Chào các bạn! Vì nhiều lý do từ nay Truyen2U chính thức đổi tên là Truyen247.Pro. Mong các bạn tiếp tục ủng hộ truy cập tên miền mới này nhé! Mãi yêu... ♥

Plans

Percy's POV:

"Good morning sir. Mr. Parker has asked me to inform you that you are wanted in the kitchen for a morning briefing." A voice said in the single most British accent I'd ever heard. If I'd heard that voice before I'd have remembered it. 

Maybe I was still half asleep, but I would have sworn that I was the only one in the over elaborate room I'd been shown to the night before.

"Sir, Mr. Parker has asked me to inform you that you are wanted in the kitchen." The voice repeats, definitely more annoyed this time. However, this time I'm almost certain that there is nobody in the room. It's sort of insane how little that freaks me out. Because of course there's a disembodied voice with a British accent talking to me in the morning telling me to go to a briefing in a kitchen full of superheroes. Because this is my life. So I do the reasonable thing; I talk to the bodiless voice. Personally I feel that this is the most reasonable reasonable thing I've done in a while.

"If you tell me where the kitchen is I would be more than happy to go there." I grin at the end of my sentence (see, I am friendly), forgetting that the voice without a body does not have a body and as such most likely doesn't care whether or not I smile.

"If you will follow the blinking lights I will direct you the the kitchen sir." The voice (which certainly lacks a body) tells me. His voice isn't robotic or emotionless, but it isn't quite human either.

I start walking before thinking that maybe I should respond. "Okay. I'll do that bodiless dude." As soon as I say it I realize that whatever this voice is it might not appreciate being called bodiless dude.

"Although I am indeed bodiless I do have a name." The voice sounds almost amused.

"Oh, well, um, what is it?" I try not to blush in embarrassment but it's way to late for that. I am bright red. On the bright side (other than my face that is, and speaking symbolically and realistically my face isn't bright in any way other than it's current color) bodiless dude is, well, bodiless, so he can't see my face. I think.

"My name in Jarvis. I am Mr. Stark's artificial intelligence." The bodiless voice, Jarvis, answers my question before I can ask it. I'm about to ask if he's like Festus before  realize that he probably doesn't know who Festus is, and as such doesn't know if he's at all like Fetus. 

"Huh." I try not to think of Leo. Of how he and Stark could be brothers. Of how maybe they really are. Having a half-blood run a giant mechanical company wouldn't surprise anyone, especially if he was a son of Hephaestus. And Stark seems seriously ADHD. 

"Welcome to the kitchen sir." Jarvis says, and if he did have a body he'd probably be giving a really butlery smile. 

"Thanks Jarvis." I'm not sure where to aim my comment so it just sort of floats into oblivion. 

"Morning Percy." Peter looks wide awake, unlike literally everyone else here.

"If this is what you call morning." Stark is here, and so is Bruce. Steve however is conspicuously absent.

"It's 7:00. I let you sleep in." If I didn't know better I would have said Peter smiled.

"You keep telling yourself that. Where's Robby." Because why not use an amazingly annoying nickname?

"Captain Rogers," Peter puts something of an emphasis on these words, as though I need reminding, "went for his morning run. I could have had him invite you but he isn't a great running partner."

"Sounds like there's an interesting story there. However, right now there's a more pressing matter at hand- breakfast." Another grin, this time to a real person. 

"Good luck finding anything worth eating. Between the good ol' Capsical and Peter here there's barely any food let for the rest of us. I'm being eaten out of house and home." Despite the almost earnestness in Stark's voice he's joking. It would be very difficult to eat a billionaire out of house and home.

"Help yourself to anything you'd like." Bruce smiles diplomatically. "There should be some cereal in the cupboard to the left."

Seeing as I probably would get no more advice than that and the fact that the food could quite possibly disappear quickly now that the location had been revealed I rush to it. Also, I'm really hungry. 

The room is quiet as I eat, my bites unnaturally loud. Finally I scrape the last of the whole grain, ultra health, very old, cereal from my bowl. Obviously nobody else was hungry enough to eat it. Believe me when I say it was worse than it looked, which seems impossible yet somehow is true.

"Alright Pysco Killer Kid,"Stark starts.

"My name's Percy you know." I correct him for the first time.

"Alright Percy," Although Stark sounds a little annoyed I get the weirdest feeling that he's actually happy, "So I know you said a regular pocket knife but that's dumb so I made you an almost regular pocket knife." Not like that defeats the whole point. Still, I can't bring myself to say no, to bring more pain even in the smallest of senses.

"What does this special pocket knife do?"

"I'll show you." Stark looks like a little kid whose been told Christmas has come early. From his pocket he draws an extremely average pocket knife, not brand new, not super old. No visible alterations, nothing that, at first glance, would kill Peters aunt. Stark tosses it to me.

"Looks pretty unaltered." I say what he wants to hear.

"Unfold it." Stark is almost bouncing with excitement. I do. It's one of those that all you have to do is push a button and it sort of pops open. However, this is a pretty regular feature. Lets just say that I don't think Stark would waste his time on something so simple.

"Now push the button again." Stark gives a looks that is down right mischievous, which is saying something seeing as I've been personal friends with the children of Hermes. I push the button again. 

The knife doesn't shoot lasers. The knife doesn't blow up in my hand. The knife doesn't release some sort of killing gas. The knife does not set off some hidden alarm (as far as I can figure). 

But the knife does do something else, something more useful than lasers and bombs and killing gas and hidden alarms combined. To me at least. Because the knife somehow, in a way I couldn't begin to understand, expands. It lengthens. The handle lightens and suddenly, before I could even blink, I'm holding what could only be described a sword. Long, sturdy, sharp, deadly. Almost as balanced as Riptide, but not Riptide. It's a sword, but without all the memories. Without memories. Here, away from the memories, away from the past, away from what made me into what I never wanted to become, here, maybe, I can become someone who doesn't need to lead. Someone who can sleep at night without wondering. Wondering if I had done something differently, if I had cut that cursed piece of spider webbing if Annabeth wouldn't have had to fall as well. If I'd been quicker or stronger or braver or more if things would have been different. If things could have been different. 

Everything here is new, untouched by the cold grip of what I had to become to survive. Maybe here I can once again become someone who can stay in the light, someone whose decisions don't keep them up at night, someone who knows how to do the right thing. Some who has my knowledge without my memories. Some days I almost wish Hera would take my memories again, but this time through them into oblivion forever and ever. Even if I never saw my mother again. Even if I never saw Annabeth again. Even if I never saw Chiron or Tyson or Hazel or Frank or Jason or Piper or Grover or Paul or Nico or Reyna or my father or even Peter ever again. Even if I never say the face of a loved one ever again maybe it would be worth it. There have been good times, eating blue candy with my mother, the kiss with Annabeth in the lake, when I was made Praetor, the moment when the Argo II descended on New Rome, Leo constantly making simply horrible jokes, every memory with Annabeth in it. But does the good really outweigh the bad? The hurt? Calypso, Lukes betrayal, Silenas betrayal, Beckendorf dying, the war, Silena dying, Luke dying, falling down the pit, watching Annabeth suffer, the spiders, the monsters, Bob, losing Leo. Can all the good in the world outweigh all the pain? Every good memory is only made good in contrast. Why do people ever try? Why even care? This fragile world isn't fragile. It's broken. It's shattered into a million pieces and no one can ever pick them up again. So what's the point in trying?

A/N

Sorry. 






But be happy! Radi has almost talked me out of killing a pivotal character!

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen247.Pro