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Disclaimer: I do not own PJO or any series spun off of it. Rick Riordan does :) No copyright or infringement is intended.

I was right. I was always right, and I could honestly say I hated it. Contrary to popular belief, having the knowledge of the world inside your head wasn't as enjoyable as it sounded. My mind was a personal Wikipedia and Google search engine mixed into one, waiting for me to summon the information I needed to get through the day. It must be crowded up there, in my head. It was a massive filing cabinet, every answer to every question and every moment from every day logged inside. Too crowded for my taste, but I had learned to live with it.

The pros and cons of knowing this are as follows:

Pros: an A+ guaranteed on every test, every word to say that would convince your parents to expand your curfew another hour, not panicking in a life-or-death situation because you know exactly what to do

Cons: remembering every point in your life, the good and the bad

I thought back to the worst, to that day—that night if we were being specific, just after sunrise, six-oh-four PM. It had started off well—my dad had come home early to watch my Little League baseball team the Sluggers go up head-to-head against the Jersey Boys. We had gone to the game without him, my mom and I. When I was up to bat during the third inning and saw him cheering in the stands. Gods, I must've been the happiest kid in the entire world. It had upset the balance, I suppose, for me to be so happy. The Fates must've not liked it or something. That's why it happened.

We had won the game 6-4, and Dad and I had raced back to the car screaming and cheering, our fists held high in the air, the night air exhilarating as we made our way off the illuminated field. When Mom had caught up, we went out for pizza at one of the local joints before returning home. It was now seven-forty-five, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second, the combination of warm food and a tired kid body weighing them down. That's why Dad carried me inside, my bat bag over his shoulder, and therefore I could feel him tense the moment we all stepped inside the house. The front door slammed shut and Dad clutched me to his chest. I remember it hurting—he was squeezing too tight, and I whispered at him to stop. He set me down and Mom had taken my hand, running down the hallway, my father not far behind.

"You'll never have him!" she screamed, but I didn't know who until a gentle voice whispered in my head: The Earthborn. The name sounded familiar, but the information inside my filing cabinet head was fuzzy and smudged.

"Jane," Dad yelled, him having disappeared into one of the branching rooms. "Do you have him? Is Alex okay?"

"He's fine!" Mom called back. "John, where are they?"

Dad came running back to us, two baseball bats in his hand. Both were an odd color, one foreign to the bats I was use to, shimmering gold. His dark eyes were searching the darkness for something, the Earthborn I assumed. "I don't know," he admitted. "The doors are locked, windows too; power's down. We aren't going anywhere, and neither are they."

Mom hugged him. "I thought we had lost them. She said she'd take care of it!"

"Athena must be busy." That was all Dad said. It was simple. He wasn't angry or upset about it like Mom. Mom always got angry when he defended her, his former girlfriend, my birth mother. Jane needn't worry—I had never spoken to this mysterious Athena before, and I had no desire to. When I was younger it had bothered me quite a bit, like I was good enough for her time, but I got over it once Jane came into the picture. She became my mom, and a wonderful one at that. I figured what kind of mother could this Athena be if she didn't even have a normal name? Athena… I had thought it was the stupidest name I could think off. What parent names their child Athena anyway? Of course, my juvenile train of thought had been clouded by frustration, confusion, and anger at her abandonment.

"Alex," my dad whispered. His voice scared me. Never before had I heard it so soft, and serious, and… afraid. "Do you know where they are?"

"The Earthborn? Uh…" I thought for a moment, and all of a sudden, I knew. The voice came inside my head again and spoke the answer. "In the kitchen. They're waiting. They want you to make the first move."

Dad wasn't smiling, and his face looked odd without one. "Thank you Alexander."

"You're welcome," I said, perfectly polite like he had taught me.

Dad knelt down, placing both hands on my shoulders. "Son, I'm about to tell you something that I knew want you to forget, okay? So listen up. Alex, I love you. I will always be proud of you. Everything I had done was for you. I wish I was able to see you grow up, start a family, have kids…" He shook his head. "I was foolish. Never be foolish, and learn from my mistakes. Now go to your bedroom and break the window. Run to the garden and hide. Whatever it is, whatever you hear or see, don't get up. Stay where you are. Stay hidden, stay safe."

I nodded. Tears were running down my face.

"What's happening?" I whimpered.

Dad wiped a tear from my cheek and pulled me to him. He kissed my cheek. "Use your head of yours. Your mom gave you that head, and she was a really smart lady. Just know I love you, alright? There is nothing to be afraid of. Just remember, never give up. Never ever. Promise me you won't."

"Cross my heart, I swear."

"Good. I love you. Now you need to go."

He pressed something into my hand and shoved me towards my bedroom door. I didn't have time to say goodbye to Mom, but that was okay. She didn't look like she was able to speak, her beautiful eyes brimmed with tears, some falling down her cheeks and dripping onto her t-shirt. When I looked back at her, she blew me a kiss and waved, giving me a sad smile to send me on my way.

I ran to my window and broke the glass, rushing into the garden. I found a good spot to hide in a pile of mulch. I made a cave, diving inside and not caring about the rotten smell that filled it.

It was only a few moments after when I heard my parents screaming, metal clashing against metal. Dad roared something but I was unable to make out what. It was hard to hear him over my own sobbing.

As soon as it had begun, the action stopped, the silence expanding uncomfortably. I stopped crying in an attempt to heard what was happening. The screen door creaked open, and footsteps approached. They were heavy, like Dad's. I was about to run out to him, my heart rising into my throat, a smile erupting on my childish face, when I froze. There was a voice calling out to me, and I didn't recognize it.

"Where are ya Alex?" It was deep and gravely, the words slow to tumble from their throats. "Don't you want to see your parents? I'll let them live if you come out."

But Dad said I shouldn't, and so I didn't. I was a good boy. I followed orders.

The voice burst out in a great booming laugh. "Come out now and maybe you can hear their last words."

I was only nine at the time, yet I knew what that meant. After all, I knew everything.

My cave darkened as the bent to the mouth of my mulch cave. I nearly shouted, they scared me so bad. The person that had bent down had only one eye, huge, black in the middle of their forehead. What sounded and looked like sand pouring down a cut on his—its—face, and every appeared to be smashed in. When it frowned, it was even more hideous.

He disappeared. I was confused. He had to have seen me It was impossible for him to not have.

"Come on Alex," it screamed angrily. "No more hide and seek! Come out and face me!"

My arms pulled my knees to my chest and tightened around then, and I squeezed my eyes shut, still young enough to believe that although it was illogical, closing one's eyes can take you away from what was happening.

"Come on!" the creature bellowed. "I know you're here somewhere!" The mulch around me shifted violently, destroying my little cave, drowning me in wood chips and weeds that scratched and tangled in my body. Still, I stayed quiet and motionless.

It was digging, I had decided, for me, trying to find me in this small yard.

I wished I had a baseball bat in my hand. For a seven year old, I had a killer swing. Dad said it was one of my many talents.

The scratching and grunting was getting closer I almost couldn't take the wait. Then, I saw my golden opportunity: the creature was facing the opposite direction, merely from my body. I poised onto the balls of my feet, ready to spring on the attack.

Don't do it.

I froze. There was that voice again, inside my mind. Was it me? Was I telling myself to stop?

Don't do it. Listen to yourself. You're right. You're always right.

I am. I am always right. Don't do it. I won't do it. I know I shouldn't. I won't do it.

I relaxed slightly, even as the one-eyed monster stood, blowing any chance I may have had at killing it. It tipped back its head and bellowed. "We lost him! Runt couldn't have gotten far. Let's go." Another roar later and it was silent once more.

I waited. A minute. A hour. Two hours. Three. It took that long to gather enough courage to leave the safety of the mulch pile and into the house.

The moment I stepped over threshold and inside, I tripped and found myself face to face with Mom.

Her green eyes were open wide, her make up still perfect, her arms splayed out and one of the golden bats by her side. She was dead, that was plain to see. Her eyes were clouded and her chest refused to rise.

I gave a small squeak in fear and jumped over her, scrambling to get away.

"A-Alex." My head swiveled. To the far end of the kitchen I saw my father. He was propped up against the drawers where Mom kept the nice dishes. He had a bloody cut on his face, but the couldn't have been the source of the red that soaked through his shirt. "Alex, come here, quickly now." He sounded weak, as though he was fighting for breath.

I hurried over and held his hand.

"Alex," he said, dark eyes locking on my grey ones. "You need to leave here now. Under the sink there's an emergency bag. It has everything you need. Run away from here. You're on your own. I can't feed you or protect you anymore. That's all on you now, okay?"

"Daddy, I can call the cops. They'll save you." My heart broke when he shook his head. "Daddy I don't want you to go."

He gave a sad smile. "I'll be with your mother. We'll be fine, trust me. All you need to do is leave and stay safe. Trust no one. People like them will be out hunting for you for the rest of your life, okay?" Dad coughed, his voice growing weaker. "Take my bat. Keep it with you at all times."

I got to take his bat? It was incredible. It had hung on the shelf in the garage for years, used just now when he had pulled it down to defend himself. I had always admired the thing from afar. It was gold and flawless, the Louisville Slugger logo on the side, black leather grip…

"But its yours," I said.

"I'm giving it to you. Now, Alex, you need to go." He started coughing again, and this time, his eyes never shut, and he didn't saw another word.

A Cheeto hit the side of my face, leaving orange artificial flavoring on my temple. "Dude," I hissed. The snack had interrupted me from my recollection, the day my life started eight years ago. I turned to glare at my friend, the only partner I had in staying alive in this world, Taylor. He was fifteen as well, but we had met when we were eleven, and were inseparable ever since we realized the same kind of people—or rather, things—were coming after us.

"Come on man, let's keep moving." Taylor stood from his perch on his boulder, one out of many we had found in the forest we were hiking through. "The highway's only a little further, then we should hitchhike into Manhattan. That is where the voice in your head said to go, right?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"If this turns out to be a load of crap I'm gonna be so pissed." Taylor's hands played around with a rusty knife of his, then one he never let go. "I don't want to realize I've been hanging out with a schizo for eight years."

I laughed. "Don't worry, I'm legit—"

"Wait, let me answer, because you know everything right?"

"You got it."

With a spring in my step and a rock in my heart, we hiked off, my father's bat swinging in my hands.