It started with a government experiment. I learned very early on that the life of Percy Jackson, me, was the product of a massive screw-up by Uncle Sam. They experimented on eventually turned some regular people into some sort of genetically engineered super humans with massive side effects. Not just sneezing and headaches, but also dangerous mood shifts, violent urges, and a random tendency to fuck anything that walks. That's how I was born. My father, Code-name 9949-Poseidon (a nickname that he picked up in some god-forsaken water-park) was a result of some fish, horses, salt, milk, and temporal brain lobes. Don't ask me how he ended up a deranged superhuman, because he somehow magically turned into a superhuman with the mood shifts of a teenage girl enhanced by his murderous testosterone supplement, and an ability to control water and horses. So, about the fucking everything that walks part, yeah. That's how I was born. I was basically him except for the fact that I was less powerful, and that I had lesser versions of his symptoms. My mom Sally did her best, and she was a great mother, taking care of me but never knowing my true potential. She thought I was useless. Being dyslexic and having ADHD was a detriment for any job applicant, but mine was enhanced somewhat, providing me a virtual barrier between a fry cook and any level of job higher than that. But, an opportunity came. I was 17 years old when I realized my potential as a high-maintenance assassin. I was walking home from Goode, my high school, a group of guys jumped on me. Not just some scared-shitless teenagers trying to make a quick buck, but grown men trying to kill some unsuspecting fuck. There were seven of them, some even jumping off of trees, and I thought that was the end. There was a moment where I could see nothing and hear only screams when I opened my eyes and found a scattering of dead bodies with bloody holes in their heads, a gun with a silencer snuggled into my bloody hand, and foam dripping down my chin. That's how I got into the assassin business. I finished high school, packed a few things, and ran away from, and here I am, a 25-year old assassin with gun in hand walking towards a shady strip club in a dark alley. Little did I know that right there was the place where things went horribly wrong.

How, you ask? The Angelico assassin's guild was waiting for me.

The first thing I felt when I opened the door was a large, blunt object slammed against my chin, sending me flying into the wall. Dazed but still aware, I analysed the room and found what looked like an abandoned strip club with some flickering lights and a roach problem, and a fat guy with a black suit and tie. My eyes widened as I noticed he had a gun barrel boring into my face, so I pushed it away and rolled to the left as I heard a loud BANG! I grabbed the guy in the suit who attacked me in the arm, and struggled with him to grab the gun as a couple of other men came barreling down the stairs, bullets flying. I used the suit guy as a meat shield and threw him against the two men, pulled out my trusty modified pistol riptide, and squeezed a couple a bullets into their head. It was supposed to be an assassination and robbery of some 80-something old fart, I thought. Nobody really cared about this godforsaken place, and it was some quick cash for more weapon upgrades and renting (We assassins are not kings, thank you very much). My thoughts would be my downfall as A few more men barreled downstairs, machine guns in hand. I wasn't scared of them, even a tiny bit amused. What I was really scared of was Nico de Angelo, the murderous leader of the Angelicos, and the fact that he had a sadistic grin on his face and a hammer, rope, and two pistols in his hands.