Not Aquaman

Ow. Munch. Ow. Chomp. Ow. Chew. OW. 

Sorry, that's the sound of me trying to eat a cheeseburger with a broken nose. Fun fact: it hurts like a bitch. It almost hurts as much as getting elbowed in the nose. (You'll never guess how I know these two things.) 

It was a cool clear Friday night, the New York skyline looked damn near peaceful from the rooftop on which my beautiful girlfriend and I were currently sat, enjoying our well-deserved McDonalds after a patrol.

It'd been around two months since the two of us decided to embark on our careers as vigilantes, taking to the streets at least a few times a week to help people and beat up no-gooders. It'd been a fulfilling couple of months. Knowing we were doing our part, using our skills to make the world a little bit safer? I can't say it was glamorous, but it'd been pretty darn successful. Even tonight had started out good, before it got a little elbow-y.

"It wasn't my fault," I complained to Annabeth between mouthfuls of Big Mac, "I mean, surely it's common courtesy not to elbow the guy who just saved you from being stabbed by your own coworker."

"Sounds to me like you're getting sloppy, Jackson."

"I'm just saying! I could have just let him get stabbed - teach him not to steal cars again. But no, I pull him out of the way, and he thanks me by ruining my beautiful nose."

Annabeth rolled her eyes, "You've literally broken your nose before. Like a lot."

"It still hurts!"

"No, no, obviously," she explained, "I'm just saying, if you're worried about your nose being crooked... that ship sailed a while ago Seaweed Brain."

I was hurt by this revelation, but she reassured me, smiling, "Hey, I think it makes you look cuter. More rugged, y'know?" 

"Oh, really?" I grinned and leaned in for a kiss.

Wrong move, wrong move. Ow, ow, ow. 

Annabeth apologises profusely and was wiping a streak of blood off of my lip when we heard it. 

A deafening crash, from just a few blocks away. 

We don't even hesitate to look at each other, just shovel the last bites of burger into our mouths and sprint towards the source of the sound. 

Not even two minutes later, we reach First Central Bank - usually a gleaming spiral of steel and glass, the building equivalent of the fancy clients it houses. Annabeth would call it a true marvel of architecture. It was currently a true marvel of architecture with a massive hole in the side. 

A banged-up looking van was parked next to it, and several men rushed through the hole into the bank, past an unconscious security guard. There was maybe six or seven of them, all looking the part of stereotypical bank-robbers - leather jackets, black ski masks, the works - bar their peculiar fashion choice of all wearing aviator sunglasses at night. (Let's be real, we all know a guy like that.)

I hopped down onto the street from the fire escape, followed closely by Annabeth. As we neared the building, I could hear the alarm bells screeching from inside, as well as the frantic yelling of voices. Sirens blared in the distance. A few yards away, most of the robbers had entered the bank, excluding two who waited outside as a look outs. Neither had spotted us yet, so they were clearly not very good at their jobs. 

"Nice night for a bank robbery, huh?"

Their heads whipped around, only to be met with Annabeth's leg as she took them both down with one kick. Gods I love her. 

We quickly secured them to a bike rail with zip-ties and checked that the security guard was breathing before carefully peering into the make-shift door. It was about chest height, the size of a small dumpster and seems to lead straight into the vaults.

Annabeth frowned. "These walls are reinforced concrete, followed by like six feet of strengthened steel, how the hell did they get through this?" 

I looked around and she was right, I couldn't see any kind of weapon or trace of explosives. However they got in, it was clever. 

Ignoring the slight feeling of apprehension, I hoisted myself through the hole and through to the bank. The criminals were nowhere to be seen, but I could hear them round the corner of the hallway of steel doors. 

"Breaking and entering, yay." Annabeth muttered as she did the same, starting off down the corridor. 

"Technically we didn't do the breaking. Just entering."

Another loud explosion rocked the floor - we started to run, rounding the corner to where handfuls of cash were being shoved into sacks through a fresh red-hot cavity in one of the vault walls. Again, how did they do that? 

I whistled.

All five of their gazes snapped to where me and Annabeth stood, looking badass in the centre of the corridor. 

"Cmon guys, I know times are tough, but aviators? New York really is reaching new lows."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"We're-"

I didn't even get to finish my sentence, as one of the goons quite rudely lunged at me, yelling in a very dramatic fashion. Dodging him easily, I let Annabeth do the honours of whacking him in the back of the head, sending him to the floor. Four to go. 

All their faces were obscured, however the man holding the money bag was tall, and seemed to me to be the leader, as he shouted,

"Fucking get them!"

Three more henchmen scrambled towards us. I took the two closest, bringing my knee into the first's ribs to knock the air out of his lungs, twisting his arm behind his back then shoving him into the second, sending them both tumbling into a heap on the ground. Annabeth made similar light work of her opponent. 

She noticed the sixth man stepping out of the vault before I did. Her eyes went wide. In my peripheral vision I could see he had something in his hand, a weapon maybe? 

Suddenly, a ball of fire hurtled towards me. That's never good.

"Percy!"

I barely had time to brace myself it was so fast, knocking me all the way back down the corridor. I slammed into the wall, then dropping to the floor, coughing. Probably bruised a rib. Yippee.

I counted myself lucky, though - most people aren't fireproof. I thanked the gods I was (and that the suit was too), or the air would have been smelling suspiciously Percy-scented at that moment. I pushed myself up, just as whatever the man was carrying launched itself towards me. 

Time seemed to slow. I could now see clearly the thing I had previously assumed to be a weapon. An evil-looking snake-like creature, about the size of a mans arm, with wicked sharp hooks along the ridges of its back that rippled as it flew through the air, murderous intent in its eyes.

A basilisk?