How long was it this time? Huh. Well I tried, I really did. I wrote all of this in a span of 2 hours. Yay!

Sometimes, no matter how much you plan it in your mind and recite it as if it were your own, the words don't come and all your are left to is empty gazes and angered expressions.

It was ironic since it seemed that he could never shut up a couple years ago, still hopeful and young. Then sometimes he had wondered what had changed, and then he remembered that too much. The dealings within his mind were never a great place to be these last couple months, or at all it seemed. Time and alcohol hadn't helped like he hoped that they would, and his disappointment bled into everything around him, making the couch he sat on for most days intoxicated with the fumes of his misery.

The first time he try and actually do something about his seething horror of a life, he got electrocuted, which, if it was compared to the rest of his pitiful existence, seemed consistent. It wasn't as if he was planning these encounters with people who wanted to do him harm, but his aura must of plucked them out of the sewers where they had roamed and followed all of his mistakes.

The woman in front of him though, she didn't look like she had crawled out of a sewer, at least not any in New York. Did it once, never again, but that brought back uneasy memories that had nothing to do about the monsters they had fought of the smell. Things he preferred not to think of the remain sane, though, it was conceived that resorting to alcoholism wasn't working out for him very well.

His tongue still tasted like lead. He hated electrocution, it was his least favorite method of death. He had tested out that theory many times, but unfortunately had never gotten to the death part.

"Don't I get a phone call?" He asked suddenly p, interrupting the freighting lady from listing off the very long list of crime that someone by the name of fucking Denver had completed. She stopped and pursed her lips at that, it was the first time he had talked during the interrogation and frankly, he wanted to see how long it took them to relish that his name was in fact not Denver.

"We are not a sanctioned government program, Mr Dougen," she replied in that same voice that was dead and void of tone, but gravelly, deadly. "You're looking at a long time in jail, at this point, I don't believe a phone call will matter."

He sighed with about as much sarcasm as you can place in a sigh, which apparently, was a lot. "That sucks, I have the number for the rejection hotline memorized. Just wanted one good laugh before all my civil liberties are taken away. "

"No amount of joking is going to solve ours or your problems," she returned stiffly, keeping a calm that many others would have lost by now. "Now if you start talking about something other than wanting delay your obvious jail time, that's closer to helping you.

He laughed humorously. "First off, you underestimate my skill of turning everything in my life into a joke, it's never backfired. Second, given that your a special non-government facility, I would have thought you would have had and actual picture of your target."

That made her pause and consider his words. She looked to the double way mirror sharply, glaring as if to say 'who do I have to kill now?' Then that gaze returned to him.

"Explain." She said shortly, obviously not in the mood for more of his joking idle chatter.

So, in favor of not being killed for his insolence. He reached out a hand and the friendliest grin he could muster. It was hard because it had been a while since that grin was genuine and not used to make him look like a lunatic, but he conjured it across his lips.

"Percy Jackson, nice to meet you." She looked down at his hand as if expecting it to explode, with caution and the fear he knew she had even though it did not show in her eyes. He had the feeling that mess-ups like this didn't happen too often. How would he know? He had no prior knowledge on the conviction rate of falsely accused mass murderers and terrorists.

She looked back into his eyes, the slight twinkle he had thought had long been diminished must have taken her aback, though she showed it nowhere. She was trained well, to control her emotions and present them in a terrifying manner. She had mentioned SHEILD earlier. He was in the military for a while but had never heard of them, at least not that he could remember. She had said that they were not government sanctioned though, he had a feeling they had something to do with the New York incident. He had remembered hearing about it on the news. Without a proper view of knowledge, he would put have enough pieces to put together just what exactly they did.

The scary woman, because she had not introduced herself and the description seemed to fit since the first meeting with her had ended in electrocution, gave him a once over that should have been unnoticeable if he wasn't so used to people scrutinizing him. After that brief wordless altercation, she had turned on her heal and left without a word. That left him to sit in the uncomfortable chair at the meal table and tap a tune he couldn't get out of his head on its shiny, scratched surface

He sighed and look at his hands bound in cuffs wth distain. The tightly bound cuff made  his wrist uncomfortable and allowed limited motion. The cuff connected to a metal chain which was welded to the middle of the table. He had seen enough hand cuffs to know how hard they were to undo, and not even in the fun way.

He shook his head, he could just break the chain but that would defeat the purpose of him wanting to get the actual cuff and it would allow the people watching behind the two way mirror of his above normal strength. He vaguely remembered how to pick a lock from the army courses, but they never did handcuffs and most of the brutes could only manage violently kicking in the door.

But he didn't want to break the cuff either, that was rude. Then again, so was falsely accusing someone of terrorism, hitting them on the head with a baton, electrocuting them and cutting off the circulation to that persons hands with the tightest pair of hand cuffs to ever be.

With that, he sighed and dug his fingers under the latch and ripped his arms apart as hard as he could. With the force it took, his wrist nearly popped out of its socket, but thankfully, it didn't and the crack it made was more satisfying than the returning felling to his fingertips. He repeated the action with the other wrist and rubbed at the angry purple marks with self pity and fake hurt.

Tight handcuffs lost their pain when you've been shot, several times.

He stood up without cause, maybe it was just something to do. Scary woman had been gone for at least 10 minutes now, ok well maybe it was a minute and a half but that wasn't the point. She had left had now he was stuck alone with the one person he would rather not be alone with, himself.

He ran a shaky hand through his matted hair. He had let it grow out way to far, not to mention he couldn't remember that last time he had washed it. It wasn't the fist time he was bored, he would live, hopefully.

By the time the scary woman had came back in he had resorted to French braiding his hair, now that it was long enough, he had been informed by a little girl on the street that it would look 'totally awesome' braided. All she did was quirk an eye brow at him, which went higher as she saw the broken cuffs.

"So," she started, sitting back down despite his lack of restraint. "Perseus Jackson."

He cringed, hands in the air, halfway through the hair. "Please, the only people that call me Perseus want to kill me. I would rather not die today if that's ok."

She tilted her head, analytical eyes that made the actions more terrifying than it should have been. Eyes that told him she already knew more about him than he did. "Your statement makes me question how often you are in the position of dying."

"Within the first ten seconds of meeting you, I was being electrocuted." He shot back tying off the braid in the back of his head with his own hair. He stretched his arms out before putting them in his lap and shrugging.

She clicked her tongue and nodded. "Fair point. I'm going to guess the answer is frequently then."

He lift his hand with his shrug this time. "It's either that, or becoming a raging alcoholic. I tried the latter, I failed. Dude named Denver put me in the hospital and killed a lot of fucking people, I wanted a little dick picking revenge." And to find that Norse god man dude and kick his smug pug ass.

"There are many laws in place against against civilian vigilantism." Her voice rose like in a question, a challenge. Well, you never challenge a mentally unstable person, you will loose.

"You already said that you weren't government sanctioned, isn't what your doing vigilantism as well?" He shot back. She gave him a blank stare.

"We could have a talk about the code of laws and ethics, you we could discuss your release or possible incarceration. " she changed the subject, "There is nothing we can prove that you have done based on a few unreliable witness accounts. I already know you would disclose any crimes you have committed, no matter how hard I try. And I'm not allowed to torture a civilian, unfortunately."

"Oh so unfortunate. What if I decided to sew?" He inquired with a cocky grin.

"Sew a secret organization that now has no legal record of your imprisonment."

"Oh so illegal. This is worse that vigilantism, I was traumatized." He faked a high pitch voice and pitifully leaned back in his own chair giggling. He didn't know he could still giggle. That was new.

The scary woman frowned and stood up, he just sagged further in his chair. She was leaving and he hadn't gotten the info he wanted.

"The dude Denver worked for though, he was worse than vigilantism. Is outfit was not only horrendous, but his insult of midgardian was so 1100's AD it hurt." She paused her leaving. She obviously knew the tactic he was playing, but she still. Needed to information.

"I take it you know who this man is?" She sat back down with a sigh, her eyes showing more emotion, even if it was pure exhaustion.

"I have my assumptions, if they are true then I know I'm doomed on my quest for vengeance. Though, fighting gods is something I used to do quite frequently. None of them have been Norse yet." He felt like he was revealing too much information, but it was nice to see the scary lady show some actual emotion.

"Loki, of Asgard." She spoke quietly, that dead tone barely above a whisper. He spread his hands.

"That's the guess." He agreed, sighing.

"Though, he is supposed to be locked in the vaults of Asgard." She let that information slip, purposely, no one trained that well did anything by accident. He shrugged again, seemed like once again, he was doing that a lot.

"He's at trickster god, that's like saying that a spider is trapped in their own webs. Any of the Trickster gods I've meant have an affinity to living up to their name." Her eyebrows rose again.

"And you've met a lot of those?" The way she said it sounded more like a statement then a question.

"It really depends of if you count the numerous amount of that gods sons." He crossed his arms.

"I believe it's time I ask who you are, Mr. Jackson." She leveled her gaze to mine, quite commanding, but I had a lot of practice defying authority.

"It's not my past to tell, I'm afraid. But I will ask you this. Did you think that only the Norse gods decided to stick around?" He grinned again, but this time it had lost some of it friendly nature and edged further to unnerving. The scary woman only showed contemplation.

"I'm afraid that you've sentenced yourself to future questioning Mr. Jackson." Her voice still sounded dangerous, not dangerous like a rabbit running from a fox, but dangerous as a brick wall on the other side of the parking lot. Once small mistake, one wrong turn and you crash and burn.

"Sounds fun." Her lips twitched, if only slightly, an action she had no trouble making look threatening.

Without a word, she stood and turned her back to him, not as a symbol of trust. She didn't trust him not to attack her as she turned her back to him, not with a grin that could do more than hint of his feral nature. No, she turned her back because in her analysis, he was still another man who thought that they were could mitigate her actions. He hadn't proven otherwise yet.

She turned her back to show that she had no fear of him, and that he could attack her all he wanted, she would eventually, without a doubt, posses control.

She felt his eyes on the back of her head she she watched him leave, she felt no malice, but she didn't dare turn her head, feeling like she was Orpheus bringing his dead love back to life.

Percy blinked then slumped in his chair, feeling as though the course of action would not be easy, but by the gods would they be fun.