Percy glided along the shadows of the desert alley, stalking his prey. The monster attacks had been converging on this spot nearly a month now, and he was going to put an end to it once and for all.

He smelled the harpy before he saw it. The monster, however, didn't even notice him. It was already engaged in battle, and a losing one at that. Percy halted abruptly and watched in a mix of confusion and awe as a blonde boy struck the neck of the bird/human hybrid with such force that the monster actually crumpled. A swift kick to the head ensured it would not rise for some time.

But the monster wasn't dead. Percy was about to run up and finish it off when he was pinned to the wall behind him. The boy lunged at him and snatched the dagger from his belt before he could react. A quick slitting of the harpy's throat reduced it to sand, quickly blown away by a sudden breeze. As the boy stood recuperating from the fight, breathing heavily, Percy tried to remove the throwing knife that had attached the leather strap of his armor to the wall behind him. To his surprise, it was embedded so deeply in the cement that Percy was forced to slice the strap. Now finally free, Percy approached the boy warily, his now slightly insecure armor shifting. He was obviously dangerous, and he had a knife. Percy fingered his pen. Anaklusmos, Riptide. Before he could unsheathe the faithful companion, however, the boy had him flat on his back, winded. The weapon rolled out of reach, still just a pen.

"Who are you?" the boy hissed, dragging him up into a sitting position, the dagger at his throat. "The truth."

Percy closed his eyes, admitting that he would be overpowered in combat and hating it. Instead, he mentally reached out for the fire hydrant less than a foot to his left. The force of the water would push the blade away from his neck.

For a moment he hesitated. He didn't exactly understand the situation. What if there was some misunderstanding? What if he was making things worse? But then the dagger pressed harder into his skin, and Percy decided to act first and worry later.

The boy was caught completely off guard as the torrent crashed into him, sending him flying into the opposite wall. By the time the water seeped away, he was crumpled and Percy had not moved an inch.

Percy rose and, once he had ensured that the boy was in fact unconscious, he inspected his person. He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, and if Percy had not seen what he had done, he would have thought him quite ordinary. Was he a demigod?

Only one way to find out. Percy hoisted him up and set off to the place he had instructed Blackjack to stay.

The boy made it past the barrier, but with a curious difficulty. While Percy passed easily, the boy appeared to move through some sort of sticky gel. He did get through, though, and Percy made a beeline for Chiron, ignoring the curious stares of the other campers.

The centaur was not surprised when Percy burst into the infirmary in the dead of the night with an unconscious and very soaked child. A demigod, of course. I expected as much. He was, however, rather caught off guard when said unconscious child lunged up from the bed, sent Percy and two medics to the ground, and disappeared out of the window.

Alex had woken up long before. After all, he was trained to fight through the stages of oblivion, and recovered far more quickly than that the average person. His captors, though, did not need to be prematurely enlightened to that fact. Alex was also trained to feign a convincing comatose state. He was brought onto something flat, probably resembling a bed. Knowing that restraints may soon follow, he leapt into action to moment he was freed of his carriers' grip. Instinctively lashing out at the boy that had knocked him out, he then turned on the two other standing figures and dispatched them with quick jabs. The man in the wheelchair posed no immediate threat, and seeing others rush over confirmed the decision that escape was the first priority.

Alex now was flattened on the roof of a curiously Greek building. In fact, the entire place seemed to be something right out of the ancient Mediterranean empire, complete with people in leather tunics and linen dresses feasting on something roasting over a huge bonfire. Right now, however, he didn't spare much thought to the fact except to calculate the pros and cons of such a setting. There were far more places to hide, and the firelight left many shadows. The roofs, like the one he was in now, had many natural nooks of darkness, and he would not be conspicuous.

Beneath him, Alex heard shouted orders. He watched incredulously as a small but very fast boy sprinted to the raised platform in the central clearing and blew – of all things – a salpinx. The people gathered around him in a sea of upturned faces, and for a moment he basked in the attention before the crowed parted for another figure, who commandingly replaced him on the platform.

Alex could indistinctly make out the gist of the announcement. They were looking for him, obviously, and there was something about Ares and Hermes. That fitted well with the surroundings. A cult, perhaps? Most of the people – whom Alex noticed seemed rather young, like himself – went back to their dinner, and the conversation flared. A good amount, however, broke away and remained gathered around the speaker. From his experience with the SAS, he knew they were receiving orders. What happened next, though, would have bewildered even a seasoned spy.

At least half of the chosen group donned dark, tight clothing and gathered in a huddle to exchange words and perhaps other items before skulking off. The remainder took up metal armor and weapons like swords and axes. They resembled a miniature ancient Grecian army. There was not a gun in sight, but Alex knew better than to underestimate based on the seen. He couldn't help but admire the organized, if exceedingly outdated unit that spread out from the clearing in clean, regular rings.

Still, they weren't the ones he had to worry about. Surely the people in the shadows were sent to locate him and signal to the others. In fact, Alex picked up on a quiet padding of feet on the roof just next to his. He ran a mental inventory. There was a small pistol strapped to his leg, and a tranquilizer gun was concealed in his shirt. His jacket lining contained a variety of blades. His shoes carried four small explosives. And his belt buckle could emit a powerful electric shock if the holes in the "leather" were pressed in the correct sequence. He was very surprised that the enemy had not stripped him of anything. In fact, nothing even seemed disturbed. Of course, they may have tampered with all of his weapons without his knowledge. Better to overestimate than underestimate, at least in this case.

The footsteps drew closer, careful but balanced. The range was close and the angle rather awkward for weapons, and he wanted to check his equipment before using it. Hand-to-hand stealth incapacitation it was, then.

Alex waited until the person was past him before sliding soundlessly out of his cover and delivering quick jabs to the temples. Catching the boy before he fell or made noise, Alex bounded down from the short building silently and laid him across the ground. He then relieved the boy of his clothes, noticing with a mix of relief and suspicion that they were about the same age. Alex re-secured his guns and replaced some of his clothing with the boy's, keeping his shoes and knife-laced jacket. He hit the boy again, with a bit of guilt, just to make sure he was and would stay unconscious, and hid him in some heavy shrubbery. It would be a while before he was found.

Knowing he would most likely not have the luxury of such a thorough cleanup at his next encounter, Alex resolved to take as few risks as possible, and to maintain secrecy as his main concern.

But where would he go from here? Alex had no idea where he was. And with those strange attackers recently … the safest plan would be to lie low and gather more information before heading out. Perhaps he could hide on an outgoing vehicle. The place would need outside resources some time.

Or not, he mused, as he crept about in his search for a hideout. The institution seemed largely self-sufficient. In fact, he spotted bountiful farm produce growing in one of the yards of the many cabins lined up in a semi-organized fashion, and there seemed even to be a blacksmith.

Alex finally decided on a tree in the thick of the small woods by the main facilities. It was heavily branched and very leafy, and its crown was impossible to see into. It was also a rather obvious hiding spot, so Alex needed to move as soon as he regained more of his bearings. But the sun was going to come up in at most another half hour, so he would stay here for now.

He could hear a soldier moving nearby. It was hard to maintain subtlety in the heavy getup. Alex guessed that they relied on their scouts to find him, and this was mostly a patrol in case he managed to get all the way to the outskirts of the camp. The clunking figure passed without suspicion. Why didn't anyone ever really look up? Still, it was to be expected, and certainly in Alex's favor.

What was much unexpected and certainly not in his favor was the disappearance of the tree.

Alex was recovering from the fall when a very pretty, very female, and very inhuman face peered down on him. "Well, well!" she exclaimed with a volume and sort of fascination that made Alex uneasy. "Look what we have here!"

Alex was well recuperated now, and no freakish tree lady was blowing his cover. He struck her with a knife hand in the head and ran off, only to be hindered by another pair – no, two, three, four pairs of hands. This time they were not playful, but angry.

"What did you do, boy?"

"You hurt one of us, you deal with all of us."

More figures joined in, the trees vanishing from view, replaced by furious beings bearing down upon him.

They were all weak, Alex could feel. They were lean, but not very strong. Still, breaking their grip would only cause them to become more irate. And there were just so many! As many as there were trees in the grove, he speculated humorlessly.

A/N: What do you think? Worth continuing?