Given to Fly (PJ/MR Crossover)

Book 1: Chapter V

A/N: Hello again, people. Here's another chapter written by yours truly. Sorry that it's pretty short, but the next one will be up quickly.

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Perseus

My lungs were on fire. And trust me, I knew the feeling all too well: I once had to drink liquid fire to survive. Sweat dripped down my face in rivers, stinging my eyes and cracked lips. My legs moved mechanically, like one of Leo's drones. Left, right, left, right, left, right. No matter how much air I sucked in, it wasn't enough. I must've looked like a fish out of water, trying desperately to breathe oxygen even though gills didn't work that way.

How long had I been running? Time ceased to mean anything as my bare feet thumped in an endless rhythm against the treadmill. It was like being under Kronos's curse again, my movements turning sluggish while the world slowed down around me. At this point, I don't now how I've kept going; I had (literally) run out of steam after the first couple minutes. The only thing that kept me from collapsing in exhaustion was the cattle prod that was jammed into my back every time I slowed down.

It reminded me of one of Annabeth's lectures. An object in motion stays in motion, or something like that. I really wished that rule didn't apply to me at the moment, because right now, all I wanted to do was rest for about ten years.

Note to self: I am never joining Track.

A jolt suddenly travelled through me as the electric stick prodded my back again, causing me to stumble. My vision tunneled and nausea drowned me. I scrambled to regain my balance, but I couldn't tell whether up was down or right was left. My body crashed to the floor, causing some of the electrodes to be ripped off of my skin painfully. I still couldn't seem to fill my lungs with air; instead, it was almost as if the oxygen was being sucked out of me with every gasping breath.

"Get up!" An angry voice yelled, but it sounded like I was listening to it from the opposite end of a tunnel.

My brow furrowed in confusion. Why would I get up? The ground was so nice, so...comfy. Maybe I could just rest here. Yeah, that sounded good... Vaguely, I was aware of the cattle prod shocking me another time, but the pain was already drifting away as unconsciousness pulled me under its dark abyss.

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Third Person

As the three Erasers were dragging an unconscious Subject 17 back to his cage, a group of nine scientists gathered around his test results in the adjoining observation room.

"Remarkable, absolutely remarkable!"

"It ran for a full hour!"

"After 48 hours with no food or drink, how could this be possible?"

"We haven't mutated it, and yet it still measures above the human capacity."

"It has asthma, though. Do we have any experimental cures for that in the making?"

"Just imagine what it would be able to do at full health!"

"If I could just get a little brain tissue sample..."

When the doors swung open, a sudden hush swept through the whitecoats. The woman that entered was the head of the new branch of the School. She was relatively young - only twenty-three - yet she had somehow managed to scratch and claw her way up to the top. However, no one would ever think to undermine her authority; she was known for being cunning and manipulative. If anyone tried to cross her, they'd find themselves in a black body bag the next morning. That being said, the scientists were always careful around her, trying not to step on her toes.

"Dr. Lavelle," a short scientist clutching a clipboard greeted her, pushing a pair of wire speckles further up his long nose. Margaretta Lavelle turned her intense eyes on the man, folding her hands behind her back and giving him a firm nod to proceed. He nervously cleared his throat before reading off the results on his clipboard.

"Subject 17. Gender: male, age: 17, height: 6 feet, weight: 158 pounds, ethnicity: White Mediterranean. The subject has intensive scarring covering twenty percent of its body, most of which looks to be from knives and animal claws, though there is one through its chest from an arrow, and many others that are unexplainable. Also, the blood test results came back corrupted, so we will have to draw more blood and test it manually under a microscope." His eyes flickered to see what Dr. Lavelle's reaction would be to the last part, but her face remained emotionless, her slate gray eyes zeroed on him like a laser beam.

He nervously continued, "However, the recent results of the endurance test have been quite informative. After a full two days of confinement with no nourishment, Subject 17 was able to run for 68 minutes with an average speed of 7.4mph. Although, its breathing was erratic, due to some mild asthma."

Once the man finished the report, he handed the clipboard to his boss and scuttled back to merge with the rest of the whitecoats. Mette glanced at the clipboard to examine the information, nodding every once in awhile as she read. After another minute, she addressed her underlings.

"I want an EEG scan while it's still unconscious. And bring the blood sample to my office, as you are so incompetent." She glared daggers at the small crowd in front of her, and they shuffled on their feet, trying to look anywhere but her eyes. "Subject 17's next three tests are to be resourcefulness, strength, and reflexes, in that order."

Mette then turned on her heel and walked back through the observation room's doors, clipboard in hand. Her black, high-heeled shoes tapped against the hard tiles as she headed back towards her office at a brisk pace.

Thoughts swirled around in her mind, each one clamoring for her attention. Subject 17's results surprised her; they were much higher than anyone expected, including her. She knew this was only the first test, and it would be ludicrous to make such rash assumptions so early on, but she now had very high expectations for her subject. He had shown a remarkably strong-will, great perseverance, and excellent physical ability (minus the asthma) during the endurance test. She could only imagine how well he would do in the coming experiments.

Margaretta's mind was whirling with all the possibilities. This specimen could be made into something glorious, something truly magnificent! One idea, however, stuck out amongst all the rest. Her lips curled up into a cruel smirk.

Yes, that would be perfect.

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A/N: Ahh, Percy. I felt so bad for him as I was writing this, especially with all the experiments to come... The experiment that he did in this chapter was the same one that Angel had to go through in the first Maximum Ride book, cattle prod and all. It makes me feel bad for the girl. The next chapter will be from Max's POV.

Until next time, mes amis.

~Wrendsor