Phobia (A Percy Jackson AU)

Chapter Five: Parasites

Wow it's been a while. Lots has happened. I had a birthday. Planned out most of the story. Drew Angel Colby for art class. Watched Ouran High School Club Host. But hey, I updated now, and I plan to update within the month. Don't worry I'm not turning into Sabrina...

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Fast flashes in black and white, pierced by hard words and fast movements. They cause Luke's head to pound, heartbeat thrumming loudly around him in the darkness. There's a heavy pressure on his chest, like the skin is being stretched too tightly.

"...Genetically modified parasites."

Says a scientist with a crisp lab coat and brown hair tucked up into a neat bun, holding out a stack of papers to a man thrust into the darkness of an office. In other hand, carefully held, is a tightly sealed glass container, something black shooting around in it. Luke recognizes her, only here she's twenty years younger, matching her with a horrible memory of Annabeth shrieking: "Please, Mom! Don't take us, please just leave us alone! Mom!"

"So far the subjects are responding... Subject Fourteen can't seem to access her powers after that first vision...thinking of trying some opiates once she gets older... "

Luke's lying on a cot, throwing a ball into the air and watching as it slows downs on the fall. A voice is humming praise in his head (but he thinks that this isn't really his head), whispering promises of power if he would just hand over control. At the other end of the room, past a dozen other people in cots, is a young girl with curly hair, who can't have been more than six. Her eyes are bright as she plays with a drawing pad and crayons, a large, decorated fourteen has been branded along her neck. Ten feet in front of the end of his cot is a glass wall, two scientists are talking behind it. Annabeth's mother was one of them, the other a large stocky man with a scruffy beard.

"There's a few issues, sir. Some of the subjects seem to be losing control of their actions. We believe the parasites are developing a conscious, and are fighting for control of the body..."

Luke's body is stumbling around the room, pressure building in the back of his head. Everything's moving around him in slow motion, and even his thoughts are lucid, slow screams as he tries to take back control, trying to wrench the reins out of someone else's hands. Sparks of gold, the only color he can see, are flitting around his vision, and his heart pounds. He tries to fight it-- he tries so hard-- struggling against the growing pressure, trying to push back. The pressure builds and builds and builds, and suddenly Luke is trapped. Slamming against invisible walls inside his mind, hopeless as someone else takes control.

"Sir! We have to terminate the parasites-- we've only managed to secure Subjects Fourteen and Thirteen-- the rest have become too unstable--"

Luke wreathed around, lashing out as the world slowed around him. The pressure at the back of his head thrummed behind his eyes, and from behind the walls in his mind he's beginning to make cracks in the glass. Beginning to wrench back the reins. The world suddenly speeds back up as he yanks them back for a moment, and something sharp stabs into his arm. His vision splinters, the gold sparks, and blackness closes in around him.

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Luke jerks awake, flipping over and knocking the side of his tent down. Panting, he flailed aimlessly under the blanket for a moment before ripping it off him, screwing up his eyes as the sun glares at him.

Luke groans, letting his pounding head fall between his hands. He holds it tightly as his eyes burn, tugging at long strands of blonde hair damp with sweat.

Blood roars in his ears, and the pounding of his heart is almost suffocating. His stomach is churning, and he feels like he's going to hurl.

"What even was that..." He mused, squeezing his eyes closed. His heart was beginning to slow down, and he felt less like he was drowning. "Some sort of memory?"

Luke shook his head a few times, peeling his eyes open and taking a deep breath to soothe his stomach. No point in trying to figure out his dream, not when he had better things to do.

Pulling himself up from the ruins of his tent, his arms and legs feeling like lead, Luke grabbed a water bottle from the rations, and Annabeth's laptop from next to her tent.

The laptop tucked under his arm, Luke drained half the bottle of water as he walked over to the trees.

He slid down the trunk of the tree, and rolled his shoulders back. Placing the water bottle next to him, he peeled open the top of the laptop, yawning widely as it booted up.

Luke wasn't completely sure what kept the laptop running, considering how often they used it, but as long as it worked he wasn't awfully concerned.

The files of the dead level one's had been pulled up, and Luke began to mindlessly scroll through them.

His eyes darted over a footnote at the end of Clarisse La Rue's file, something written in tiny black font. Excitement bubbled up in his chest, and Luke began to zoom in on the document.

Similar emotional manipulation is also shared by Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano who was transferred to the fifth level from the first.

A grin spread across Luke's face, and he tapped delightfully in the corner of the laptop. He took another swig of water, shoving his greasy, matted hair off his forehead.

"Find anything interesting?"

Annabeth appeared, and leaned against the trunk of the tree, bending over Luke's head to stare at the screen. She brushed back a loose curl out of her eyes.

"Transferred?" Annabeth questioned, raising an eyebrow, "How does a first level get transferred to the fifth?"

"Not sure, Annie." Luke said, cracking his fingers with a sigh, leaning back against the tree at staring up at Annabeth. "But I'm pretty sure that her sister was one of the people killed in the first escape attempt."

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Her back is (was, will be) pressed (pressing? or presses) against the back wall, her arms and legs are (were. should be) like lead, tangled (tangling, tangled) up in each other and itching (iTCHES. ITCHED) with bloody scabs.

Her cheeks are (were) red. Warm and flushed (flushing, flushed), slightly feverish. Her mouth is unbearably dry, breaths (breathed? No, no doesn't work) coming (comed? no no, not a word, not a tense) in and out short and fast.

Despite her warm skin, she's broken (Breaks. Broke.) into a cold sweat, her hair plasters (plastering, plastered) to the base of her neck.

She's rocking (ROCKS ROCKED) back and forth on her bed, the creaks (cREAKING cREAKED) of the springs music to her dance.

She's mumbling (mumbled. mumbles) words, practically incoherent, and muddled (muddling) with snot from her dripping (drips, dripped) nose.

Her fingers (which are (were, would be, should be) too thin, and too heavy. Yet too thick and too light) are (should be, would be, were) tugging (tugged, tugs) at her hair, her scalp feels (felt) numb.

The words are (are) repeating, her words slurring (slurrrredslurrrrrrs) and her heart pounds (POUNDED. POUNDING) and her blood roars (roARING) in her ears.

"Paaaaarsit." She slurs (slurredslurringggg) deliriously, scratching (scratches, scratched) at the scabs. "Paaaaraassite. Parasite. Parasite, parasite parasite." She gives a sharp, pointed laugh (lAuGhInG), tapping (tApS tApPeD) her fingers quickly along her head, "Ihaaaave... havhavehavvvv.... Parasite." Her heads nods (nodding, nodded) backwards, her eyes begin (begun?) to roll (rolling) back into her head, and she muses (mused, musing) the words, a final thought before she disappears (disappeared) from the real world. Or perhaps, she's appearing (APPEARED) to the real world.

It doesn't matter. Because in each world she has (WILL HAVE) a parasite.