Hey guys! This is going to be my first ever fanfic set in the world of Percy Jackson. It's going to be mainly OC's with some cameos from beloved characters. Hope you enjoy!

I do not own any characters from PJO or HOO. All those belong to Rick Riordan.

"Whoaaa. Everybody just calm dow —" A glass mug is thrown straight at my face, then a chair, then a table and some spoons

"The hell, man?! Can't we just —" I duck, "talk about —" Duck again, " this —" Duck again, "for a minute!?"

Goose.

The guy grunts. "You're not getting outta this one, Graves."

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?" I chuckle. "Hah, I'd like to see you try."

Thinking about it now, probably not the best idea but since when did I have any good ideas? I just challenged a guy who beats people for a living. He swings right at me with his meaty hand. I would've spent 6 months in a hospital if I hadn't reacted in time. He had the size and power of a rhino but the speed of a sloth, so I manage to swiftly maneuver through all of his punches. I see an opening.

"How about some of this!"

I strike him right across the jaw, feeling victorious but he didn't even flinch. In fact, I think it hurt me more then it hurt him. Blood rushes to his face, I can practically see his veins bulging from his forehead. Shit.

I gulp. "Ah-ha, uh...sorry...?" Pathetic.

And the next thing I know, I'm outside, face-first on the pavement.

"The NEXT TIME you come back, you won't be on the GROUND. You'll be IN IT." The door slams shut.

Well. I can add that to the list of bars I've been kicked out of. Probably bar number 100. Maybe 101.

A couple of times were because of the fact that they found out I was 18 — not 21. But the rest was just a Series of Unfortunate Events of me being thrown out, punched out, kicked out and rolled out (don't ask). I stand up and gather my bearings. Probably should get back home. I start walking then notice something move in the corner of my eye. Shadows moving through the alleyways. It was one in the morning. No one should be out and about in the streets — then again, this is a big city.

I keep walking, but the shadows are still lurking, following me, and — wait, is that? ...Breathing? But when I look, there's nothing there.

Just keep going. Just keep going.

Then a huge, dark, lumbering figure is standing over me, its body blocking out any light behind it. I thought the guy at the bar as big but this was the tallest person I'd ever seen. I wonder if they're in the Guinness World record books. That's a missed marketing opportunity right there.

"Um...wow, you're big," I say.

In the dark, all I can hear is a deep rumbling voice.

"Half-blood flesh. Perfect."

It begin to sniff me, as if trying to decide whether I would taste good or not. Half-blood? The crap does that mean? But before I can ask, the figure grabs me with its door-sized hand and brings me closer to its face.

Weird. It only has one eye.

"Hey. Let go of me!" I try to wriggle out of its grasp, but no cigar. He has me in a death grip.

"I haven't had one of your kind in a while", it says. "You'll make a good meal."

I didn't really like the thought of being anybody's meal.

It holds me over it's open mouth. Not good, not good, definitely not good.

I resist, trying to kick and punch the monster but it does nothing and it treats me like nothing. Then the monster's grip loosens and I drop to the floor, which wouldn't've hurt if the guy wasn't 20 feet tall. Doubled-over in pain, but still trying to see what's going on, I look up and suddenly — chains. Glowing, bronze chains are thrown around the monster. And a voice says:

"Beat it, cyclops."

Cyclops? What the heck?

I turn to look and a man stands behind me. Wearing a trench coat, of all things. There's a deck of cards in his hands and he looks like a private eye straight from the 1940s (Casablanca, 1942, thank you Trivia Night 2014). And there was another guy next to him with — wait… donkey legs?

The cyclops bellows. "Get these chains OFF me!"

He snorts. "How about... no."

In a fit of rage, the cyclops breaks from his chains, and goes straight for the 40s investigator. He dodges out of the way and pulls out two knives from his trench coat, one in each hand. He throws one of them at the cyclops' shoulder and slashes its thigh with the other. The cyclops roars in pain but, after the assault, is still standing. I can't wait any longer. Confused, concussed, and angry, I grab the nearest thing, a pipe, and thro it at the back of his head.

A great idea, if my goal was to piss him off. I swear my only talent is pissing people off.

The cyclops swats away his target and turns towards me. He picks me up with his hands and brings me closer to his terrible breath.

"Now you're mine."

I panic. Reality hits me. The one guy who stood a chance with this thing is on the ground, and his donkey friend was nowhere to be seen. Out of pure instinct, I grab the knife stuck in the monster's shoulder and slam it into its eye. I fall to the ground and the cyclops was gone. Just like that, poof, he was nowhere to be seen. The only thing left remaining was a pile of dust on the ground.

I get up on my feet, unable to contemplate what just happened.

"What the HELL is going on —" I'm swaying and I think I really do have a concussion this time. I turn to Mr Trenchcoat. "Dude, I am freaking out — God, I should be on medication — did I really drink that much? Drinking does kill, man — Jesus —"

I'd just been attacked by a cyclops. A freaking CYCLOPS.

Mr 1940s Trenchcoat walks towards me. Now that I have a better look at him, he actually looks my age, or maybe a little older. He's Asian, and has short black hair with a striking silver fringe slicked up. "Hey, hey," he says, "just calm down. You're safe now."

He said that like I'd just been stung by a bee and not almost eaten by a 20 foot tall one-eyed freak. Then his friend pops out from behind a dumpster - and, yes, he still had donkey legs.

"What, you're —? You're half-donkey?"

I am officially losing my mind.

"Listen," the man intervenes, "I'll explain this later, but right now we have to move. That was just one, there's gonna be more. And trust me when I say, it'll be worse than a cyclops."

"Oh. Okay." I take a deep breath. "Okay, okay, okay..."

"I'm Clint, by the way. Clint Asher. You?"

I clear my throat, but I don't sound as cool as I want to. "...Jet."

Clint

Well, we found our demigod. Now we just need to get back to camp. But I have to be careful. There are still monsters lurking about.

I pull out a card from the deck, concentrate, and whisper the words: skiá ichnón. The card disappears, and a purple aura begins to glow around the three of us.

"This should keep us silent from any monsters trying to sense us," I explain. "But we're still completely visible to them."

We swoop through alleyways and curve around buildings, trying our best to stay undetected. Sayleb, our searcher, was just tagging along. He's not that experienced, so Chiron insisted that I go with him.

It wasn't all breezy, though. When is it ever? We encountered some monsters along the way. Just the occasional spider, or harpie. We did encounter a basilisk though, and that wasn't fun. Still, nothing my knives couldn't handle.

To my surprise, however, Jet was extremely quiet throughout the whole thing. Which as strange because from what I could tell of his early ramble, he had a mouth. Leather jacket, black jeans, messy brown hair and a pretty punchable face now that I think about it. But he took out a cyclops so I wasn't complaining.

"So, what is this all about?" Jet finally says.

"Not now," I reply. "Like I said. Later."

"Uh...Clint? It's a left from here."

"Thanks, Sayleb."

It took awhile but we finally manage to reach the borders of camp.

I see Jet look up at the sign. "Camp...Half-Blood?" I can pretty much hear Jet's brain trying to connect all the pieces. Guessing that the coast was clear, it was probably time we explain. "Okay. This is gonna sound crazy...but you're a demigod. You know what that is? It means that -"

"I'm the son of a god."

I blink. "Yes. And I'm a demigod too. My mom is Hecate, goddess of —"

"Magic and witchcraft."

Woah. Smart guy. By now, I half expected him to faint and fall to the ground. But he's acting pretty calm about this.

"This was a subject in high-school," Jet adds, "the only one I was really interested in." A pause. "Lemme guess. Camp Half-Blood is some sort of 'Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters' kind of thing?"

Sayleb coughs. I completely forgot he was still here. "Actually...yeah. When you put it like that..."

"And you're a… hmmm… what was it? A satyr." Jet points.

"That's right."

"Ah. Sorry, dude, I legit thought you were a donkey or something."

Colour me surprised. This dude didn't seemed phased by any of this, at all. He was probably freaking out on the inside but was hiding it pretty well. Judging from his next response he was probably reading my mind.

"I'm not gonna lie. This is the weirdest, most crazy experience I've ever had. I'm still trying to recover but...I've learned that this world is a much bigger place than you think."

"Fair enough," I reply. "Come on, let's go."

There you go, my first chapter!

I'll be making more and try to update as soon as possible.

Give me some feedback and tell me what you think :).