Ηail Hydra

Chapter 5

The clang of a heavy metal door ran through the cold air, followed by multiple pairs of footsteps. Percy managed to raise his drooping eyes, his vision blurry and slightly hazy, to look through the bars of his cell. His body ached with a dull pain that he could only try to ignore.

"Percy?" A quiet voice asked, taut with fear. He brought his attention to the girl in the cell right next to him. Her once soft, almost golden hair matted with dry blood and dirt, and her beautiful face scratched and bruised. Seeing the woman he loved in this state hurt him more than an injury could.

"Don't look at them." He managed to croak out, throat hoarse with the lack of water-and probably from the non stop screaming. He licked his lips in a weak attempt to moisten them. "Everything is gonna be all right." He tried to reassure her. With some effort he managed to pull his unresponsive body into a crawl, moving towards the edge of the cell. He slumped against the bars; just that menial task had drained him. "Just don't..." He tried, but a rattling cough slipped through his lips. He inhaled again shallowly, his breath raspy. "Don't look at them." He reached through the bars with a shaky arm, taking Annabeth's hand in his own. She responded immediately, her cold fingers slipping through his and grasping at him tightly as if he were her lifeline. They both flinched at the sound of another door opening and closing again with a dull squeal. This one was closer, and both of them knew it. He moved his tired gaze up and away from his love to peer out of the bars. As he had thought, multiple guards were walking towards the cells. But with a foreboding sense of dread building up in his stomach, he noticed that they were heading towards her cell, and not his. He looked back at her, catching sight of the look of fear that flickered through her face.

"Look at me." He ordered her, forcing his sore throat to make his voice sound as firm and reassuring as he could. To his distress, she turned her head to the side slightly, to instead look at the approaching guards. "Annie." He tried again, breath hitching slightly as he fought the urge to cough again. "Annie, look at me." His desperate tone caught her attention again. She bit her lip, moving her normally bright and silvery-but now dull and cloudy-eyes to meet his own. He rubbed his thumb over her hand gently, trying his best to comfort her. "It's going to be okay, I promise." He hoped that she hadn't heard the catch in his voice at that. The door to her cell swung open with a whine and the guards marched inside, causing Annabeth to shrink against the bars, pressing towards him as much as she could, while keeping her gaze on him the entire time. "Please, just keep looking at me." He begged her, fighting the urge to break eye contact and look at the approaching guards. She made a small noise of distress when two of them grabbed her by her shoulders and hauled her backwards.

Percy gritted his teeth at the stab of pain that raced down his arm, his shoulder straining from the effort and the pressure of the bars against him as he tried to keep his grip on her hand. He couldn't let go of her. He couldn't let them take her again. He tightened his grip on her hand, distraught at the fact that her fingers were slowly slipping through his. 'Hang on, hang on...' Another guard grabbed her by the waist and helped the others yank her back, their hands finally torn apart. 'No!' He kept his hand reached out for her in vain, still pressing himself against the bars as he watched, helpless, as they dragged her kicking and screaming from the cell and down the long corridor. He finally slumped down when they were out of sight, pressing his forehead against the freezing cold metal of the bars. 'Dammit...' He jolted upright at the sound of more footsteps coming back, lifting his head again. The faceless guards unlocked the door to his cell this time and stepped inside, aiming their various weapons at him. He allowed them to approach him, knowing already that fighting back would be pointless. After all, he had lost count of how many times he had tried to escape-or even fight back. They grabbed his arms and yanked him forward, cuffing his hands behind his back, as they did every time. Without a single word to him, they dragged him to his feet and shoved him forward; a silent command for him to start walking. So he did, unsteadily and ignoring the pain it caused him. They led him down the hallway and through the first door. He knew where he would be going. It was where he was always taken. The place the guards had affectionately started referring to as the 'torture room'.