Percy awoke with a start. It took him a considerable amount of time to gain his bearings, something which was becoming more and frequent these days.

It took him even longer to hear the knocking on the door and the loud voice shouting at him.

"Lieutenant Jackson! Lieutenant Jackson!"

Blearily, Percy began to rise out of his hammock. Idly, he checked the pocket watch dangling from the edge of his hammock. A gift from Mrs. Andrews for his promotion. He was confused as he looked at the time, and saw that he had only been asleep for three hours, he still had quite some time before four bells and his morning shift.

The knocking grew more insistent, and Percy slammed the door open, not caring for his particular state of undress.

"What?" He snapped at the unfortunate powder rat that had been summoned to retrieve him. A boy of maybe ten, he flinched away at the coarseness of his tone, and Percy silently reproached himself for taking out his frustrations for being awoken on the small boy.

"A commotion on deck sir," squeaked the boy, determinately not meeting Percy's gaze, "They-they're saying a man has been shot sir,"

"Damn!" Percy hissed, slamming the door shut again and hurrying to throw on his clothes. He was still pulling his boots on when he burst through the door, and rambled past the still thunderstruck powder rat.

The upper deck was a madhouse. It looked as though nearly half of the crew was there. They were banded around the lower deck beneath the wheelhouse in a large semi-circle. Many were craning their necks or jostling one another in an attempt to get a better view of what was occurring. Still more men had clambered into the riggings, and were dangling high above the assembled crewmen, gazing down into something near the center of the deck.

"Out of the way!" Percy snarled, pushing and shoving his way to the center of the circle, "Out of the way I said damn you!"

A small parting in the men opened, clearly not wishing to further agitate their already rather irate Lieutenant.

When Percy got to the center of the throng, his heart stopped. Laying in a pool of blood, was Lowery. He'd been shot in the head, or rather what Percy was sure was his head. It was impossible to tell, as it had been concaved so thoroughly that the man was damn near unrecognizable. The only reason Percy knew it was Lowery, was because of the distinctive tattoo on the man's right forearm.

He tore his gaze away from the mangled corpse of the man he'd been as close to friends with as he could have been, to the deck. A few paces away, was Captain Joseph, his pistol still held firmly in his grip. It didn't require much for Percy to be able to piece together what had happened. His gaze darted around the assembled men, his heart hammering in his chest. This was not going to go over well.

While it was true that the Captain of a ship had ultimate authority over the men under his command. The willingness of a crew to follow a tyrannical madman was not high. The reality of that situation was reflected o the faces of the men around him. He could all but hear the dissidence and disorder amongst their scattered thoughts. If there were those who had harbored doubts about mutiny before, then Percy was certain those doubts had most certainly been extinguished.

"Percy!" Hissed Jeffries, sliding up beside him, his eyes darting back and forth around the assembled masses. Over his shoulder, Percy could see that Ackers was in the middle of a heated debate with Captain Joseph. The man looked as though he didn't know where he was or what was going on.

"Percy!" Hissed Jeffries once more, bouncing on the heels of his boots. The man looked torn between drawing his pistol and jumping clear from the ship, "We need to do something damnit! Before this turns into an outright mutiny here and now!"

"What the fuck happened?" Percy hissed back,

"The fuck do you think!" Snapped Jeffries, "Joseph bloody shot Lowery!"

"I put that together myself, thanks." Percy snapped back,

"Sorry," said Jeffries, flinching at Percy's tone and withering glare, "I didn't see everything. I don't even know why the Captain was on the deck as late as he was, I was across the way inspecting the rigging along the long-boats." He paused, taking a shuddering breath and glancing around him once more, "I heard shouting, and when I turned around, Joseph was screaming at Lowery, I didn't think anything of it at first, you know how Joseph can be, but then he drew his fucking pistol and started screaming about how he was going to kill Lowery. That Lowery was a coward and a traitor and a mutineer. Then he just…" He trailed off, but he had said enough. When it came to Joesph, there truly was no knowing when he might go off, or how violently.

Percy grunted, and took a step forward into the throngs,

"Quiet!" He bellowed over the din of muttering men. At once, the crew fell silent as Percy could feel all eyes fall onto him. All eyes, including those of Joseph. The man glared at Percy, and stomped over to him, pistol still clutched tightly in his meaty paws. His eyes danced with the familiar tingle of madness. However he had not taken more than a handful of steps, before he stopped.

Joseph's shoulders slooped, and the madness seemed to fade out from his eyes as he frowned in confusion. He turned, looking around at the assembled men as though he had no idea what was happening. He looked down, and started in surprise as he saw the pistol clutched tightly in his hand. His gaze then landed on the dead man before him. The sight of his brain-matter and life-blood strewn across the deck seemed to simply confuse the man even more.

"What…" He said softly, "What on earth….what is this…I don't…"

It was then that horrifying reality of the situation fully dawned on Percy. Joseph had no idea what was happening. The man's madness was so complete…so enthralling, that he was all but living two separate lives. It was a terrible thought. Joseph was a man trapped in his own body. Living two separate, yet identical lives. Like falling asleep, and waking up to realize you had pissed your own bed. He truly had no idea what he was doing half of the time, Percy was certain of that, and the price for that misery came in the loss of a man's life.

"Weapons misfire, Captain," said Percy quickly, stepping up and intervening before the situation could get even more out of hand. It was a bald-faced lie, but they couldn't very well confront the captain and tell him that he had just murdered a man in cold blood. That likely wouldn't end well for anybody involved,

"A tragic accident sir," continued Percy, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, in spite of the cool evening air. "Best leave this to us, why you don't head back to your cabin and get some rest."

"Weapons misfire?" Asked Joseph, glancing down at his pistol, and then back at Percy. It appeared to Percy as though the man were fighting for control of his own mind. A battle that he was undoubtably losing. It was as tragic as it was startling.

Joseph turned away from Percy, and gazed down at the corpse of Lowery, a mournful expression on his face.

"We'll have a ceremony for him…tomorrow…yes, tomorrow. Lowery…good man that Lowery…tragic-tragic for something like this to happen…" He trailed off, the pistol falling limply from his grip.

It was a strange thing, watching as a man stared at you, even though he couldn't really see. Joseph's eyes might have been on Percy, but he was convinced that Joseph was seeing nothing but the clear evening sky beyond them.

"Ackers!" Barked Percy, startling the first lieutenant, "I believe the Captain's presence on the deck is no longer necessary, perhaps it would be wise for you to escort him back to his lodgings?" It was a startling breach of protocol and command. Percy was the acting second lieutenant, and as such he had no business barking orders at Ackers, his superior. However the man seemed incapable of acting of his own accord.

Ackers, recognizing his way out of the situation, nodded his thanks to Percy before scrambling up to the confused and demented captain, and escorting him away from the throngs of men. Percy scanned the mass of faces, and felt his hand unconsciously drift in the direction of his scabbard. Across from him, flanked by his burly lieutenant, Percy met Hornsby's gaze. The commander of the marine detachment nodded subtly at Percy, before leaning back and whispering something to Ghallager. The large man nodded a confirmation to his commander, before slinking away into the crowd with several of his fellow comrades.

As Percy glanced around the crowd one last time. He caught sight of more than one group of men speaking to one another in hushed tones. Brows furrowed. Eyes dangerous.

It was only a matter of time, Percy decided.

But when it came, he would be ready.

BREAK

For three days, nothing happened. For three days, Percy did not sleep. The door to his bunk was barricaded, and he slept fully clothed. His pistol clutched tightly in his hand and his saber, left unsheathed, beside his hammock.

He wished the bastards would simply act already. The constant sense of paranoia, the lack of sleep, it was making him jumpy. Perhaps that was the mutineers goal though. To let the fear and anxiety build. To wear out the officer corps until they were so sufficiently exhausted, that they would be easy prey and the ship would be easy pickings.

It was a sound plan if Percy were honest. He was certainly exhausted, and he knew that the rest of the officers were feeling the stress and anxiety as well.

At present, it seemed as though everyone on the ship was aware of what was looming over them. That it was not a matter of if, but when, the powder was finally lit and the world exploded.

Percy took in a deep breath as he gazed over the lower deck. It was late, well past eight bells and the light of the sun had long since dipped below the horizon. As he had been doing for the past several days, Percy tried to give off an air of calm confidence and professionalism. Given that Ackers had all but shut himself inside the cabin of the Captain under the pretenses of working as his assistant.

Really, Percy was just convinced that he was just trying to hide.

That had left Percy as the acting commander on the deck. Given his lack of any information about their commission from the Admiralty, Percy had struggled to come a decision about what to do. Ultimately, Percy had decided to quietly begin charting a course back civilization. They didn't know where they were supposed to be going or what they were supposed to be doing, and given the tensions of the ship, Percy felt that it wasn't safe to be so isolated on the waters as they were.

Perhaps he would even be lucky, and they would reach landfall before the tempers boiled over.

Percy snorted to himself, he could only be so lucky.

He sighed and took a sip from his water-skin. The salty air had the nasty habit of drying out his mouth, especially on particularly gusty nights such as this. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Percy strode up to the quarter-deck to check on the helmsmen. Given the direction of the wind, and its strength and ferocity, Percy felt that it was necessary to re-adjust their course accordingly.

He had just finishing climbing the steps to the quarter-deck when the hairs on the back of his neck rose and stood on end. His heart began to beat quicker and quicker, as the world seemed to slow around him. The ship suddenly and violently shook as something just below the quarter-deck exploded.

Percy was very nearly thrown off of his feet, only managing to catch himself on the railing of the ship as his hat went sailing from his head. A second explosion rocked the ship just under his feet, and Percy clutched tightly to the railing as he fought to keep his footing. Smoke was pooling from somewhere below him, wafting out from the main deck and from the direction of the Captain's cabin. The smoke then was picked up by the wind, and carried its way up to Percy. He blinked, his eyes burning from the soot and smoke, and he rubbed furiously at his eyes to try and clear them as his vision turned blurry.

He tried to gain his bearings, but it was difficult to hear anything. His ears were ringing, but as he strained himself and pushed off from the railing, he was vaguely aware of people shouting. Feeling numb, the familiar hum of energy coursed through his chest and he drew his sword from its scabbard and began scurrying forward.

He wasn't thinking, only acting.

This was it, days of waiting. Days of paranoia and fear was culminating in this moment, here and now. Isolated and alone in the middle of the ocean, Percy and those still loyal to the crown would likely be outnumbered and undermanned against those wishing to take control of the ship. There would be no help to arrive in the nick of time, like in the stories. It was just them, the mutineers, and hundreds of miles of ocean all around them.

They were trapped on their own floating battlefield. Where the only way to escape was to either conquer the enemy, or perish.

And Percy had no intention of following through on the latter.

As Percy stumbled forward towards the stairs, several figures appeared out of his periphery. Percy recognized them from the night of Lowery's murder. They were among those who had been whispering amongst themselves and conspiring amongst themselves.

Mutineers.

He was certain of it. From their body conduct, to the weapons they were holding, or perhaps lack thereof. Broken bottles, dirks, and a jagged knife. The men barreled up at Percy, clearly hoping to catch their exhausted lieutenant off-balance for a quick kill.

Percy acted out of instinct. Even disoriented as he was, Percy was quicker and more proficient with a blade than any other on the ship. Reaching down, Percy picked up his hat, and threw it at the charging men. It caused enough of a distraction for two of the men to yelp in surprise and collide into one another, stunning them momentarily while leaving the man with the dirk free to continue his charge. That was all well and good for Percy, he was the more dangerous of the men.

The dirk-wielder roared, and claeved through the air at Percy with a sloppy strike that Percy easily parried away. In a smooth and practiced motion, Percy carried his momentum forward and slashed through the midsection of the man. He cried out in pain, his dirk clattering to the deck and sliding down the stairs. He collapsed to the ground, his hands pawing at the blood oozing from the wound in his side, but Percy paid him no mind and charged forward. The two other mutineers had recovered from their brief distraction and had rounded on him.

Closing the distance down the steps, Percy slammed the pommel of his sword into the face of the first man. He dropped to the ground, his nose broken, and he crashed back down the stairs. Percy then whirled, ducking under the sharp edges of the broken bottle wielded by the third man, before driving his sword home through the man's sternum. The mutineer gasped softly, his eyes dropping to his blood splattering off the shinning metal of the sword, before Percy withdrew the blade and he fell lifelessly to the deck.

Reaching the main-deck, Percy drove his blade through the neck of the last man, still rolling on the deck from Percy's earlier blow, killing him instantly.

Turning, Percy felt his heart drop. The Captain's cabin was in ruins. The two marines that had been stationed at the door to stand guard were dead. Blown to pieces from what looked like a make-shift grenade. Percy took solace in the knowledge that their deaths had likely been instantaneous, and thus painless. The same most likely could not be said for the poor souls trapped inside the cabin. Whether a result of the second grenade which must have been what rocked the ship, or from something else entirely, a fire raged inside the cabin.

Knowing that Joseph and Ackers had been inside at the time, Percy plucked up his courage and charged through the flames and into the ruined cabin.

He wished that he hadn't.

Poor Ackers had been blown to pieces almost instantly. All that was left of the former first lieutenant was his bloodied and burning uniform. The man's face so unrecognizable form the blast and the burning that he looked more akin to a roasted log than a man. One leg had been blown clean off his body, and a large beam, likely from the ships structure, had been embedded in the man's chest.

The captain had not been so lucky.

He had evidently not been in the immediate blast zone as Ackers had been, as his body remained relatively in one piece. However he had bore the brunt of the shockwave, and it was likely that the grenade or projectile used to cause the explosion had additional weapons inside. Multiple sharp objects, that Percy suspected were rusted nails or shards of glass, had skewered the captain. His face, torso, and extremities had been shredded, and a large nail was sticking out from just under where the man's lip ought to have been.

But it was difficult to tell anymore.

The poor man had been captured by the heat of the flames. It appeared as though the oil lamp beside his bedside had burst and the oil had caught fire as it fell on the captain. The poor sod had burned to death. A gruesome, and horrifying end to a horrifying and pitiable existence. This was not going to go over well with the admiralty in London.

Percy felt sick, and then a cool sense of calm washed over him. There would be time enough to dwell on the fallout. The mutineers had succeeded in their main aim in killing Joseph, but that did not mean that overall victory would be theirs.

Not yet.

AN: As always shoutout to Double0Sxvxn for being an awesome Beta and dealing with my bullshit and as always if you enjoyed this but haven't checked out my other work, give them a try you never know you might find something else you like. I'm also on discord now, where I and a bunch of other writers hang out, chat and brainstorm ideas, you just have to copy the link that's in my profile bio if you want to come and hang out with us. Stay safe, stay healthy and have an awesome week

All My Love,

LilDB