Part 2

One by one, wet students emerged from a small, wooden ladder, and onto the Prometheus Academy docks. As they passed Hercules, they shot him dirty looks. Hercules had no choice but to accept his guilt, even though it was an accident. He was the last to disembark. Before he could apologize for the millionth time, he came face-to-face with a short, bird-like man with a large nose and a British accent. He looked like he was in his mid-forties.

"Where's our new student?" he addressed the crowd. Hercules raised his hand up to his shoulder level. "I am Mr. Parenthesis, your guidance counselor."

Before Hercules could do anything, Mr. Parenthesis took out a marble card and some chiseling equipment and quickly etched out an image of Hercules on the card. The person staring back at Hercules had messy hair, half-open eyes, and a peculiarly-shaped mouth. Hercules was alarmed that his picture was uglier than a Gorgon.

"This is your student ID," Mr. Parenthesis explained. "It signifies that you are a student of Prometheus Academy, the most prestigious school in Greece (and a ten drachma fee if lost or stolen)."

"It won't leave my sight, sir," Hercules replied, slipping the ID into his white chiton.

Mr. Parenthesis began handing out items so rapidly, Hercules could barely keep up. Mr. Parenthesis listed these objects as Hercules grabbed them: "Here is your campus map (recently revised), cafeteria menu (I like the mutton), and your locker number (memorize and destroy)." When he finished, the stack that Hercules was carrying was nearly as tall as he was. However, due to his strength, Hercules could lift the pile with ease. Mr. Parenthesis tapped Hercules encouragingly on the back and gave him a light nudge towards the lockers.

Hercules walked parallel to the long line of lockers. His eyes focused on the number on a small piece of parchment - XI. He held up his number and compared it with the lockers in front of him until he had a match. Hercules had just started opening his locker when several demonic creatures escaped. They flew past Hercules, messing up his hair and tormenting the crowd around him.

"NO NO NOT THIS ONE!" came a voice from behind Hercules. A student with black, lightning-shaped hair hurled himself against the locker door, slamming it shut. "This is Pandora's locker," he explained as Hercules gathered his scattered belongings. "She's got some...issues."

"Sorry," Hercules replied. "I'm new."

"Obvious. I'm Icarus."

"Hercules - call me Herc."

Icarus smoothly reached his arm around Hercules' shoulders. "Herc, as a newbie, you need someone who's 'plugged in' - someone who can get ya into the epicenter of the academy's chic, Greek, elite."

"Thanks! That'd be great!"

Icarus started walking away. "I know, wouldn't it? I'm not that guy..." he confessed.

Hercules stood still, pondering his next move. He caught up to Icarus. "That's OK. I mean...you must know what it's like to be a newbie."

"Believe it, baby!" Icarus exclaimed. "On day one, this place can be scarier than giving Medusa a makeover. So where does a strapping fellow like yourself come from?"

"Well, I was raised on a farm in Arcadia. My parents were sheepherders - my foster parents, actually. I was adopted."

"Arcadia. I've been down that road before...sunshine, nice scenery, the distance from the hustle and bustle of city life..."

"I'm from there, I've been living on an island with a satyr. His name's Philoctetes."

"The great Philoctetes, trainer of warriors? Impressive...you're training to become a warrior?"

"It's heroes, actually," Hercules corrected, "and I'm training to become a hero. "To tell you the truth...well...OK, actually, I'm...the son of Zeus and Hera."

Icarus's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "You're...a god?" he asked.

"Ye - kind of..."

Icarus jumped up and down. "Prove it!"

Hercules spotted a marble fountain on a smooth round base. It consisted of a crouched statue of Atlas holding up a large bowl. Usually, it would be filled with water, but on this occasion, it was empty. The entire sculpture weighed at least 500 pounds. Hercules placed a hand under the base and lifted it as if it was a piece of papyrus. Icarus's eyes widened to the size of saucers.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "OK, OK...I'm a believer." Icarus bent down on all fours and started to sniff. "That's weird...why aren't you glowing?"

"When I was a baby, I was forced to drink a magic potion and I sorta - "

"Lost your divinity? So now you're stuck down here with us poor slobs?"

"Exactly. Gee, Icarus, you catch on quick. So yeah, that's pretty much the story. And I can never return to Olympus until I become a 'true hero.' That's why I'm training with Phil. The island's pretty cool...got my own place and everything. But it gets kinda lonely...I would like to make friends with my own species."

Icarus leapt in front of Hercules. "Well that you will," he promised. "You must observe the school hierarchy - knowing the who's who and what's what. Permit me to be your guide, O Semi-Divine Hercules, your Charon as it were, to the vast underworld that is...high school."