approach her as they always are, but with the comfort of familiarity at their side. They’ve done this before. They know Annabeth can’t hurt them. They know that despite her reputation, Talon has no powers to use against them.
The guards go through procedure as normal: telling Annabeth to back away from the entrance, to raise her hands, preparing the straight jacket to restrain her. Annabeth raises her hands slowly, a thin widdle of wood that was once a pencil hidden between her fingers, and waits.
Ball’s in your court, Jason Grace, Annabeth says in her head, almost like a prayer. Lets see if you’re a true villain like the rest of us.
The door to Annabeth’s cell opens, and the guards come in.
Above Olympus, the storm reaches a horrible crescendo. Thunder booms, deep and powerful, so loud that almost everyone within the penitentiary flinches simultaneously.
Everyone, in fact, except for two demigods.
Within the cell of Tempest, a once hero turned villain raises his hands, and with all of his strength and power— pulls.
And less than a millisecond after that thunderous crack, a bolt of lightning arcing with the undeniable spark of divinity strikes Olympus Penitentiary.
Within the cell of Annabeth Chase, all is still as guards, halfway to the villainous daughter of Athena armed with guns and a straight jacket, struggle to process what they just heard.
“What the hell was that?” one guard asks, half serious, half lighthearted, trying to break the tension in the cell. It will be the last thing any of them utter.
A moment later, the blinding lights of the penitentiary flicker, and then flutter into complete darkness.
Talon does not hesitate.
The moment she notices the lights flickering, when she realizes that holy Tartarus, it’s going to work— she lunges for the guards with a smile that is all teeth and her once-pencil extended.
She stabs the wood into the jugular of the nearest guard and rips just as the room succumbs to darkness, moving out of the way of the arterial spray and onto the next one before the guard has the chance to gurgle in distress. The cell may be lightless, but Talon has a perfect memory, surprise on her side, and faster reflexes than most mortals will ever dream of achieving. In a swift move she kicks at the knee of the next guard, the one with the straight jacket, and the knee shatters under her force. The guard crumbles to the ground with a cry, and Talon grabs at the head now at her waist level and twists. A sickening snap fills the air and the body goes limp, falling to the ground with a thick thud.
By now, the three remaining guards have realized what’s going on, at least in the most basic of understandings. They blindly charge at Talon, trying to subdue her, but even with their superior numbers and weapons, they are helpless against her.
Within moments, Talon takes two more of them down. She tackles one to the ground and slams their skull against the ground once, twice, thrice, before also snapping their neck. One manages to finally grab at her, but she quickly bats the offending arm away, using their momentum against them and forcing them to turn around, brutally twisting the shoulder out of socket and breaking the bones within. Again she snaps the guard’s neck when their legs buckle beneath them, and within the span of a couple heartbeats, only one remains.
Smartly, this one decides to try and run. Unfortunately, it is still dark and the guard is not nearly as prepared for this moment as Talon is. She grabs the straightjacket from the corpse of the second guard she killed and swings it around the final guard as they run past. The guard blindly struggles from where they’re now wrapped in the straightjacket, unable to resist as Talon maneuvers it around their neck. Talon hears the guard take a deep breath, as if to scream or call out for help, but it cuts off with a choking stutter as Talon shoves them to the ground and pulls on the two ends of the straightjacket.
It takes a long minute for the guard to finally die, clawing at the straightjacket, attempting to throw Talon off with no success. Eventually though, the struggling stops, the body goes limp, and Talon hears the last strained exhale of breath leave the body. She holds the strangle for another count of thirty, just in case, and then lets the corpse fall without ceremony.
In the seconds that follow, all Talon can hear is her deep, quick breaths and rapid heartbeat. Adrenaline and pleasure flooding her blood makes her hands tremble ever so slightly, and she clenches them into fists. It takes her a moment to place this feeling, one she hasn’t felt since she killed Luke Castellan, but then it hits her all at once: Alive. For the first time in over a decade, Annabeth Chase feels alive.
And it’s not just killing the guards, not just finally doing something after being forced into submission for so long, she realizes.
So why do you feel like this?
Before Talon can come up with the answer to her own question, her cell suddenly fills with light once more. They’re much dimmer than usual, more of a dull glow than blinding white, and at once she knows that the emergency power must have kicked in. She glances at the camera in the corner of the cell, noting that just as it should, there is no red light to signal that it’s on.
Perfect.
“—ello? Johnson, are you there? This is control—” comes the muffled crackle of a voice, as if through a layer of static. Talon smirks.
Just in time.
Talon quickly finds the walkie-talkie attached to the strangled guard, holding it up to her mouth and pressing the speak button. “This is Johnson to control,” she says, letting her voice take on a slightly deeper, tired and terrified lilt. “What the fuck just happened? All of the lights and machines just stopped working.”
“The power went out,” the walkie talkie replies, sounding relieved at the sound of a voice on the other end. “Lightning surge or something. We’re working on it right now. I assume by the fact that you’re alive that prisoner 110.2 has been subdued for the time being?”
Talon’s mouth floods with something sour at the mention of the number, her number, the only point of individuality in this entire fucking prison. She manages to keep the disdain out of her voice when she replies, “Affirmative. She is currently in her cell and locked inside. No casualties. We are good to stay here and watch until the main power is back on.”
“What about back up? I could send a few more down there just for good measure.”
“No need, control. Sends bodies where they’re needed, not watching over a fish in a cage. I’ll let you know if we need any help.”
There’s a pause on the other side. Talon holds her breath, waiting. This is, for all intents and purposes, the most significant moment of their escape plan. She can feel the indecision on the other side, warring with the want to buff defenses on a demigod that was in the middle of a transfer. But prisoner 110.2 has no powers, and as far as they know, is trapped within her cell. After another moment, Talon hears what she wants to hear.
“Affirmative. Let us know if anything changes immediately. Control over and out.”
“Johnson over and out.”
Talon drops the walkie-talkie, biting her lip to stop the laugh that threatens to bubble out of her throat. She has things to do.
First, she starts with the bodies. The first guard she killed is useless to her; the corpse and the area around it are covered in blood. The other four, however, are clean.
Talon kneels down and gets to work.
“You said you need a tool of some kind to get the rest of us out. Anything you can give me that’s more specific than that?” Annabeth directs at Leo, one eyebrow raised.
“You mean if this batshit crazy plan of Sparky taking out the power grid and you making it out of your cell works?” Leo replies. “I meant it when I said anything will do. Honestly, I might not need anything if the power to the main security systems is down.”
Annabeth scowls, unconvinced. “Whatever. I’ll go into one of the maintenance closests and find something.”
“I feel like I’m more concerned about how you guys are going to move around unnoticed,” Percy says. No longer is he tossing his bottle, instead holding it tightly in his hands. His sea green gaze looks at everyone in turn, intense and disturbing. “No matter the distraction, people are going to notice someone running around in a prison jumpsuit.”
Leo grins. “Don’t worry, big guy,” he says, making pointed eye contact with Annabeth. “I think our dear friend Annie might already have that covered, don’t you?”
For a second time in a matter of minutes, Annabeth Chase seems startled by the intelligence of her fellow demigods. “Leo’s right. Moving around undetected might be the least of our worries, if I play my cards correctly. I can’t promise it’ll be enough for everyone, but it’s as good as we’re going to get.”
Leo rubs his hands together, his excitement nearly sparking a flame even in the frigid temperature of his cage. “Perfect. Then in that case, I think it’s time to move on to our next discussion: what order are we going to get you guys out?”
To say Leo Valdez is startled when Annabeth Chase appears outside of his cell would be one of the biggest understatements this side of the Mississippi.
Look—it’s not like he doesn’t want this crazy escape plan to succeed. In fact, he’s willing to bet he wants it more than anyone else in this eclectic group of demigods. But Leo… well, a man can only take disappointment so many times in his life before he starts bracing himself for the worst case scenario in every moment. So even when he hears the roaring storm outside, even when Sparky (Tempest, Jason Grace, whatever) strikes true and the power goes out, all he can think about are the things that can (and will) go wrong. Annabeth being transferred at a different time than normal; the guards overwhelming her into submission; someone recognizing her as she moves through the penitentiary. On and on it goes, to the point where Leo convinces himself that it’s already over.
And then, about thirty minutes after the back-up power kicks in, someone walks into his area. Leo doesn’t notice at first, too engrossed with coming up with everything that could go wrong, but he swiftly comes back to himself with the sound of a sharp knock against the glass of his cell. He looks up, eyes wide, and sees a guard staring back at him.
The guard is fairly tall, a good few inches above Leo (not like it’s hard, but whatever) and wearing a blue cap. He can see a few blond curls peaking out, and the eyes are a stormy, cunning shade of gray—
“Holy shit!” Leo exclaims, jumping up from where he has been sitting on his bed and pressing his body into the glass. “You made it! It fucking worked, I can’t believe—”
“It won’t work for much longer if you don’t keep your voice down,” Annabeth Chase hisses, glancing behind her. “We’re not done yet. I don’t know how much longer we have until someone walks in here but I need you to be quiet and quick. Got it?”
Leo nods furiously, keeping his mouth shut but unable to stop the fluttering taps of his fingers against the glass. “Good. Now show me these fucking locks so I can get you out of here.”
Leo’s cell is unique for several reasons, but mostly because it has no complicated machinery to speak of. No wires, no gears, nothing he can possibly influence for his own benefit. Instead, the entrance to his cell is made up of locks and chains. In order to open it, one has to get through three sets of locks and then use a pulley to open the door, very much like a garage at a mechanic shop.
Within a minute, Annabeth picks all three locks with a set of make-shift lock picks, two pieces of metal with a curve at the top that look like they were once wires of some kind. And then, before Leo can truly process that this is happening, Annabeth starts heaving the door open one inch at a time. The door is fucking heavy, and pretty quickly both demigods realize that despite their impressively combined intellects, neither of them are made for sheer acts of athletics like this. Leo gets his fingers under the door and lifts with all his might while Annabeth pulls on the chain, and together they painstakingly open the door higher and higher.
By the time the opening is big enough for Leo to squeeze his way under, there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his brow even with the freezing temperature of the cell. He’s also fairly certain he pulled a muscle or two in his back, not that—
“Move, Valdez,” Annabeth snaps, her arms trembling with the weight.
And Leo, always keen to follow orders when it comes from someone undeniably scary, moves. It isn’t elegant by any means, but with one last shove upward, he darts under the maybe four feet of space they’ve created. He barely manages to make it clear before the door slams shut behind him, and both he and Annabeth collapse to the ground with a gasp.
For nearly a minute they lay there, greedily sucking in air for their deprived and abused muscles. It’s not until the end of that minute that it finally hits Leo: he’s free. After all this time, after so many fantasies where he escaped and burned this place to the ground, he’s free.
“Holy shit,” he pants, and that’s when another thing hits him: he’s warm. Not that he was ever cold, even with the frosty environment that is (was) his cell, but for the first time in who knows how many months, Leo feels a warmth of a spark under his skin. The warmth of fire.
And oh how he longs to burn, how he longs to blaze and let his fire eat up the oxygen until he suffocates with it—
The moment shatters as something smacks Leo in the face. “Hey!” he protests, grabbing at the thing now blocking his vision, which turns out to be a mass of fabric. “What was that for?”
“Put it on,” Annabeth demands, completely ignoring the question. “We have to get moving. I’m not wasting any more time waiting for you.”
“Fine, fine,” Leo says, slowly rolling to get up. The uniform is huge where it bunches around him, almost comically so, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Now, what’d you get me?”
Annabeth reaches into the many pockets of the guards uniform and pulls out a tangle of wires and bolts. A jolt of want shoots through Leo at the sight of it, something deep within him that desires to shape all of that junk into something more. “Wow,” he breathes, aching to straight up lunge for the mass in Annabeth’s hands, but restraining himself with the logical conclusion that she will snap his neck the moment he tries. “That’s… a lot. I didn’t think you would get that much.”
“I wanted to get more, but I didn’t have the time or the space,” Annabeth says. She holds out the jumble with raised eyebrows, and quite suddenly, the air in the room feels more intimate than it has any right to be. It stretches between them like a tightly pulled rope, waiting for the moment it breaks under the strain, hoping that despite the odds it continues to hold. “Come on,” the daughter of Athena insists, chin gesturing to the wires. “Take it already. I’m tired of it taking up space.”
And Leo Valdez, Firesmith, smiles. “Of course, Annie,” he says, almost gently taking the jumble from her offered palm. The parts sing where they touch his skin, a song of possibility and creation. It’s a song he’d almost forgotten, one he first heard all those years ago in his mother’s shop as she showed him the beauty of machines. He looks back at Annabeth, and for once, doesn’t feel fear as she considers him with those gray eyes. “Now, let's cause some chaos.”
“Well I’m first, obviously,” Piper McLean says with a casual grin. All eyes turn to her at the proclamation with varying levels of confusion and hostility.
“Obviously?” Frank repeats. “Why obviously? Shouldn’t be whoever’s closest to Leo’s cell?”
“Nope,” Piper pops. “It has to be me, because I’m the only way you guys are going to move through this place without raising alarms everywhere you go.”
“But shutting down the power will take out the main security system,” Jason says. “We’ll be practically undetected anyway.”
“Not if you run into someone along the way,” Piper insists with a tilt of her head.
“We should be fine with the guard uniforms,” Annabeth drawls.
“And what happens if someone recognizes you? Or asks you a question you can’t answer? Or catches you breaking someone out?”
“Then we kill them.”
Piper raises her eyebrows, an almost contemplative look on her face. “Ah yes, so the moment anything goes slightly wrong, you’re going to kill the problem. Leaving behind a trail of dead bodies that we won’t have time to properly hide, allowing for anyone to come across them and immediately put the entire place under a state of emergency.” Piper tsks, shaking her head. “Forgive me, but I don’t think that sounds probable. Or practical, for that matter. What is practical, however, is getting me out first and letting me take care of all your problems. Leo,” she suddenly turns to the demigod next to her, who snaps to attention.
“Yes, Beauty Queen?”
“Do you think you’ll be able to get me out of this,” Piper points to the metal band around her neck, the Mute she hates so much.
“Of course!” Leo exclaims. “Should be easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”
“Perfect,” replies Piper, turning to everyone else again. “Then I’ll be able to charmspeak anyone we come across. They won’t be able to remember we even exist. Now,” she looks at all the demigods in turn, a silent challenge. “Any other questions?”
Annabeth leads Leo through the halls of the penitentiary with stunning ease and confidence. It’s definitely a point in their favor for being overlooked; this place is a maze, almost purposefully so, and both demigods get the feeling that the moment they hesitate (especially now) they will be swarmed by piranhas. So they don’t. Leo keeps his head angled down, hoping beyond hope that no one looks too closely at his face or obviously huge uniform. Annabeth pushes on, never looking directly at anyone else that rushes past. It works, but both of them feel it, how easily it can all shatter. One wrong look, and it’s over.
When they finally reach their next destination, it’s both a relief and another shot of anxiety. Somehow, this, that is, this plan and everything they’ve done so far, hasn’t felt real until this moment. Another point of strain that pulls the rope between these villainous demigods even tighter.
They say nothing of it, barely daring to look at one another. Then, with a glance to either side of the hallway to make sure no one sees them, Talon and Firesmith enter the cave of the Siren.
Piper McLean is already looking at Annabeth and Leo by the time they enter and shut the door behind them. “Took you guys long enough,” she quips with a sharp smile. “Thought you forgot about me.”
Leo’s face breaks into a grin. “We could never forget you, Beauty Queen!” he reassures, reaching into his pockets and revealing a bundle of junk that Piper can’t even begin to understand. “Hold on tight and I’ll have you out in two minutes, three if the mainframe decides to give me a hard time. Keep an eye on the door for me, would you Annie?” Leo doesn’t wait for an answer before his hands start moving at a near incomprehensible speed, twisting and shaping the junk (which by now Piper can tell is mostly made of wires) into something. Annabeth grumbles and glares, but after a glance at Piper, turns to do what Leo asked. The last thing they need is for some penitentiary employee to sneak up on them.
Piper watches Leo work, unable to contain her awe as he easily uses his now not-so-useless junk to break open a panel in the wall and mess with the mechanics within. He hums merrily as he does so, constantly grinning with a joy Piper finds infectious.
It’s happening. It’s actually happening.
Soon, Piper will be out of this godsforsaken cell. Soon, Leo will remove this fucking Mute and she’ll be able to speak freely for the first time in what feels like years. Soon, the seven of them will make the gods regret ever letting them live.
But let's not get too ahead of ourselves.
In the end, it’s all very anticlimactic. Just as Leo promises, the door to Piper’s cell opens within two minutes (“Two minutes and 15 seconds, actually, rewiring the electrical current gave me some issues—) and Piper finds herself face to face with two demigods without any barriers between them. Somehow, Leo seems even more elfish up close, and Annabeth that more terrifying without anything to bind her arms.
Piper wants to sing, wants to throw her arms around them with reckless abandon and laugh until her voice grows hoarse and she can’t speak. Instead, she says, “Valdez, I’m pretty sure a corpse could make that uniform more flattering than you do.”
“Hey!” Leo protests, tugging at the fabric at his much too large outfit. “I’ll have you know that I look stunning. The corpse Annie absolutely took this from would cry in shame if it could see me.”
“I don’t know,” Annabeth says, the barest hint of a smile crossing her lips. “I’m pretty sure it would claw its eyes out from the grave just to rid itself of the image.”
“You know, you guys are talking a lot of shit at the guy who’s busting you out of here,” Leo grumbles, but he doesn’t look truly hurt. “I could just leave you here for the vultures to find.”
“You wouldn’t last five minutes without us,” Piper shoots back, finally stepping out of her cell. “Now, get this fucking thing off me. I don’t think I can take another minute of its existence.”
Leo begins molding his amalgamation into something like a key, thin and sharp. “One destroyed machine, coming right up!”
Piper crouches down to make it easy for Leo to reach, and he starts on the Mute with a mumble of Spanish under his breath that Piper doesn’t catch. Only a couple of seconds have passed when a loud, “Put your hands up!” fills the room.
All three demigods freeze. Piper’s eyes dart over Annabeth’s shoulder, seeing a guard with a gun pointing in their direction. The daughter of Athena had turned around when she and Piper began teasing Leo, and in that time, the three of them must have been distracted enough to not notice the guard enter the area.
Annabeth slowly raises her hands, a carefully blank look on her face. Piper begins doing the same, trying to process the ridiculousness of the situation before them. They’d made it this far, only to be noticed by a single, horribly stupid guard that clearly did not wait for backup or even call in their presence.
“I said, put your hands up!” the guard demands again, but there’s a slight tremble to his hands. For a moment Piper wonders who he’s talking to, but then remembers Leo behind her, his hands still hovering around his neck. “And while you’re at it, drop whatever’s in your hands. Now.”
Piper feels more than sees Leo’s shrug before his amalgamation of wires clatters to the ground. “Whatever you say, boss man.” His hands start to raise, but not before his fingertips brush against the metal of the Mute one last time. In that instant, Piper faintly hears a low click and feels the snug circle of machinery loosen. Almost immediately, she knows the Mute has been deactivated.
You son of a bitch, Piper thinks to herself with a healthy amount of admiration. You actually fucking did it.
Piper straightens to her full height, smiling brightly at the guard. “You caught us,” she says, and her heart nearly leaps from its place deep in her chest when she feels the first warm tendrils of charmspeak leak out of her throat. “Impressive. I was starting to think we’d get away with this without a single issue.” With every word, the magic of her charmspeak grows thicker and thicker until it practically shimmers in the air, curling around the guard as his eyes begin to unfocus.
“Yeah,” the guard stutters, his gun dipping ever so slightly. “I’m good at my job.”
Piper laughs lightly, a flirtatious, wicked sound. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Now,” she steps forward, around Annabeth, whose gray eyes watch her like a hawk, until she’s right in front of the guard. “You can put down the gun. We aren’t a threat to you, I promise. Just three helpless demigods under your watch.”
The gun drops like a stone, his eyes now completely glazed over. “Yeah,” he parrots. “No threat. I’m fine.”
“Perfect!” Piper compliments. She considers him for a moment, taking in his height and bulk. “Annabeth,” she calls over her shoulder, “How are we looking on uniforms? Think this guy could be a better fit than whatever you got?”
“Still a bit too small,” Annabeth replies, amusement coating her voice. “But still better than what I got. Think your friend will let us borrow his?”
“Of course.” Piper looks back at the guard. “Hey, could you give me your uniform? I’ll help out a lot.”
The guard nods furiously, and in no time is stripped down to nothing but an undershirt and boxers. Piper takes the gun and clothes without issue, continuing to smile at this stupid, pathetic guard. He fell so easily. It’s always more fun when they struggle, but alas, they have things to do.
“Thank you so much for your help,” Piper tells the guard, patting him on the arm warmly. “You deserve a reward. I think you should go into that cell and stay there until someone gets you out, nice and quiet. It’s only fair after doing such a good job, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” the guard repeats, nodding. “I deserve it.”
The three demigods watch as the guard walks into the cell that once imprisoned the Siren, his will wrapped in her charmspeak. “Perfect,” Siren whispers, her teeth almost too sharp from where they’re exposed in her smile. She turns to her fellow villains, reaching up to the now useless metal around her neck and tearing it off. The Mute falls to the ground in pieces with a satisfying shatter, the most beautiful sound Siren has ever heard.
“Let's go.”
“From there, it’ll be best if we go in order of who’s closest,” Annabeth says. “The less time we spend moving from place to place, the less likely we are to attract attention.” Her gaze turns to Percy, sharp and intense. Percy gives no indication that this bothers him, only raises his eyebrows. “That would be you, if what you told me is correct.”
“It’s correct,” Percy replies. “The real question is whether or not you’ll actually do what you say. How do we know you won’t get yourself out and leave the rest of us to rot?”
The question lingers in the air. No one wanted to ask it, but there is an undeniable kernel of truth it holds. These are not demigods accustomed to others keeping their promises; these are villains that have been shown time and time again that at the first chance, they will be betrayed. By their friends, strangers, the gods, fate itself. This thing they are planning, it might not be real right now, but it could be real soon. Its existence relies on everyone else to come through, which brings the threat that they will once again be thrown aside. Used and forgotten. Another tally in an infinite list of grievances.
Annabeth Chase knows this better than any of them could ever imagine, and even she cannot think of anything to say, nothing that would successfully calm their fears. So instead, she says, “You don’t. You’ll just have to trust that I will. That we will.”
Percy considers the daughter of Athena for a long moment, the swirling sea green of his eyes churning with something none of them can read. Finally, he replies, “Ok. I’m after Piper.” He leans back in his cage casually, like he’s reclining in a comfortable chair rather than a small box. “But I’m bringing my lotion with me."
Annabeth Chase, Leo Valdez, and Piper McLean move through Olympus Penitentiary with efficient ease.
It’s almost laughable how simple it is to move through the corridors with Siren at their side. Just her presence makes people ignore them, her charmspeak both drawing people in and keeping them away. It’s fascinating to watch, this push and pull that will almost certainly keep them invisible for far longer than they should be. Especially now that they’re coming up on Percy Jackson, a demigod that wouldn’t know subtlety if it punched him in the face.
A pair of guards near their next destination are dismissed easily with a few words from Piper, and within ten minutes of breaking the Siren from her cage, they make it to the cell of Riptide.
“Wow,” Percy deadpans as they enter. “You’re still alive.”
“Not for a lack of trying,” Leo responds, once again taking out his mass of wires and shaping it into a tool. “Beauty Queen here saved our asses. We’d be halfway to Tartarus right now without her.”
“A bit of an over exaggeration,” Annabeth says stiffly. She’s still a bit sore that her distraction had let the guard sneak up on them, that she needed saving to begin with. No matter now, but she’s definitely eager to prove that it was a one time thing only. This time, she guards the door without a glance back, all of her attention towards watching the outside.
“Aww, that’s sweet of you Leo, but I’m sure you guys would’ve been fine without me,” Piper says. Percy, as strangely stoic as ever, doesn’t openly react to their words. Instead, his eyes remain fixated on the back of Annabeth’s head. Even the sounds of Leo messing around and breaking down panels doesn’t spark his interest.
Percy’s wondered for a while now if he and Annabeth are destined to kill each other. Not that Percy puts much into destiny, but still. He and Jason have a certain instantaneous, almost instinctive dislike of one another that could easily spark into deadly hostility, but Annabeth is somehow even more intense than that. She is never afraid to push back against him, to the point where it’s clear that she doesn’t see him as a personal threat. She dismisses him without as much as a roll of her eyes, shuts him down with a single word, and continuously infuriates Percy to the extreme of bloodlust. He’s never met anyone even close to her, and Percy, used to always being the biggest predator in the room, can’t quite wrap his head around how she has no issue with completely turning her back to him.
It’s wrong. It’s fascinating. He wants to know what will happen now that they’ll be face to face, if she’ll look at him with those gray eyes and finally decide he’s worth consideration. He wants to know what happens when they finally fight, a real fight, not behind layers of demigod-proof glass, but blade to blade, skin to skin, blood to blood. He itches for it like nothing he’s ever felt.
But that time isn’t now, and he doesn’t have long to contemplate it. Without much ceremony, the door to Percy’s cell opens, and Leo kisses his hand and wires. “I’m getting good at this!”
Percy stalks out of the cell, immediately feeling the difference in the air as he enters a space with regular humidity for the first time in months. He soaks the feeling in, hoping that from now on, he won’t have to use lotion so consistently. Maybe his skin will finally stop being cracked.
Wow, out of your hellhole of a cell and the first thing you think about is fucking lotion, Percy says to himself, mulling over the absurdity of it all. That he’s here, that he’s here because other people came through. Think about all the water you’re going to swim in. Hmm. Much better. All the fools you’re going to kill, all the gods you’re going to—
“Are you done?”
Percy’s eyes snap open, unaware that he had closed them in the first place. Annabeth Chase— Talon —stares straight back, cold and calculating. It threatens to take Percy’s breath away, a fact he wants to examine more closely. “We have places to be, Riptide. It’s best not to linger.” She holds up a guard uniform, same as the others, and throws it at him. He catches it without a flinch.
“Huh,” Riptide says, admiring the color of the uniform, something much better than the bland dirty white of the penitentiary prisoners. “It’s blue.”
“I’m not sure who's the closest after Percy, but you should get me as close to last as possible,” Jason says. “In order to make the storm we need to pull this off, I’ll have to use up most of my energy. I’ll be mostly dead weight.”
“Which could attract attention,” Piper finishes the thought. “I can keep the bulk of the attention off of us,l but it will become harder as the group gets bigger. They might not remember me, but sooner or later someone’s going to remember one of you guys.”
Annabeth’s face screws up in concentration, running through the map in her head. “Jason is closer to Percy, but we could snag Frank first if we think it’ll be that big of an issue.”
Jason nods, undeniably serious even though none of the demigods can see his face. “It will be. The less I have to walk around, the better.”
“So I’m after Percy,” Frank says, “And then Hazel, and maybe come for Jason last?”
Annabeth shakes her head. “Hazel has to be last. She’s so separated from the rest of the cells—if she’s where I think she is. We’d double our time just getting there and back to Jason.”
“I’m last,” Hazel suddenly asserts, startling everyone momentarily. “I have to be.” Her unseeing eyes flicker around the room, lips pursing cautiously. “And I have a favor to ask before you get there.”
So, what happens when the scariest person you’ve ever met in your life, a beautiful woman you almost instantly forget about, a small fidgety man in a comically oversized uniform, and a dude carrying three bottles of lotion walk through the halls of the tightest security prison in the world?
Nothing, apparently. It’s amazing what a little panic, fried security measures, and a bit of charmspeak will do for you. Only one person tries to stop them on their way to Frank’s cell, and they’re quickly redirected with a few words from Piper. The only thing that causes any sort of issue is the look on Percy’s face, like a serial killer ready to pounce on their next victim any second. People turn away from them, but they linger on Percy for just a moment too long, which gives them just enough time to notice the other strange things about their little group. Piper’s illusion is working, but sooner or later, it’s going to wear off, and when it does, they’re going to remember the cluster of strangers with an intimidating glare.
There’s nothing they can do about it. All there is to do is move quickly and quietly, which is going swimmingly.
The area of Frank’s cell is much tighter than the others, and the four of them have to stand uncomfortably close to each other to fit. Frank blinks at them frantically from inside his small cage, mouth opening and closing like a shocked fish. “Uh. Hi,” he finally stutters. “I. I thought you guys would leave me behind.” He admits it with some level of embarrassment, but that’s Frank’s default state.
“We made a promise,” Percy states simply, moving with Annabeth to stand lookout. “I can’t speak for them, but I keep my promises.” He says it in a way one would deliver a threat, which somehow both does and doesn’t reassure Frank.
“Eh, I wouldn’t call what we said a promise,” Leo says, already getting to work. “More like a half baked idea ready to explode at any moment with the vaguest possibility for success.”
Percy is undisturbed by this analysis. “Close enough.”
Piper huffs in amusement at the response, but otherwise, no one says anything else. It’s strange to think about, giving literally everything they’ve already been through, but they were now reaching into firmly dangerous territory. Despite their precautions and near perfect execution of the plan thus far, they were leaving behind a trail. A trail that if someone started to pay attention to, could ruin them completely. It was one thing to hide three or even four people, but now they would be adding a fifth, and the longer this goes on, the more likely it is for someone to discover the bodies or to shake out of Piper’s charmspeak.
“How much longer, Valdez,” Annabeth hisses.
“Just a few more seconds,” Leo grunts, fingers flying from wire to wire, twisting and pulling gears this way and that with seemingly no rhyme or reason. “Fuck dude, why do you have so many failsafes? Not even waterson over here was this complicated.”
Frank’s face flushes. “Sorry.”
“Everyone duck down,” Percy suddenly snaps, commanding the attention in the room with shocking ease. “Now. Guards incoming.”
Piper, Percy, and Annabeth drop without hesitation, with Piper rolling towards the windows so that she’s harder to spot. Leo does the same barely a second later, using that precious moment of time to close the panel he had been working on. Frank collapses onto his cot with a jolt, causing it to squeak loudly, and turns away from the door like he’s sleeping. All five demigods hold their breath as the muffled sounds of guards walking and talking down the hallway reach their ears, no one daring to move an inch.
For a minute, everything is fine. The sounds start to become distant, almost passing the area of Frank’s cell, when a clanging noise breaks the silence. Frank’s heart jumps in his throat, slowly turning to see what made that noise, and filling with despair when he sees a pair of gears from the panel Leo had broken into rattling on the floor.
The guards go quiet. Then, their footsteps start inching closer until Frank can see them through the window, hands on their guns, batons at the ready. The four demigods on the floor can’t see them like Frank can, but he can tell they know what’s about to happen in the next few seconds, that they’ll be made after making it this far because of some stupid gears. Piper looks like she’s about to stand up, Percy is reaching for his pocket, but before either of them can do anything, Frank reacts.
It’s more instinct than thought, a conclusion that appears in Frank’s head and forces him to act. He knows that the demigods outside of his cell likely have the tools to take care of these guards, but there’s a certain risk involved that Frank can’t quite explain, even to himself. Maybe it’s the way one guard already has a finger on a walkie-talkie, maybe it’s the fear that another group of guards will hear the commotion and come running. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that Frank wants to prove himself, wants to show that he’s just as useful as the rest of the Seven.
Whatever the reason may be, one moment Frank is unmoving on his cot, the next he’s clawing at the class of his cell, growling and snarling like a wild animal. Like a Beast. He lets part of his rage bleed through, lets it grow his nails into razor sharp claws, his teeth into pointed daggers that jut out of his mouth, eyes a dull, bloody red. His form hunches and bulges, pushing against the claustrophobic walls of the cell, towering and horrifying.
Frank knows this form, half human and half animal, better than he knows anything else about himself. For so long it was evidence that he couldn’t control his body, his rage or even his own thoughts. Mars used it against him like a puppet master twisting the strings of a marionette, making Frank afraid of himself and his gift.
But this gift, this rage and inhumanity, is Frank Zhang’s birthright. It belongs to his grandmother, belonged to his mom and every other Zhang before them. And no god can ever take that away from him.
The guards startle away from the windows, terrified even through so many layers of protection. Frank slams again and again against the glass, roaring with everything he has.
The guards don’t linger for long after that. Whatever they thought they heard, it means nothing in the face of an enraged Beast. They know what happens to those who approach him, to those who become the victims of his anger. They do the only sensible thing: run the opposite direction.
Frank goes on for a few more minutes, just to make sure they’re gone for good. Only when he feels satisfied does he let his body take back its humanity, gently cooling the rage until it’s back into a low, constant simmer. He can’t turn it off, not without making it worse, but he can live with it.
Frank clears his throat awkwardly, only then noticing the eyes of the other demigods locked onto him. “Uh. I think they’re gone now. We should. Be fine. Yeah.”
Another beat of silence. Frank’s just starting to think that he’s made a mistake, that now that they’ve seen the Beast they’ll turn and run and leave him behind, when Leo lets out a low whistle. “Damn dude! Nice show. You really had me going there for a second.”
“Um. Thanks I guess?” Frank rubs the back of his head as one by one, the other demigods rise. “I’m just glad it worked.”
“I would’ve been surprised if it didn’t,” Annabeth says, surprisingly Frank with her sincerity. “It was clearly well calculated. You knew how they would react to seeing you like that, exactly what it would take for them to leave. You didn’t even hesitate.”
“She’s right,” Piper chimes in. “I guarantee that what you did worked better than anything we could’ve done.”
Frank adverts his gaze, unsure with how to respond. He’s used to the others teasing him, to jokes made at his expense. He’s not sure what to do with their compliments, so he says nothing instead.
Luckily, there’s not enough time to make his lack of response prominent. Within moments the cell door opens, the last of whatever failsafes Leo was talking about bypassed and redirected. Frank stares at the opening for a couple of seconds, unsure of how to process the freedom literally feet away. He hasn’t been free for so long. Can it really be that easy?
“I know,” Percy says, and Frank’s eyes jump to meet him. He holds out a folded uniform, the same as everyone else's, and continues, “Now get out of there. This probably won’t fit very well, but it’s the best we could do.”
Frank lingers for just a moment longer before finally stepping over the threshold, into freedom and open space.
And for the first time in his entire life, the Beast stands straight, tall and proud.
Jason furrows his eyebrows, turning to look at Hazel. “What favor?”
Hazel shifts in her cage, taking a moment before answering. “The doctors here, they drug me with something that makes my mind and powers fuzzy.” The other demigods process this, wondering if this is part of the reason Hazel always seems so distant, slow to respond and rarely offering contributions to the discussion without being directly prompted. “I’m not sure it’s possible, but sometimes they accidentally give me too much of whatever they use and have to counteract it with another substance. An antidote or something like that. If you can… I’d like you guys to find the antidote before you get to me so that I can take it.”
“But this drug, it doesn’t completely impair you, right?” Leo asks. “Like you can move around fine, or else you wouldn’t be able to do these sessions.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Then why is this antidote needed?” Annabeth challenges. “From the sound of it, it’s just an unnecessary risk that could put us all in danger.”
Something happens then that none of the other demigods have ever seen before: Hazel smiles. It seems so strange and out of place on her face, one they’re so used to seeing with almost no expression at all. “We all need that antidote for one reason,” she tells them, amber eyes flickering gold for barely a blink, so quick that they all think they imagined it. Hazel leans in close to the glass of her cage, distorting her image into something other.
“We need it, because I’m going to use it to get all of us out of this fucking prison.”
In the end, they decide the best way to go about this is to split the group.
It's nerve racking and borderline stupid, but then again, so has literally everything else they’ve been doing. The plan is thus: Annabeth and Frank will go to the infirmary and try to find the antidote Hazel told them about, while Piper, Percy, and Leo break out Jason. There was discussion about doing one and then the other, but in the end, it was hard to justify either. The group is simply becoming too big to completely disappear, especially with Frank and his clearly too small uniform. Time and speed is not on their side, and they need to spend as little time as possible helping Jason around and searching for the antidote.
So. Splitting up it is.
The only somewhat good thing about this plan is that the infirmary and Jason’s cell happen to be rather close to one another. They come up on the infirmary first, and from there, Annabeth gives the directions so that Percy, Piper, and Leo can make it the rest of the way to Jason by themselves. She watches them go with part anxiety and part admiration: the past hour alone has proven that they’re all capable and powerful, but it still doesn’t change the fact that they’re also impulsive villains with a desire for chaos. It’ll be even worse now that Percy, Piper, and Leo are without Annabeth and Frank, as all the level-headedness rests squarely on Piper’s shoulders. Not that Siren can be counted on for keeping the other two in check (as from what Annabeth can tell, she would be more than eager to join in whatever trouble they get into), but she has the ability and common sense to keep them at least functional if not entirely on track. Her charmspeak alone is what will keep them undetected, and Annabeth can only hope it stays that way long enough for them to find the antidote and get Jason out.
She watches them disappear around the corner, takes a deep breath for a count of three, and then turns to Frank Zhang. “So, Zhang,” Talon says, watching Frank blink rapidly as suddenly all of her attention rests on his considerably broad shoulders. “Can you really turn into any animal?”
“Um, yeah, pretty much,” Frank stutters in reply, and then more clearly, “Why? Do you have something in mind for how to get through these doors?” He gestures towards the large steel double doors in front of them, which has a keypad and a badge scanner for identification. Annabeth hadn’t asked Leo to open it, something she could’ve easily done, and that didn’t go unnoticed by Frank. What’s her purpose for doing this he wonders—a simple matter of not wasting any more time than they have to? Or perhaps she wants a chance to see what he can do out of sight of the others, to gauge his usefulness to her?
Whatever the purpose, Talon smiles at his inquiry. “I do.” She kneels on the floor, pressing her check against the metal of the ground, and squints at the door.
And there, barely perceivable in the dim lighting of the hallway, is a small, almost nonexistent gap.
Talon looks back up at Frank. It only takes him a few moments to realize what she’s getting at, and when he does he lets out a startled chuckle. “Oh,” he exclaims. “I don’t think I’ve ever been something that small before.”
“But you can do it?”
A look passes over Frank’s face that Annabeth struggles to describe, something distant as if he’s remembering something, painful and reassuring all at once. He doesn’t look at her as he responds, but still, Annabeth can feel the importance buried between his words.
“Of course. I can be anything.”
It takes all of Jason’s willpower not to pass out.
He’s not sure if he succeeds in that matter. There are periods of time that pass without him noticing; the lights going out and then back on, the dull flash of emergency personnel passing his cell, and then a long stretch of nothing and sameness. The headache he’s harbored for days refuses to fade, but at least it’s stopped growing in intensity. His muscles tremble and twitch like he’s run a marathon, but he can still move.
Did they leave without me?
It crosses his mind a few times—and why wouldn’t it? He admitted to them that he'd be useless after summoning that storm. How can he be sure they’ll be willing to lug his weight around?
He doesn’t know. He’s fucked around, and now all Jason can do it find out.
Time passes and passes. Jason’s mind goes dark more than once, like it’s his brain that got fried by lightning instead of the penitentiary. And that thought finally makes him realize that he did it. Despite the odds, despite the sheer amount of power and energy he used, Tempest managed to take out the power of Olympus Penitentiary.
“I did it,” he whispers into the emptiness of his cell, probably more slurred than actual words. He doesn’t care.
What Jason does care about, however, is the, “You sure did, Sparky,” he hears through the fogginess of his consciousness. His eyelids pull apart like taffy, seemingly taking an eternity to open. From his position on the single cot within the cell, Jason can vaguely make out a group of shapes through the glass, blurred both by his vision and whatever material they put on the glass to dampen his powers.
“Leo?” Jason finally manages to say, because he’d recognize that voice anywhere. It haunts his dreams, echoing even into his waking mind. “Is that really you?”
“The one and only! But I have some friends with me too.”
“‘Sup,” a voice that takes Jason a moment to place as Piper chimes in.
“Damn, Grace,” Percy Jackson comes in right after. “You sound half dead.”
“Because I am,” Jason responds, letting out a pained grunt as he pushes himself into a seated position. “I did it.”
“You did it,” Leo repeats. “And now you get to taste the sweet fruits of freedom!”
“Yay.” Jason furrows his eyebrows together, trying to prepare himself for the moment he needs to stand up and walk. Because he will walk out of this cell, one way or another. Jason Grace will not be carried into freedom. “When will that be, exactly?”
“Come on Valdez, get to it,” Piper teases. “We only got until mom and dad make it back to get him out.”
“Who?” Jason questions.
“Annabeth and Frank,” Percy explains, which clarifies nothing.
“Oh. Ok.” It’s official. Jason has reached beyond confused and circled right back to acceptance. Fantastic. Wild. Never seen before.
When Jason comes back into the present, it’s to the sound of the door to his cell opening. He has no clue what Leo did, but suddenly, all he can focus on is the shape no longer obscured by layers of glass and distance. The bits of dark curly hair tangled around the ears, a blinding smile with almost too many teeth, and a pair of warm brown eyes Jason swears flickers with just a hint of flame. The object of his strange dreams for so many weeks, now just out of arm's reach, with no barrier to stop Jason from closing the gap.
And he does just that. Before Leo or anyone else can say anything, Jason forces his exhausted muscles to take his weight and stand. Then, with his strength rapidly diminishing, the son of Jupiter takes one, two, three, four, five steps forward, until he’s standing half in, half out. Jason’s gaze remains locked onto Leo, the one point of stability in his unstable motion. He swears he sees Leo’s smile flutter, head tilting further and further back to keep looking at Jason.
For a long moment, there’s silence. Then, Leo says, “Why do all of you fuckers have to be so tall? Did that godly gene just skip over me or something?”
“Huh,” Jason attempts to respond. He wants to laugh or at least show his amusement at Leo’s joke in some way, but his body has had enough, it seems.
And Jason’s body, having put itself through Tartarus for the past week, decides the best course of action is to collapse right on top of Leo.
In the end, it’s a lot easier than both Annabeth and Frank anticipated. They go over the description Hazel had given them of the antidote—light purple, bubbly, packaged in small cylinders—before Frank shifts himself into a nearly non-existent ant and squeezes through the gap under the door. When he shifts back to human sized, he’s greeted with the long expanse of the infirmary, sterile, clean, and predominantly white in color. A row of beds and chairs lines the room on one side, with cabinets of various medicines, needles, and other medical supplies lining the other. If their antidote is anywhere, it’ll be there.
It’s simple to open the infirmary door and let Annabeth in. The security measures were only to keep people from getting in, after all. They split up, Annabeth starting at the side closest to the door, with Frank going all the way down, both working their way towards the middle.
It takes a while to find anything, and despite the hurried nature of what they’re doing, they can’t rush without fearing that they’ve missed something. It’s only when they almost meet in the middle that Annabeth calls out “There!”, pointing at a cluster of glass on the very top shelf, that they find what they’re looking for. Even with his advantageous height Frank can barely see it, and it takes a shift into something more beast-like for him to reach it.
But they have it. The antidote.
“This better be worth it,” Annabeth says, but there’s no venom in her voice. If anything, it’s nervousness, which Frank can’t blame her on. A lot is resting on Hazel and this antidote.
“I’m sure it will be,” Frank replies. They don’t linger any longer; hopefully by now the other group will have Jason out of his cell and they can make it the last leg of the journey towards Hazel.
Quick, clean, and simple, just as it should be—of course, until the moment it’s not.
Until Annabeth and Frank open the door to leave the infirmary, and come face to face with a group of guards.
Until one of them looks straight at Annabeth, eyes wide with recognition, and immediately screams into their walkie-talkie “Breakout! We’ve got a breakout! Talon is—” only to be cut off by Frank raking his claws across their throat.
The other guards try to react as well, but they’re not nearly as quick as their now dead comrade. Annabeth shoots one square in the forehead with the gun she stole off of the first guard she killed, and Frank rips out the throat of the last with brutally sharp teeth. It’s all over in a matter of moments, quick enough that both demigods hope they’ll be able to shove the bodies into the infirmary and move on. But that hope shatters instantly as the familiar sound of a siren begins echoing through the hallways.
“Shit,” Annabeth whispers.
“All personnel, we’ve received reports of a breakout. Talon and Firesmith are not in their cells, repeat, Talon and Firesmith are not in their cells. All personnel report to HQ immediately…”
On and on the announcement goes, and all Frank can do is curse, both internally and externally.
“We need to go, now,” Talon snaps, grabbing Frank by the arm and dragging him in the direction of the others. “No more being stealthy. From now on, we have to fight our way out.”
Frank’s teeth ache as they break into a full sprint down the hall, tongue tingling with the warm, metallic taste of blood. He hadn’t even hesitated to take down that guard, to use the Beast as a part of himself.
Frank wants to do it again.
Maybe fighting the rest of the way isn’t such a bad idea, he thinks as they quickly come up on Jason’s cell. Something tells me we can all use it.
Jason comes to with a slap in the face.
Not the most pleasant way to wake up, but still not the worst he’s ever faced. “Come on Sparky, you can’t be a complete dead weight,” says a familiar voice, thick with warmth and something that digs straight into his brainpan and pulls. Jason’s eyes snap open, meeting a pair of kaleidoscope eyes that seem to have a presence that wraps tightly around his throat. “There you are,” the voice continues, another pulse of warmth filling Jason’s senses. “Now get up. It’s time to move.”
Jason’s body moves without thought, sitting up and pushing itself into standing. He can still feel the bone deep tiredness that made him pass out in the first place, but it’s easier to ignore now with that voice speaking to him. He can and will do anything as long as that voice keeps speaking—
“Oh,” Jason mumbles as he stands straight, finally processing the others around him. Percy, darkly amused and watching from a small distance; Leo, looking faintly embarrassed and rubbing at his right shoulder; and Piper, smirking and standing right next to him. “You’re charmspeaking me. Wow. That’s new. How long will this last exactly?” If it keeps him standing and moving, he’ll let it hold him for as long as possible.
“Not for much longer, now that you’re aware of it. Sorry about that, but I had to get you awake somehow. You’re too heavy to carry around.” She doesn’t sound the slightest bit sorry, but that’s fine.
Jason’s gaze moves back to Leo, whose eyes refuse to meet his. He fuzzily remembers the last moments before he blacked out, how he had collapsed on the other demigod. He wants to apologize, maybe encourage Leo to make a quip about falling into his arms, but before he can, an emergency siren pierces the air.
The four demigods don’t react for several moments as the broadcast fills the space, and likely everywhere else in the penitentiary as well.
“Huh,” Percy finally says, nonchalant even now. “Seems like we’ve been made.” He reaches into the pocket of his guard’s uniform, an odd move even for him, and even more strangely, pulls out a bronze pen. He smiles at the pen like he’s greeting an old friend, twirling it over his fingers with a well practiced flourish.
“Uh, Percy,” Leo says. “Where did you get that? That pen… that wasn’t in the uniform. There’s no way me or Annabeth would’ve missed it.”
“This thing?” Percy laughs, tossing the pen into the air and catching it again. (Like the bottles of lotion, Jason remembers absurdly, the ones arranged neatly at his feet). “It’s not a pen.”
It’s not a pen. Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Just as the thought crosses Jason’s mind, Percy flicks off the cap with his thumb. With disbelieving eyes, the three other demigods watch as the pen extends and thickens, growing a soft leather hilt and morphing into a perfectly crafted Celestial Bronze sword.
A very familiar Celestial Bronze sword. One Jason knows to be the favored weapon of Riptide, a sword that was, at the time, fabled to never leave the villain’s hands. A sword that, for all intents and purposes, vanished off the face of the earth when Riptide was captured.
“It’s not a pen,” Piper repeats, recognition filling her face. “ Oh. This is going to be fun.”
It’s at that moment that they’re all startled by an abrupt thud against the glass. The demigods whip towards the sound, Percy already pointing his sword at the source, and are greeted by the sight of a panting Frank Zhang and Annabeth Chase with vials of liquid in their hands. They all stare at each other as the sirens go off around them. Six villainous demigods gathered, six villainous demigods that despite the odds, are surviving. Are winning.
Six. Soon to be Seven.
Annabeth and Jason lock eyes. A silent but mutual understanding passes between them, like recognizing like and the likes around them. “Well, Talon,” Tempest says, his voice scratchy but strong. “Shall you lead the way?”
And Talon and all the other villains smile.
“Okay okay—so we know what this antidote looks like, Annie thinks we can find it in the infirmary,” Leo says frantically, moving his hands as if he’s going through the motions of his words. “So we get it, grab Sparkyboy, get down to Hazel, break her out, give her the antidote so that her powers are no longer muffled or whatever and then—” he looks straight at Hazel. “What, exactly? What even are your powers? Does anyone here actually know? And given that we’re going to be literally as deep underground as we can get in this godsforsaken penitentiary, how are these powers going to do anything? Can you teleport? Holy shit that would be so cool—”
“Leo,” Annabeth snaps, cutting him off effectively. She sighs with a shrug of her shoulders. “As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point. What are you going to do, Hazel?”
Hazel opens her mouth, presumably to explain at least something about what her plans are—when the emergency alarms abruptly go quiet. The silence that follows is strangely loud, ringing in their ears, causing them to become hyper aware of their rapidly beating hearts.
And their rapidly closing time.
“I can’t explain now,” Hazel rushes. “You’ll just have to trust me. If you can ask that of me, then I can ask that of you.”
There’s no chance to respond before the door to the chamber opens, revealing a slightly disheveled Dr. Solace on the other side. “Sorry about that,” he says sheepishly, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. “Hope that there was fruitful discussion despite, well, everything.”
“Yeah, plenty fruitful,” Percy deadpans, giving everyone else a moment to gather themselves. “How much longer do we have to stay here? I gotta piss.”
Dr. Solace waves his hand, clearly distracted and put off by the day’s sudden turn of events. “The guards will be here momentarily to take you all back to your cells. It looks like I have some paperwork to do.” He lets out a stilted laugh, running a hand through his hair. No one else pays him, or the guards that arrive soon after, much mind.
Are we really doing this?
The question floats through the air without a sound.
Do we really think we can do this?
One by one they are all taken from the chamber, back to their cells, back to loneliness.
Can we really trust each other?
None of them know the answers. None of them can even begin to imagine what they would look like. But they can hope. There’s always hope.
That night, as the guards change shifts and most of the demigod prisoners sleep, the first storm clouds form over Olympus Penitentiary.
Deep within the halls of their once prison, six demigods fight for their lives.
It’s awe inspiring, how effortless they make it look. How Talon guides them and they follow without question or hesitation, brutally taking down the guards they meet along the way. How Riptide brandishes his sword, not meant to harm mortals, but deadly all the same, with arcs of pinkish lotion forcing their way down people’s throats. How Siren, finally free to speak as she wishes, commands their enemies to fight each other or turn their weapons on themselves. How Firesmith sizzles with long constrained fire, reaching out towards the mechanics around him to do as he wishes, and doing it all with the crackle of laughter. How Tempest, while needing assistance to move, still manages to call out obstacles as they approach, a beacon that grounds them all in the moment. And how the Beast protects them all, taking a bullet to the shoulder that was not meant for him and shredding everything else that dares bring them harm.
They move deeper and deeper into the penitentiary, a trail of blood and gore and death lingering behind them. All towards their Golden Queen, the missing piece, the one who has promised them freedom, if only they can survive this fight.
They can survive. They will survive. They will become Seven.
And after countless minutes and enemies and battles, they finally see it: a single cell in a dead end hallway. And sitting within it is their missing Seventh.
Deep within the halls of their once prison, six demigods fight for their lives.
It’s awe inspiring, how effortless they make it look. How Talon guides them and they follow without question or hesitation, brutally taking down the guards they meet along the way. How Riptide brandishes his sword, not meant to harm mortals, but deadly all the same, with arcs of pinkish lotion forcing their way down people’s throats. How Siren, finally free to speak as she wishes, commands their enemies to fight each other or turn their weapons on themselves. How Firesmith sizzles with long constrained fire, reaching out towards the mechanics around him to do as he wishes, and doing it all with the crackle of laughter. How Tempest, while needing assistance to move, still manages to call out obstacles as they approach, a beacon that grounds them all in the moment. And how the Beast protects them all, taking a bullet to the shoulder that was not meant for him and shredding everything else that dares bring them harm.
They move deeper and deeper into the penitentiary, a trail of blood and gore and death lingering behind them. All towards their Golden Queen, the missing piece, the one who has promised them freedom, if only they can survive this fight.
They can survive. They will survive. They will become Seven.
And after countless minutes and enemies and battles, they finally see it: a single cell in a dead end hallway. And sitting within it is their missing Seventh.
The echo of many footsteps reaches Hazel Levesque from where she sits in her cell. She instinctively looks up, not that she can see anything beyond her confines, but to let them know that she knows they’re there. She can’t stop the wide grin that’s been pulling at her cheeks since the power first went out, her body jittery with slow dripping adrenaline and anticipation.
“Hello,” Hazel says, somehow keeping her voice even. “You made it.”
“Sure fucking did,” Leo replies, sounding slightly breathless. If Hazel focuses, she can hear the gentle rush of heavy breathing coming from all of them, as if they’ve been running for some time. Probably related to the emergency sirens going off.
“And we got the antidote,” Frank adds helpfully.
Hazel resists the urge to giggle. “Perfect.” It’s only then that she notices the odd creaking and clunking noises coming from the right of the cell, and she turns towards it in confusion. “What’s that?”
“Just Leo doing his thing,” Piper explains. “Don’t worry, he’ll get you out in a jiffy.”
In a jiffy? Why do they have to speak so strangely?
It’s then that Annabeth swears loudly, followed by more echoing footsteps from further down the hall. “There's another group about to get here. Piper, take this vial and give it to Hazel once Leo gets her out. Percy, Frank, we’ll take care of the shitstains.”
“And me?” Jason asks sarcastically. Annabeth lets out a huff of amusement.
“Stay in the corner and don’t get in the way.”
“Fair enough.”
From there a chorus of shouts and fighting fill the hall, and even within her cell Hazel can smell the sharp, metallic scent of blood pouring into the space. Oh how she aches to join them, how she longs to rip the metal from their bodies and shove it into their hearts. She can almost taste it, just out of reach through the haze of drugs and sedation.
The door to her cell clicks. Sounds and smells intensify from where they had been muffled through the layers of glass. Long, thin brown fingers wrap around the edge, sliding it open to reveal the outside world.
And there, in front of a sea of torn limbs and gushing blood, is a face Hazel Levesque hasn’t seen since her first life in Louisiana.
“Sammy?”
Sammy’s face, grinning widely and full of familiar warmth—falters. Freezes. Drops. “How do you know that name?” Sammy’s voice whispers. “How do you—”
“What the fuck are you standing there for? Move!” a different voice from outside of Hazel’s vision demands. A pair of arms and hands shoves Sammy out of the way and a gorgeous girl with light brown skin, choppy dark hair, and the most colorful eyes Hazel has ever seen appears in the doorway. In her hand is vial Hazel recognizes instantly: the antidote. “Come on! Time to make good on that promise, isn’t it?”
Hazel feels her body push itself forward without her permission, hand already extended to take the offered vial. It’s small even in her hands, bubbles sparkling in the flashing lights. Even as something in Hazel’s mind pushes her to take the antidote, to bring back her powers and fulfill her promise, she can’t help but take a moment but look at those who got her to this moment. Those who against all odds, fought their way here for her. Because they took a chance on her.
She sees Sammy to the side, face lax with shock. No, not Sammy. Leo. This must be Leo, whose eccentric personality burned with every word, a voice that now wears the face of her friend from so long ago. Her face turns to see a tall White man on the opposite side, barely holding himself up against the wall, face pale with effort and eyes sparkling with electricity. Jason.
Her eyes scan towards the carnage, watching the three figures fight and tear their way through the mass of guards that seem to never end; a blond with a cruel snarl to her mouth, the only person without a weapon to defend themself; a black haired man with a bronze longsword, tearing through everyone and everything with a twisted appearance of pleasure; and a figure that is more creature than human, with claws and teeth like jutting knives: Annabeth. Percy. Frank.
A warm hand wraps around her wrist. Hazel finally looks back at the demigod before her, intense and charming, beautiful and deadly in ways she never imagined could be possible. Piper.
“Well?” Piper hums, somehow creating a private moment just between them among the chaos.
And Hazel twists the cap off the vial and lifts it to her mouth, unbreaking in her eye contact. She swallows the antidote in one gulp, immediately feeling it expand in her veins and touch every drop of her blood. Of her power.
Hazel Levesque’s eyes are amber when she closes them.
When they open, her eyes are gold, the color of a perfect 24 karat—
—And the air fills with magic.
One by one, much to the confusion of everyone in the room, the guards stop fighting. Even the new group that rushes in slows, their eyes glazing over, staring at something in the distance that isn’t there. It reminds the demigods of Piper’s charmspeak, but these guards don’t even seem to recognize that they’re there.
“This is the wrong direction,” one says in a monotone voice. “I think we missed a turn a few halls back. We need to find them. Let's go.”
And the guards, almost in perfect unison, turn around and start running in the direction they came from. Even the ones who are injured don’t pay attention to their wounds, uncaring of the blood that drips onto the floor.
“Piper,” Annabeth huffs, breathless and covered in quite a bit of gore herself. “Did you—?”
“No,” Piper interrupts. “She did.”
The demigods turn to look at Hazel, her arms extended before her, wisps of white magic curling around her wrists and up her arms. The Mist, a few of them immediately recognize. She can control the Mist.
The Golden Queen raises her hands to the ceiling, clenching them into fists, and pulls.
And the hallway the guards had just finished disappearing down, the one path to an exit from this deep down in Olympus Penitentiary, collapses in an avalanche of metal and earth.
The dust settles around them slowly, much like snow on a crisp winter day. Every few seconds another chunk of earth rolls and falls from where it was shoved out of place, the only sound in the otherwise silent pocket of stunned demigods. A few lights flicker in and out, fighting the clearly losing battle to stay on. Soon enough they will be in complete darkness with nothing but the earth and each other for company, a suddenly claustrophobic existence that agrees with precisely none of them.
“Um, Hazel,” Jason eventually finds it within himself to break the silence. “Why did you do that?”
All of them find the demigod in question, dust tangled in her mass of coily hair, a thin layer covering her dark skin. In the flickering lights, her golden eyes are luminous and reflective, two shining beacons of resolve and determination.
When the Golden Queen speaks, there is no falter in her explanation. “Because I don’t want anyone else to find their way here.”
“No one will find their way here,” Annabeth says blankly. What is this feeling? Helplessness? Anger? Confusion? Betrayal? “And we’re trapped under a mile of rock with no way to escape.”
“We’re not trapped. We’re free.”
The Golden Queen pushes past Leo and Piper, who let her through with little protest. She’s so small. How can someone who takes up so little space have such a presence?
The others watch as the Golden Queen presses her hands against the remaining section of the wall, face twisted into concentration. After a moment, the earth begins to shudder again, like this time they will be the ones mercilessly crushed by the weight of nature, when the wall suddenly buckles and crumbles away.
And on the other side, much to the shock of all the other demigods, is a tunnel. It’s impossible to tell how long it goes, but it’s undeniable that’s what it is.
The Golden Queen straightens and moves to face the others, the ones who made all of this possible. The ones that gave her the chance to prove her usefulness, and hopefully in turn, will be useful to her.
“Part of the penitentiary is built into a cave system,” she tells them. “I knew this from the moment I stepped foot into these walls. I was never able to use them with the drugs in my system, but now, I can. We can.” The Golden Queen spreads her arms, a gesture of welcome and thanks. “So, what do you say? Think you can trust me for a little while longer?” She backs into the tunnel with one step, two steps, until all they can see in the ominous golden glow of her eyes.
It’s Frank that follows first. It’s a bit of a struggle for his body to fit through the gap, but with one last pointed look at the others, he makes it through. With a shrug, Percy goes next, followed by Piper, both of whom help Jason squeeze through. Leo sighs with a mumble of something under his breath before doing the same, a flame appearing in his hand that lights up the path before them.
Annabeth lingers for a moment longer, as if in conflict with herself. Trust is a strange thing, she’s finally decided. How can she give it so many times over and still be so unsure of the outcome?
We’ve gotten this far, she muses to herself as she goes forward to join the others, their faces alight with the orange lick of flame. Might as well see how much further we go. Together.
She enters the tunnel, and for the first time, the Seven are one.
“Follow me,” the Golden Queen says. “I know the way.”
And they do. They shouldn’t, or at least, something deep within them all claims that they shouldn’t, but that voice fades further and further away with each step, with each breath, with each passing moment of being united as one. They are horribly mismatched and broken, but somehow, they fit together. Like Fate.
Behind them, the cell that once contained the Golden Queen and the area around it disappears as another wave of earth consumes it. The hole that granted their freedom vanishes, leaving nothing but the tunnel and the way ahead in sight.
None of them look back. There’s no need to remind themselves where they came from.
They walk through the tunnels for what must be hours. Hazel leads them through splits and divides without a single hesitation, and the group following her never once questions her decisions. They’re all exhausted now that the thrill of adrenaline has begun to fade, Jason especially, but they push on, with no one suggesting they stop.
It’s quiet, for the most part. But every once in a while, they speak in hushed voices, sharing stories they would have never dared to tell in their cages. About where they came from. About what put them there. About their hatred for the gods and their desire to see them dethroned.
It’s not everything, of course, but it’s enough.
Then, just when it becomes clear that they won’t be able to go on much longer, they see something up ahead. Is that light? And what about that gentle breeze brushing against their skin, ruffling their clothes and hair? The tangy scent of water, the monotonous rush of rain?
They find the answer soon enough.
The Seven emerge from the mouth of a cave into the last remnants of a storm. Raindrops dot their skin and clothes, trees and grass glittering with water as the first rays of sunlight peak over the horizon. Somewhere in the distance, the mechanical sounds of driving cars reach them.
We made it.
No one says it, but they all hear it. We made it.
The Seven stand there in awe and wonder, soaking in their first moments of the outside after months of blank walls and tiles floors. They take it in now, before they have to move on.
After all, there’s work to be done. Vengeance to enact. Gods to slay.
But for now, they enjoy this. Each other, the world, and their freedom.
Only a few miles from where the Seven are taking in the newly risen sun, William Solace is suddenly awoken by his shrilly ringing phone.
He jerks from his place in bed, wrapped in warm sheets with his arm draped over his fiancé, to an upright position in a heartbeat. His hand blindly reaches out for the phone, failing a few times before finally fumbling to accept the call.
“Hello?” he croaks, trying to push the sleepiness from his brain. Few people would call him at a time like this, and if they are, it’s usually because of something important. Right now, Will’s just hoping that it’s some random telemarketer that he can hang up on so that he can curl up with Nico for a couple more hours. Unfortunately for him, it’s not.
“Will,” comes Chiron on the other side, panicked. “There’s been an incident.”
And Will listens with mounting horror as Chiron explains exactly what this incident is. Exactly what happened. Exactly what needs to be done. Exactly why they need for him to come in right now.
“I’ll be there in an hour,” Will replies numbly, struggling to process what he’s been told. Struggling to comprehend the consequences of what happened. Chiron hangs up without another word.
“Sunshine,” Nico mumbles sleepily, reaching for Will’s hand with his eyes still closed. Normally, Will loves being with Nico in the morning, loves how he wakes up so slowly and softly, but right now, everything feels a hundred miles away. Insignificant. Meaningless.
“What’s goin’ on?” Nico persists, wrapping his fingers around Will’s forearm and squeezing it. “They need you at the penitentiary for somethin’?”
“Yeah. They do.” Oh gods, what should he say? Does he tell Nico now or later? When will one of the heroes reach out to him, tell the Ghost King everything—
Will gulps roughly. In the chaos of his mind, only one thought forms with any clarity:
I’m going to have to fill out a lot of paperwork.
Notes:
So. As the main story goes, that's it. However, when this idea first came to me three years ago, I planned for it to be longer with a plot that extended past the breakout. Giving the way my life is as the moment, I don't have the time nor patience to write that vision.
But. I still love this fic and the world. And I have a LOT of ideas that are still swimming in my head about it. So. Here's the deal:
Every once and a while, when I have the time and inspirations, I'll write up certain moments that happen after the breakout. Not in any particular order, but different chapters would revolve around a theme (for example, Percabeth getting together, fights with demigods and/or gods, etc). In addition to this, I would love to know if there is anything YOU GUYS are curious about when it comes to this AU. I can't promise I'll address all of them, but who knows! Maybe something will inspire me. Either way, just know I'm not done with this world just yet :)
Until then, that's all! Thank you to everyone who's supported me for all these years, even after it looked like this was abandoned. You are the reason this continued, the reason I sat down and decided to put my ass in gear. It means more than you will ever know.
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