“You’re an automaton. You made yourself a new body.” “Percy,” Annabeth said uneasily, “that’s not possible. That—that can’t be an automaton.” Quintus chuckled. “Do you know what Quintus means, my dear?” “The fifth, in Latin. But—” “This is my fifth body.” The swordsman held out his forearm. He pressed his elbow and part of his wrist popped open—a rectangular hatch in his skin. Underneath, bronze gears whirred. Wires glowed.
WHAT THE FUCK
