Tower of Secrets

Percy Jackson

I had no idea in Hades as to where I was.

For a moment, I panicked. I thought that Hera had kidnapped me again and stolen my memories. Then I realized I knew who I was and crossed out the stolen memories as a possibility. Unless, of course, my memories had been stolen and replaced. In which case, I was screwed.

I decided to rule out that option as well, not wanting to get distracted.

The last thing I remembered was... walking down the street. Someone bumped into me and then I was asleep having another nightmare and then I was here. But, where was here?

Here was a huge bedroom. I was sitting on a full sized bed that had a grey comforter and white fluffy pillows. The walls to the room were a light grey and the floor was white carpet. There was a wooden dresser to my left and a wooden nightstand to my right. Upon inspection, they were filled with clothes, all in my size. I noticed double French doors leading to a balcony outside with a great view of New York City.

Okay, so I hadn't left the city.

Directly across from the bed was a bookshelf that was only partially filled with books. I noticed a video camera watching me just on top of it. On the right side, a door led to a walk in closet, again with clothes all in my size. On the left side, a door led to a bathroom. I turned back to notice a punching bag on the other side of the dresser with a mirror beside it, probably so one could watch one's form whilst punching away.

"So, this is weird," I said, my voice sounding extra loud compared to the silence of the bedroom. I stood in front of the punching bag and rolled my shoulders in preparation for the workout I would undertake out of sheer boredom.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my reflection. My dark hair was tossled, probably from my physical reaction to that nightmare I mentioned earlier. I noticed the bags under my sea green eyes had dissapeared, probably due to that drug induced sleep. I was still wearing my orange Camp Halfblood t-shirt and my beaded necklace was still around my neck. I fingered at the scars on my jawline and the one that poked through my collar, knowing that I'd have to find a way to hide those. I was still wearing the grey jacket that I've found I can't go in public without. Why? I've got too many scars for most people's liking. I wore dark jeans and a pair of blue running shoes.

I got on my toes and squared my form before taking a deep breath and giving the bag a light punch. I felt the sand move inside the bag the moment my fist made contact. I paused and closed my eyes, pretended I was back at camp sparring with Clarisse La Rue.

I never felt bad about beating the Hades out of her.

My fists flew at a rapid pace that only someone with the battle skills of a demigod would be able to keep track.

I should probably explain what a demigod is. See, the Greek gods are real and they also have Roman aspects. Sometimes, they mingle with mortals and have kids. That's a demigod/halfblood, whatever you prefer. My name is Percy Jackson and my godly parent is Poseidon, god of the ocean, horses, and earthquakes. You could say I'm a powerful demigod and it wouldn't be a stretch.

At the time this went down, I was seventeen, going on eighteen, and had fought through three whole wars since I'd found out my heratige when I was twelve. Basically, two immortal baddies wanted to take down the gods and when the Greek demigods and Roman demigods discovered each other, a bit of a civil war broke out at first.

Get it? Got it? Good.

So, my fists were flying and I soon found my rhythm, no longer needing to envision Clarisse, a spunky daughter of Ares and a bit of a rival. I opened my eyed and focused on the bag. Deciding to experiment, I threw a kick into the mix. Finding it didn't throw me off completely, I started using them more regularly.

I was soon drenched in sweat.

For a moment, I wasn't attacking a punching bag. It was a monster. (Yes, the Greek monsters still exist because they regenerate in a horrible place called Tartarus).

I was shaken out of my hallucination when someone let out an impressed whistle from behind me. I stopped and turned to see a black man with an eye patch standing behind me. It was the same guy I had saved the other day. "Perseus Jackson," he greeted.

"Call me Percy," I corrected. "And you are?"

"Nick Fury," the man introduced. "I bet you have some questions."

I frowned skeptically and put my hands in my pockets, fingering my pen that turned into a sword, Riptide. I shrugged. "Nah, it's perfectly normal to get drugged walking down the street and to wake up in a strange room."

The man--Nick--didn't look amused. "If you'd follow me, I'll explain everything."

"Sweet. I love when people finally explain why they've kidnapped me," I grinned as I followed him out into a hallway. We walked past several rooms before stopping in front of an elevator. He stepped in, but I was frozen.

The last time I had been on an elevator was still too painful to relive after all this time.

"Can I take the stairs?" I croaked.

Nick seemed confused, but stepped out nevertheless. "Son, do you have a problem with elevators?"

I barked a short dry laugh. "Gods, I've had a really bad experience on an elevator. I haven't stepped foot in one since."

The man studied me for a moment before nodding in understanding. "Very well, we only have to go down one floor. Although, I suggest you get over this phobia. If you haven't noticed, we're in a tower."

"I guess I'll be getting a lot of cardio then," I joked half heartedly.