A/N Before I begin this, I'd like to say something: I have absolutely no clue geographically where is where in New York. Whatever mistakes geographically you find here are purely unintentional. So… yeah.

Please leave a review on your way out! Any meaningful, not-five-word reviews will be mentioned in the next chappie. :)

Percy Jackson was beginning to seriously, seriously hate mutts.

Not dogs, mind you. He didn't mind dogs. Mutts, on the other hand… they were an entirely different thing altogether.

Matted fur, bared teeth, dark, glinting eyes… the description of a wolf, but larger, with thicker fur and an insatiable urge to murder.

That was what Percy Jackson considered a Mutt.

He hadn't always hated the creatures; he'd only began when they started their seemingly never-ending attempts to murder him at every opportunity- cornering him in alleyways, snarling at him from the distant treeline- annoyances, in short.

It wasn't as if he hadn't dealt with his fair share of monsters.

Monsters, he called them. The word seemed most fitting for the poison-spewing, eye-rolling, muscled creatures that hissed and pounced and tried to kill him.

For a brief time, between the ages of 4 and 6, he considered insanity- but after watching his mother, his very real mother die to the hand of the Mutt, he hardly cared anymore.

She was the only tangible thing he'd ever had to hold on to, and now that she was gone…

He couldn't care less whether or not he was insane. All he knew was that he was alive, and that in itself was enough.

Steeling himself, he surveyed the street. Nothing. Of course. The creatures tended to shy away from the public- as if it would do anything. He'd tried calling a police officer, once, who'd laughed and laughed when he pointed out the massive hound thirty feet away.

Apparently, they were called 'poodles' and they were fluffy and pink and kind.

By his eyes, they were most certainly not fluffy. Or pink. Or kind. Heck, it nearly clawed him to death! If this was the definition of kind, he wanted a word with Oxford dictionary.

The loud sound of a car horn shook him from his thoughts. Shaking his head, he made his way up and out of the alleyway, merging into the large crowd bustling about.

Ah, New York city. He loved it. It was perhaps the only place strangers could see a bedraggled, starving 6-year-old and not bat an eye.

Cars honked, people screamed, fists were thrown, and police intervened. Percy watched all this while nonchalantly heading up 5th avenue. A fairly normal start to the day, really. He'd seen worse. This was Bronx, after all- violence and mobs were the norm.

Which was why his brief, brief visit would indeed be brief. Turning away from the general humdrum, he made his way across the streets and into the safer areas of Manhattan.

This being, of course, when he was hundreds of feet away from any living being, was the time the Mutts chose to strike.

A deep, ugly growl rose up behind him. Percy turned to find himself staring down a ton of muscle and bound claws. Gulping, he paced nervously back, fingering his pocket. He had, before completely abandoning his mother's apartment, managed to sneak out a kitchen knife. What the measly weapon could do against a huge hound of a wolf he had no idea, but it was the only weapon he had left to him.

The Mutt advanced in deep strides, closing the distance between them fast. Percy scanned the surrounding area, trying to find somewhere to lose it- or perhaps hide. This last afterthought was quickly dismissed. How could he hide against that bloodhound nose?

Dirt. Dirt and rubble and piles upon piles of trash leaned high up against decrepit houses- and that was all. Nothing here could help him in the slightest, unlike all of the other scenarios he'd been in.

The only things that could save him now were his own two feet- something not to be underestimated. Grimacing, he shifted his weight and looked down the corridor. And cursed.

Of course there had to be two Mutts. Why the h*ll not? Double the fun, right?

This last sarcastic afterthought nearly cost him his life as the first Mutt pounced, razor-sharp claws raking through the air. Screaming, Percy stumbled back as the edge of the claw raked his jacket, slicing through the material with relative ease. Percy idly wondered the amount of pain that could do if it hit flesh.

He decided he didn't want to find out.

The first Mutt entered a frenzy now, lashing out, pouncing, screaming bloody murder as it swiped its paws in wide arcs. Percy barely managed to avoid the blows- but not entirely, and the long gash running along his arm gave proof to the fact.

The second Mutt, sensing opportunity, pounced at the same time. Percy watched in horror as both came from two separate directions, each intent on one goal- killing him. Wait. Perhaps he could make something of this…

Twisting aside at the last moment, he jumped to one side; the Mutts, in all their momentum, crashed against each other. The first Mutt, being the heavier one, fell forward, crushing the second one against the floor. A sickening crunch was heard, closely followed by a horrible, pained howl.

Percy knew an opportunity when he saw one. His mind, being the naive thing it was, contemplated two options- fight bravely against the creature, risk death, and gain glory and precious, precious fur, or run, lose glory, and gain nothing but hunger.

The choice was so obvious that he berated himself silently for taking that millisecond to consider the ridiculous option.

Turning tail, he dashed for the street.

It had been chasing him for nearly three hours now. Even when he wasn't looking, he could feel its gaze sliding down his back, boring into his soul. The first Mutt- sometimes atop buildings, other times sidling against trees, appeared everywhere throughout his day, its eyes full of vengeance. His partner was nowhere to be found.

He was almost a companion now. A murderous, killing companion. Percy decided to name him Bob.

Percy barely managed to avoid death by scrambling for the crowds, something Bob hated immensely. Percy, determined to milk this extra protection, stayed in the middle of Time Square. Bob, infuriated, waited impatiently at the other side of the lot, as if baiting him into its paws.

It would, at times, give chilling howls. They were so loud that Percy could hear them even over the blasting traffic.

Eventually, though, all good things had to end- and that meant the stream of people in the Square trickled and trickled. Fewer and fewer milled about as the clock approached midnight. Biting his hand nervously, Percy watched Bob take tentative steps forward.

Scratching his bleeding, now-bandaged arm, he contemplated his options. Either go out and die, or go out and die. Neither of the two sounded particularly appealing to him.

Bob seemed aware of his predicament. From even across the lot, he could see its red eyes glinting in amusement, as if taunting him. Standing from his once-seated position, it rose on four, sprung hind legs- a battle stance. As if it knew his time had come. Percy tried to run, but his legs seemed like lead weights. Lack of food and absence of that precious water left him weak and vulnerable.

Bob growled in veritable glee. Swinging his paws forward, he bounded to his weak prey, his eyes glowing with fury as it slashed down with both paws, intent on the kill.

Percy closed his eyes. He was tired, emaciated, and utterly, utterly exhausted. His limbs were stiff from hours of lack of sleep, and he knew right then that there was nothing, nothing he could to prevent the thing from hacking him to little ribbons of human flesh.

So he sat there and accepted it. Fate.

Tensing himself, he braced himself for the final, deadly blow…

Several moments later, he was still there, in the same, defeated posture, his eyes closed and unmoving. He opened one eyelid tentatively, then the other.

Huh. Interesting. Bob, who'd been mere inches away from sinking his fangs into his skull moments before, now lay in a bloody heap on the side of the road. A single, silver-tipped arrow had pierced its skin, cutting through flesh and knocking it aside.

"Foolish boy."

Percy whirled around, on high alert, to find himself face-to-face with a fully charged bow. Yelping, he stumbled back, tripping on the carcass of Bob and falling to the floor.

The wielder of the bow, a short, auburn-haired woman (she was about 17, and anything around that seemed ancient to Percy), laughed.

Percy shrunk back even farther at the sound.

"Er…"

There isn't much one can do when faced with a fully charged bow. Percy was dimly aware of the proper social etiquette here- bow and scrape.

Falling to both knees, he placed his head on the ground. "Please, ma'm, I'm innocent, I swear!" he squeaked. It was humiliating, but he'd rather not have an arrow in his head.

The woman seemed even more amused at this. Uncharging her bow, she barked out, "Get up, boy! Nobody is going to kill you."

Percy raised a timid forehead. "Really?"

"Really."

"Uh…"

The woman laughed again. "Not many arrogant, stuck-up men would know to bow before me. What is your name, child?"

"Percy. Percy Jackson."

"Hm…" she stroked her chin. "My name is Artemis. I am the Goddess of the Hunt and childhood, among other things."

Percy squealed again at this.

"The-the Hunt?"

"Yes. Don't worry, child. Nobody is going to hurt you. I thought I have already established this."

Her voice turned cross, and Percy found himself gulping. "Okay. Okay."

Sighing, she waved her hand disparagingly.

"Ah, you foolish demigod boy…" she spat the last word out like a virus. They sat there for the best of ten seconds, the woman contemplating what to do, the child praying to high heaven she wouldn't but an arrow through his skull. Then-

"Hm…" she turned her cold, calculating eyes over his thin figure. "I am the Goddess of Childhood. Leaving you here to fend for yourself without a family… is not ethical. Men, as they age, corrupt themselves with their stupid ideals… but perhaps you, being a child… perhaps we can change you."

She eyed a baleful eye over him, then, as if making a decision, tapped her arm to his shoulder. Percy refrained from flinching at the coldness of the finger.

"Wha-"

Before he could complete his thought, the woman glowed a brilliant supernova light; Percy screamed and screamed as he felt his feet lift off the Earth and into nothing at all.

A/N

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