Never forget, Never.

He woke, sweating and shaking. It had been another dream. Another face, another memory. The waking world held these memories of a time long gone at bay, but when he closed his eyes, the flooded back. Failed missions, times he just didn't get there in time. The faces, oh Gods the faces, twisted and screaming, crying out for a release. He had been doing this job for 3 years, escorting the newly awakened demi-gods to Camp Half Blood, the so called sanctuary for his kind. He laughed at this: sanctuary is a myth. No where is safe. Every day is a fight, a struggle. Xavier openly envied the mortals, the oblivious masses. He couldn't even remember a time when he was just happy, not having to fight and kill. He felt regretful, longing for something he could never have again. He was angry, angry at the Gods for making him work this job, this constant train of damnation. These kids were doomed either way; they either were massacred by creatures or taken to camp, trained to fight for the recognition of fickle Gods. Fight and Die. At this moment, Xavier looked over to the sleeping form on the couch. The loft, his own hidden safe house in the upper reaches of an abandoned warehouse, was dirty and grimy: Xavier had salvaged any kind of furniture he could from dumpsters and behind restaurants to furnish his humble abode. A small, gray TV sat atop a cinderblock, buzzing out static. The signal had been out for weeks. Across from the inert TV, lying on a green, broken couch was the current package – Jenny McCall. She had been picked up from an orphanage in Connecticut, on the advice of a local Satyr. She was a sweet girl, very young, innocent beyond comparison. It will be a shame to lose her to the Camp. Xavier rolled out of bed and stretched, his trim muscles flexing at his will. His back seemed to be made of scar tissue – burns, cuts, lacerations: hell, there was even a bullet hole in there somewhere. It had been a tough three years.

He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, a cheap black shirt he had gotten from a thrift store. Being an escort for the Gods didn't exactly leave you rolling in the dough. Swinging his arms in wide circles, Xavier tried to get some feeling back into his muscles, which had tensed over night. Bad dreams do that to you. Strolling, he moved towards the window opposite his cot, and poked a finger through the blinds. Parting the cheap, rusted metal he peeked out into the street below. It was about 6 six in the morning, and the sun had just peaked over the horizon; past time to get going. Pivoting on his heel, he turned back to his cot and gathered his travelling clothes. A long black trench coat was pulled across his back, and left open. Ripped, black jeans pulled up to his waist, the fabric so worn it might as well break. Finally, heavy, steel-toed combat boots pulled up and laced. Standing, Xavier turned to face Jenny, standing next to the couch. She looked determined. "Good morning. Is it time to go?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Xavier nodded as he scratched the black stubble on his chin. "Well past time to go, kiddo. You gotta grab your things, and then we can get out of here and I can get you to Camp by midday" Xavier commanded, motioning to her small rucksack leaning against the bed. Jenny skipped towards the bag, but in the strangest way: as if she was equal parts eager and anxious about the day's events. Xavier couldn't help but feel empathetic. That was exactly how he had felt the first day he'd arrived at Camp. He could only hope she would stay this eager, this innocent, for as long as possible. His fingers wandered over the wooden rosary – it felt so real, but he knew it was only a Glamour, a creation of the Mist. But he couldn't help but feel secure when he was holding it: it was his strength, his means of making sense in a world filled with violence. Some times you have to be a monster to beat the monsters. He had shown that last night. Xavier flinched at the thought: even though they had been threatening their lives, he couldn't help but feel disgusted at his mercilessness. Demi-Gods were renowned for their skill in combat, cutting down foes in swathes. But part of Xavier could never take it that casually, never allow for such complacency when it came to violence. It wasn't a game. Some people tend to forget that. Jenny returned, her pack pulled over her shoulder. It contained all of her meagre belongings – a change of clothes and a water bottle. She was an orphanage child; she didn't have any kind of luxury. Reaching out, Xavier messed up her hair. Cute kid.

"All set?" He asked, cracking his knuckles. "Yep" she replied hurriedly. He looked her up and down again and then snatched his wallet and keys of the bed side table. "All right, let's get out of here" he said, and they strode towards the door of the small loft. It was gonna be a long day.

Red leaned back into the back seat of the Dodge Charger, a beaten up old car that at one time would have been someone's pride and joy. The interior was worn now; he had picked it up for his crew at a junkyard and fixed it up. What had once been an ugly, mustard coloured wreck was now a sleek black machine, HIS pride and joy, his main means of transportation. He called her Betty. He ran his hand over his bald head, as he peered through the windscreen. Sunlight creaked in through the windows, and he covered his eyes. It was uncomfortably bright; he was much better suited to dark places. Reaching forward, he tapped Juliet on the arm, and she swivelled in the driver's seat, blowing her deflated mo-hawk out of her eyes. Dressed in black from head-to-toe, she was the epitome of the punk cliché, and if he didn't know better he'd call her a poser. Red fingered the small flick blade in his hand tentatively. They where waiting. They had been waiting for a while, tracking down these two. He knew Xavier, once upon a time. But he wasn't the goal here, not the reason. He wanted that girl. She would be the one who'd shake this whole town up. As a half-blood, he knew exactly what she was. He could almost sense it. Waves of unlocked potential came off that one. He drove the knife into the already ripped interior, making Juliet jump slightly.

She was the key.

She would be his weapon against the Gods.

With a downward kick, Xavier kick-started the engine of his bike. It was a BMW R1200C cruiser, beaten and worn. He had won it in a game of darts last year against a Cyclops. Long story. Jenny nestled against his back, wearing the only helmet he had. If any one was gonna wear it, it would be the 9 year old. She gripped him around the middle as the launched off, pulling out of the alley way adjacent to the loft building. The street was practically empty at this time of day, besides the slow trickle of traffic. Once they got out onto the main roads, there would be a heavy influx of on coming cars. But Xavier wasn't worried. He'd been riding cycles for a while – this wasn't his first bike. The first bike had been wrecked when he was 13, after he stole it to get to camp. He was a son of Hermes after all, and when he was younger stealing came easy. He had moved on since. The reminder of camp made him flinch. Bad memories. The Battle of the Labyrinth had been one of the worst. Four years since, and he still remembered Kampe. He remembered his friends getting cut down. Then there was the Battle of Olympus. Xavier almost cried at the memory. He had done some bad things, hurt some good people. It had been a bad couple of years. The bike picked up at his command, and they sped off down the street, but Xavier knew that no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't out run his mind. The dreams waited in sleep. The faces. But he knew, above all, that he deserved it.

Betty pulled around the corner and turned to follow at a distance, Juliet steering the black muscle car into the same lane as the bike. They'd wait for their opportunity, and then they'd strike. All the pieces were falling into place. Red leaned back into the back seat and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a match he had struck alight one his boot. His blue eyes focused on the bike ahead. Red retreated into his thoughts.

I'll never forget. Never…