WOAH! OKAY! I see I have some catching up to do! First of all, I would like to apologize to any of my fans who had been anticipating Part Two of this story for quite a while now. When I first started this story I never imagined that it would become this popular with all of my lovely fans. I was 14 years old when I first began writing this story, and as it turns out I was, and am a terribly shitty writer. xD I started Part One as a way to turn some of the ideas that I had in my head as I read the Percy Jackson series into some type of story that hopefully people could enjoy. And from the critical reaction from all of you I guess I sort of achieved that. Part one was also my first chance at trying to grow as a writer and a storyteller. Now, the main reason for the delay of Part Two was all of the school work that I had to do, and because of all the ideas swimming around in my head on where I wanted to go with this story. Now that I have some free time and I've been working out the story, I can finally start delivering to you Part Two of Percy Jackson the Betrayer. I'm trying to make Part Two a lot darker and more grown up than Part One. Now, this first Chapter is only a Prologue and it will be short. You can expect more chapters soon, though!

I hope you enjoy. ^-^

Part II

Prologue

I checked my watch.

11:47 P.M.

It was dark in the office. Almost too dark to see, the only visible light being the moon reflecting beautifully off the marble floor. The 20 x 20 office room was a shadow overlooking Manhattan.

I stood behind the massive black desk that took up most of the eastern corner of the room, flipping through a shipping file that was filled out a month prior to the current date.

I smirked as a feeling of accomplishment wafted over me.

I had finally found what I was looking for. I was one step closer to the truth.

All of a sudden the door to the office swung open and light burst through the room. The smell of cigar smoke filled the air; the old man must have been having himself a good night. And why shouldn't he? He just made 15.5 million dollars through an arms sale. The 63 year old war veteran, Albert Friedrich, danced into the room, humming an odd tune as the door slowly slid shut behind him. He walked over to the western part of the office, towards a newly stocked liquor cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and reached over to his left to turn on the lamp resting on top of the shelf.

A click.

A pause.

Another click.

The old man let out a curse as more furious clicking sounds filled the air. I silently made my way towards the door, locking it. A loud snap filled the room as the deadbolt slid into place.

The clicking stopped.

The old man froze.

"I wondered when you would show up." He whispered. The top to the whiskey made a popping nose as the cork hit the floor with a crack. The tip of the bottle rattled against the glass as the old man nervously poured himself his final drink; the shakes obviously a side effect from PTSD, thanks to the Vietnam conflict.

He turned back slowly to look at me, his face turning red when he saw me with his file in my hands.

"Found what you were searching for, eh?" He took a sip of scotch, slowly inching his way towards me.

I smirked.

"I found exactly what I was looking for, Mr. Friedrich." We walked in a circle, mirroring each others movements. He made his way over to where I was standing as I stepped back and leaned against the liquor cabinet, pulling out an old bottle of whiskey.

He placed his hand on his desk, sliding around behind it to the leather swivel chair. He let out a grunt as he sat down.

"What do you plan to do now?" He said, taking another long sip of his drink.

"Well…." I started, holding up the bottle of whiskey. "First, do you mind if I-" Friedrich nodded, and I uncapped the bottle and took a small drink. I winced as the warm liquid burned my throat as I swallowed it down. It was a burn I had come to be all too familiar with over the past year.

"I now know that you sold a large item to a fellow arms dealer in England…But I'm guessing it won't be there for very long, will it?"

Friedrich Smirked.

"You're correct..." By now his hand was in the side drawer of the desk, wrapping his hand around his Berretta.

"Well, then I guess I'll be leaving for London very, very soon…." Friedrich stood up abruptly, sending his chair flying back against the wall with a loud smack.

I kept myself rested against the liquor cabinet as he aimed his pistol directly at my head.

"My, my, my…" The old man started; the shaking in his hands seemed to have disappeared in an instance. "I've heard stories about how talented you were, but I had no idea of how big of a fool you really are! I mean, did you honestly think that you would make it out of here alive? Tsk! As if it would be so simple!" He gave a loud chuckle as he waved his glass of scotch through the air, some of the dark liquid spilled out onto the floor.

"But I must applaud your bravery, young man! Sneaking into a heavily secured building without being detected AND getting your dirty little fingers all over my shipping manifest? Bravo, young man. Really, bravo." He gulped down the remainder of the scotch and slammed the glass down hard on to the table.

"Now this can go one of two ways; Either I blow your head off right now and save you the misery of a slow and painful death, or I can call my security detail and they can bring you down to the basement and do some very nasty things to you; Things that would make you wish you'd have taken my bullet." It was almost hilarious to see the man grow so much confidence within only a few minutes. He'd gone from a nervous little dog to war hero in less than three minutes. I had to keep myself from bursting out into laughter.

I took another sip from the whiskey bottle and placed it quietly back down onto the liquor cabinet. As I opened the shipping manifest, my attention was completely on the expenditures, rather than the gun that was aimed steady at my head, ready to blow it clean off.

"You know, you really should have prepared yourself better for this Friedrich." I began. "I mean, come on. A handful of armed goons, a mediocre security system, and your only fall back plan is a handgun that isn't even fucking loaded?"

Terror.

The old man removed the clip from the gun.

Empty.

That old shake was coming back.

"How did you-" he gasped.

"I guess you were too worried on what you were going to spend all that money on instead of worrying about your own pathetic life though, eh Albert?" My advance was slow. With every step I took forward, the old man took one back. When I finally reached the desk he had collapsed into his chair, his eyes were fixed on me with a horrified gaze, like weak prey just before the kill. I slammed the file down onto his desk along with all of the bullets I had unloaded from his gun. I grabbed him by the collar of his sports coat and wheeled him in real close.

"Now, suspiciously, the only thing left out of this file is the identification of what was actually shipped to Europe." I pulled out my dagger Shark Tooth and pressed the blade firmly against his throat. He squirmed in fear, knocking over a few family photos and a miniature American Flag, but I held him down firmly in his swivel chair. "You're going to tell me exactly what was shipped, or you're going to wish I'd left one in the chamber." He began clicking rapidly on a red button that was concealed underneath his desk.

I smirked.

"What's wrong Albert? Security running a little slow today, eh?"

"They will kill you!" he managed to croak.

"They're all dead you old bastard!" My rage was beginning to get the best of me. I picked him up and slammed him against the wall, which cracked and groaned from the force. Any harder and he would have gone straight through.

"You're going to tell me what was shipped!" I forced the blade harder against his throat, a small line of blood trickled down my hand.

The old man was crying now. Crying for his sad, wasted life.

"You already know!" he cried out. This was the one thing I didn't want to hear. If the item in question was the one I had suspected, it could mean the destruction of the entire planet. I was furious and growing tired of the old man's stalling. I needed closure and I needed it fast.

"I want you to say it! Out loud you son of a bitch!" My face was burning with anger, and my knuckles were turning white around his collar. I was losing patience, and I felt I was going to do something I might regret.

It turns out that I would.

He stopped crying. His face was burning with rage as he looked at me with glory in his eyes; the last ounce of courage from a war veteran. He spat in my face.

"Go to hell, Percy Jackson!"

Red.

I was blinded by rage as I dragged the blade across his throat. I lost sense of who I was, where I was standing, even why the hell I was even there in the first place.

I took a large gasp. And as the air filled my lungs my head had finally started to clear. When I had come out of my enraged state my eyes fell to the floor. The old man's body was hunched on the ground, gripping his throat as the blood was pouring from it. He tried to speak, but the only sound that came out was the disturbing gurgling of his own blood. His body turned pale as the blood pooled out onto the floor. It wasn't long before he eventually stopped struggling and finally died. I was mesmerized by the sight, a feeling which deeply disturbed me.

I was left standing with an unanswered question, a question which had brought me back to New York after running away from it for months. In my heart I knew the answer. In my heart I felt a tremendous fear for the oncoming events.

I looked out of the window again towards the stormy New York horizon as his blood swirled around my feet.

"I'm already in hell."