Mk.I

I hate my sister.

Well, it's not entirely fair to call her that. We're related only by my, excuse me, our dad.

He's a rich playboy through and through, though he's most known for the pick-up lines that often get him into court faster than his aeronautical projects; he's probably the country's most fanatic person about clean and fast air travel for the lowest price.

So, I guess I can't say I hate my sister, we both share a common dislike for him…

I hate my half-sister.

Here I am, working day and night for The Hunters—a splendid outdoor equipment shop specializing in female-tailored gear if I might promote—only to receive what Artemis calls the best reward she could give: a raffle ticket.

Artemis is also my boss, so I can't refuse.

"I promise you, this was the most prestigious gift I—the company could afford."

"Afford my ass, I'll have to see him!"

"Thalia," those sterling silver eyes hardened, "It will only be for a few hours. Plus, It could be a great experience to expose you to his other related business."

It's hard to take her seriously. I had a one-up of about six inches over her at 6' 2'. Every time we had a close and personal talk, and I mean close, either she had to uncomfortably look up at me, or I had to bring her to my level somehow.

He has two brothers and three sisters, all of whom are owners of their companies. They're quite legendary; Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Hades, Poseidon, and he were sired from the political syndicate Kronos.

"But I don't want to go there!"

"You know he's proud of you. General manager at the age of 15?"

"But—"

"I know you don't want anything to do with him, that's why you choose to work yourself to death."

"But—"

"No buts, I'll see you at home."

She was probably the only reason I was still alive. A nasty accident happened years ago, but Artemis' persistent pleas forced him to seek professional medical help. I've been living with her ever since, though I could afford a better place to live compared to Manhattan.

A seaside place in New York would be nice.

"But—"

"Out! Get a dress and be ready."

"But—"

"The rest of the hunters will be there to escort and shield you from the papa-razzle. Do I need to call Aphrodite?"

It's a well-known secret that The Hunters hate Aphrodite for her, feministic tastes.

Despite my continued protests, Artemis dragged me out of her fur-lined office. Never underestimate her, she could stab you faster than you can say 'Aren't you cute?'

"Rough time?" Phoebe asked, running papers as fast as she ran through males. With a knife, of course.

"I. Need. A. Dress. Now."

Phoebe wasn't as short as Artemis, but they'd always call me 'Airhead' behind my back because I was the tallest person in the department.

"Second floor, aisle nine, bay 26."

"I know, I know. Room 200."

"That's not even a place here."

I left before she could scold me. I had only been here for a little under two years. Naturally, I still got lost now and then, always running into the wrong department at the wrong time. Eventually, I managed to get to the advertisement fabric room, the place where we kept real costumes for filming.

Our favorites were always the black leggings with a silver tunic and skirt. An optional coat matching the outfit was available, as we often made shots of us hunting with bows up north. We also had other costumes for infiltration of our corporate enemies and rescuing hostages. All promotional ads, though.

According to the ticket Artemis had handed me, he was hosting a large party for all who worked for and with him, including his siblings. The grand theme to display his brilliance in business was a modern ball in the name of Olympus.

Screw his fancy pants and his ball, I'm rolling in style!

For the record, my way of rolling in style is biker gang, not pampered by a chauffeur and his merry crew.

His palace was decked in gold. Gold columns, gold-tinted windows, gold-plated things that shouldn't be made out of gold—if it was there, it was gold. Gold shiny enough to blind us through Hades Grade Tint© our limo was provided with. He could've been the sun god for all we know.

It didn't take an Athena to figure out he had left one of his many sons to decorate his palace for this special occasion. Apart from every prominent figurehead in the business, select reporters and journalists would be allowed exclusive access to the party.

Paled by the extremity of Apollo's love for gold, our dark transportation pulled up the cul de sac, those of us inside were not affected by the bright flashes. Thankfully, all that gold had a dimming feature that made it bearable.

First to get out were my guards. Milady had entrusted my safety to Zöe and Bianca to keep the heat off me long enough for all of us to slink into the background. Keeping it professional, Bianca wore a black, low-cut v-dress reaching to color-coded stiletto heels that added to her height whilst Zöe kept it more conservative with aged silver painting her crinoline.

Despite their choice of clothing—especially Bi (is she trying to seduce me?)—tinted aviator glasses tucked neatly into braid's of their choice made them look almost secretive. That's good because I know they have their bows, arrows, and daggers hidden somewhere in all that clothing, and by all, I mean Zöe's. I have no idea what Bianca's gonna do.

Once they had pushed the paparazzi well away from my tolerance zone, I exited the vehicle onto the waiting golden walkway. I had something a bit more modest than Bi. Oil-stained midnight jeans with the meanest black biker jacket the black market could get me. Don't like the jacket? The shirt underneath's the same color.

I hate it when people call me cute. Do the thick choker and endless blued chains not give the inkling I hate people? Forget formalities, sparing with Artemis was a good idea to get my hair the exact way I never wanted it. And if that doesn't help, the thick soles of my combat boots already add to my meager height, so don't try me.

"Ladies, let's show these males how it's done," I stated, blowing a bubble with gum I had stashed away in one of my endless pockets and faux pockets.

We strolled our way forward, pushing those who got in our way thinking they could get an interview. Alas, the golden doors. A glance at my companions agreed to an entrance as grand as his dramatic flair to set the tone.

Instead of waiting, I simply kicked the door off its hinges. Eh, they were probably made of gold, explaining why they have a boot-shaped dent keeping it from laying flat on the ground.

A good number of self-indulgent aristocrats were hiding behind tables and columns like the cowards they refuse to admit they are. At least the inside looks normal since I can only assume he ran out of money to pay for gold. One lackey in the back was probably too drunk to even notice.

"Sup, I came for the raffle." That sure got 'em baffled!

We walked past the main entrance, the sounds of our diversified shoes echoing off the walls. A team of distinguished workmen rushed by to repair the damage with basic wooden doors. Zöe made sure to trip as many as possible to make fools out of themselves.

Down the less interesting halls, we managed to find ourselves in the main ballroom where the grandest, most spectacular EDM light show party was taking place with a golden theme. Off to the sides were tables upon trains of moving conveyors that constantly supplied partygoers with food snacks galore. They even had some money left to leaf some of the exquisite foods in gold.

Bianca was always her daddy's girl in any situation, so parties like these were her favorite to mingle in so pinpointing her would be much harder. Zöe would probably find a corner to hide in case she spots a potential threat. Parties in her day weren't this energized.

I was at a party I didn't have to pay for.

Of course, I was gonna drink their entire stock.

Thankfully, the bar wasn't gold and it was out of the way so I wouldn't have to see him on the dance floor with his many suitors and children. There were a few shelves stocked to the brim, but that was all normal to the strong stuff. As for the counter, I remember transporting this specific one to a refurbishing shop since it came from a local favorite that had closed down.

"What can I get you, miss?" the bartender asked, mixing up a drink for another clubber.

"Two mugs of the strongest drink you have."

"Miss?" He slid the completed drink over to the waiting person without breaking eye contact. I glared back.

"Did I stammer?" He dropped his shaker.

"O-out of concern f-for our customers, I-I have to tell you that—"

"—Blah blah blah, it can kill me if drunk straight, all the boring stuff. While you're at it, mix in some tabasco and fizzy stuff."

"O-ok, if you say so."

The male disappeared behind a curtain to retrieve what I hope is the strong drinks. I'm looking for stuff at 155 proof bare minimum and that Dyonisis booster sure looks promising.

As the party faded down, many invitees took their places to round tables instead, ready for a full course meal to Big Band. Some more adventurous souls found the exit to the palace's pool restaurant, while others stayed dancing along the floor.

"Enjoying the...show?" A guy asked from the side, taking a seat on a stool while I was still standing.

He was rather...unimpressive, yet that was his least interesting feature. I'd only seen his eyes on his brother, he even had the same hairstyle. Laidback from the formal attire, he wore a green polo and blue khakis with a velvet vest to finish it all off.

"I'm at the bar waiting for the bartender to bring back my drinks."

"I'm at the bar hiding from my dad who wishes to introduce me to some girls."

"My dad's the host of this party." He looked at me with shock before giving me a strangely warming lop-sided grin.

"I know how it feels. Last week, I had to stand with old Pops for a photo op."

Our bartender came back with two flimsy fast-food soda cups with straws, "The building's Quartermaster is trying to find where the delivery guy stashed the tabasco, these sodas are on the house."

He left when another guy with a clipboard and pen told him to follow.

"They can't even find hot sauce. HOW HARD IS IT TO FIND FUCKING HOT SAUCE?"

The guy next to me flinched, as did everyone at the bar, in the ballroom, and some of the musicians from the slight falter, but that's jazz, so I can't tell, "O-okay, if you don't want it, can I have one?"

I handed him one cup, knowing this stuff will add the bitter taste I want, "This is all you get."

"Thanks…"

"Thalia."

"Percy."

I reluctantly shook hands, not wanting him to be the only one to feel awkward. Fortunately for me, the bartender came back with two mugs overflowing with liquor.

"Two mugs of Spirytus Rektyfikowany mixed with house craft wine and spoonfuls of tabasco."

I spit out my gum and downed one mug in three seconds flat, "Keep 'em coming."

Satisfied with my drink, I added the remaining cup into the other mug, taking sips out so it wouldn't overflow onto my jacket.

It was perfect. Bitter bubbles to drown out my sorrows, the warm feeling of perhaps the world's strongest alcohol known for burning thoughts from raw consumption, sweet wine that was better than honey—no, nectar—and a southern kick to top it all off.

The bartender looked astonished. Percy looked constipated about consuming his soda.

"Well?"

"R-right away, Ma'am."

Percy decided to dip his finger in to taste what I had assumed was cherry coke, "You looked like you enjoyed that."

"Eh, could use more."

"How much more are we talking?"

"Say, one...two...ten more barrels of that stuff."

Percy spit out a mouthful of soda onto the countertop, "What! That stuff is weak, right?"

"Wimp, I've been drinking alcohol instead of water for years. What I just had would normally kill with the first gulp."

Now it was his turn to look astonished, "H-how high is your tolerance?"

"I dunno, the fact that a 15-year-old can out-drink many heavies seems pretty high to me."

Percy dropped his cup, "Yoou're prreeeeety."

"Excuse me?" Great, a potential friend turns around like all the other males.

"Haaaas anee une everrrr tooolf vous dat?"

Great, said potential friend is drunk. Wait, he didn't even take a sip of his soda!

I took his cup and tasted it. Of course, everything is spiked here.

"WEEEEEE!"

Percy came crashing down, knocking us both out of our stools. As having experienced his unfortunate circumstance, he would probably find something or somewhere cold to go, the strip of his fancy pants for better ventilation.

That would cause a scene bound to ruin his reputation, or whatever he had left to begin with, IDK. For a male about my age and height, he was seriously underweight. I could feel a few ribs through his thick cotton shirt.

Slinging him over my shoulder, I had about tenish more mugs of my perfectly safe mix, left a decent tip for their troubles, and scoured more remote places for a good place to plop him down until he gets a hangover.

If he ever wakes—

"Thalia? What are you doing with a male?"

Zöe's stealth is nothing to scoff at. She's always there where you need her in the picture but not in the shot. She's also always there when you don't want her.

"Well...uhh—you see—"

"You tried to get drunk but got stopped on the 13th drink because his body couldn't handle hand sanitizer that accidentally made its way into his non-alcoholic beverage?"

"12th."

She looked disappointed, "If you plan to take him somewhere, discrete, you'll have to wait. The song's almost over."

"Why would I have to wait for a song to bloody end?"

The lights cut out except for one moving erratically across the dance floor, theatrically settling on a circular cut-out in the floor. Up from it rose a platform containing a huge-ass bingo ball cage.

It was only natural that he would be the one to work the crank. Standing tall in his dulled platinum pin-striped suit and overflowing beard, no one would pin him as a mafia boss because he never wore hats.

A flaming torch fell out of the hidden catwalk, passing through his hands before lighting up a preset trail of alcohol. The wall of fire was never one of his tricks, always taking from his siblings.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! It is my pristine honor to formally welcome you all to the 50th Anniversary of Olympus Heavy Industries!" All the regular folk gave a respectable hand in hand, "But as for tonight, we have one lucky fellow who will win a prize like no other ever offered by this company. A private vacation tour of The American Coastlines by air!"

Nope. Count me out of his stupid, cheaply appraised plans.

"We all know that gambling has its risks, but it's one of the best past times, especially if it's for seniors!"

Some of the crowd laughed. I'm sure he had some pre-recorded sounds playing at half volume.

"Without further ado," He swung around the podium, turning the crank around several times, "Tonight's winner is...ticket number 122287!"

A small staircase lowered from the roof with spotlights already lighting up a walkway. People were frantically checking their tickets, some probably would need the entire night to check their tickets.

"Is that not your number?" Zöe asked.

"Hell no!" I had a drunk male to deal with.

I made my way through some of the standing crowd, not apologizing because they should've seen me coming. My height was the equivalent of a high-visibility jacket! It didn't help that I had Percy over my shoulder, though if something does get knocked down, it's most likely his fault and not mine.

"Oh sorry, my apologies," a decent male said, realizing he was at fault for running into me and falling onto the ground because of his actions.

"Whatever."

I was about to keep vacating the area, but I was stopped on my free shoulder only steps away from freedom.

"Is that Percy?" the man asked.

"Look, I have—"

"My son who happens to have the worst alcohol tolerance in the world."

I whipped around to find a carbon copy of who I was carrying.

He was just as tall as both me and my passenger, sporting the same wind-swept hair and sea-green eyes. Compared to Percy, this guy was much more muscular all around. He looked like a fisherman compared to Percy who would be this guy's second officer or something. The biggest difference between him and him would be the baseball cap plastered in fishing tackles, pins, and whatnot.

It also didn't help his case that he had a tactical fishing rod strapped to his back.

"You know, people are looking for you. My brother can track whoever has the winning ticket. It also doesn't help that you are holding the pilot that is assigned to fly you."

Shit. This isn't good.

"Look, I'll take Percy so you don't have to get all emotional as teens do nowadays."

I have a pilot in my hands!? Ewwww!

"SuretakehimIdonotwantanythingtodowithmorethanthreefeeetup!"

"Could you slow down dear?"

"Don't call me that!"

"Thalia, dearest~" Oh no, he found me.

I dropped Percy on the ground, ignoring his father's protests for his safety. As for my own, I was currently more focused on escaping his grasps before he makes me become his 'Daddy's Little Girl.'

I used to play in these halls as a child, so I knew where I could lose a large man like him, especially with all the hidden passages the servants use on the daily.

"Thalia! Come back!" he hollered down the endless halls.

"Fuck you!"