HEEEEEEEY THERE!
Well, I know it's been QUITE some time since we finished Eagle Eye, but as some of you may know, I've spent the last few months working on another story so my focus on this was next to zero. But I worked really hard over the past week and a half to get this story completely outlined and each chapter summarized and planned, and now guess what - WE'RE FINALLY READY TO GO!
And let me tell you, I'm SO EXCITED. It's gonna be awesome, guys, seriously. Can't wait to share it with you all.
Okay, let's see, pre-story notes... Well, this is of course a TOTAL AU. Same characters, completely different setting.
Second, you ABSOLUTELY MUST READ FIRE AT WILL *AND* EAGLE EYE BEFORE READING THIS. I swear. Even this first chapter will make ZERO sense to anyone who hasn't read the first two books. So go read them. Now.
Third, this is the END of my Bloodlust Trilogy! WOO! Sad, but I swear I'm gonna try to make it a fitting end. It'll make you laugh, cry, smile, frown, scream, pound your fists on the table, and everything in between. Guaranteed or your money back! (Your time however isn't something I can return, regrettably.)
Fourth, the lyrics you'll see all prettily stretched out at the beginning of each chapter are from Fall Out Boy's "The Phoenix". Excellent song. Listen to it. Seriously.
Lastly, who even needs disclaimers anymore? It's obvious none of us fanfic authors own a single thing worth owning.
*Ahem*
Without further ado for now, SHORT PROLOGUE IS A GO! You all remember where we left off last book? Well...
Put on your war paint
Ordinarily, interrogating criminals was something Duke Atlas would admit he heartily enjoyed.
It was simple justification. To the Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, being able to place himself in a position of superiority over lowlife lawbreakers and draw from them information he could use for, primarily, his own personal benefit was something of a treat—the most piquant and satisfying of accomplishments, better than almost any other experience with which Atlas was particularly familiar. For just that time—minutes, hours, days, however long it took—he was the law. He had the power. And he could press it in whatever way he saw fit.
Yes, ordinarily, interrogation was Atlas's strongest suit. His favorite pastime. His ultimate skill. But ordinarily, he triumphed with minimal effort. Ordinarily, he got exactly what he wanted in five days or, oftentimes, less. Ordinarily, he didn't have to resort to measures bearing anywhere close to extreme.
To Atlas's intense frustration, he was learning that people involved with the powerful criminal organization Olympus were anything but ordinary.
For almost two months Atlas had been expending his efforts in a relatively fruitless attempt to coerce an Olympus sympathizer he'd detained in Chicago into releasing information regarding the inner operations of the organization and the whereabouts of its elusive leaders. He was positive that the sympathizer—a twenty-three-year-old auto mechanic with a criminal record and a snarky attitude—had the information he was looking for. But there was a chasm of consequential difference between what he wanted and what he'd so far gotten. Though he was loath to admit it to outside parties, the irritating futility of his sessions with the kid reminded him of the few short days in which Olympus's codename Artemis had been in his custody. That woman had been decidedly less annoying personality-wise, but her font of surrendered information was equally as dry and empty.
Though it may have been a stretch, Atlas chose to place some of the blame on his unstable situation. Maybe if we were able to stay in one place for more than a few days, he'd tell himself, I'd have time to get something done. But thanks to a certain former agent whose name Atlas refused to recite lest he be overcome by resentful anger, he and his small strike team were more or less on the run. It was either slow down and risk losing his captive to a probably-ill-conceived-and-likely-explosive rescue attempt or keep moving in hopes of getting information that would help him before it was too late. So Atlas made the choice to stick with the latter.
Though how much longer that would remain an option was something on which he couldn't spend educated speculation.
Atlas was busy pondering just that one evening after another useless venture for intel with his least favorite prisoner when an agent named Biggs arrived at his motel room with a rather worrisome bit of information that somehow caught him completely by surprise.
"Director Kronos is here to see you, sir."
Atlas's face remained an emotionless mask as his heart skipped a beat in alarm. "Here?" he repeated with a frown. "As in, here at this motel?"
"Yes, sir," Biggs responded, looking much more nervous than Atlas felt. "In room two-oh-one."
Atlas was perplexed. What purpose could CIA Director Victor Kronos have for visiting Atlas's temporary base of operations in a sparse motel in Laughlin, Nevada? It couldn't have possibly been good news. Kronos typically delivered good news over the phone, whereas bad news he sometimes preferred to extol in person.
"Thank you, Agent," Atlas told Biggs gruffly. "You're dismissed." The agent gave a curt nod and hurried out of sight as Atlas strode across the room and let himself out, wondering what sort of meeting the Director had in mind for him. Did he forget to file a recent report? Or neglect to update the equipment log? Or was this about his misfire in Chicago in January, when he'd allowed Ezekiel Grace to be killed by his own former star agent? Whatever the reason, it was sure to only add to the Deputy Director's currently growing list of grievances.
When Atlas reached room 201 he nodded to the two guards flanking the door, knocked curtly, and gave his name, receiving a muffled "Enter" from beyond the wooden barrier in response. He opened the door and stepped inside, shoulders back and spine straight. He was always sure to appear as impressive and competent as possible in his boss's presence.
Victor Kronos was seated alone inside a room identical to Atlas's, his back to the door as he shifted through a few lined papers on the desk in the corner. "Take a seat, Agent Atlas," the Director said in his smooth, oily voice.
Atlas closed the door and remained standing.
After a few seconds of tense silence, Kronos piled the papers and rose from his chair, turning to face Atlas with a beleaguered sigh. He was shorter than the Deputy Director by about three inches and boasted noticeably less bulk, but the man's even posture and lithe movements portrayed just as easily as muscle could that he was a powerful force to be reckoned with. Like Atlas, Kronos had once been a field agent with an impressive—to say the least—track record who'd fought his way to the top with an even mixture of hard work and natural talent. He had a reputation throughout all divisions of the agency as the sort of person who was wholly intolerant of failure and superfluous action—every move had to have a constructive purpose. If one were to displease him even in the slightest, their career would be history. Atlas had been Kronos's second-in-command for almost a decade, and in that time he'd learned that the legend and the man weren't so different.
"Evening, Agent," the Director greeted Atlas without the slightest flicker of emotion on his face, his smooth, pale complexion giving him the eerie appearance of a wax figure. He leaned back against the corner of his desk and folded his hands patiently. "I trust I find you well."
"Of course, sir," Atlas responded, his deep, gruff voice a harsh contrast to his boss's in the silent motel room. "To what do I owe this… unexpected visit?"
"I'm on my way to New York after yesterday's conference in Sacramento and wanted to check in with you for a status update," Kronos explained with calm indifference.
"Do you mean our search for Olympus's remaining leaders, or my interrogation of the organization sympathizer we apprehended in January?"
"Both," Kronos responded.
Atlas hesitated. "Neither has been as successful as hoped, but I'm confident that we'll be making headway soon." An evasive answer, to be sure. Atlas hoped it was enough to satiate the Director's curiosity.
It wasn't. Kronos lifted his chin a quarter of an inch—barely noticeable, yet perfectly clear. "I hear we lost another agent during your time in Houston," he said. "It seems to me like Annabeth Chase is becoming more of a problem than anticipated."
"Not a problem we can't handle, sir," Atlas assured his superior.
"I'm wondering," Kronos went on as if Atlas hadn't spoken, "why some of my best agents are wasting their time on one stubborn criminal when there are much bigger fish following their tail waves. Have you lost sight of the bigger picture, Agent Atlas?"
"Of course not, sir." Atlas shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back and ensuring that his expression remained passive. "The big picture is Olympus as a whole. I'm certain Valdez has information that could prove instrumental in—"
"What reason do you have to believe he knows anything of consequence?" Kronos challenged, his icy blue eyes hardening. "How sure are you that this isn't simply a wild goose chase?"
Atlas swallowed, gritting his teeth. "We uncovered information in Houston that leads me to strongly believe we're on the right track with this kid. He has a connection to the organization that he seems very keen on hiding. When I get it out of him, this will all pay off. Trust me, sir."
Kronos remained still and quiet for a long few seconds, cold eyes studying Atlas's face and stature. "You say he's a dealer?"
"Unlicensed arms," Atlas confirmed. One of the few useful facts he had been able to wrest from the kid. "I'm sure his relationship with Olympus has something to do with that business, but I haven't gotten the complete extent yet."
"Very well," Kronos decided with a short nod. "If he was innocent, I'd say we'd be forced to let him go, but seeing as he is involved… You have two more weeks with him, but no more. If after that time you still haven't gotten him to talk, I want you to eliminate him and move on. Put all of your energy into tracking down Chase and her traveling circus. I won't lose any more good agents to that loathsome turncoat. Or that ungrateful fool who corrupted her."
Atlas felt a stab of personal guilt and frustration—two months ago he'd come so close to capturing Annabeth Chase, his best assassin, and Percy Jackson, the target who'd ripped her from the agency's grasp, only to watch them escape his clutches. It was his biggest failure to date, and the reason he was so intent on bringing the entire organization of Olympus to its knees in order to make things right. Kronos hadn't forgotten the incident any more than he had, and now the Director was giving him one final chance. It was a blessing Atlas wasn't going to waste.
"Understood, sir," Atlas promised, making a silent vow to himself at the same time. Whatever it took, he would make Valdez talk. He would squash Chase and Jackson like the roaches they were. And together, he and Kronos would triumph over Olympus once and for all. "I won't let you down again."
ALRIGHTY THEN!
No clue when the next chapter will be up, but if things continue to run slow at work it'll be sooner than you think. Shouldn't be too bad of a wait, I expect.
So give me a follow, give me a review, give me an H, an E, an L, another L, and a YEAH! Bloodlust Book 3: Blackout is officially under way!
Hehe, can you tell I'm excited? Later days!
-oMM
