(A/N)
Hello people of Fanfiction, I am Reckless_one, here to bring you a Percy Jackson Avengers crossover. Most likely updates will be slow, considering I have about seven works going on right now - but never fear, I don't give up on my stories.
Part I: Aberration
Chapter I: Give Up
Perseus (Percy) Rydall Jackson
Sex: Male
Age: 18
Birthday: August 18, 1993
Deceased: August 24, 2012
Immediate Family: Sally Cristine Jackson Uglanio Blofis (1972-2011), -UNKNOWN FATHER-, Gabe Wornmal Uglanio (Step-father (1764-Pronounced Dead in 2006), and Paul Alexander Blofis (Second Step-Father (1769-2011)
Height: 5'10
Weight: 154lbs
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Black
Dominant Ethnicity: Greek
Secondary Ethnicity: Caucasian
Education: N/A
S.H.I.E.L.D's Most Wanted List: Previously Ranked #23 (2005-2009)
Security: Secret LANDLOCKS - 19
Heath Issues:
• ADHD - High
• Dyslexia - High
• PSTD - High
• MDD - Moderate
• ADD - Low
• Allergic to Dogs - Low
News, Trials, Accusations
• Perseus Rydall Jackson has been accused by, deceased, Gabe Ugalio, for murdering his mother, associating with national terrorist, kidnap of two teenagers. — CLEARED —
• Charged with the destruction of national monuments such as the St. Lewis Arch, blowing up a school bus at the National Museum of Modern Technology, and throwing explosives into Mt. St. Helens, to urge on it's eruption. — STILL CHARGED WITH —
• MIA Percy Jackson has not been seen in 7 months, suspicion he is collaborating with terrorist. — STILL CHARGED WITH —
• Murdering seven kids in Greece, along with bombing two summer camps on Long Island NY, and in California. — STILL CHARGED WITH —
Death Facts
Pronounced dead on March 26, 2012, when found outside of Fortona's Labratory with a temperature of 93 degrees Fahrenheit with an extremely severe case of hypothermia. He was pronounced dead on the site, when his heart stopped beating. The emergency paramedics did not name the connection between Perseus Jackson and the person in front of them, so in the first opportunity, he was snatched away by some grudge holding terrorist and possible gangs members.
His body is still missing, but it is suspected that Rust or Vulg (The more prominent gangs around Fortona's Laboratory) are still in possession of Perseus Jackson's dead body.
Clint fingers the files, and scans them, memorizing the more important facts. He looks around for Natasha out of habit, but unfortunately Fury gave Steve and himself the job of tracking the mysterious hooded man who does the dirty work of Sparta (An terrorist organization on National Alert). Who is rumored to have killed seventeen men in Los Angeles. Natasha can have no part in the investigation yet; not until Fury has a definite lead.
Clint questions Fury's sanity, having both highly trained soldiers look through dead people's files. In Clint's quite humble opinion, dead people don't work for highly trained groups devoted to causing public mayhem.
But then again, that could just be Clint.
He doubts that.
Clint stares bewilderingly at Perseus Jackson's file, while the name sounds familiar, he wonders how a twelve year old boy could have been charged of murder. (No less blowing up the St. Lewis Arch)
The cereal Clint was eating (that included exactly 250 pieces of Cheerios) is mush now, and the spoon in his hand has dropped so far it touches the table. As he reads father into the mysterious Perseus Jackson's file, his eyes bulge wider.
The guy seems like a real jerk, from all the newspaper clippings and news broadcasts he's seen.
Clint starts suddenly when the door to the kitchen burst open, Steve holding onto the door knob.
Clint glares at Steve, (who rather annoyingly interrupted the Cheerio counting Avenger) and his first finger twitches, a small tell of annoyance.
The file is lying forgotten on the table, and Steve mutters out an apology, something sounding suspiciously like, "Sorry, I forgot my own strength."
Clint grunts.
He takes in Steve's devilish appearance, his eyes are baggy and red, twenty or so files are tucked in the crook of his arm. "I thought we could eliminate suspects together, we'd be done quicker."
Clint notices he seems to be grunting often lately.
Clint grunts.
And then adds an, "Okay." From a bag slung around his chair, he dumps the contents on the table, fifty or so files coming out in an un-orderly fashion.
Clint enjoys watching Steve's eyes widen.
"Well, let's get to work!" Clint says with the look of a maniac in his eyes, as his smirk widens venomously.
"So we shall." Steve looks at him, a wry grin concealing more that showing.
Clint grabs the next file in front of him and reads:
Simon Reece Comber
Sex: Male
...
Clint groans, they have eliminated the original 167 (Yes, Clint counted) down to the top 54 suspicions.
It would have been less, but Clint had to be the bad guy (Ole' Cap was a bit too nice and lenient) and tell Steve that mass murderers most definitely didn't die of pancreatic cancer, that most likely they were faked.
Perseus Jackson's name came up multiple times, and even though Steve pointed out that it was practically impossible for a person under twenty years of age to reach 93 degrees Fahrenheit to survive (because the heart would stop pumping blood), he stubbornly refused to agree.
Clint wanted to ask how Steve himself survived an iceberg where the temperature was no doubt extremely colder, but refrained against. Steve probably wouldn't find that funny, while Clint could help but find the irony hilarious.
Completely hilarious.
Every time the file of Perseus Jackson came up, Clint had a weird feeling in his stomach and quickly shoved the file back into the possible suspects.
He wasn't ready to let that file go, just yet.
Clint inspects the arrow.
Real feathers, most likely chicken (possibly goose), the cock feather is painted a dark green and the hens black. The shaft is silver blue birch, and three white rings encircle the end of the shaft.
The most noticeable thing about the arrow is the finger prints. Clint DNA scans them, and puts them in the data base to find a match. The finger print does not exist.
Clint stares at the words — NO MATCH DETECTED —, with obvious incredulous.
He re-scans them, same results.
This person who shot the explosive arrow (faint gun powder on the hollow tip) doesn't exist.
He grabs the second arrow, this one snapped in half with a bloody tip from when Clint had to cut it from a soldier's shoulder. He scans the finger prints - nothing.
From the position of the carefully shot arrow into soldier's arm, Clint knows the archer is a master.
Banging the arrow onto the table as hard as he can (in both frustration and anger) he dents the titanium table. With a cautious prod, he studies the metal he formerly thought was aluminum. He stares at it in awe, and runs it through the scanner. No matches, surprisingly, but he learns that the closest thing to the molecular structure is the otherworldly metal Thor's hammer is made of.
Clint deduces that magic is involved, somehow.
Getting a diamond chisel, he files down the wicked sharp tip ever so slowly. After a considerable amount of time, his file reaches the lower part of the arrow, and as he reaches the hollow part Clint notices a slight dampness in the inside.
He brings his finger to his nose, and takes a deep whiff.
Musky, humid, and sharp lemon...
Clint puts down the arrow, no, drops it. His vision rapidly becomes blurry, and he sees two right hands, instead of one. His head starts pounding, and his heartbeat rapidly increases, sweat trickles down the back of Clint's neck.
Then his nerves seize up, his calf starts shrieking in pain while his arm wildly shakes.
He tries to notify Steve, Tony, anybody, but his mouth feels garbled and dry like cotton.
"Help..." Comes out as a whisper, but he knows no one can hear him. Black dots flicker at the edge of Clint's vision, then his entire left eyes goes black.
Blink...
Sleep...
Blink...
Help...
Blink...
And then nothing...