In the wake of the discovery of Inhumans, Agent, or rather, Director Phil Coulson has made it his prime priority to track and obtain all probable threats. When his mission leads him across an old file that strikes his interest, his only solution for...
I have no words, guys. Just thank you so, so much for all of your support. It really means the world. We got #519 in fanfiction this week! Holy SCHIST, guys!!! Thank youuuu!- here's the newest chapter. I had fun writing this one ;P.
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"Where'd you get that?" Fitz pounced. The teen looked up, confused. Annabeth and Hunter looked back to see the cause of the sudden outburst.
"How did I get what?" Percy asked dryly, thoroughly annoyed that Fitz had chosen to pick on him once again. "My good looks?" Fitz scowled as he continued. "My mom says-"
"No, no, the pen." Fitz muttered sourly. The tapping of said object stopped midair as a look of surprise crossed Jackson's face, as though he had just realized he had been fiddling with it a second ago. He held it up to his face and did his best to look innocent. "The pen? I found it on the ground." Hunter laughed, rounding Annabeth in order to snatch the ballpoint out of his hands, which the teen let go off with a roll of his eyes.
"Good try, Mate," Hunter snickered, observing the small object. Fitz didn't miss the strained look Annabeth shot Percy before Hunter spoke up once again. "They sweep these rooms clean. You know, to make sure you don't have anything to kill us with."
Percy raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Because I was going to kill you with a pen. Really?"
Annabeth coughed, as though she was choking on something.
Hunter gave her a sideways glance before going back to the conversation. "Don't act all innocent. It wouldn't be hard," he said, getting into an over-exaggerated fighting stance to illustrate the upcoming explanation. "All you would have to do is stab us in the eyes or something. "
Annabeth snorted, her pride refusing for him to believe that. "Thanks for the run down. But we wouldn't need a pen to fight you."
Hunter laughed heartily. "Maybe so, but we have the weapon now," he claimed. Percy stiffened on the bed when Hunter pointed the instrument at him. He flicked the cap off as a joke, but then... "BLOODY HELL!"
Percy dove off of the bed as a sword sprang to life, a full three or four feet of gleaming bronze, the tip right where his throat would have been.
Fitz's jaw dropped to the ground. His eyes were practically bulging out of his head. The double edged blade was undoubtedly the weapon Percy had yielded before, and somehow it had fit in his pocket?!? It was official, he was definitely mentally ill. He needed to pack his bags, check himself into a mental institution, get a monkey...
Hunter's reaction was much calmer. He cursed proficiently and dropped the blade as though it had just come out of the forge. It clattered to the floor, filling the room with the only other noise than the British agent's breathless vocabulary. He gaped at his hands, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.
