Yo, my name's Percy Jackson.

Okay, that's a lie. It used to be Percy Jackson, but I changed it after convincing my mother that Perseus/Percy was a real pansy name. She happened to agree, it was dear dad's idea, after all. Now, let me start over with the truth.

My name, punks, is Riker Adley Jackson. I happen to really like it, so if you have any problems, please keep them to yourselves. Otherwise I might have to teach some people a lesson.

Anyway, I should probably get on with this, and tell you the reason I'm actually addressing you lowlife's in the first place. I'll just be blunt, come right out with it so none of us are confused. I am a half-blood. Any racists out there may politely die in a hole, because, no, that's not what I meant. Half-blood, demigod. That's right. One of my parents, perhaps the less... coolest one, was a god. My father, in fact, was one of the twelve Olympians of the Greek Pantheon.

I really don't care for him all that much. Or his brother, Mr. Thunderwear—because I think Uncle Hades is the best, personally, but that's not important right now.

Some of you might think that is cool. It's certainly interesting, yeah. But awesome? … Okay, it's pretty damn awesome, in my opinion—but it's not a good thing, not in the least. It's actually a really unfortunate existence. You're chased endlessly by monsters, and, usually, at least one of your parents(it's mostly the immortal one) doesn't give a rat's ass about you or what's happening to you. You're just the results of a one night stand, is most often the case with us demigods.

I'm not gonna lie. I actually happen to really like being what I am. I some pretty bad-ass powers that normal mortals don't have the genes for. My reflexes? Awesome. Totally legit. Swords are a common sight for me, inf fact I almost hardly notice them anymore. My bedroom at home is the equivalent to a weapons vault-it's pretty damn sweet, if you ask me. And yeah, I guess life could be better. The monster's could grow some brains and leave me the hell alone so I can actually get some life lived. The gods could stand to lend a hand to us—it is their fault we exist, after all. My dad could get off his ass and visit my mum once in a while-but life, it isn't perfect like that. You just got to deal with it. So, I did. Percy Jackson changed. He changed into Riker Adley Jackson. And, let me tell you—Riker Adley Jackson is one of the most legit guys you will ever meet.

If you don't believe me, that's fine. Read ahead. If you do believe me, that's alright too. Go on. But if you see and resemblance to your own life in these pages... I honestly can say ta I don't necessarily care, and that you should read on anyway so you can be at least prepared for what's to come—but I'll be "responsible and give you a warning. Turn back now. Set this book down and never—never—pick it up again.

Chiron's words, not mine, but that's not really the point right now. The aforementioned point is; this here is my story—my life. Read it if you want, I won't mind.

Just don't dis it. I can't promise you'll wake up again tomorrow.

Just a warning.

Chapter One

Riker didn't have the best life. He didn't have much money, he didn't have the nicest home, he didn't have very many friends. What you probably wouldn't guess, though, is that he's a bit proud of those facts. His motto is "Life is boring, so make heads roll."

It's a good phrase to live by, in his opinion. The reason he is without friends, really, is because everyone else—they're all too scared of him. The normal ones, at least. He had a few buddies that he met up with in the alleys at night and hung around with, but they didn't necessarily count. Riker wasn't a fool, he knew they'd sell him down the river at the first sign of trouble. But that was fine, he'd do the same.

Honestly, the only bright thing in his life was, aside form the fact that he was the coolest teen to grace the humble dust of this earth, his mother.

That's right. Riker s a momma's boy—and he's not afraid to admit that. His mother, Sally Jackson, was the coolest woman in the fabric of reality. At least, that was Riker's thoughts.

She worked in a candy shop, and always brought back a bag to share with her son when the weekends rolled in. Everything was blue, of course, since Riker's favorite color's were blue and black. Sometimes Sally slipped in some black licorice, which Riker loved the most, but the teen was just content enough to sit down on the couch, munch on candy, and talk with his mother about anything at all. Life, chores, school, jobs, homework, the future, the past, what did Riker want to do for the summer? Should Sally rent out their usual cabin in Montuak? What lowlife had asked Sally out on a date this week? Should Riker get prepared to back some faces in?

What Riker loved most, aside from his mother, about his life was the utter danger it presented him. Sure, his motto said Life was overall boring, and that was true, but Riker's posed a bit of a challenge. He loved it, the adrenaline, the rush, the risks he chose to take when running away from those... things that chased him almost continuously. He loved it. It was fun.

The thing Riker hated most about is life, however, unfortunately lived in the same apartment. It was a disgusting thing, smelling, filthy. Riker was certain it's parents had never been married at all when they had had it. It's name was Gabe. Gabe Ugliano. As in "Oo-glee-ano." Riker purposefully mispronounced it.

"Sally!" A voice that would make anyone cringe in dislike called out from the front room. Riker scowled from his place on his pitch black bed-spread as his mother stood up slowly from her place beside him. The white paper bag of candy that sat between them crinkled a little and Riker tossed it onto his desk, sending a discontent look in his mother's direction. Sally sighed. "Sorry, hon."

"Can't I dispose of him?" Riker drawled out, glaring at the wall. We both know he deserves it, yeah."

"No, Rike. You can't." Sally sent him a look, and the lithe teen of a pretty average height sunk down on his mattress, looking disappointed. "One of these days," he swore, "that man will die."

Sally let out a huff and smacked the back of Riker's head, to which the teen responded with a yelp. "Oi! Fine, I apologize. You accept it. Go make the fucke—lowlife his bean-dip, or whatever incredibly important, life-sustaining force he needs." Riker rolled his eyes when Sally's face darkened, quickly changing the curse into another words directly from his vocabulary.

"What did I say about swearing? Riker!" Sally shook her head as Gabe shouted for her again. "Sally! C'mon!" Riker growled, but stopped from dashing out of the room to throttle the man when his mother held up a hand. "I'll take care of it, hon. Just relax, okay? Why don't go finish that homework that Mr. Brunner assigned you this weekend? Aren't you excited? I mean, you only have one more week left of school!"

It was a pretty distinct fact that Riker has never stayed in a school for more than one year—most of the time he was expelled before the year could even end. Sally was pretty excited for him, when he noticed he hadn't been expelled from his latest school, Yancy Academy, yet.

"I know," Riker groaned. "And the moronic teach just had to schedule a field trip on the last week? Can't they give us any time to finish all the damn assignments they give us to complete before the year ends, yeah?"

Sally waved her hand as she walked out of the room in the midst of Gabe's hollering. Riker scowled once again and rolled over on his bed. "Fucker!" He growled under his breath. "He's playing poker, dammit! What could possibly be so important?" The teen let out an exaggerated sigh, lying on his back for a moment before swinging his legs up and flipping off of the mattress. He sauntered over to the closet and stripped off his school uniform, sneering at it as it fell to the floor. "Stupid school, damn board of administrators. Uniforms, who needs them?" He grumbled lowly to himself as he tore open his closet door and took out his usual outfit—which consisted of black jeans(not skinny jeans—he wasn't a girl, for crying out loud, but he didn't like pants flopping all around his calves when he walked) that tucked into black combat boots that went up to his knees with buckles and very thin chains instead of laces. He pulled a tight, white wife beater over his head, then slipped on his chain mail shirt that fit nice and snug, hugging his rather nicely formed muscles. Over that went a black leather jacket and a chain around the neck holding a silver pendant shaped like a star with the kanji for chaos inked on it in black.

Riker stumbled over to the mirror than hung on the wall across the room and stared at his reflection. His hair was pitch black and spiky, short in the back with two, not particularly long bangs that hung on either side of his face. His skin was slightly tan form the summers spent at the beach, and his green-blue eyes sparkled so brightly that it had to be illegal somewhere. He had a small, gold hoop pierced though the cartilage near the top of his left ear, and a small, silver stud shaped like a star to match his pendant in the lobe of his right. He tilted his head to the right and reached down to slide his shirt up and turned slightly, grinning when he saw the black, beautifully inked tattoo on his hip. It was a white skull with a crack in the crown, with the kanji for destruction, war, and victory situated around it. The eye sockets were suck a deep black that it made the rest of the art pop out at you, looking undeniably realistic.

Sure, it was a bit much for a twelve year old, but that didn't exactly matter to Riker, or his pals. And Sally supported her son in whatever road he wanted to take, even if she didn't necessarily approve wholeheartedly. "This is me," Riker once told her, and she had to agree, if only slightly.

Plus, Riker looked about two years older than he actually was. That helped a bit. Kind of.

"Punk!" Riker's expression darkened as Gabe's voice sounded again, this time calling for the younger Jackson. "Get in here!"

Riker threw his hands up, storming into the front room. He'd had enough for today. "Listen, asswipe! I don't care what you have to say! Stuff that damned mouth of yours with those disgusting nachos and shut the hell up!"

oOoOo

"Percy!" A voice bleated over the chaos that was the School corridor, as the students got ready to leave for the field trip to the local museum. Riker felt his eyes twitch, and he turned around to see a nerdy, wimpy looking teen with the start of a intensely scraggly beard stumbling over toward him. Riker knew his name was Grover, but he couldn't figure out the last name. Grover had, sometime during the start of the year, hopped into Riker's shadow and now refused to leave. It was annoying, and Riker was extremely frustrated. The pansy just wouldn't leave him be! "Grover," Riker reluctantly replied, seeing the other teens face light up. "How... nice, to see you." Sure, he didn't like the other male at all, not really, but he wasn't an asshole. He could tolerate him, just enough tat he didn't hurt the other boy's feelings. That may make him sound soft, but he just didn't want to come out as a jackass. "What have I told you about calling me by that name, yeah?"

Grover winced as he approached, wobbling just slightly. Riker resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Grover couldn't do PE since he had some type of bone disease in his legs, but Riker wasn't convinced. He'd seen the wimp book it during Enchilada Thursday in the cafeteria. It was like a cheetah racing after a bloody antelope. Grover ate like it, too. It was a bit disturbing. "Sorry, Riker. I forgot."

"Well, don't do it again!" Riker smacked the boy on the back of the head, then watched with a smirk as the shorter teen moved like lightning and stopped his hat from flying off, eyes looking panicked. Riker wasn't sure what Grover was hiding, but the wimp sure kept it under tight security. "And how many times have I asked—why the hell are you following me all the freaking time, yeah? You're like a stalker and, no offense, man, but you're creeping me out." He held out his hands as if to calm a wild animal when indirectly insulting the boy, but Grover waved it away.

"Sorry, Pe—Riker," the teen cringed as Riker glared at him dangerously. "I just wanna hand out with you, ya know? We're friends, right?"

"... Right..." Riker responded, doubtiously, but Grover didn't seem to notice. "Okay! Let's go, they're loading up the bus, see?" He pointed, and Riker spun on his heel waving a hand in the air to dismiss the other boy. "Whatever."

The ride to the museum was pretty uneventful, unless you counted a girl, you was crushing hard on Riker, by the way, chucking ketchup sandwiches at the back of Grover's head exciting. Nancy was a tough-type bulky girl, but she was pretty much queen of Yancy, according to the social ladder. Riker was king, of course—it was pretty obvious, really-but the teen really didn't care enough to even notice.

Things did get a little tense, though, when one of the lunch missiles swerved and accidentally hit Riker instead. A look of horror passed across Nancy's face, and all the kids who saw immediately cringed away. Riker just turned to glare at the girl, though, and everyone relaxed once the raven-haired teen shoved Grover good-naturally off of the bus seat and into the isle. Though, to be fair, Grover just dusted himself off and sat back down with a grin. Riker fought off the urge to just give in and let his eyebrow twitch, but it was almost a loosing battle.

"Everyone off!" Mrs. Dodds, their math teacher, roared in her dry,irritated voice. All of the student stampeded toward the sliding yellow door. Riker hopped up onto his seat and raced across the tops of the bus benches. Some students who still weren't used to him stopped and stared with slightly slack jaws, but Riker only smirked at them then flipped forward through the door. Parkour and freestyle only made him that much more awesome than he already was, and he was a master of both.

"Riker!" Nancy called out, rushing after him as he came to a stop at the fountain. Riker rolled his eyes discreetly, but decided to put on a show, lest he lose his position of king. After all, the king must associate with the queen sometimes, right?

"'Allo, sweetheart." Riker slipped an arm around the girls waist and the other girls around them tittered in jealousy, but Nancy's eyes shone in excitement. Riker smirked. "And what did you need, yeah?"

Nancy shook her head and giggled. "Nn-nothing! I just wanted to walk with you! Wanna... wanna partner up for the tour?" Riker saw Grover frown out of the corner of his eye, and he grinned. "That would be fabulous, I think. Sure." He shrugged as the girl cheered and raced of, giggling with her posse as they loitered around and picked the pockets of the nearby tourists.

"Yo," Riker turned to stare at Grover as he spoke. "Problem?"

Grover quickly raised an eyebrow, masking the frown he'd had on only seconds before. "No. What?"

Riker rolled his eyes. "You wanted to be my partner, didn't ya?"

Grover crossed his arms. "Well, maybe, yeah. But that's fine. I don't care."

Riker raised his own eyebrow and shrugged. "Sure, whatever." But as he turned, he saw that worried look on Grover's face, and he felt just a pang of guilt. But he quickly brushed it off and continued on his way, lining up with the other kids as they made to enter the museum.

oOoOo

"—and can someone tell me who Kronos was?" Mr. Brunner, a stringy brown haired man who sat in a wheelchair raised an eyebrow t the group. "Anyone? Ah, Mr. Jackson. Do you mind?"

Riker blinked as he was brought of of his boredom-insituated daze, then focused on the teacher. "Mmm..." He rolled his eyes, "Hn. Kronos was the Titan lord of Time. He had a wife named Rhea, and he was the father of most of the gods and goddesses, like Poseidon, Hades, Hestia, all that. He had shi—ps for brains, though, and ate his children cuz he thought they'd betray him and take his throne, blah blah blah—you're run-of-the mill psycho king with superiority complex, yeah. Even though he was scared of his kids taking over, he stupidly had another kid anyway—as I said, a moron—and Rhea didn't like the fact that he ate her children, so she gave him a rock covered in, like, mustard or somthing-I forgot," he shamelessly clarified to the disappointed look on Mr. Briunner's voice, and grinned as the students around him snickered. "Anyway, Kronos was so stupid, that he proves my point by eating the rock instead of the id, who turned out to be Zeus. Kronos' kids were immortal, being gods and goddesses, that they were growing up in his stomach since they couldn't be digested. What a terrible childhood to have, yeah?" Riker cackled. "So, uh-huh. Zues grew up, blah blah, he battled his dad eventually, blah blah, he won, chopped his pops into a thousand pieces and threw his mangled body into the pits of Tartar Sauce—or Tards, Tartarus, yeah. The end!" The teen smiled cheekily at the crippled teacher, who only sighed as the children around them giggled and laughed.

"That.. is correct." Mr Brunner sighed, then rolled his wheelchair over to the next exhibit. Riker followed him, his arm loosely wrapped around Nancy's shoulders. He'd eventually get tired and ditch her somehow, but for now he was content at the jealous looks that the other males sent him.

This one was a tombstone of some long-dead Greek girl, but Riker frowned slightly as he saw the expression on Mr. Brunner's face. Like he'd known the girl.

Yeah, right.

Eventually they went back outside for lunch, and Riker entertained his audience by shoving a very quick to forgive Grover into the fountain. He was led inside by Mrs. Dodds in the midst of the laughing students. It's not like he wanted to follow the hag, but he wanted to avoid suspension or expulsion anyway. His mom would be disappointed his he ditched this school as well.

Mrs. Dodds turned to him as they entered an empty exhibit, and Riker had the distracted thought that being completely along with her like this might have been a bit illegal on her part, but he shrugged it off and tuned into the old lady's rant. It was something about him being a thief—nothing new, of course—and that the gods would punish him. Scrawny little son of Poseidon he was.

Riker paused, then blinked slowly and focused on Mrs. Dodds—he was beginning to suspect that that wasn't who she actually was—as she finished he rant and looked at him expectantly. "Give it back, you filthy half-blood!"

Riker raised an eyebrow. "Uh... meh? You okay, lady?" Scratch that, she seemed a bit off her rocker. "What you talking about, yeah?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Son of Poseidon!" The hag screeched and jumped back a good fifteen feet. And as Riker stood, strongly impressed—she was totally fit for an old grandma—the lady turned into an actual hag. "Return what you stole and perhaps Lord Hades will make your death quick!"

Riker observed her for a few seconds, before letting out a long suffering sigh and plopped down on the floor, Indian style. The hag—a real hag, would you believe it?—stopped short and glared at him, slightly puzzled. He shrugged at her. "Oi, I have no clue what you're going on about, lady... whatever you are. You're talking like the Greek myths are real or something."

The hag shrieked in rage. "They are, you twat! Now die!"

And as his math teacher suddenly grew wings and very sharp and deadly-looking claws, Riker had the vague thought that, maybe, he would actually die today. Huh.