A/N: Happy belated B-day, Shadows. Enjoy the (hopefully) amazingness.

Warning: character death

Percy didn't notice as the streetlamp flickered. He remained hunched over his phone, texting with one hand and holding his briefcase with the other. As a car zoomed past, he raised his eyes. Then, he glanced back down and continued texting.

A scuffle sounded from Percy's left. As he turned in that direction, the light went out. The circle of light around his feet disappeared, leaving his phone as his only light source. Percy squinted through the darkness, but he couldn't see that far. He looked back down at his phone and punched a quick message.

Suddenly, a force slammed him against the wall, his phone and briefcase clattering to the ground. The streetlamp flickered again, and a flood of light illuminated Percy's attacker. The man—no, he was just a boy—strangling him had shaggy, unkempt black hair and ghostly pale skin. His dark, sunken eyes glare at Percy's with an animalistic ferocity.

"Give me all your money, or I'll kill you," the boy growled, his voice raspy and almost intelligible.

As he met the boy's gaze, Percy thought he saw a hint of remorse. Whatever the boy felt about his actions, he still followed through. Percy tensed as he felt the serrated edge of a knife cutting into his neck. Instinct taking over, Percy pushed against his attacker and threw the smaller boy off of him. He looked down at the dazed form laying crumpled on the ground; now that the boy wasn't threatening Percy's life, he seemed pitiful. Percy pocketed the stranger's knife, intending to dispose of it later. When he turned back to the boy, he was glowering at Percy.

"Look, kid," Percy said, approaching the boy like he would an injured animal. In response, the boy growled and cowered away. "I won't hurt you. I'm a doctor. I can help you, okay?"

The boy scrambled to his feet, out of the circle of light. His face unreadable, he said, "I don't need your help, Doc. Not now, not ever."

Unbothered by the hostile reaction, Percy pulled out a card from his pocket. He tossed it at the boy, then picked up his phone and briefcase. A car swung into view and pulled to a stop in front of Percy. He climbed into the car, took one last look at the boy, and settled against the seat as the car zoomed away.

Inside, Nico's heart warmed. He'd remember this night forever: the first time since The Incident that someone tried to help him. Nico watched the car speed away, then picked up the card on the ground. Doctor Percy Jackson. Huh, so that's what that guy's name was. It was fitting in a way. Perseus, a hero from olden times, and Percy Jackson, a hero in modern times, having similar names.

Nico stuffed the card deep into his pockets and disappeared into the shadows. He slipped into the darker, seedier part of the city. Here, it was more lively at night. Neon lights flashed from signs, advertising all kinds of vices. People bustled about, some nervous and skittish, others completely at ease. The nervous ones were usually first-timers in this area, the ones who felt guilty about indulging in pastimes they considered sinful. The others were used to the atmosphere, the depravity that surrounded these parts.

As he slid through the gullible crowds, Nico slipped his hands into pockets full of money, of trinkets, of wealth, and added more to his own. He was falling behind on his quota because of that doctor, so he resorted to pickpocketing. It's not that he considered pickpocketing bad (in fact, pickpocketing was fun), but Bianca didn't like it. Bianca wouldn't like you doing this either. She'd never want this life for you. That doctor offered help; why did you push him away?

"Shut up, shut up," Nico whispered to himself.

The voice in his head, his conscience, whatever it was, sounded so much like Bianca. It pained him to think of her. The wound on his heart was still too fresh, even after so many years had gone by.

Nico ducked into an alley to regain his composure. Pickpocketing was an art, no matter what Bianca thought. He needed to be focused in order to slip his hands into their pockets, retrieve what he needed, and get away undetected. It required concentration, and thinking about Bianca distracted him too much. When he calmed down, Nico stepped back into the bustling streets.

He ventured deeper, where the people were more hostile, where the shadows stretched and ate up the light (at least, they did in his imagination). Nico stopped to count his earnings: just enough to save his life. Back straightening, Nico walked with faked confidence, trying to indicate that he was not easy prey. Through his peripheral vision, Nico could see them: bright, gleaming eyes shining from the shadows, hunched bodies leaning against buildings, heads tilted up and hands in pockets, flashes of condescending looks. If he showed weakness, they would pounce. Nico had learned that the hard way.

Nico's strides grew longer as he neared his destination. He'd go in, turn in the money, and leave. Simple as that. Of course, life liked to be difficult. A stranger about his age bumped into him. Nico tensed as he felt the hand searching his pockets. The guy grabbed some of his earnings and mumbled "Sorry" as he walked away. Once he got his loot, the guy walked faster.

Nico chased after the guy, careful to keep his footsteps muffled. Once he caught up, he grabbed the guy's shoulder, spun him around, and punched him in the face. The guy fell to the ground, clutching his face. For the sake of his audience, Nico plastered on a feral grin and took his money back.

"Sorry, kid. Better luck next time."

An identical boy rushed up to the fallen boy's side. Nico raised an eyebrow before turning around and continuing on his way.

"Today is just not our day, huh?"

"Dude, that was totally your fault," Travis complained. "I told you, I should've stole from that guy."

"No, I was perfectly fine. I don't know how he knew," Connor insisted. "Not my fault he knows what he's doing."

"Sure, whatever, but how are we supposed to get food now?"

The Stoll brothers sat on a park bench, Connor tending to his bloody nose. Their rendezvous point, the park, was crowded today. Most of the people milling about were teenage girls and news reporters, indicating some special event, probably with some hot, macho guy involved.

Suddenly, a scream arose from one of the girls. Birds flew from the trees in a panic. It was picked up by other girls, and reporters started crowding around someone. Travis had his ears covered, but Connor was stuck between keeping his nose from bleeding and keeping himself from going deaf. In the end, going deaf won out. Connor and Travis, their hands covering their ears, vied for a better view of the man the people were freaking out over.

"It's Golden Boy," Connor shouted.

"What?"

"I said it's Golden Boy!" he repeated.

"Gordon's what?"

"No, Golden Boy!"

"What's a golden boy?" Travis asked, frowning.

"It's Jason Grace, that super famous—"

The chorus of screams grew louder until the noise was intolerable. Both Connor and Travis winced. Then, suddenly, the noise level dropped. A calm voice could be heard, requesting for the people to quiet down and give him some space. Immediately, the request was completed. A circle of empty space surrounded Jason.

"Dude, you think he's rich?" Travis said, eyeing Jason's expensive clothing.

"I don't think. I know."

"This might be our lucky break today. What plan are we using?"

"How about I beat you up, you bump into him, and ask him for help?"

"You just want to beat me up."

"Maybe."

The two executed their plan, starting with a shouting match. They noticed several people looking over, including Jason, but they acted as if they didn't notice. The shouting escalated into a fistfight, with Connor dominating the fight. He threw Travis in Jason's direction. Travis scrambled to his feet and backed away until he collided with Jason.

All of a sudden, Travis was picked up by the collar of his shirt. Connor noticed and froze. The man holding Travis threw him at Connor's feet.

"Take your fight elsewhere," the man commanded in a gravelly voice.

"Yes, sir," Connor yelped and retreated, dragging Travis with him.

As they left the park, Travis muttered, "Dude, today is just not our day."

"I know."

Jason stood outside the fancy restaurant. He adjusted his suit and stepped inside. A waiter appeared, and without being told anything, started to lead him toward the back of the restaurant. As Jason followed the waiter, he looked around him. Every inch of the restaurant screamed expensive.

"Mr. McLean is waiting for you inside," the waiter said, opening the door to one of the private rooms.

This room alone was decorated more lavishly than the rest of the restaurant Jason had seen. A large chandelier sparkled with rainbows as it swung above the round table. Plate after plate of food lay on the table along with gleaming silverware. Plush couches lined the walls. Tristan McLean sat on one of the couches, cradling a wineglass.

Jason moved so that he towered over Tristan.

"What's so important that you wanted to talk to me?"

"Please, Mr. Grace, sit down."

"Not until you tell me what I'm doing here."

Tristan sighed. He stood from the couch and set his wineglass on the table. "Young people these days are so eager to rush to the point. They never think of the consequences, of the possibilities," he lamented.

Jason turned to face Tristan, who had his back to Jason. He waited for Tristan to explain.

"My daughter, Piper, isn't any different. She has a boyfriend, one she's had for a year or two. According to my sources, she's thinking about marriage."

"And you want me to do something about that," Jason said, unimpressed.

Tristan slammed his fist on the table. "He's not good enough for her. I don't care what you do, just don't let my daughter marry him."

"I'm not a mercenary."

"So you aren't. But it doesn't mean you can't do this for me."

"No."

"'No'?" Tristan faced Jason, his face contorted with fury. "Why not?"

"She's in love. Let her be in love."

"Always being the righteous one, but look at these two." Tristan pulled out a picture of a happy couple and shoved it in Jason's face. "Look at how beautiful Piper is. Then look at her boyfriend. He's obviously not worthy of her!"

"That's not for you to decide," Jason said as he left the room. "Disapprove as much as you want. Your daughter will do what she wants to do."

Piper was having trouble deciding between the simple silver band and the ring with a beautiful sapphire set in it. On one hand, he'd like the simplicity of the silver one better. On the other, he loved the color blue. In the end, Piper chose the sapphire ring.

She brought the box up to the counter, where an olive-skinned woman smiled at her.

"Getting engaged, are we?"

"Yeah, he's wonderful," Piper said dreamily.

"I'm sure."

"How much is this ring?"

Piper opened the box and showed the clerk the ring. The woman paled a bit, her smile faltering, but Piper didn't notice. She was too busy admiring the ring.

"It's a bit expensive. Are you sure you want it? There are a lot of other rings out there, just like this one, but less expensive," the clerk said, obvious in her attempt to persuade.

"No, no," Piper said. "This one's fine. I like this one."

"You're sure you want it," the woman said, a hint of desperation coloring her tone.

"Yes, of course."

"Okay then."

"Thanks a lot."

The clerk placed the box in a bag, Piper watching her like a hawk. She said her goodbyes to the clerk as she left the store, acutely aware of the presence of the ring.

Hazel slumped as the woman left the store. She walked to the front of her store, hoping to catch the woman in a last attempt to dissuade her. It was hopeless; the woman was long gone. Hazel flipped the sign so that it said "CLOSED" and walked to her room above the store.

The morning's paper laid on her desk, filling her with guilt. The story on the front page was about Frank Zhang, a fireman who died just yesterday and also a customer who bought a jewel from her yesterday. She remembered the happiness in his eyes as he spoke of his fiancée.

"Excuse me, can you tell me how much this ring costs?"

Hazel recognized the box. It was another one of her rings, created from those cursed jewels. This time, she'd succeed. This time, she'd get the customer to not buy it. Or at least that what she told herself. If she truly didn't want people to buy them, she'd put them out of sight. But Hazel couldn't help it. The cursed rings fetched a high price from her customers, and she needed the money. That was why her attempts always failed. Not all of her wanted them to get a different ring.

"Please, I only want this ring. It's perfect for my fiancée, and I want to make her as happy as possible."

Every time, they'd plead, saying that the cursed ring was just what they wanted. Seeing their begging faces just made Hazel's attempts at saving their lives less forceful. She should be stronger. Lives were at stake, but Hazel couldn't stop them from buying the rings.

"Oh, thank you so much."

And they almost always thanked her. Don't thank me for your deaths, she'd think. Don't thank me for cursing you. But she'd never say her thoughts out loud. There was no way anyone would believe her, so she'd keep her secret to herself.

Hazel plopped into her chair, picking up the newspaper. Frank Zhang died while trying to save a boy's life. His coworkers remember him as always being kind, always being helpful. He was an orphan, his parents and grandmother stolen from him in a fire. Though he had no living relatives, his fiancée and friends mourned him. A quote from Frank on why he became a firefighter was included: "That night, the fire took it all away: my parents, my grandmother, my life. That's why I want to save people from losing their precious ones, to keep them from living through my pain." All in all, the article was a heartbreaking one: the boy who survived a fire became the man who saved others from fires, and then got killed by fire.

Their deaths were always like this. Whatever they feared the most, whatever they hated the most, that's what killed her customers. And as if to spite her, their deaths always landed on the front page. She'd read through the article, find out about the person she'd indirectly killed, and their tragic death. All of it because of her, her weakness, her unwillingness to let go.

Hazel didn't need the money; she only deluded herself into thinking she did. In the end, she didn't know if it was worth it to have all this money if it meant she had to live through the guilt every time. Tomorrow, Hazel would see the woman in the newspaper, and she'd learn about the woman. She'd feel guilty about selling the ring to the woman, and then the cycle would start all over again with another person. There was no way out unless she put away the rings, and Hazel knew she wasn't strong enough to let go just yet.

So the deaths would continue and crush her soul bit by bit.

Frank smelled the acrid smoke filling the air. Orange flames licked up the sides of the building. Heat oozed from the fire. High-pitched screams rose from the building. Frank prepared himself and followed his fellow firefighters in the building. He climbed the stairs as fast as he could to where the screams originated from.

A sobbing, hysterical woman clung to her baby. The baby screamed and threw a tantrum in her mother's arms. Frank yelled at them to follow him, but they only continued their screaming. Frank approached the two until he knelt in front of the woman. He made shushing motions, whispering "It's going to be okay," as he prodded the woman forward.

Some agonizing minutes later, Frank made it outside with the woman. He led her to the curbside and told her to sit there before heading back inside the building. By then, most of the people on the higher floors, where the fire was strongest, had been rescued. Frank and one of his friends ventured to the higher floors, in search of any leftover survivors.

They encountered a curly-haired, scrawny teen. Surrounded by fire, the boy had his arms wrapped around his knees. Just as the roof collapsed, Frank moved for the boy. He rolled out of the way of the falling debris just in time.

"Frank, you okay?" his friend yelled from the other side.

"Yeah, I'll meet up with you. Just go now!" Frank called back.

He focused his attention on the boy, who still had not moved. He knelt in front of the boy, urging him to leave.

"No," the teen said, raising his brown eyes. "I won't."

"You have to. You'll die if you don't," Frank said, already prepared to pick up the boy and carry him downstairs.

"I won't die, but you will if you don't leave soon."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"Tough. I'm not going with you."

Frank reached for the teen. The boy darted away.

"I'm serious. You'll die if you stay here longer."

Another section of the roof collapsed.

"You will, too," Frank said.

"Look, the roof's collapsing. Leave. Save yourself. I'm just some good-for-nothing anyway."

"I'm saving you no matter what," Frank growled.

The heat surrounding them was growing unbearably hot. He didn't understand how the skinny teen could stand it. The boy wasn't even coughing because of the smoke. Frank charged at the boy, and again, the boy darted away. Then, the roof completely collapsed, trapping Frank under it. He couldn't see the boy, but he wasn't naïve enough to think the boy had survived.

Frank gritted his teeth as the fire seared at his skin. There was no surviving this. It was finally his time. Frank bit back a bitter laugh. In the end, the fire he extinguished so often had turned the tables, stealing back the life that had escaped all those years ago.

Sometimes, Leo wondered where the happy, fun Leo went. But he knew where: that Leo died by his mother's side. Now, he was numb all the time. All that made him feel again was the fire that he hated so much.

In the end, Leo couldn't help but admire fire: the beautiful, red-orange flames dancing; the sizzling crackle as the fire ate away at whatever stood in its path; the volatility of fire, one moment under control, the next a raging beast. It all fascinated him.

No matter how many fires he started, no matter how many times he experienced its ferocity, it still felt new to him. True, it was regrettable when people's lives were lost. That was never his intention. He just wanted to see the flames doing the work they did best: destroying.

Thinking of lives lost reminded Leo of his last fire. The one where the firefighter Frank Zhang tried to save his life. Leo felt guilty about that one. He should've let the man take him away, even if it meant leaving the fire.

This time, Leo was going to start a fire at night. Fires were much prettier at night. They illuminated the dark sky, casting mysterious shadows. And there was a less chance of killing someone. People were less likely to be working at night. His target was a famous software company's building. He didn't hold any particular grudges against the company, but the building was a skyscraper. Leo wanted to see if a burning skyscraper was more impressive than a regular burning building.

At night, Leo started his fire. He watched for the nth time as flames climbed the building, leaving charred marks in its path. Shadows mimicked the fire's dance, twisting and shifting. Leo grinned as he stared, entranced. It was much more beautiful when a fire worked its magic on a skyscraper. The fire reached higher, burned more ferociously.

It must've been a while, but Leo only came out of his reverie when he saw the blonde woman being shoved onto a gurney and wheeled into an ambulance. Darn it, he'd injured another person. There was no telling if that woman would survive.

Leo watched the fire settling down. He hated that people got hurt because of him, but he couldn't help it. The fire just looked so beautiful.

Annabeth was glad her damage from the fire wasn't that severe. On the other hand, her computer and all of her building plans were probably toast. She sighed as she stared out the window, staring at what used to be her company building. Annabeth had loved that building. She'd spent so many hours exploring the inside and the outside, examining the architecture, when she was supposed to be working.

The door to her room opened, and a black-haired doctor with sea-green eyes approached.

"How are you feeling, Ms. Chase?" he asked, his voice overly kind.

"Like I was just roasted over a fire. Oh, wait, that might be because I almost burned to death."

"Please, Ms. Chase, cooperate with us. You'll be let out in a few weeks."

"And that's a few weeks too late."

No matter how much Annabeth complained, the stupid Dr. Percy Jackson insisted that she had to stay for a few more weeks.

In those weeks, Annabeth recreated all of her drawings from memory. Building after building sprung to life on her pages. Annabeth was determined to show that stupid arsonist that she wouldn't give up on her dream, even if all of her drawings had burned to a crisp. She'd hold on tight to her dream and never let go.

A/N: I think the last one was the worst. It's so bad, but I hope you liked it. It isn't that good 'cause 1) it was spontaneous and not well thought-out and 2) I don't edit my stories.

Anyway, if any of you other than Shadows was wondering what each character does (like, their jobs) in this story, here're my notes:

Percy—Doc, swims on the side; Annabeth—computer scientist/engineer, aspiring architect; Leo—runaway, pyromaniac; Nico—drug seller, dragged into gang business/used-to-be pickpocket; Jason—CEO, "perfect"; Piper—beauty parlor; Hazel—jewel seller; Frank—firefighter; Stolls—tricksters/pickpockets