Author's Note: This takes place in an alternate universe. The armies of Kronos have won and have taken over America. Percy Jackson is dead.

The skeletal trees were smudged charcoal against the brightening sky, their branches drunk on silver frost. The pale golden sun of a new dawn was rising hesitantly from behind emerald mountains, its gentle light silently licking the strawberry fields of Camp Half-Blood.

At this early hour, a line had already formed outside the big house. It was the first day of the month of December, which meant that the new ration books would be distributed. A pall was cast over the ever-growing line as the quiet demigods fidgeted as they waited their turn.

It had been slightly over three months since Kronos and his armies had emerged victorious. Percy Jackson had been slayed by the Titan's hand, along with other notable names like Thalia Grace and Annabeth Chase. The three of them had added to the mile-long death toll of other campers who had fallen in the great Battle of Manhattan; campers like Michael Yew and Charlie Beckendorf, amongst countless others.

The remaining demigods had been gathered and confined to their precious Camp, locked away from the outside world. They were labelled as dangerous and had to be contained. They were labelled as threats and were treated as such under the harsh steel fingers of the new Regime. No longer did Camp bring the easy-going routines and family bonding that it had been famed for previously, it was now a bastion of control. Lessons were turned to propaganda classes, everything had to adhere to a schedule of blistering order and anyone brought to light as even possibly, possibly, "Rebellious" was brought away into hills, never to be heard from again.

The previous night, one of these unlucky ones was Travis Stoll.

It had been a small thing, really, a simple complaint over the state of the slop that had been served to them at dinner. A careless, throwaway joke that belied an edge of resentment:Gods, this shit again? Yeah, I feel loved, man. They had come into the night, the demigods of Kronos- who the Campers had called the Golden- and wrenched him from his bed as he lay half-asleep in the milky midnight. At that time, there had been nothing a fearful Connor could do as he watched his brother be borne away by the grip of the enemy, he could only watch in horror as they took him away, the brother he had known since birth.

But as Connor waited for his turn to be given the small red book, his mind was swimming, formulating a plan that could end in death.

He was going to rescue Travis Stoll.

ooOOoo

The Aphrodite campers sat clustered together at one edge of their table, leaving a distraught Silena Beauregard alone. When Kronos emerged victorious, he had given a share of his twisted glory to those who had aided him on his rise. He had called on Silena, hailing her as one of his greatest helpers.

Silena hadn't wanted this. She had already come with a plan half-way through battle, something that would have turned the tide of war: to go back to Camp and bring the Ares campers to the battlefield, so that they would have a hope of success. Halfway on the journey back, though, she had been captured by some of the Golden, and brought to the throne of Kronos. He had tortured her in ways she had never imagined possible, broken her spirit and kept it away from her. As punishment, he had decided to leave her alive (while her Charlie was dead and it was her fault, her fault) and tell everyone that she had been the Spy.

Of course no one wanted anything to do with her after that; not her family from Aphrodite- with Drew and Mitchell giving her their practiced looks of Hades every other minute- not her once-friend Clarisse LaRue (before she had been taken to the hills. Of course she had been the very first, the daughter of Ares had never been one to bow to the enemy) whose expression of disgust was churned with that of raw hurt at her betrayal.

Silena was broken, yes, but she was calculating her way out of the ashes. Prepared to claw out her way to the sun if need be.

ooOOoo

Kayla and Will Solace sat alone in the cabin of Apollo, the girl drawing the curtains shut.

"We have to do something." She hissed, scooting close to her brother. Walls had ears, the saying went, and nothing could be risked. "It's been three fucking-ass months, Will. We have to do something."

"Do what?" He asked, running his hands over his eyes. Kayla was right, he knew, her eyes peppered with thoughts she had read in old history books about past wars. About occupations and resistance. The answer, fight back, was a simple one but it raised the new question of How.

The two children of Apollo drummed their fingers on the floorboards. "The Hills." Will thought aloud, "They brought Clarisse to the Hills. And Travis, last night... And a bunch more... We'll escape, Kayla. We'll get out of this hell hole and leave for the hills. We get them out and we..."

"We start planning then," the girl mused, drawing out a shrivelled box of cigarettes and frowning at the dwindling number of cylinders. "We start really damn planning."

The thought of a new idea, of a spark of new plan, burst within them in small flames. Hope raised her tiny head and they began to construct the details, agreeing on who to call on to join them. Wondering if they should tell their remaining three siblings or keep them safe in silence for the time-being.

So we leave now, in the knowledge that in a Camp Half-Blood held in an iron grip, the Resistance was rising.


The sounds of clanging issued from the cubicle next to that of Clarisse LaRue, punctuated by muffled shrieks. Wincing, the girl stood up and walked towards the bars that shielded her from the corridors and everything else. They had brought in a new prisoner. Other children of Ares who had been brought here included her idiot brothers Sherman Lim- who had tried to stop Them from taking her away- and the bulky Rajan Divyan who hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut when one of the new teachers had insulted his siblings during lessons. She knew this because Rajan was kept in the cell opposite her, and in those little pockets when their guards had drifted to short bursts of sleep, they had had little spouts of frantic whispered conversation.

"Come on man, you have to admit- the food was pretty darn bad!" Clarisse recognised the slightly whiny voice. It belonged to one of the Stolls. Staring across from her, she caught Rajan's eyes; the boy could see who the new prisoner was from his angle. Travis, he mouthed and Clarisse nodded.

The bars slammed shut again and the guard on duty that night, some Japanese boy with a patch over one eye, stalked past her cell with rage dancing on his face. "What the hell are you staring at?" He barked at her; the demigods of the Golden downplayed the power of the Gods- who had been locked away in some ancient prison somewhere, she'd heard- and still used phrases that denied such: God instead of Gods, Hell instead of Hades and so forth.

"Nothing, punk." She barked back, earning herself an angry look. There was nothing much Ethan could do, however, and he resorted to slinking away to his seat by the doors and glaring at the air.

"Clarisse?" She heard Travis's incorrigible voice echo off the walls, and Ethan stood up again, drawing out his sword and walking into Travis's stall- a frantic noise of a scuffle ensued and she detected that Ethan had taught Travis a little lesson.

"You're a coward, Nakamura." She said as he walked out of the Stoll's cell. "The boy doesn't even have any weapons."

Ethan poked his sword through the slim bars, wild determination flashing in his eyes.

"You will do well to remember," he whispered- and the bruises on her left cheek throbbed painfully as they recalled- "Who controls you now. Justice has been brought down for us, and justice we must honour."

Clarisse thought she could hear the time tick, slowly, very slowly. She had never been one to back down from a fight, but the gnawing in her stomach and the fatigue in her head reminded her that now was not the time.

Not yet, anyway. So she drew back, but was careful to not flinch away from Nakumara's remaining eye as he passed her. Catching Rajan's eye again, she caught the movements of his lips, drawing his words out of the air.

This isn't justice. Not one fucking bit.