It was fast approaching dusk when Percy pulled into his garage.
He sighed as he turned off the ignition to his Mustang. Things were bound to get complicated, and fast, which Percy was not a fan of.
He considered himself a simple guy. He liked simple things, he watched simple movies, he ate simple food. And while his life was anything but simple, that was something out of his control. So, he preferred to simplify the aspects he did have control of. Granted, there weren't that many aspects he could control, but still.
However, on the bright side of things, he was pleasantly surprised with how well the meeting at Camp went. Of course, Chiron took every opportunity to lecture Percy on the moral conundrums that killing can have on a person and why he should choose to restrain his targets next time, all of which being advice that Percy summarily ignored; not because he got off on killing (like some people he knew), but because, in a twist of irony, taking the high road is often the more dangerous route.
But, more than anything, he was incredibly pleased with how his cousin took her new position. Frankly, he was expecting a lot more kicking and screaming from her than they got. Plus, it didn't hurt that they got along fairly well, something he couldn't say about the majority of the campers. He knew he would eventually have to put aside his hesitance and rejoin his fellow demigods, but that was most definitely for another day.
As for tonight, he wasn't necessarily lying to Thalia when he said he had a place to be, because he did: his apartment, hopefully to get more than a few hours of much-needed sleep. Although, knowing his life, that was wishful thinking.
Pulling the garage door shut, Percy quickly made his way out of the night so as to not get covered by the heavy snow that had randomly and suddenly started raining down. The mortals call this kind of a thing a flash snowstorm, claiming that they are caused by the intersection of two opposing masses of air, but Percy knew differently. Whenever weather like this happened, it was simply the effect of one of the wind Gods getting angry over something insignificant: like women, or sports. In fact, if Percy recalled correctly, Euros, the East wind, was a die-hard Knicks fan. And, according to the radio, they got creamed just a few hours ago.
So, naturally, the god created a snowstorm, indirectly killing at least a dozen or so of the homeless. And to think immortality would make a person more mature.
Percy breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way into the warm lobby, quickly shutting the door behind him. Thankful once again that his powers included control over all forms of water, he willed all the snow covering him to evaporate away as quickly as it built up, immediately feeling the warming effects the action had.
Walking into the foyer, Percy was surprised to hear not a single peep from anyone, as the lady at the desk was a very chatty individual and never failed to make conversation with the son of Poseidon. But, the lobby was empty一the only noise being the typical ambiance that came with the city. Figuring the desk attendant was just in the bathroom, Percy disregarded the irregularity and made his way up the stairs to the top floor: about six flights.
Of course, he could have taken the elevator like every other sane individual, but his godly blood and near-constant physical activity gave him an unparalleled endurance that made quick work of the steps.
Living in Hell's Kitchen, the rent wasn't ridiculously expensive, but he still had to deal with the issue of leaving his ride out in the street. And while the Kitchen wasn't Harlem, a car like his wouldn't last until dawn. But, in an unexpected twist of fate, Lady Tyche appeared to be in his corner, as he had caught his prospective landlord in a compromising position with two young men. Now, Percy considered himself a fairly progressive fellow, so he barely batted an eye. Yet, he somehow doubted the man's wife would share his opinion. Apparently, the landlord agreed, and was haste to offer Percy one of the best apartments in the complex, along with a small garage out back for his silence.
Needless to say, Percy kept quiet.
As he reached roughly the halfway point, a buzzing came from inside his pocket. While most demigods kept away from cell phones like they were nuclear warheads, Percy knew from experience that his scent was practically null, a side effect of certain past events he'd taken part in. So, luckily for him, the only monsters he ever came across were completely by accident, with the creatures being just as surprised by the random encounters as him.
Percy took the phone, a relatively modest device, out of his pocket and answered it.
"Jackson," he spoke.
"Hey, Percy. It's Ivan," the now-named caller responded.
"No shit, how's it going man?" Percy asked, a pleased smile on his face.
"Well, business is booming at the moment. So I'm doing pretty shitty, actually."
Percy snorted before responding. "Yeah, and I'd expect business will only get better over the next few months."
Ivan sighed on the other end of the line. "No doubt about that. Anyway, you free at all tomorrow?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Why?" Percy asked, his eyebrows scrunched together.
Ivan hesitated before answering. "Err… not really sure how much I should mention over the phone, but a shipment came in that I think you ought to take a look at."
"Oh? I'm intrigued."
"Then come by tomorrow, say one o'clock."
Percy nodded in confirmation, even though Ivan obviously couldn't tell. "That works. What dock are we talking?"
"Number fifty-three, right off of Chelsea."
"Alright, got it. You tell Audrey I said hello," Percy responded.
"Will do, take care my friend," Ivan said, before he was replaced by the dial tone.
Slipping the phone back in his pocket just as he climbed the final step, Percy rounded the corner into the hallway his apartment was located on, mentally preparing himself for whatever Ivan wanted to show him, as the man never was one to make contact unless it was important with a capital "I".
He first met the eccentric man back from his days in Brooklyn, when Ivan became partnered in a company that acquired ownership of a good portion of all private docks along the Hudson, effectively making him and his associates some of the hottest commodities around for any who wished to ship directly into the city. And, if some of the cargo being imported in wasn't exactly illegal, then what was the harm in keeping that particular transaction out of the books? In layman's terms, Ivan wasn't the most moral of men when it came to his profession, but he had honor, something Percy respected above all else when it came to their world.
With a twist of his key, Percy opened the door to his apartment and flipped on the light switch, illuminating his scarcely furnished living space. He wasn't lying when he said that his opinion on material possession was far removed from the general public's, as he only chose to keep the bare essentials and a few accent pieces to remind himself he wasn't living in a funeral parlor.
Walking over to the small kitchen in the corner, Percy opened the door to his fridge and frowned when he realized just how empty it was. Having been in and out for the majority of the past few weeks, he hadn't necessarily had the time or the drive to go to the grocery store. Perhaps he'd make himself a lovely bread and mayonnaise sandwich.
Taking a seat on one of the handful of chairs he owned, Percy turned on the TV for some background noise while he completed his nightly routine of sharpening every single knife and bladed weapon in his possession. It wasn't that they needed the constant attention, but because Percy had very little in the way of hobbies to keep himself occupied. He knew that he should just go to bed and get some much-needed sleep, but just because he wanted to didn't mean he actually could sleep.
Percy didn't think he was an insomniac; but usually, without the assistance of certain medications, falling asleep was easier said than done. Perhaps the next time he'd visit Camp, he'd harass one of the Hypnos children into letting him sleep easier, although for some reason he doubted Chiron would be too happy with that plan.
A news report on the TV interrupted his train of thought, as the fire he set in that bar the night before was declared by the fire department to be a case of "unfortunate negligence" by the owners, which caused Percy to snort. No doubt the Titans had good insurance, so they'd be fine. The police also claimed there were no other casualties besides who Percy assumed to be the son of Apollo, whose badly charred body must have obscured the cut in his neck. Learning that he wasn't responsible for anyone else's death made Percy happy, because he had no quarrel with anyone else there, even if they did sign away their lives to a power-hungry immortal madman. But, Percy didn't think they deserved death for one bad choice.
As he ran one of his smaller knives across his grindstone, a rapping on his door got his attention. Visitors weren't necessarily a common occurrence for Percy, especially this late at night.
Setting the grindstone on the counter, Percy reversed his grip on the knife as he approached the door with a cautious readiness for whatever lay on the other side.
Percy placed his eye against the small peephole and immediately relaxed, quickly unlocking and opening the door to reveal a small and energetic-looking elderly woman.
"Mrs. Fisher, what can I do for you this evening?" Percy asked, relieved that it was only the desk lady at his door and no one he'd have to put a knife through.
"Mr. Jackson," she spoke, "how many times have I asked you to call me Susan?"
"About as many times as I've asked you to call me Percy," he responded with a grin.
"Touche, young man. I was just checking to make sure that nice friend of yours found his way up here without any trouble," Mrs. Fisher explained, to which Percy frowned.
"Friend? What friend?" Percy questioned, apprehension already beginning to build within him.
Mrs. Fisher appeared confused by his befuddlement. "He didn't say his name, only that you were expecting him."
"What time was this?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know. Couldn't have been much more than twenty or thirty minutes ago," she answered with a growing frown.
Considering he only arrived less than twenty minutes ago, Percy felt a justifiable sense of unease begin to smother him.
"You know what, I think I know just who you're talking about, Mrs. Fisher, so I'll just go give him a call. Thank you for letting me know," he said with a fake smile on his face in the hope that she would return to the safety of the lobby before things could get hairy.
Taking the hint, Mrs. Fisher beamed at Percy and bade him a good night before making her way back to the elevator.
Once he made sure that she was heading down, he once again locked the door and turned his attention to the small corridor that led to his bathroom and bedroom: the only reasonable place that an intruder would be hiding. With it being so late and all his curtains being drawn, not a single light was able to make its way into that section of the apartment, causing an eerie darkness to emanate from the end of the corridor.
Mentally, he cursed his negligence when it came to security. When he first got the apartment, he hired a child of Hecate to put a few wards of sort on it. But, having been multiple years since they were applied, and with spells like that having expiration dates, they most likely faded into irrelevance by this point in time.
With his knife still in hand, Percy backed himself up against the wall beside the corridor, faintly hearing what sounded like muffled footsteps approaching.
Realizing that his unwanted guest was exiting the darkness on his own, a decision that Percy was quite happy about, he stood still, content to let the intruder come to him.
Frankly, he wasn't exactly sure what he expected to round the corner, but the barrel of a Mossberg 500 pump-action shotgun was definitely not it.
Of course, said shotgun was in the arms of a most definitely ill-intentioned individual who Percy intended to educate about stand-your-ground laws, but he wasn't accustomed to demigods using such weaponry. At least that's who he assumed the intruder was: a member of the Titans' forces no doubt; because Percy couldn't think of any other enemies he had that would send an armed gunman into his home.
Percy narrowed his eyes at the shotgun, noticing how the weapon itself looked to be in pristine condition. It was too clean to have ever been fired before, so it was likely bought specifically for this job, something that both flummoxed Percy and stroked his ego.
He wasn't a gun nut by any means, but he was certainly no beginner when it came to firearms either, which is why his original plan of walloping the intruder over the head flew out the window, because he needed to remove the shotgun from the equation before he did anything else.
Knowing that his visitor was more dangerous at the moment than he'd prefer, Percy cut the preamble and raised his leg up, extending his foot forward into the side of the gun's barrel in an attempt to disarm the assassin. The impact of the kick caused the weapon's handler to spin away from Percy while the shock caused him to blindly fire.
Percy's window, which was the unfortunate target of the shot, shattered as a group of metal burst through it and into the night.
However, the assassin appeared quicker at the draw than Percy initially expected, as the man used the momentum of the spin to complete the rotation and face Percy once again, who in turn barely had time to dive out of the way of another cluster of lead that blew a hole through his door. As he landed against the hardwood floor, his dagger managed to fly out of his hand and slide out of reach, leaving Percy unarmed.
The shot, while not clipping him, still crashed through his eardrums with little refrain, temporarily deafening the demigod. But, Percy didn't let that stop him from throwing every pound in his body at the gunman, tackling him to the ground before he could fire off another burst.
In order to save his head from being blown off, Percy wrapped his hand in a death grip around the shotgun's pump, preventing the assassin from loading in another shell.
Using the gunman's brief confusion to his advantage, Percy slammed his head down against his attacker's face. The resounding crack and scream that followed let him know that the man's nose was shattered, and the headbutt also allowed Percy to wrench the shotgun from the assassin's grip and toss it behind him.
But once again, the hitman's surprisingly quick recovery time caught the son of Poseidon off guard, as a small blade soon found its way into Percy's thigh. He let out a grunt of pain and instinctively loosened his hold on the man beneath him, which gave his attacker ample time to bring up both legs and push kick Percy off of him.
Percy crashed to the floor unceremoniously, but got to his feet quicker than he landed. His attacker, using the momentary reprieve to enter a fighting stance, held the knife out in front of him, Percy's blood dripping off of the end and onto the floor.
Both fighters, resembling lions more than men, waited for the other to make their next move. They both bled profusely from different parts of their bodies, but they ignored their injuries, the pain being a distraction they couldn't afford in the heat of the battle.
Percy's eyes were trained on his opponent's face. He didn't have time to study the demigod, but he could tell by the vague facial features and the speed by which he attacked that he was currently facing a son of Hermes.
During his quick evaluation, though, the assassin's other hand reached behind himself to grasp something, a slight movement that Percy almost missed; but not quite.
Instinctively, Percy dived into a roll just as an airborne knife sailed over his head. As soon as he became upright once more, Percy pummeled his fist into the hitman's chest, the impact knocking him back several feet while simultaneously annihilating multiple ribs.
However, the assassin quickly returned to action, swinging his knife in ways that showed off an immense amount of skill and would have no doubt downed a lesser man. But Percy was anything but lesser, as he expertly dodged and blocked the oncoming attacks with an ease that demonstrated an equally high skill level.
Their dance, as Percy often liked to call fights such as these, continued on for some time, neither partner making much ground until Percy found himself backed up against his small end table.
Without looking, Percy reached behind him and quickly grasped what he knew was a metallic table lamp; it wasn't the most ideal object to melee with, but it would do for the time being. In order to open up a clean shot, Percy, who was about to dodge a stab aimed at his neck, instead wrapped his hand around the knife. The blade cut fairly deep into Percy's fingers due to his tight grip, but it was a necessary sacrifice.
Now, with the opening he needed, Percy lifted up the lamp and swung it in a wide arc at the son of Hermes. The introduction of the new weapon caught the assassin off guard, as he wasn't able to raise an arm in time to stop the bludgeon from making contact with his skull. The strike, which severely threw the man off balance, gave Percy just enough time to weave to the hitman's side, following up his attack with a brutal kick to the base of the man's knee, his demigod strength causing the joint to bend at a very unnatural angle.
With a howl of agony in response to his now destroyed leg, the hitman fell to his other knee, still too dazed from the hit to his head to effectively defend himself from Percy.
Throwing the man's knife aside, the son of Poseidon, who was more than ready to end the fight, grasped the lamp by its neck and swung it base-first into the assassin's face.
Thus, the skirmish was won.
The hitman collapsed to the floor with zero grace, carefully tilting the line between awareness and unconsciousness.
Percy, breathing deeply as he stared down at his defeated opponent, let the now blood-soaked lamp crash to the floor.
The son of Hermes definitely wasn't the worst opponent he'd faced, but not nearly prepared enough to take him on, something that Percy figured Luke would have realized. The severe lapse of judgment on Castellan's part led Percy to believe that this may have not been an officially sanctioned mission, possibly just being organized by a few rogue demigods.
Deciding to find out how right he was, Percy grasped the assassin's shirt and lifted him up off the ground, dragging him like a sack of potatoes across the floor.
"Before you drift off to gods know where, you and I need to have a conversation," Percy gritted through his teeth, beginning to feel his wounds catch up with him.
Bringing his opponent to his newly broken window, Percy thrust the assassin's limp body forwards, causing the man to desperately grasp onto the glass-covered sill so as to not fall to his death. The son of Hermes looked up at his subduer with a mixture of confusion and fright.
Forcing his own body right up against the assassin's, intentionally violating his personal space, Percy grasped the man's shirt once more and lightly began to push him forward.
"Let me make this very simple. I ask some questions. You answer them. Anything else happens, and I drop you down six floors," Percy explained to the now sweating son of Hermes.
"Understand?" Percy insisted, satisfied when the demigod rapidly nodded. "What's your name?"
"D-d-Dillan," he stuttered out. Whether the slurred speech was caused by fear or the head trauma, Percy didn't really know, or care for that matter.
"Okay, Dillan. Now I'm sure you're an upstanding citizen and certainly not part of any illegal militias or anything silly like that, but I must ask: who sent you?" Percy demanded, hoping that his threat of defenestration would be enough to dissuade the demigod from lying.
Dillan stared blankly at him for a few moments before a small grin started worming its way onto his face. "No one did. It was our idea."
Percy scrunched his eyebrows up at the unexpected answer.
"Our?"
Dillan, who was now smiling in a manner that made Percy exceptionally uneasy, gestured behind the son of Poseidon.
"Yes, us."
Percy, knowing that something was now very wrong, looked over his shoulder to see a woman, roughly the same age as Dillan and he, pointing the discarded shotgun right at him. She had a malicious smile plastered across her face, almost as if her next action was going to be an immensely pleasurable one, something that told Percy all he needed to know about his chances.
Once again, Percy cursed himself for being caught napping, as he hadn't even tried to secure the premises before going straight for interrogation. Turns out that luck just wasn't on his side tonight.
Staring straight into the face of the person that might end up being his killer, Percy saw that there was no mercy behind those eyes. There was an anger burning bright, with no hope of extinguishing.
"Lady, this is a private residence and I will not一"
The distinct click of a trigger being pulled cut him off.
For a moment, Percy just stood there in a sort of amazement that he could not comprehend. Perhaps it was just that the idea of being killed had never really occurred to him beyond a surface-level understanding; or, maybe it was that he was completely fine with his current position, willing to let Fate deal out its hand.
But, as he watched with a half-disconnected gaze, everything seemed to slow down around him. Although Percy knew this wasn't actually the case and was likely just a side effect of his neurons firing up beyond their typical range, it still felt like he had been frozen in time.
He wondered if this was what everyone went through just before they were about to die, and if he would soon wake up in his uncle's realm. Part of him debated just how fair the judges would be to him, as he had committed a rather extensive list of crimes in his short life. Of course, Percy only sinned in the name of the greater good, but he somewhat doubted that would be enough of an excuse.
Regardless, he hoped he got Elysium, and not just out of fear of being sentenced to eternity in Asphodel, or if the judges were feeling extra malicious, the Fields.
Percy mainly wanted to reach Elysium so he'd get to see his mother once again. He had no doubt she ended up in paradise, not for one second, as she was as close to an angel any human could ever hope to be. Sally Jackson deserved the world, but the world was not fair. Percy just hoped that she wouldn't judge him too harshly.
And, just as quickly as it had slowed, time resumed to its normal speed. Percy, as ready to face the music as he'd ever be, closed his eyes.
But, the bang never came, and neither did the burning sensation he assumed getting filled with a cluster of lead would bring.
Instead, Percy opened his eyes to see his would-be killer swearing to herself, the shotgun having been jammed.
As a renewed desire for life overcame him, Percy knew that he had just a few seconds before she ejected the shell and loaded in another one, ready to fire once more.
So, he did as his instincts told him to.
With his hands still grasped onto Dillan, who was laughing maniacally at what he assumed would be Percy's brutal demise, the son of Poseidon spun the prone form of the demigod around one-hundred-eighty degrees, placing the son of Hermes between himself and the other woman.
Before either assassin had time to comprehend the change of positions, the shotgun fired, but this time with success.
Dillan's laughter cut off with a strangled scream as the burst of metal lodged itself into his chest cavity with an outward explosion of crimson mist.
Yet, before Percy could celebrate his quick thinking, the impact of the blast was still a factor in the equation.
Feeling the sill hit the back of his legs, Percy could not stop himself from toppling backward out the window, his hands still tightly wrapped around Dillan's corpse.
The irony of the situation would have been enough to make Percy laugh if he weren't dropping six stories at an ever-increasing velocity. Even so, it was a unique experience for the son of Poseidon, having never been one to spend much time in the air due to unfortunate familial relations.
The feeling of freefalling through the crisp New York air was not nearly as hectic or as frantic as he imagined, but rather peaceful and calming; until he hit the ground, that is. But that didn't stop Percy from enjoying the ride to his inevitable death.
However, as it would turn out, falling from such a height made it a bit difficult to remain in the position he was originally in, so it was Dillan that smacked the ground before he did; or, in this case, the roof of an unfortunate Honda civic.
With his fall being somewhat cushioned by the son of Hermes, Percy realized for the second time that night that clearly some higher power wanted him to remain alive; but, any thoughts about said higher power's identity quickly evacuated from his head, because even though he survived the fall, it didn't mean the impact didn't hurt like a son of a bitch.
As darkness crowed his vision and the evening's snow covered his motionless figure, Percy faintly heard the yelling of passersby and the alarm of the destroyed car through the ringing in his ears, but he was more than content to lay there in his metal cocoon as his consciousness left him.
Turns out he'd get some sleep after all.