The Siege of Camp Half-Blood

Aquilus came to with a splitting headache, the bruise on his jaw throbbing relentlessly. Suppressing the temptation to groan he stayed still and listened. Apart from the constant dripping of water, the room sounded empty.
He cracked an eye open and satisfied he was alone, sat up and took a proper look at his surroundings. The room was small, square, with a high ceiling. The concrete floor rose and dipped beneath his feet. He jerked his head upwards as a drop of water landed next to him and found that a maze of pipes lined the roof, leaking water that was pooling in large puddles along the floor. The only light filtered in from a small window set in the dilapidated door. The room smelt stuffy and the wallpaper, cracking and peeling, had passed its prime a long time ago.
Out of habit his hand reached for the dagger concealed in his boot and then withdrew, empty. He snarled and struck the wall with a clenched fist. Whoever had searched him had been annoyingly thorough. He walked around the room, nursing his hand as he walked. The door contrasted strikingly with it’s dilapidated surroundings. Solid and unyielding, it resisted all his efforts to make it budge.
Satisfied he wouldn't be leaving the room anytime in the immediate future, he slumped against a wall, pressing his bruise against the cold wall. It still throbbed but it had reduced in size and transitioned from an ugly purple to an angry red.
The scrape of a key turning a lock broke the long silence. The door swung open to reveal a grim faced boy in combat fatigues, laden with a tray. He set down the tray in a corner of the room. Beyond him lay the door, slightly ajar.
“Don't,” the boy talked for the first time, halting Aquilus in his tracks, “There are more outside.”
“You ...

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...ognized his weapon.”
Aquilus shrugged, “You're point is?”
For the first time Octavian grinned, “Seeing through the mist effortlessly, requires training. Training your camp could easily provide.”
“I told you I’m not a camper,” Aquilus snapped.
Octavian looked at the dogs, but they remained silent. He motioned at Aquilus. Gwendolyn and Dakota hauled Aquilus upright and made for the door.
“Wait!” Octavian approached the trio. He stopped in front of Aquilus and spoke in a low voice, “It seems you’re telling the truth, but there’s a lot you’re not telling us. Mark my words, I’m not done with you.”
Octavian nodded at Dakota. “Knock him out.”
“Is that really necessary sir?”
“Centurion I am your praetor. Do it,” he said, his complexion growing red. Dakota gave Aquilus an apologetic glance, and punched him on the temple. Aquilus’s head snapped back. His body slumped.