License to be Killed

Hello, my fellow fanfiction authors and readers! It's fairly close to my day of taking a test for my G1 license... One day, I just happened to be reading Mark of Athena.

When Jason was talking to Piper about his birthday, he mentioned that because most of the demigods were sixteen (with the technical exceptions of Nico and Hazel), they would be able to get their driver's licenses. Which made me wonder...what does happen when a demigod tries to get a driver's license? What if Percy was to try and get his license? Powerful demigods attract monsters, after all, and demigods and technology supposedly don't mix. Well, now we get to find out!

I don't know if anyone else has tried this idea before...but I'm still willing to go for it! If you have any requests or questions/comments, feel free to leave them in the review column. And so, let's find out how Percy's driver's test will start off.

Chapter One: Sunday Drive

The instructor settles into the car with me, his clipboard ready. Uh-oh—already his face reminds me of Ms. Dodd. Sure, he's wearing this stiff collared shirt and slacks, and has thin, bug-eyed glasses, but his face has sharp, vulture-like features that ring a bell only too well.

"Well," he snivels, wiping his nose a couple times before setting his clipboard on the dashboard. "I most certainly hope you're ready, Mr.…" He peers over the dashboard, squinting at my name on the clipboard. He takes so long that I start to wonder if he needs a new prescription for those humongous glasses. "…Mr. Jackson," he finished with a slight glare in my direction.

That glare makes me nervous. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and quickly remove my hands from the wheel. I hear that makes you look too eager, and instructions don't really want eager. "Yes, sir," I tell him earnestly.

My tester doesn't show any sign of noticing, only writes something on his clipboard. A rating out of five on my enthusiasm? I try to peer over, but he's a lefty and his hand's blocking my view. That and his writing is tiny. No wonder he has a hard time reading.

I almost forgot to introduce myself—though I don't know how happy you'll be with me for it. I'm Percy Jackson. I'm sixteen, and I'm a demigod. But assuming you're reading this, you already know what that is.

Most demigods would be hanging out at camp right now, in the summer, swimming or canoeing or sword fighting or trying not to get burned by the lava pit—all that fun stuff at Camp Half-blood. But for today, that's not me.

Now, I've done tons of dangerous stuff in my life. I've been attacked by Canadian cannibals in a game of flaming dodgeball in my school gymnasium. I've faced an eight-foot tall bull-man who wears Fruit of the Loom underwear. I've induced the wrath of gods and monsters and titans and mortals alike on me—but I've never been as nervous as I am right now, for my driver's test.

My girlfriend, Annabeth, gave me at least a million reminders when she and my mom dropped me off. They were pretty scared, too—but not as much as me, I'm pretty sure.

The whole way, my mom had been running through all the emergency procedures for each and every scenario. But before I went inside to register, Annabeth took my hand and gave me this dead serious look.

"Percy… Be very, very careful." I guess the fact that she hadn't called me Seaweed Brain was an emphasis on how serious she was about it.

"I know." I gave her this goofy smile, which usually gets me off the hook, but she wasn't buying it.

"I mean it. If anything can go wrong, it will, I promise you. Just remember… I'm only a phone call away." She slipped the small, electronic device in my pocket, which made me smile. Normally, demigods aren't allowed technology—especially at camp, but today cell phones were worth the trouble.

"Don't worry, Wise Girl." I planted a kiss on her cheek, but I'm not sure how reassuring that felt. "I'll be fine. It's just twenty minutes in a car. How bad can it be?" Her dark expression answered the question itself, also hinting that I most likely shouldn't be saying something as stupid as that, but I told her goodbye and disappeared inside the building.

Anyway, I'd much rather be dining in New Rome with Annabeth as opposed to sitting in this hot, stuffy car with Mr. Dodd here. Ever since the Greek and Roman demigods made peace, there's been all these epic upgrades made to both camps—Annabeth and her cabin as the architects, of course. I can't wait to try them out—but first; I'd really like to get my driver's license.

Anyways, the tester here pulls out a sheet of directions. "As I understand here," he sniffs, wiping his nose yet again (my mind races as I wonder if he's a monster—is there a monster that has a runny nose continuously?), "You have a dyslexic ability…" He gives me this obnoxious sneer, like he's laughing at my disability. "So I will read the instructions to you, and you must follow them accordingly. Is that understood?"

I grip the steering wheel with both hands, tense. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir." You can tell he really likes that 'sir' title, because he looks pretty happy after I say that—as happy as a vulture can look, of course.

"Very well. Start by pulling out of this parking lot, to the west entrance—from there, we'll turn left."

Finally!

Excited, I turn the keys to start up the ignition and press the pedal on the gas. Just as we begin inching from the starting spot, though, I see something weird.

There's a guy with tattoos standing on the sidewalk, who looks kind of dead-beat and sketchy. He's low-riding his jeans and smoking a cigar…but that's not what grabs my attention. No, what does draw his appearance to me is the huge horn sticking out of his head.

When the car passes he turns around and stares straight at me, all serious and cold. Beady red eyes shine in his irises and I realize his skin isn't skin at all—it's scales, rippling back and forth from the Mist. Swallowing, I try extremely hard not to stare or look like my nerves are totally shot—though I could just blame it on the license test.

Great. That wasn't really a good sign to start off my drive.

I pause at the exit and try to relax. You've gone the first thirty seconds without being attacked, Percy. Just relax.

Well, that was sure a big mistake.

The instant I'm about to pull out and onto the road, a huge mass of jet-black fur bounds before the car. Panicking, I slam the brakes and try not to scream. Holy Zeus! Was that a hellhound just now?

The examiner gives me a disapproving look. "Mr. Jackson! Can you please be more careful—almost hitting a dog, for goodness sakes?" He scratches what are doubtlessly words of criticism on his sheet.

I nod, trying to slow down my rapidly beating pulse. In front of me, the air shimmers and suddenly the hellhound is just an ordinary black terrier, hopping down the sidewalk. But as it turns to glance up at the obstacle that nearly killed it two seconds ago, its eyes gleam like laser-beams, shining red as the Terminator's. And just as quickly it turns into a hellhound again, sniffing the hood of the car suspiciously.

Uh-oh. It must smell the demigod blood. I've heard I have that smell—and don't go to the trouble of deodorant or mud or skunks, either. Believe me, I've tried—and sometimes the skunks aren't skunks at all, which gets you in even more trouble.

I hear the examiner talking beside me, but his words come out sounding muffled and distant. My heart is pounding at the thought of that hellhound only three feet from the door.

And so, ignoring what my examiner tells me, I rev the engine and speed out onto the road.

My examiner looks a little peeved, holding on to the handle above the doorway. His glasses have been thrown slightly askew, much to his annoyance it seems, as he pushes them up the bridge of his nose to their proper position. "Well…that was…hasty, but well done Mr. Jackson." Is that just me, or is there a hint of grudging admiration in his voice?

I try to keep my voice from shaking and offer a friendly smile. "Sorry. I…just don't like dogs very much, sir." He gives me a quizzical look, as if wondering why I might be scared of an innocent terrier, but seems to decide it's not important. He's right, of course—what's important is that I'm taking the most important test of my mortal life, while a bunch of monsters are chasing and killing me. At least my examiner doesn't seem to be in that same boat just yet.

Yet…that thought makes me shudder. But I feel Riptide, my Celestial Bronze sword, glow warmly in my pocket, and I almost feel my dad with me. Heck, if I survive this, I might just go for a boating license. So you'd best be on my side, dad. Maybe we could go on a boating trip. I'll drive the car there, you can handle the boat. The thought's so stupid it makes me chuckle, which earns me another stare.

The examiner flips open a page. "Alright, Mr. Jackson…at 36th street, you're to turn right on 5th…" I take a couple deep breaths and try to listen.

I'm a demigod. I've fought Titans hand-on-hand with swords. I've faced impossible challenges and survived the world's literal hell. I've seen people die for me, and almost died for my friends—a zillion times, at least.

There's no way I can't pass a test for my driver's license.

Let's hope you're right Percy...

Read & Review if you can! Let me know what you think.

Peace out!

-SITSAN