A shrill, ear-piercing noise woke him suddenly, causing him to shoot upright in an instant. His eyes opened wide, spinning frantically as they scanned the area for any immediate threats. None were found, but that did not mean he was safe.

He strained his senses to their limit, twitching at the slightest sound, sniffing like a bloodhound. Unfortunately, neither would help him this time. The area was silent, saturated with a scent he had never encountered before. The smell of salt water, which confused him, since he had no recollection of ever coming across any particularly large bodies of water… Actually, there was one, but he wasn't sure if that was real or not.

A head, covered in a dome of hair and pale skin popped down from above him, instantly setting him on edge. With reflexes honed through hardship, he lashed out. Very slowly. He watched his fist, which seemed to be moving through molasses, in shock. It took an eternity to cover half the distance between himself and his adversary, when he found that he had stopped moving. Quickly, he scanned his body for any restraints, but once more found none. He did, however, notice that his arm was stretched out to its maximum length. It was also incredibly short.

"Woah!" the head cried in a reedy voice, jerking backwards once he stopped moving. "Careful, dude! You almost hit me!" The head then retreated back to the top of the canopy over him, and was instead replaced by a pair of legs wearing black flannel trousers. Now on the ground, he could see that the possible foe was male, rather short, and standing in an odd stance. His hands were relaxed, down by his side, and his legs were close together. Should he be attacked right now, he would be overcome in an instant.

For some reason, the tension faded from his body. Seeing this person in their entirety seemed to trigger a foreign memory. This person was… An ally? A friend? Definitely not an enemy.
"Oh… Sorry… Grover." The name came out more like a question.

"It's fine, I shouldn't have just dropped down like that. Say, are you okay, man? You're looking a little pale. You need to go to the nurse?" Grover asked.

A nurse was,,, A person who worked in a clinic. No, he had bad memories of clinics. Best to avoid those. He silently shook his head, not sure what would come out of his mouth if he tried to speak.

Grover narrowed his eyes at him, but shrugged indifferently. "Well, if you're sure… I'm gonna hit the shower."

Grover had an odd, yet somehow familiar, manner of speaking. Words which he did not understand made sense, and he knew what Grover was saying.

Grover set about gathering things. From a chest of drawers, he withdrew some articles of clothing, then grabbed a large woolen cloth hanging off the back of the door. With those things in hand, Grover turned toward one of the two doors at the front of the room, and went through one. The door closed, and the click of a lock was heard.

With Grover currently occupied, he immediately rolled off the bed he was sitting on, stumbling when he didn't make contact with the floor at the expected time. It seemed that his arm was not the only thing which had shrunk. He must have been at least a head shorter than before, resulting in excessively skewed balance. Should he need to fight, he would be at a severe, likely fatal, disadvantage.

Immediately, he scanned the room once more, noting the chests, stacked beds, single windows, and mess of clothes on the floor. Jeans, his addled mind supplied, and t-shirts with patterns, and socks, and the occasional boxer.

How did he know these things? Where was this information coming from? All he remembered was the endless night, the dreams and the nightmares, all the blood and death…

How did he even know his name was Percy Jackson?