Haha, yeah, I know. It's been a while. Like, a month.

But a lot happens here, so I hope it makes up for my lack of updates!

Chapter 8 of TSAH should be up very soon.


Chapter Two: Things Happen, None of Which Are Good

The death was dramatic enough in itself, made more so by the manner in which Kurt Stewart was found afterwards. Later, people would speculate as to what exactly caused him to die clutching his throat in a grip so tight it had to be pried open – and the detectives would wonder if the cause of death might have been strangulation instead of poison – along with, of course, speculating as to why Kurt Stewart died at all.

Stewart was forty years old, the picture of health, and one of the executive board, a board that headed the entire ISS; its earliest members had founded it, and now they were the ones who launched missions, financed missions, received the intelligence brought back by missions, and analyzed said intelligence. It consisted of ten people, all graduates of the school, all razor-sharp in both mind and body and just as adept in any skill as they had been twenty years ago. There was a reason why they had made it to the top, after all. And Kurt Stewart, although he had held one of the lowest positions in the board – being simply "the one who made the budgets" – was still part of it. Which was why it caused such uproar when one of the trainees went to talk to him after lunch and found the man prostrate on the floor, eyes bulging and hands clamped viselike around his own neck, pink and red in the face and completely, utterly, without-a-doubt dead.

The boy who'd discovered him, a lovely (awful… arrogant… annoying…) youth by the name of Ian, was still hyperventilating in his bedroom.

I heard the news only confidentially; after all, it could have been a freak incident, a one-in-a-billion thing. Key word is "could." My mentor and personal trainer, Chiron (a man who was also part of the executive board) told me later that day during studies, and his entirely too-calm demeanor about the thing put me off a bit. Chiron is never that placid about anything unless he's trying to stay composed.

Suffice to say, I'm a little scared.

And I never get scared.


I can't believe it.

I can't fucking believe it!


Chiron summoned me from lunch this afternoon, which was completely normal – mentors are allowed to do that, us trainees at their beck and call and whatnot – and asked me to come to his office – which was also completely normal, as he probably just wanted to talk to me further about Stewart's death. Maybe he'd figured out something new on it? Maybe he even wanted me to analyze something?

Not to brag or anything, but I was recruited to the ISS for my smarts. My brains. As in, I am a very intelligent human being. So that assumption, at the time, made perfect sense. (As a matter of fact, it still does! Why couldn't Chiron just have asked me to take a look at some blood samples? Why? Why?) He could even have wanted me to go on a mini-mission! Take a snoop around, see what I could find! I'm not the top trainee here for a reason – I can do missions! They are my… what's it called? My comfort zone! My box! My easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy-sure-Chiron-whatever-you-say-just-PLEASE-DON'T-GIVE-ME-A-NEW-RECRUIT-TO-TRAIN!

But thanks to my luck, that's exactly what I got.

I went into Chiron's office, all "Hey Chiron, you called?" Smooth and casual, thy name is Annabeth Chase. I was chewing on the remains of my sandwich (bacon and cheese, my favorite) and dressed in my daily, don't-really-care attire of jeans and a T-shirt. Hey, when you wake up at four-thirty every morning to start your day, style isn't exactly your priority. I don't even know want to know what my hair looked like.

So everything was going fine and dandy… until that "Hey Chiron, you called?"

And then of course my entire day decided to screw with my brain and send me on a long spiral downward.

Chiron looked a little more serious than usual, which should have set off alarms in my head, but I was just assuming that he looked so somber because of the Stewart fiasco. His hands were steepled on his desk (typical), but there wasn't any fatherly smile in his eyes (a little less than typical), and, oh yeah, did I forget to mention? There was someone else in the room!

Definitely not typical.

Enter Perseus (excuse me, Percy. What kind of name is "Perseus," anyway? Sounds like something out of a freaking Greek myth) Jackson.

I stopped in my tracks, in all my beautiful, sandwich-chewing glory. Let me tell you something – Annabeth Chase does not surprise easily. But there I was, frozen, dead-on surprised.

There was a brief pause, in which I was able to recover and start studying the tall, admittedly handsome boy standing by Chiron's desk.

He needed a haircut; his too-long black hair fell into his eyes, which were a startling shade of green. He looked around six feet tall, lean and muscled, hands stuck in his jean pockets. The expression on his face was one of casual awkwardness, which, believe me, is a hard look to pull off, but he (annoyingly enough) managed it. The left side of his mouth twitched up into a smirk when he caught sight of me, and I don't care how awful I looked at that moment, I just wanted to whip my trusty knife out of my boot and acquaint it with his face. Or his stomach. You know, whichever was closer.

Instead, in an incredible display of self-control that I must commend myself on, I managed to keep my itchy fingers clenched in a fist and instead turned to Chiron, arching my eyebrow in the universal what-the-hell-is-going-on expression. "Chiron? Who is this?"

"Ah, well, you see, Annabeth," began Chiron, making as if to get up from the desk, but smirky-boy there in the corner beat him to it.

"I'm Percy Jackson, new recruit. Nice to meet you. And you are?" He stepped forward and stuck out his hand, which I ignored. Quite snobbily, if I do say so myself.

"New recruit?" was my only acknowledgment. "New recruit? Chiron, why are we recruiting new people? Stewart just died today, in case you've forgotten – we don't have any space for a new recruit! How do you know he's even – "

Chiron cut me off with a hand. "Annabeth, calm down. Perseus here has not been chosen lightly – "

"Percy," interjected the new recruit. Chiron and I both looked at him, and he flushed slightly, scuffing his toe against the floor. Ha. "Percy. Just… call me Percy."

"… Percy here has not been chosen without much deliberation…"

"And you just decided to let him in?" I interrupted.

Okay, so I know I was being a little rude here, but I was angry! New recruits are a big deal – you can't just entrust anyone with the secret of the ISS. It's weighing a lot on a person's character. Recruiting isn't something done lightly. And now, when Stewart had just died of extremely mysterious causes, and anyone could be a suspect… well, excuse me for being a little suspicious!

"Yes, we did. Annabeth, you need to calm down. Percy is as trustworthy as anyone here, and the reason we chose him is because… well…" Here he hesitated. Patient as I am, Chiron was stretching it a bit. My hand leaned towards the knife in my boot again.

"Well, what?"

"You're going to train me," blurted out Perseus.

"And we know that you are one of the most trusted of all the ISS trainees," added Chiron.

Flattery. I didn't need flattery! I needed cold, hard facts. I could deal with cold, hard facts. What I could not deal with were three things: flattery, annoying children, and Perseus Jackson.

"Tra – train?" I spluttered after a moment of rather embarrassing silence. "What d'you mean, train?"

"I mean exactly what I – excuse me, what Percy here – said. I mean you are going to train him. Of course, he will be going to classes with everyone else, but you will be, let's say, his mentor." I tried to protest, but Chiron held up a hand and continued. "Annabeth, you are one of our strongest spies. You know that with another ten or fifteen years, you'll have your spot waiting for you on the executive board. Percy has a lot to learn, and you will train him. Think of it as another class. A class where you learn to be the teacher."

"But I don't want to be the teacher!" I cried, throwing my hands up – once I could get a word in edgewise, that is. "I want to learn! I want to keep learning! Chiron, I can't train anyone, much less him – "

"Excuse me, but could you please stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Perseus cut in.

"Oh shut up, you!" I rounded on him. "First rule of ISS – speak only when spoken to! Don't talk when you don't have to!"

"You seem to have some trouble with that," drawled Perseus, crossing his arms and leaning back on his heels, smirking.

Chiron stifled a chuckle, and I spun to face him. My mentor simply grinned. "I like him."

"Ugh!" At this point, I was seriously contemplating that knife in my boot. If not for Chiron and Perseus, to end my own pitiful life. Instead, I pointed at my stupid new trainee – mentor, good GOD – and sent him my best glare. "You – Perseus – breakfast is at five. Be at the cafeteria, dressed and ready to go. First class is at five-thirty. If you're not there… well, you're glad I'm patient, but you do not want to see me when I'm truly pissed. Let me tell you: there are at least three weapons hidden on my person right now. You do not want to see me use them against you. Ever."

Satisfied that I'd gotten the last word, I pivoted on my heel and stomped out, holding the shreds of what dignity I had left in the palm of my hand.

"It's Percy!" was the last thing I heard before the door slammed shut behind me.

In the hall, I leaned my head against the wall and groaned. Stupid self-control. Why couldn't I just have stabbed myself when I had the chance?

And that's what happened at lunch. I just have the best luck, don't I?


It's dinnertime, six-thirty, and Percy still hasn't shown up. When I first came in, I looked around to see if I could catch a glimpse of said tall, black-haired idiot, but he wasn't there.

"Hey." I glance up, and Thalia Grace plunks her tray down next to me and sits. I nod in greeting, then turn back to my pasta, picking at it.

A word on Thalia:

She's my best friend here. We were recruited at around the same time (she a little before me) and, as the only two girls in that group of newbies, we stuck together. Instead of being chosen for her smarts, she was selected because of her speed. Man, that girl can run like nobody's business. Thalia's also kind of fierce-looking; she's nearly three inches shorter than me, but she's skinny, and her hair is short and spiky, dyed a black that's so dark it's almost blue. She's good with the knife, but her weapon of choice is something completely different – the bow and arrow. Which is weird, because it's so hard to carry around and hide, and yet Thalia's nearly as adept with missions as I am.

"Why the long face?" Thalia bites into her burger – I have to say, the ISS has the best food – and takes a sip of her Coke.

I open my mouth to respond, but then of course the reason for my moodiness saunters into the cafeteria, comfortable as you please, and I groan, dropping my head into my hands in order to keep from seeing him.

Thalia's nothing if not observant, so she immediately looks up and catches sight of the bane of my existence. "Him?"

"Yes," I say, muffled somewhat by my fingers obscuring my mouth. "Yes. Him. Ugh."

I can sense Thalia studying him. "Well, he's kind of handsome, but really not your type…"

"NO!" My head shoots up so fast I nearly get whiplash. "No, I don't like him! I have to train – "

"Hey, Anniebell," says a voice behind me. Oh, God.

Thalia snickers.

I turn slowly, gritting my teeth to keep from shooting every expletive I know into the air. I mean, the poor young trainees' ears. "Annabeth," I grind out. "It's Annabeth. Not… Anniebell."

"Sorry." He doesn't look sorry. Percy Jackson slides easily into the seat next to me, setting a tray onto the table. I study his food choices. Burger, Pepsi, blue Jell-O.

"Please leave." I face Thalia, who's smirking. Stupid girl. I thought she was my friend.

She leans over and whispers, "Definitely not your type. I'd think you'd punch out anyone who dared to call you Anniebell."

I'm trying very hard not to. "Shut. Up."

Percy chugs his Pepsi. "So, Annabeth, aren't you going to introduce me?"

"No."

Thalia grins. "I'm Thalia Grace, Annabeth's best friend."

"At the moment, not so much." I take a determined bite of pasta.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, Anniebell?" Thalia mocks, finishing off her burger and sipping at her Coke.

Calm down, Annabeth. Murder is not a good example for the children. Despite my stern self-scolding, I'm dying to grab my knife, stab both of them, and run.

"I'm Percy Jackson. Hasn't Annabeth told you yet? I'm her new trainee."

"Trainee?" Thalia actually looks surprised. Ha. Take that. "No, she hadn't told me." Cue death glare at Annabeth. I roll my eyes.

"I would have, except then he showed up. Two more seconds and you would have known."

For a few moments, there's silence (thank God) and then Percy – who else? – breaks it.

"Food here's good, isn't it?"

Thalia and I both look at him, the same expression mirrored on our faces: Really? All the conversation topics in the world and you choose that one?

He holds up his hands. "Whoa, just trying to make conversation."

"Definitely not your type," Thalia murmurs in my ear.

"God!" I stand abruptly, picking up my tray. "I'm leaving!"


"I think we have a lead on Stewart's death," Chiron says, shuffling some papers on his desk absentmindedly.

"Really?" I edge forward, excited against my will. "Anything I can help with?"

"Not yet." Disappointed, I pull at the ends of my hair. "But soon. The scientists have been analyzing his blood samples, and they think they've found the poison used."

"Which was…?"

"Cyanide. Unusual, because it is not a commonly used poison. Not many would be able to pull off the utilization of cyanide, and even less would be able to use it to kill one so high up. Stewart was known particularly for the security measures he took. Which means…"

My brain is working overtime. See, this is something I can do! "Highly efficient assassins. Most likely well-trained."

"Exactly." Chiron opens a drawer and riffles through it for a moment before pulling out a packed file; he tosses it onto the desk, and I glance at the title. GITC.

"The GITC?" I'm stunned. Sure, the GITC and ISS are rivals, and sure, we've had indirect conflict, but they've never attacked us directly, nor have we. "It can't be, Chiron. They've never targeted us."

"I know." My mentor scratches his head and opens the file. "But look." He flips through the contents before pulling out a sheet of paper filled with neatly typed font.

Victim: Ally Park

Location: Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

Cause of Death: Cyanide Poisoning

Suspect: GITC

Status: CONFIRMED

Below is a report, which I scan quickly – details about the death, setting, time, etc. Standard protocol.

"This is one death, Chiron," I begin slowly, reluctant to accuse anyone, regardless of my hate for the GITC. "We've used poisons too, when necessary. You can't just assume – "

Instead of interrupting me with words, Chiron places another paper on top of Ally Park's.

Victim: Jeffrey Zhuang

Location: Charlotte, North Carolina

Cause of Death: Cyanide Poisoning

Suspect: GITC

Status: CONFIRMED

"Twice?" I ask, once I'm done reading. Once might be unrelated, but twice… My suspicions are growing. Rapidly. Exponentially.

"Twice," Chiron confirms. "This isn't a coincidence, Annabeth."

"I know. Highly trained assassins, extremely efficient… if it wasn't us… you're right. There's only one plausible explanation. GITC… God, Chiron, but why? Why now?"

He doesn't have an answer; I know it. But before he can make up any excuses, the door to the office slams open, making us both jump. I drop the sheet in my hands and bend to pick it up, careful not to crumple it.

It's a tall, blonde boy I vaguely recognize – what's his name? Logan? Lars? – and he stumbles in, a shell-shocked expression painted across his face, his blue eyes dazed. He doesn't seem to notice that he's just disrupted an important mentor-trainee meeting, and even if he did, I don't think he'd care.

"Luke?" (Right, that's his name) Chiron's voice is edged with impatience. "What is it?"

The boy sucks in a breath of air and straightens up, running an agitated hand through his hair. "Chiron. Chiron… they told me to come get you."

"I'm in the middle of something right now."

"No, no… it's important. Helga Jones? The board member… one who funds the missions? She's… she's dead."


Reviews are talking to the boy you like.

Love,
jackala345