Chapter 1

Lawrence p.o.v

What makes a house a home? I couldn't tell you, mainly because I've never possessed either. Well I had my classy 100 square foot abandoned shipping container just off 156 street in South Queens; with no view, no windows, and no basic necessities for life. But I didn't think that really counted.

I slumped against the inside of my shipping container. I slid off my leather jacket, pulled out my switchblade and started polishing it with a cloth. I only had it for self defense, though I could've made an excellent mugger.

I stood about six foot four with broad, muscular shoulders and arms. My body was lean, partially from exercise, partially from lack of food.

But I stayed away from mugging, and stealing, opting instead to panhandle. It just didn't feel right taking from people; and even though it had probably cost me a lot, I could never willingly do the wrong thing.

Pain in my stomach brought me out of thought. I sighed, and rifled through my bag, I brought out a tin of baked beans, my last one.

"It's my lucky day," I sighed half heartedly. "Hurray…" I pulled the tab on the bean tin and dug in with his spoon, trying to eat slowly and savor it; good food was hard to find. Halfway through I gave up, and scarfed down the rest.

I tossed the can at the wall making a thud that reverberated around the container.

"What was that?" Said a muffled voice from outside. Shit. The voice continued, "You think that was him?"

"Maybe," replied another voice, this one higher. "It came from over there." Shit! I quietly pulled out my switchblade, praying I wouldn't have to use it. Footsteps approached me, there was a clunk as the latch slid open. Fuck, this is it. I raised my blade and the door swung open.

Immediately I leapt forward taking the first person by surprise, a short guy. I grabbed his wrist and slammed his head into the metal door, he crumpled to the ground. Then I lunged with my knife at the figure standing on the right, a girl, backlit by the bright light. The Sun dazed me and I missed, throwing me off balance.

The girl tried to grab my arm but I dodged past her kicking her in the side of the knee, making her stumble into the shipping container. The last stranger, a guy pulled out a sword, like a genuine two for long fucking sword. I glanced at my switchblade, turned around and ran.

I heard him shout something after me, something along the lines of "Wait, come back!" Pff, fat chance Sir Lancelot.

No one chased me, so after a few minutes I slowed to walking, I wound through city streets till I found a suitably dark empty alley to hide in. I hoped they had just been after my stuff, not me. Maybe they'd just take it and leave me alone.

But my luck wasn't that good, never has been. I dozed off in the alley after a smoke and was awoken by a sword poking me in the chest. Guess who it belonged to, Sir Lancelot himself.

My first reaction wasn't fear, it was anger, what did these assholes even want from me. "You know what," I said, "fuck you!" The guy looked shocked at my outburst. "I don't have anything to steal, leave me alone."

The girl next to him spoke in a concerned voice, "We're not here to rob you" That pissed me off even more.

"Oh yeah? So what, you just get off on killing homeless kids." I slapped the sword away from my chest and stood up. "Fucking rich kids," I spat seeing their nice, freshly washed jeans and T-shirts. "Think you can do whatever you want to us. Well you want a fight, come and get it."

The guy stepped forward, his short blonde hair quivering with rage. "Listen jackass," he said through gritted teeth.

"Geoffrey!" The girl yelled, as she stepped in front of him. "We're not here to-" I cut her off with a burst of laughter.

"You're names Geoffrey?" I said through laughter.

"Yeah," he said, his face red as a tomato.

I pushed my back against the wall my knife dropping to my side clutching my stomach with laughter. "What kind of fucking name is Geoffrey?"

"Hey!" The girl shouted, "That's enough. Look," she said making eye contact with me, her eyes were blue, light blue. "We're not here to hurt you." Her voice was calm, and I stopped laughing.

"Could've fooled me" I said, pointing to the sword.

"That's for self-defense."

I snorted. "From who, The Knights of the round table? Why do you have a sword?"

"I'll explain all that," The girl assured, "But you need to come with us now. Your life is in danger."

"Honey, my life is danger." She didn't seem to like the honey comment.

"Listen," she hissed, clearly exasperated, "the world as you know is not what it seems. Come with us, we'll take you to a safe place, a bed, a roof over you, three square meals."

"Prison?"

"No!" She fumed, "A camp near Montauk. Come with us." I thought about it, can't be any worse than this.

I shrugged, "Fine, I'll go." She looked very relieved. The guy put his sword on his belt and followed her out of the alley. I shuffled along behind 'accidentally' stepping on his heels.

The girl walked up to a car parked just outside the alley. Geoffrey got in the passenger seat, I got in the back with the girl. The guy driving was the short one whose head is smashed earlier.

"How's your head." I asked genuinely a bit sorry. He rubbed it.

"Hurts like a bitch." His voice sounded weird, high and reedy. This whole day had been wired I reminded myself.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." He shrugged and pulled out into the road.

"Buckle up," the girl told me, I didn't know what she meant.

"Huh?" She gestured to the seatbelt on my left. I took it and look at her confused.

"Buckle it up," she said pointing a clasp by my hip. I slotted it in and it clicked. "Have you," she started hesitantly, "never been in a car?"

"No!" I snapped, fucking rich brats, think they're better than us. She jumped back in her seat at my outburst.

"Sorry, I just," she tried to think of something to say but gave up. I fumed for a minute before calming down.

"It's fine," my shoulders sagged as I spoke. "How could you have known." We rode in silence for the rest of the drive.

*

The car stopped in front of a tall hill with a solitary pine tree at the top. "Here we

are," the girl said proudly, staring at the tree. "Camp half-blood."

"That's a fucking tree." I replied.