HI all. This story is super sad. I was reading my textbook about WWII and this came up. It made me think of what they would do to Tyson. This is a one shot. No flames please... There's a reason it's rated M...

Tyson was held down at the dirty hospital in the South of France, 1942. The Germans were relentless in their preparations as they stripped him of his clothing and attached him to a cold metal table with hard leather straps. His 6'5" frame barely fit the table. But that didn't matter. He was not racially perfect.

Ella waited in the other room, her green dress crumpled in her hand and mascara running down her cheeks. Her mind raced as her dreams of having a family were crushed. In Adolf Hitler's mind, Tyson was too simple minded. That of course could not be passed on to future blond haired, blue eyed children of the Third Reich. Her eyes stung with tears of loss and pain. Her husband of 3 months may be simple minded. But he was smarter than all of those doctors. His hands worked magic with metal. Ella was smart enough to hide her own imperfections beneath larger dresses than were good for her and her claw like feet under socks and shoes at all times. She heard Tyson scream as the doctors worked with dirty tools to castrate him with no remorse. The Third Reich had to be perfect.

Percy and Annabeth burst into the room unannounced. Her grey eyes burning with hatred. Hatred for the Nazi party. She held onto Ella as she sobbed into her shoulder. Percy stood awkwardly but solemnly in the room. His stained blue suit and trousers matched is sea green eyes. Today though, those eyes were not a calm sunny day at sea. They were as stormy and unforgiving as a hurricane wrecking a small island. A sailors worst nightmare. The rain and thunder pounded the hospital but France had surrendered.

The doctors dragged Tyson painfully out of the cold metal table that was now slick with blood and leather straps that held his lost children. Their body language was rigid. Just like the rest of the damn Nazi's. They let Tyson go and he slumped to the floor in pain. His too-close-together eyes pleading relief. His 6'5" body looking almost child-like in a fetal position. His eyes looked into Percy's who had ran to try to catch him and whsipered with barely moving lips,

"I'm sorry brother.." At that Percy's stormy eyes softened but raged on at the same time. Percy broke into the tears he had been desperately trying to hold back. No Tyson. Not Tyson. Anyone but Tyson. He cried for the awfulness of this war, for Tyson, for Ella and for his own family waiting at home. He prayed to the Gods that this would never happen to anyone again. This was not worth race. He was simple minded. But he would have made the best father. Hitler was wrong. HITLER WAS WRONG. Annabeth laid a hand on his shaking shoulder and gently reminded Percy that it was time to go home. She helped Percy hoist Tyson, her red dress crumpled and wet from Ella's grief.

6 months later Tyson received an infection from the dirty knives they cruelly used. He died peacefully in his sleep soon after. Ella cried, her one true love was gone. She snuck on a boat to England with her grief and applied for the RAF. She was one of the first women to be accepted due to her immaculate memory. She flew planes that bombed Germany. Each bomb that dropped under her command was for Tyson. It was all for Tyson.