Hey all! Alright, so most of you probably don't even remember this strange little story you followed, at which I recommend you read the synopsis. FanFiction doesn't notify readers if a chapter is re-uploaded, so you guys should all go check out chapter 1, as well. What was written of this story has been rewritten, and most of the story, with the exception of the last few chapters, has been pre-written. That doesn't mean, however, that you guys can't review with suggestions since I can easily go back and edit it.

This story is going to be updated every Sunday, so you guys don't have to freak out about update schedule. Also, you should all know that this story had some contributions from my friend ell13, and she pretty much co-authored this chapter, so kudos to her.

With all that out of the way, I hope you guys enjoy, and stay awesome!

-ROC6

It felt almost as if Percy's head had been bashed against concrete then had his eyes glued shut. Knowing his luck, he wasn't ruling either out of the question. He pried his eyes open, only to slam them shut again when he was greeted by blinding lights, leaving him to slowly expose his eyes to the brightness of wherever he was, trying to clear the spots from his gaze.

Percy began to be vaguely aware of his surroundings. He was in a room a room he didn't recognize, lying on a rough, scratchy bed. He took notice of a low murmuring about him, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly where it was coming from or decipher the words. When his last memories began to slowly drift back to him, Percy was abruptly flooded by his own questions. He had been taken captive. Where was he now? Where was Annabeth? Did his mom know what happened to him? And if those people had brought him here, what had they done to Annabeth? Who were "those people," and what were their intentions? What were they doing to him? What were they doing to Annabeth? Annabeth.

The room he was in was plain, with minimal furnishing. There was a mirror on one wall and cameras in every corner, leaving him to idly wonder if whoever had brought him here would even watch him use the tiny toilet in the corner of the room.

"Annabeth," he croaked out, his voice hoarse and scratchy from disuse. The muttering he had heard before finally paused for a moment, and he heard the sound of rustling: pencil on paper. Then, the conversation continued as if nothing had happened, and it annoyed Percy.

"Annabeth," he growled more insistently, and the chatter came to an indefinite end.

"He's awake," a high, airy voice muttered, a strong Southern accent present in each syllable.

Percy listened for a few seconds to people busily shuffling around, until another voice-a man-spoke out, "Should we call in Dr. Baker now?"

"No," the Southern woman replied sternly, "Just wait. Let him recover; regain his senses." Percy was perplexed by this comment, and quite anxious as well. Maybe you would say that to a person who had fainted, but he had been tranquilized. What were they planning?

Alas, after a few more silent seconds, the spots began to clear. He could hear keenly now. The blood began to rush through his veins, and his legs and arms-which had been numb to a point of immobilization-were now functioning, albeit sluggishly. With some effort, he tried to lift his head up, but a hand gripped his shoulder lightly, and gently pushed him back down.

"No, no," said the same Southern woman, "You still need to rest, sweetie. Doctor's orders." With his vision back, Percy decided to observe who this person was. In another world, this woman could've been one of Rachel Dare's relatives: she had vivid red hair, though dyed, and freckles speckled her face. However, there was a defining feature that alienated her from Rachel completely. In this woman's eyes was a steely glint, devoid of sympathy, which showed that despite her honeyed tones and familial nicknames, she did not care to be here.

"Annabeth," Percy repeated once more, adamantly. This time, the woman's composure crumbled, and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head emphatically, and threw her hands up into the air in exasperation.

"Yes, yes, she's fine!" the lady snapped, "You'll see her soon enough." Then, remembering all her coworkers and her reputation, her expression softened, reshaping itself as fluidly as an artist shapes clay. "She'll be okay, sugar. But for now, we just want to help you." She put on a fake smile, showing all of her straight, pearly white teeth. Percy decided he hated her. Help him? If she truly wanted to "help" him, she would answer all of his questions nice and easy, let him see his girlfriend, and wave the two of them goodbye from this godsforsaken...whatever this was.

"Annabeth," Percy said again, like a mantra, "Where is she?" Southern Lady helpfully ignored him and picked at her cuticles. Fine then, Percy thought bitterly, so you won't tell me.

In an act of admittedly petty and childish but extremely satisfying revenge, Percy bombarded the woman with several dozens of questions. All to which, she responded, with only minor variations, "We're just trying to help you, sweetie."

"Where am I?"

"We're just trying to help you, sweetie."

"Why am I here?"
"All we want is to make sure you're 'kay, hon?"
"Where is Annabeth?"

"Calm down, sugar. Everything's gonna be okay."

"Why won't you answer my questions?"

"Shh...just breathe in...and breathe out. I know it seems a bit scary now, but we only want to help you."

"What is the meaning of life?"
"Just get your rest, son."

"Am I a flamingo?"

"..."

Realizing that his provocation wasn't feeling as gratifying anymore, and was in fact starting to backfire, Percy's frustration began to swell within him. What kind of sick nursery did they drop him in? With each response, he became more irritated. Fisting his hands, and pushed himself upright to look that lady in the eye; regretting it slightly when he felt his head whir. But he couldn't stop now.

"Listen, lady," he grumbled through gritted teeth, "As helpless as you think I am, I'm sorry to say that I don't need help, much less your help. I just want to live a normal life with my girlfriend, then all of this happens, and-ugh! You're not making life much easier. Even if I did have a problem, I figure you wouldn't understand. I've faced more trials at my age than you probably will your whole life. Do you want to make my life worse? Because I wouldn't necessarily consider that 'helping!' So could you most kindly answer my questions, show me Annabeth, and the exit?"

For the umpteenth time in the last few minutes, the room went silent. With an expression of dumb, wide-eyed shock, Southern Lady almost looked like she was going to comply. Then, behind the lady, where the other people had just been milling about the room, the unpleasant comments sparked up again, with his outburst fueling even more negativity to their words.

"Yep, it's another crazy."

"Uncooperative."

"Anger management issues."

"Former depression, possibly still present. Signs of PTSD..."

"Possibly abusive."

"Denial."

Oh...my outburst...this was a mistake. Yes, what a lovely thought. That this could all be just a simple error. After his rant, Percy had exhausted his limited energy. This is all a mistake. A dream, or a vision, maybe. He collapsed back down on his bed, and was helpless when a needle pierced his arm. This is a mistake, he thought with a sleepy grin, then everything went back to darkness.