Hi.

If you've been here a while: MEET THE NEW JILL!

If you haven't: This fic used to be called It's Called Amnesia and I am currently revamping it.

Because YOLO.

Also because old Leo was OOC af and old Jill was Mary Sue af.

So, enjoy this prologue.

-Jillian-

When my bedroom door banged open at two in the morning, showering cheap-door splinters all over the foot of my pseudo-bed (Just a mattress with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bed spreads, really), I was 92.86 percent sure there were going to be Missing Person posters with my face on them by tomorrow afternoon.

I took a deep breath, preparing to bust out my rape-shriek, but then I heard a thud and a mutter of 'Fuck.' in a nasally, the-balls-have-not-quite-dropped voice.

It was just Herman.

"Dude." I reduced my eyes from darting all across the room in a panicked frenzy to just glancing between my sister, Marybeth, sleeping soundly in a mattress next to mine (Her's with a One Direction pillow and blanket pair), unperturbed by Herman's terminal klutziness, and Herman himself, too skinny for his tent-sized Superman t-shirt and crouched awkwardly in the doorway of my room, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He didn't seem to hear me.

"Jill." He scrambled over to my pillow and yanked me out of bed by the back of my shirt, ignoring my high-pitched wails of protest, "Jill. Fuck. Jill. We need to go."

I stared at his legs, still groggy despite the heartbeat jackhammering in the back of my skull. They were furry, bent backwards at the knees and ended in sharp cloven hooves.

I blinked. Then I remembered.

"You're taking this pretty well compared to…well, it's a long story."

He had said that earlier that day, in that wonky accent he always spoke Spanish in. My sister was visiting her mother. I was sitting on my bed, knees pulled up to my chest, staring. And he was crouched on the floor.

Pantsless.

Furry.

Cloven.

I shrugged, more in shock than actually aloof and indifferent, "I mean, I've seen Billy Ramirez's weird back-wart. I guess this is just the next natural step."

He kicked out at me with a creepily nubby hoof, but smiled all the same.

"Fuck off." Then his goofy, crooked-teeth grin faded into a look of concerned seriousness, "But it's ok, right? You're not going to flip out on me?"

I took a moment to mentally breathe into a paper bag. This was fine. Everything was fine. I started playing a episode of Dr. Phil in my head.

Don't worry. It's completely normal for your friends to come out a half-goats. Nothing to be concerned about. Just remember to always be supportive of their decisions within their new lifestyle!

This was still Herman. Minus the great ass I'd always secretly assumed he did under baggy jeans, but still Herman. Herman who shared his lunch with me when my dad packed me nothing but a plastic container with some toothpaste in it. Herman who made paper airplanes for me to launch at the back of teachers' heads since I'd never learned how. Herman who gave me Valentine's Day cards with dicks drawn all over them every year since he'd moved to Texas. Herman who told me, struggling to breathe and frantically wringing his hands, that Leo Valdez's mom died in a fire and no one had seen him since.

Still Herman, I told myself, trying my absolute hardest not to look at the two polished-brown curlicues sticking out from the wild red forest of his hair.

"Sure." I tried to smile. Believe me, I did, "Why the hell not."

"You're a satyr."

It was the word I had learnt after a quick Google search the moment Herman had put his jeans back on and trotted along home. Pride at having a new vocabulary word and the vague surprise drifting over my sleep delirium forced the sentence out of my mouth.

He turned his distractedly moving gaze from the window to me. It was too dark to see his face; I could just feel the waves of exasperation rolling off of him, "No fucking shit, Sherlock."

I gave an exaggerated blink, squeezing my eyelids shut as tight as I could without rupturing something and then opening them up as far as they could go without splitting. It cleared my head. Just a bit.

I looked at him. My eyesight hadn't fully adjusted, but I felt a jolt in the back of my brain when our eyes met across the heavy night air of Texas.

"What's wrong? What's happening?"

Herman grabbed my arm, harshly, not the least bit romantic, and started leading me to the window that streamed the light of a thousand glowing street lamps over my bedroom. They were all off at this hour, but the creepy shadows they always left still lingered on in the cloudy moonlight.

I stopped short. Herman jolted and nearly fell flat on his face.

"What are you fucking doing?"

He turned on me, infuriated. An emotion most people experienced when they had to deal with me, "Saving your goddamn life."

"From what?"

"There's no fucking time to explain, Jill. I need you to fucking hurry."

"But what about all my stuff?"

"There'll be time later."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll find out."

"Are you some great foreteller of prophecy now?"

"No. That's Rachel."

"What?"

"Nothing. Whatever. JUST HURRY."

I glanced over to my sister. Our entire conversation was whisper-shouted. And she was sleeping right through it.

"Dude-"

I was interrupted. Not by Herman.

A throat-curdling roar tore at the air around my ears. I felt my already jumpy heart rate increase to a level that almost scared me as much as the sound itself.

Herman snarled. Like this was all my fault.

Marybeth finally woke up.

Herman yanked a set of panpipes from the front pocket of his flannel shirt. A few off-key notes and she was back in LalaLand with hardly enough time to finish the 'What the actual fuck' that was hissing between the gap in her teeth. It didn't seem to effect whatever in god's name was outside, though.

Which was a damn shame.

Then he turned on me.

"THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD FUCKING LISTEN TO ME."

He grabbed my arm with one hand, even more violently than before, and shoved open my window with another. He was lucky that my family was too poor to afford proper window locks. We stumbled out, him pushing me out before him. Me a shoeless mess of bed head and slogan'd booty shorts and him a gangly pile of freckly arms and quaking goat legs.

We landed in a tangled heap on the concrete by my bedroom, and as soon as his elbow detached itself from my face, we were running. I didn't even know what from, but I knew it was nothing good.

Nothing with screams that reach right down your esophagus and drown your soul is good news.

Herman was a panting mess, trailing just a few feet behind me despite his initial head start. And that… thing… whatever the fucking hell it was, was bounding along the sidewalk what felt like just a few inches away from the back of my neck. I was already sweating puddles in the thick July fug, but I kept running. Remembering everything I taught myself in track and field. One foot in front of the other. Don't think about how much it burns. Keep going. Keep going. Breath in. Breathe out.

I wasn't until he started screaming that I realized I was leaving Herman behind.

The bottoms of my feet bled with the sudden friction caused by my halt. I whipped around, preparing to run back to him through my injuries. But then I stopped.

And just stared.

Because I can't tell you what happened next.

Because all I remember is a mountain of black, broken by two glowing red eyes and a set of gleaming white fangs.

Then there was more red, as the legs that I already had a dozen jokes mentally noted about were torn from Herman's body in one merciless swipe.

Herman couldn't scream for me to save myself, or give any other dramatic last words. Because that was it.

I backed up three steps. Then I turned around. Then I sprinted until I couldn't anymore and collapsed in a heap on the side of a highway I hadn't realized I had been following.

-Annabeth-

"Another one. She's banged up pretty bad, but it's nothing a little ambrosia can't fix."

"Terrible timing." Annabeth muttered, not really looking at the meek little Apollo-girl who had delivered the news, "Terrible fucking timing."

The girl, Stacy, Annabeth believed, just shrugged, "She can't help it." Annabeth ignored her, which she took as an invitation to keep talking, "A scouting party found her on the side of the road, totally out. She was being followed by a hellhound, but Will shot it down just in time. Her satyr companion died, I think. It's gonna mess up her brain a little, having that connection broken at such a young age."

Annabeth still with held any contribution to Stacy's monologue, hoping she'd get the message and fuck off.

Apparently not.

"We should hold a memorial service."

"We don't have time for personal things in war."

Stacy smiled and crinkled her nose at the same time, making her look more like a pug than her long face warranted, "Whatever your say, Ann."

"Go back to treating the patients, Stacy. Gods know we need the extra medical staff."

She nodded, but slipped in one more detail before she shut up for good, "Call it Apollo's intuition, but I can tell she's a special one."

"We'll see about that."

The girl grinned, halfway out of the doorway, so tantalizingly close to leaving Annabeth in peace that it took most of her self-restraint not to roundhouse kick the Apollo girl out of the building, "I'm sure you will."

-Leo-

I'd stopped waking up yelping a long time ago. You tend to slip into a habit when the other option is being smothered half to death by your cranky bunkmate.

So instead, I woke up gulping for air.

It was still dark out and the landscape was dead and silent. Even Rory's snoring, usually the sound of blaring trumpets, was subdued.

There was no reason for me to be awake.

Other than the gaping hole I suddenly felt in the pit of my stomach.

It was a feeling of loss matched only by the too-soon death of my mother.

The feeling came with a flash of dark fur. Wild shrieks. Laying down in a pool of red.

And then an eerily clear image of a vaguely familiar girl, bed-mussed hair puffing out in weird directions on either side of her neck, blood trickling from the soles of her feet, eyes wide in soul-crushing horror.

I forced myself to breathe and felt to urge to make sure my legs were still intact.

Herman.

The name ringed in my head like a solid whack of a gong.

And then-

Jill.

This one more like tinkling bells. Reminding me of Spanish swear words and not knowing what to think.

I flipped onto my side under my bedsheets, wondering if one of the caretakers slipped something wonky into my morning porridge.

And then I drifted back into sleep.

Herman.

Quiet. Just a whisper.

And then-

Jill.

Shrieking and tearing out its hair.

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