Chapter 4
3rd person of Lyra Italic underline means someone else's thoughts
-=Day Twenty-two=-
"Like that helps! What's the point of being able to read minds if all you do is play mind games?" Percy snarled. Pain erupted behind her eyes, but she forced her expression into plain anger before he could see. He stalked away from her, a black light surrounding his entire body. With every movement, his thoughts darkened and began to shout with anger and pain, almost drowning out everyone else's movements and thoughts. He grabbed Michael by the shirt.
Idiot kid. What's he doing? The guard blocking the door to the hallway noticed Percy's irateness and narrowed his eyes. He moved within his personal cloud, a deep grey, and rested his hand on his gun, jabbing a dinger at a fuming Percy, "Watch your temper, boy."
"What ever you say, boss." Percy sneered at the man.
The world erupted in color, the room exploding in cacophony. Lyra barely stopped herself from clutching her head in pain. Percy's aura and the guard's mixed and clashed as they grappled out of the room, Percy angrily forced into obedience.
Now shown an example of how to handle the prisoners, the guards shuffled Lyra and and others out of the recreation room and back towards their room. Lyra jumped ahead of the crowd, complying simply with the orders, smiling coyly as the door shut before her.
She watched and waited as a few straggling demigods lumbered past her window. Through he small airplane-like window, Lyra couldn't see much, but she was aware that there were no guards posted directly in front. Carefully opening her mind, the world shifted and appeared in a ghostly, clouded vision through her mind's eye. The world was black, the walls an invisible barrier, the underground facility large and expansive.
A few meters to the left, a harsh, red figure burned with annoyance, specifically positioned before Percy's door. Over thirty golden, light and innocent minds wept in their small cells. Lyra could see every small movement they had chosen to make, every small thought and tear that rolled from their mind. Only one light burned brighter than the rest; as Percy was charging at his door repeatedly and screaming curses at the prison. But with every passing second, his mind calmed, and his voice quieted and grew less furious.
Lyra. Lyra, I'm sorry for snapping at you.
She ignored his apology and focused on the fact that no guard could see her in her room. Opening her eyes and gracefully flying to the diminutive cot in the corner, she slid her finger into her bed where Lyra had made a slit in the lining. A plastic ID badge slid out. The badge was flat and rectangular, about three inches by one inch. There was a minuscule picture of the guard she had stolen it from, a magnetic strip lining both sides of the badge. There were no scanners or number pads for the lock, only a tiny slit in the wall by the side of the door. Thinking that was a good a chance as any, Lyra hovered the key in front the slot.
Forty more minutes of this stupid watch. Why can't Smith and Jones use cameras like normal people?
His thoughts had came from a few feet left of the door, and he had nudged something inside his shirt before deciding not to. The perfect one to strike.
She sucked in her breath and unlocked the door. It opened mechanically to its fullest. Lyra felt the guards confusion and his thought process of moving to see why the door opened. He stepped into the doorway the exact moment Lyra had kicked her foot to the height of his head. Without any sign of assault, he collapsed to the ground with a hollow crack. Lyra waisted no time and laid him against a wall, digging through his shirt to find the canister—a tiny bottle full of some kind of spirit.
"Shank oo very much," she mumbled as she poured it into his mouth. The guard coughed but swallowed the majority of the alcohol. She wrapped his hand around the bottle and pushed it back into his jacket. Stepping back to admire her handy work, it looked like he passed out trying to hide his liquor.
Lyra leered at him and snagged his keys. Closed eyes and fully open mind, a little pathway of footsteps lit the way to the empty offices like a treasure map. Calder or Jones / Smith, she debated. An abrupt decision brought her to the office of agents since Lyra had been unable to see anything of them. Up until meeting those two, Lyra could "see" people before actually visually regarding them. A cloud, or aura, surrounded people and when Lyra came close to the person's mind or entered the fog, she could see and hear everything. But not Jones and Smith. It was like they weren't real or living.
Lyra jogged to her right, not before glancing into Percy's room. He caught sight of her, confusion taking charge in his mind over the dulling anger. He ran to the door, mouthing something, but without venturing into his room, Lyra didn't understand what he said. She gave him a quick look and ran down the hall. She knew that since she couldn't see the two agents coming that sneaking into their office was the riskiest, but without risk there was no escape.
There weren't any moving patrols so Lyra avoided being seen for the most part. Her mind-wander wasn't fool proof but after training and developing the Sight, she had learned to block out pointless meander and only glean the relevant facts. Still some thoughts and memories seeped past her barriers and gave her a headache, but most colors and vibrations were useful to know.
The guard's keys didn't work on the door to Jones and Smith's office. Lyra stuck the card into the hole and kicked the door forcefully. The door sat there mockingly and unmoving. Lyra swore, visually scanning the room. She knew there was a safe in the room, files and information on the operation that was happening.
But Lyra was running out of time and finally focused on figuring out the pathway to Doc Calder's room. She fingered the keys, choosing one at random then another until the key fit perfectly and opened the lock. Lyra slipped in and flicked open the mini fridge door after shoving the stool under the office door's handle. A soft glow emitted from the fridge, enough for her to see what she was doing but not enough to be seen from the hallway as significant. Hopefully.
There were files for hundreds of demigods, some that were already apprehended and some that were missing in action. But each one was detailed to the current estimated location. Lyra sought after her file, which was under the T's. She pulled it out, mostly out of curiosity, and set it on the floor. As curious as she was, information about her wasn't new and didn't tell her about the facility's plans. The cabinets were over stalked with files, so much so that they were barely openable. But none of the files were helpful. They only talked of the specific demigod and their abilities. Frustrated, she threw one folder aside, catching it at the last moment.
"Brother is always watching," she whispered as she cleaned away the mess. Lyra opened all of the file cabinets and replaced the files she had spooned through. The drawer marked medical caught on something, preventing it from opening all the way. She pulled harder. It opened half way then stopped. A smile pulled at the corners of her lips, and Lyra tore out the folders in the drawer. The names were insignificant and unimportant.
She reached in. It was empty, but there was about an inch between the floor and the bottom of the drawer so she ran her fingers along the bottom. A small switch clicked as her finger rested on it. A fat folder fell from the top of medical, the file marked with a black strip. With sweaty palms, she opened it.
Results of medical examinations were laid out first, speculations on how to reproduce the demigod genes or strengths. Pictures of weapons and tactics designed for specific demigods. There were weapons that pressed the advantage of children of Ares, voice manipulators for charm speakers, plans for weapons for the Athena and Hephaestus kids to create, and others. There were training orders in fighting, covert standings, and killing. The reason for why the government was so interested in demigods.
"They want to make an army." The door to the medical office rattled. The outline of a man shadowed the foggy window. He turned to the side, flashing his profile into the office.
"Hey, Roger, help me get the door? Seems to be stuck."
Lyra threw the file back into medical along with the rest of the files and knocked the stool out from the handle. She kicked the fridge shut and fell onto the chair, shutting her eyes seconds before the door crashed open.
"Stuck? What you—" the second guard, Roger, caught sight of Lyra. She hoped her breathing looked rhythmical to their unadjusted eyes. Roger unclipped something from his belt and nudged her leg. "Hey, wake up, kid."
She blinked a couple times and tried to act groggily.
"Whas goin'n?" Lyra slurred.
Roger, a middle aged man with needy black eyes, narrowed his eyes at me.
"What are you doing in here?" He held his gun loosely in one hand. His partner stood in front of the door, blocking most of the light. "Lights out was half an hour ago."
Lyra swallowed, her mind whirring fast.
"Doc wanted me over night. Some sleep pattern test." She reached out with her mind, again the world falling into a dream-like cloud. Doc wanted her. She almost believed she pulled off the lie, the minds of the guards moving in unison... Liz didn't come in today. He moved rapidly, quick enough to catch Lyra off guard. His gun connected with her cheek, sending Lyra crashing to the floor.
She woke with a migraine. Groaning as she rubbed her cheek, Lyra pushed herself up. The room was made of a white soft cushion, tall enough for her to stand and wide enough for her to lie down and barely touch the opposite wall, a square window on the door. There was no bed.
"The stalks." Great. She slammed back against the wall and sank to the floor.
This little piggy went to the market. This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef. This little piggy had none. And this little piggy is going to kill everyone in the prison all the way home.
Now, that's not very nice. Lyrafelt Clarisse stiffen. The daughter of Ares jumped to her feet and turned in circles. She said something vocally. I'm your new next door neighbor. I have to admit, you're idea of fighting your way out of this place was good— brazen and foolish, but good.
Clarisse continued to speak aloud, but even without Lyra's migraine she couldn't understand what she said. I can't hear you, idiot. Just think it.
Who are you?
You don't remember me? I'm hurt. We met the first day you came here. Also I'm a little shocked you haven't come back from the stalks. It's been nine days.
I keep fighting them.
Lyra snorted and rolled her eyes. Leave it to a daughter of Ares to be as idiotic as possible.
What's your name, bitch? Clarisse snarled.
Lyra. You may remember my eyes. Most people do. I've been told their as beautiful as a sapphire and a jade.
Great. I'm stuck down here and you're all I have to talk to?
Just shut up and let me talk. I know what they want. I told her about the file I saw, the reason they abducted us. We need to make sure they don't get it. Comprendo?
Do you have an idea how to get out?
Stop fighting them. Percy and the others have already calculated the guard shifts. Smith and Jones show randomly, but with enough of us we could take 'em.
Well that's all good, but you're forgetting one thing.
What's that?
You're stuck down here!
Leave that to me. When you get my signal, fight. Lyra closed her eyes, groaning slightly from all the noise and flashing colors surrounding her. Random thoughts shattered through her weakened barrier, and she had no choice but to completely lock her mind.
Lyra dreamt of a boy and a dog. The boy, with long black hair and a black aviator jacket, sat atop an enormous doberman. It kept its nose to the ground, sniffing and pointing, barking roughly when she excitedly smelt something.
"What is it, girl? Do you smell him?" The boy slid off of the dog and landed lithely. At his side, he held a great black sword, his black, swirling aura centering around the dark blade. Although he couldn't have been older than fifteen, he was so old, like the spirits who have lived for millennia without aging
Lyra's astral body stood feet away from hiM, following his real-life movements. He walked along his giant dog, kicking rocks and whatever rested in his way.
"It's been nearly two weeks, Mrs. O'Leary. I don't know where the Hell they'd have taken him."
Mrs. O'Leary humphed and whined ruefully. The boy rubbed her side and looked at the sky, the sun barely a sliver on the horizon. "I'd better hurry, shouldn't I, girl?"
O'Leary plopped to the ground in answer. She immediately started to snore, earning a small chuckle from the boy. He traipsed the empty park, occasionally tapping the ground with his boots until he found a satisfying patch, and raised his arms. He clapped his hands once and the earth crumbled away to a small grave-like hole in the ground.
He began chanting in an ancient tongue and threw in a packet of coca-cola and cole-cuts. Fog began cascading out of the grave, shadows converged around it, and shapes formed into blurry humans, much like the form Lyra saw when using her mind's eye—although with less definition. The boy flicked his obsidian sword. The effect was immediate. The shades hissed and writhed away from the steaming, black blade.
"I call forth J. Edgar Hoover. Only he may drink the sacrifice."
The shades fell back, growling at the command. Only one ghost didn't move.
"Are you John Edgar Hoover?"
The ghost made an attempt to nod. The boy lowered the sword and allowed the ghost to drink. The shade soon became more human-like and a fulfilled body in place of his ghostly shape.
"What is it that you command, Lord Nico?" He hissed.
"I called you earlier."
"I believe so." Hoover said nonchalantly, inspecting his nails.
"Why didn't you come?" Nico scowled as Hoover shrugged. "Whatever. I need to find someone. He was taken by government men. Other demigods have gone missing too, a few spirits reported seeing men wearing blue gloves. Where would the government have taken lots of children? They'd be somewhere private and big. Probably isolated," Nico listed.
"What do I get out of it? I'm dead. Why should I care about your missing friends?" Hoover looked at his nail beds, pretending to file them. Nico snarled grabbed Hoover's jacket and held the blade to the ghost's throat.
"Tell me or go to Tartarus."
Hoover gave Nico a sharp smile. "I seem to have remembered. Oh yes, it's coming back to me. Agent operatives. Nasty, trained things. They have been specifically trained for unorthodox missions. I believe they have no emotions, removed and all. As for where they are. I wouldn't know. I made secret bases all over North America. Some even in Central America."
Nico snarled released his grip on the ghost's clothing. He clearly realized he wasn't going to get a straight answer from Hoover and waved away the ghost and the other shades that still congregated around the grave.
"You're released from your duty, John Edgar Hoover."
The ghosts dissipated into nothing but a slight mist over the dirt ground. Nico ran a hand through his charcoal hair.
"Where are you, Percy?"
Lyra tried to call out to Nico. He knows Percy. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. The dog, Mrs. O'Leary perked her ears and looked straight at Lyra's astral form. She barked to get the attention of her master. Nico noticed but interpreted it falsely.
"What is it girl? Do you smell him?"
Lyra kept trying to scream the same thing over and over again. She picked up a rock and hurled it at him. Army! They want to make a bloody army!
She was screaming it so loudly, she startled herself out of the dream. Her voice was raw from screaming. The white room was hot from her tossing and turning. "Army."
Lyra guessed it was a day later, although, like always, she couldn't be sure. The guard who had been with Roger fetched her from the cell and brought her to the Doc's office. Calder sat on the stool, tight lipped and angry. She told the guard, Todd, to stay in the room with her and Lyra and ordered the girl to sit on the patient's chair.
"I heard you broke into my room?"
"I had a headache," Lyra said with a grin.
"What were you looking for?"
"I prefer Tylenol but any sort of painkiller would have done. Actually, I still have a bit of one. You couldn't show me where the pills are, could you?"
Calder slammed her hand on the table beside her. "If you don't tell me what you were looking for, I will take drastic measures to find out what."
Lyra pretended to gulp. She knew the doctor was light-hearted, much softer than the guards and the Blue hands. Calder's mind was repeatedly apologizing to the world and the children who were imprisoned. Lyra knew the doctor wouldn't do anything more than isolation.
"My file. I wanted to know what you had on me."
Calder paled slightly, her eyes flashing to the drawer. A tepid blue surrounded the doctor, again repetitively thinking of the children. The test files. She—didn't... "And did you find anything interesting?"
Lyra shook her head. "The guards came before I could even open the cabinet."
Calder breathed a sigh of relief and nodded to the guard. Guard Todd grabbed Lyra's arm, heaving her out of the office and to the Cafeteria room. The thirty prisoners all stared at her when she was brought in. Probably the splotchy bruise on my cheekbone, Lyra smiled. She wrenched free of the vice grip, rambled over to the line, and filled a tray. Lyra prepared herself for the indescribably painful migraine that was about to ensue in the next few minutes and allowed her mind to drift to every mind. A few people stiffened from the contact, but the others who had already felt Lyra's presence welcomed the touch.
Are you ready? She whispered to Percy.
He nodded imperceptibly.
I told Clarisse to be ready for the signal. We just need to get it to her.
"What signal?" He asked over a bite of eggs.
Think of something.
He paused, confused.
"You gonna eat that?" Lyra picked up Percy's apple and, without a moment's hesitation, hurled it at a guard when she knew none of them were looking. Percy dropped his fork and stared at her with disbelief.
"Which one of you rats threw that apple?" The unfortunate guard yelled.
He glared accusingly at the room. All demigods were silent with wide eyes. The guard sauntered through the tables and waved his nightstick around, slowly staring into the eyes of anyone who would meet his own.
Slowly, Lyra raised her hand, pointing across from her at Percy. The guard bolted over, slamming Percy's head onto the table then heaving him up and out of the room within seconds. That was the only convenient thing about the guards: as long as they got to blame someone, they didn't care who actually did it.
Lyra waited, watching Percy vanish to the many floors below, before beckoning a second guard, Roger, over. Curiously and perplexed, he walked over and bent down to meet her at eye level.
"This is for last night," she whispered and then proceeded to smashing the tray over his head. She jumped to her feet and brought her fist into across cheek. To the entire room, Lyra demanded, "Well? Why is everyone still standing here?"
In one giant wave, the prisoners screamed and rushed the remaining guards. Their faces were a mask of shock, disbelief that their prisoners would rebel against their masters. One brave guard tried to draw his taser but was prevented by three ten year olds tackling him to the ground. Another gave up on the idea of using his equipment and believed he could take down thirty kids with his fists. He lasted longer than the man with the taser but was felled all the same.
"Go! Run and find a way to the surface!" Lyra screamed while dislodging Roger's taser from his belt. "Oh, and if you see a guard—end him," she said, her face inches from the dazed eyes of Roger. His eyes widened fractionally, understanding flickering through the fog of his mind.
Lyra drove the taser into his neck and jumped away before too much current ran through his blood. She didn't wait to see his fate in the hands of the other demigods and instead lead a charge into the hall, in time to see a flood of guards swarming out of a left corridor. In their hands were loaded firearms, not sedatives or tasers. Guns. They saw Lyra and the other demigods and open fired.
Luckily, the guards had not seen the small group of demigods behind them. They, who had trained at Camp Half-Blood for over three years, easily skewed the guards's aim and redirected their guns toward the roof.
Lyra smiled at them, taking care to scan the hallways before moving on. In every direction, teenagers and children confronted their tormentors and struck back with ferocity and skill, overwhelming them.