Part I: Aberration

Chapter VI: To

My eyes flutter open.

For a moment, I allow my self to panic, being in an unknown situation. But then I steel my nerves, I've been in much worse situation, and frankly preserving my life isn't currently on my top ten list.

I'm strapped to a bed (titanium cuffs) and reclined at about a 70 degree angle. I curl my fist, feeling the darts shift mechanically and know they haven't completely disabled me. I also feel my broken wrist grown in protest and know they also haven't attempted to heal me. I do give them brownie points when I notice both my head and shoulder are bandaged, but they've left my swollen broken leg alone.

I test the cuffs and I'm delighted to find that they're a higher technology that melds to the shape of whatever position your hand's in.

Twisting my hand I curl my left hand fingers over each other, and painfully work my ring finger under the cuff, which slowly gives way. I rapidly start spinning my finger around my arm underneath the cuff, before lightning fast jamming my arm farther into the cuff, so it reaches about a centimeter from my elbow.

With my now-practically-free left arm, I slide their four fingers under the right hand cuff, and pull.

It indents in the shape of my fingers, and I rapidly pull my right arm out of the cuff. I repeat the process with my left, and then undo my waist belt.

I remain siting on the bed, in the possibility it has a weight sensor on it. I look at the wall then, right at the picture of a polar bear eating a seal.

The irony does not escape me.

I scoot up on the bed to get closer to the picture and study it, surprised that my reflection shows well in the slick glass.

Then I think about double mirrors and know that's what I'm dealing with.

Typical. They'd want to study me like a bug under a microscope. They'd want to know how a nineteen year old managed to take out most of the Avengers.

I clear my voice, before wincing as I accidentally put pressure on my poisoned and broken leg as I draw back. "Hey." I say, "I know you're watching me."

When nothing happens I continue, "Hey, I know it was you, Fury, who gave me those directions to 'Shield's' lab. I should have known it was you, seeing as only someone actually in Shield would know where one of your labs are." I realize I'm babbling, but I don't know what else to do but to draw them out if I can't go to them.

"You wore a pretty convincing eyeball."

This time I hear a short, trying-to-smother-it-as-soon-as-possible laugh reverberate in the second room.

"See, I'm funny," I grin like a maniac. "So I'm guessing you don't know my name, but that's okay. Most people just refer to me as the Jinx."

No more reaction, I change tactics, "If you don't come out, and I know you have questions, I'm going to mentally start the bomb that your best technicians are trying to disable right now."

I grin in my eyes mind, they didn't realize it, but my unconscious state automatically triggers the bomb I carried in my pack. Without my mental urging, it explodes after twenty-four hours. I have no worries of them disabling it, their technicians aren't nearly as skilled as I am.

There is no reply, but that doesn't surprise me. With my two fingers I touch my right right temple, with a flick of thought I switch the bomb (currently with 13 hours left) to a ten second detonation time.

"You have ten seconds."

Like a mechanical light switch, a secret door opens with a sound of pistons moving. I sweep my eyes over the figure that comes in, Fury. The door immediately shuts behind him.

"Turn your timer off." He directs me, like a director. (Director Fury... Haha...)

I pause it, but make sure it's near if I need to activate it again.

He gets closer to me, and stares right in my eyes, and impressive feat. "What's you're name?"

"My most common pseudonym is Flynn Rider, maybe you've heard of me?" I arch an eyebrow and look serious. Then add, "But I also go by Jesse James, and occasionally the Easter Bunny."

Director Fury is not amused.

"You have ten seconds before I break your hand." He jerks down his hand into his pocket.

I look subconsciously at my hand, and wonder if it would even break with all the metal implants and braces in it. My wrist did, but it also has 30% less metal than my hand. I could go either way, surprise me.

I lift my hands in surrender (mock surrender) and open my mouth to begin talking.

In the .8003 (Yes, I timed it) seconds it takes me to open my mouth, Fury whips out his hand, takes a step closer to me shoves a pill down my throat gently... — not.

Before I can spit it out, one of his hands covers my mouth, and the other pinches my nose. Unfortunately for me, the pill dissolves seconds after being places in my mouth, and I have no choice but to expect it.

While my lungs start burning from the combined lack of oxygen and a dry powder sliding done my throat, my eyes start shifting though last few milliseconds of my memory.

I internally grimace as I realize a tell when Fury put his hand into his pocket.

I break away from his hold with a sudden flux of power, "Well," I start telling Fury, "No doubt that was," I run my tongue over my teeth, "A hint of sage, tansy, and rosemary, combined in a dissolvable pill wrapping that also includes the nectar of Asgardian Rose, which boiled in alcohol produces as truth telling serum."

Fury brick like face doesn't change, but the lines around his eyes grow ever so slightly tighter.

"What's your — " he starts, but I cut him off as quickly as I can.

"I would have added honey suckle, pressed Destonia seeds, and maybe thyme to the drug, though, to induce stimulation of the frontal cortex of the brain into submission."

This time Fury's whole eye twitches. "What's your name?" He suddenly says, faster than I can think of another witty response.

I hesitate, and hesitate, but the pressure on the base of my skull keeps growing and growing until finally, (when I realize that a cracked skull isn't worth giving my name) I give in.

"My name is Steward Brian." I say, wincing. Seaweed Brain? Get it? I'm just full of incredibly accurate puns today.

Fury whips out a small tablet an furiously types on it, "That's funny, out of the fifty-eight males in America named Steward Brian, none of them have you finger print, your eye color, or your relative age. In fact, almost all of them work a minimum wage job and are over the age of thirty-six."

"So, what's your name all nicknames aside."

Stall... Stall... Stall...

That's all I can think right now, they can't know my name, none of them. Not when I've tried so hard to completely erase my humanity from any database or knowledge.

But the serum has it's hold on me, and my nausea increases. The overwhelming urge to just give in... Obey my master...

No, don't give in, don't. Will power! (Green lantern, lol) This is what you trained for!

I promised myself — never again would I let something or someone control me...

No no no no no no...

"My name..." I can faintly here myself saying, hesitating with raw anger in my voice, "My name is Percy Jackson..."

Her cold eyes meet his, sharp, defiant, silently daring him to argue, protest - anything.

"I did what I thought was right." She flats, unconvinced.

"You're a monster." He says, his eyes full of betrayal.

She snorts, "Like you would have done any different. They threatened to kill him!"

"Then he should have died! Better a noble death than a betrayal of someone who trusted you!" His eyes flash dangerously, but unmistakable hurt is evident.

Then she brings up an unspeakable, "It it was her life, you would have betrayed me."

This breaks him, and a snarling taunt flashes on his face, "I would have rather die then betray either of you! You are a coward, and I know she would choose her death over this sick imprisonment you've put myself in."

Then he says words he's never said before, "I hate you."

Even she stops and stands still for a moment, her eyes wide as a glaciers. He can evidently see her eyes start watering, but his resolve doesn't weaken.

"You're a monster," he spits, and is rewarded when she takes her celestial bronze knife and whips it across his back — twice.

Blood oozes like a waterfall, each patter on to the ground is an addition to the collection of his already spilled dried blood on the concrete. He holds back a scream though, determined to not show weakness.

She looks at him, repulsed, "The vote has been cast. You have been sentenced to death in three days time." She sweeps out of the room, leaving only broken misery and another emotion he can hardly understand.

In three days time, he's going to be killed by Zeus.

In three days time, he's going to try his hardest to kill him.

In three days time, his relief will be the most pleasant thing that's ever happened.

For death, is the only thing he wishes for.

Because the eyes of those who think he has betrayed them kills his souls more than death by an electrical current ever could.

A new Percy is in control now, and death is a long welcome friend.

A way to live — a way to die.