Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the PJO universe. All recognizable characters, plots, and settings are the exclusive property of Rick Riordan. I make no claim to ownership.

Acknowledgements: Thank you to my editor Athena, as well as my other betas 3CP, Fezzik, Luq707, Raven, Regress, and Yoshi89 for their incredible work on this story.

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Ace Iverson and the Fabric of Fate

By ACI100

Season I: The Veil of Reality

Chapter II: Cato Hates California

November 10, 2004

Los Angeles, California, USA

2:53 PM

Cato glared at the car ahead of him as though it was all its fault the long line of vehicles had barely moved. A horn was honking somewhere nearby. It made Cato want to slam on his own, but if Cato began slamming things, he feared how little would be left by the time he was done.

Being stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic in the middle of Los Angeles wasn't how Cato would choose to spend any day. Cato hated traffic and he hated people who were more focused on pleasing those around them than they were about being decent human beings.

Needless to say, California was not a place Cato was at all fond of.

He longed to be back home in Georgia. There, people at least had the decency to tell him things to his face. Cato overthought things at the best of times and here, he found himself overthinking everything, worrying if someone was going to stab him in the back.

He scowled at the memory of him trying to explain to a peer why he hated California as much as he did.

"It's not California's fault you overthink things," they had said.

"Maybe not," Cato had admitted, "but it sure as hell don't help nothin' by bein' filled with backstabbin' pricks."

"Have you ever been stabbed in the back while in California?"

"Don't be stupid. Ain't nobody stabbin' me in the back and if they did, I'd be in a cell, not here tellin' you about it."

"Well, if you've never been backstabbed in California, maybe not everyone is trying to backstab you. Maybe you should just stop overthinking everything."

Cato had scoffed at the suggestion. His mind was his greatest gift; the idea of suppressing it disgusted him. His mind was what had gotten him through high school and several college degrees at an accelerated rate, and his mind was what had brought him here today. Cato wrinkled his nose at the last part of that thought. When thinking of it like that, perhaps the boy had a point after all.

Cato very much doubted he would be taking up residence in California any time soon, but the proposal he'd been offered was too generous to turn down without very careful consideration. For the past four years, he had been working towards his Ph.D. in Greek history at an accelerated rate whilst studying at the University of Georgia, but UCLA had made him an offer that could change his life.

They were willing to offer Cato a more rapid path to earning his Ph.D. and even wanted him to become their associate professor of Greek History. Cato was sure the mere notion of hiring him without the proper qualifications had disgusted some of the professors, but none of them seemed to argue after reading his reports.

The offer was almost too good to be true. Being paid a generous salary to accelerate his Ph.D. and spend a few extra hours a week studying something he loved sounded like a dream. Cato would have accepted the offer without thought had it come from almost any other school in the country.

Unfortunately, accepting that offer required him to live in California, and Cato thought he would sooner set up shop in the depths of Erebus.

The idiot in front of him who was braking harder than necessary any time he had the opportunity was a perfect example of exactly why Cato hated this god-forsaken state. Anger bubbled beneath his skin, but he fought to contain it. Managing his temper had never been a strength of his, but he would be damned if he let Californians get the best of him already.

He could see the campus now. If not for the traffic, it would only take him several short minutes to reach it. Cato dreaded it. His truck was old and battered, but the AC worked like a charm. The world outside looked like some vibrant utopia, but Cato was not fooled. The last thing he wanted was to step outside into the blistering heat, yet not even that was what bothered him most.

Cato wondered what his father would have thought had the man lived to see him now. He had died years earlier, living just long enough to see Cato graduate from high school before succumbing to complications during a liver transplant.

Steve Anders had pushed his son more than anyone. It had been he who made Cato realize the gifts he was blessed with and it had been he who taught him to use them. Yet, above all else, Cato's father had also told him that happiness should come first.

"Money and success don't buy happiness — they only rent it."

Cato's journey didn't get much easier once he had pulled onto the school's campus. Finding parking was nearly impossible and it wasn't until almost an hour later that a relieved yet irritated Cato stepped out of his lowered truck and pulled a map from his bag. He had been told to see a Mrs. Karen Digicento at the front desk. The problem was going to be finding that desk on this campus. It was huge and Cato thought it unnecessarily complicated just like the rest of the infernal state.

He was grateful that most of the students were in class. It meant that when he finally found the building he was looking for, there was no line to delay him any longer.

"Can I help you, sir?" the brunette asked from behind the desk, looking up from a towering pile of papers.

"I was told to see a Mrs. Digicento about an appointment I'd booked. Are you the person I'm lookin' for?"

"Yes," the woman answered, neatly turning to a computer on her desk and beginning to type at top speed. "What's your name?"

"Cato Anders, ma'am."

After a minute or so of typing, Karen nodded. "You're here for a special meeting with our Director of Education, Mr. Morris?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Karen moved some papers aside and stood. "If you'll follow me, Mister Anders, I'll take you to him now."

"Thank you, ma'am," Cato said as he began to follow.

"So what brings you here?" the receptionist asked as she led him through a maze of hallways. "You look about school-age, if you don't mind me saying."

"I was asked to come here and meet with Mr. Morris. He's offerin' me a scholarship and a staffin' position to switch schools."

"A staffing position? How old are you, Mister Anders?"

"Eighteen, ma'am."

"And you were offered a staffing position?"

"Assistant Professor of Greek History. I already got my associate's and bachelor's degrees. I'm workin' towards my Ph.D."

"You're a bit young to have those, no?"

"I graduated high school four years early. I was part of an accelerated learnin' program. Mr. Morris read some of my papers and he must've liked 'em cause he offered me to come here."

"It's a great school. I'm sure you'd feel right at home." Cato wasn't sure whether to laugh or vomit at the idea of feeling at home whilst in California, so he said nothing and just kept on walking.

They eventually reached a well-polished door and Karen told Cato to wait outside. About two minutes later, she re-emerged from the office and told him that Mr. Morris was ready for him.

The man himself was seated behind a polished mahogany desk. He was very old. Whilst the man still had a full head of hair, it had by now turned white as snow. His body was thin and had frailed, but he had the look of a man who had once been athletic. The one thing that had not yet fled was the gleam of intelligence behind his bright green eyes.

"Mister Anders. Please, take a seat."

"Yes, sir. Thanks for invitin' me here."

"Thank you for coming. I wasn't sure if you would, considering the short notice. I appreciate you making the trip down to California. I hope your drive was pleasant?"

Cato remembered the jerk who had been in front of him for miles, slamming the brakes hard every chance he seemed to get. "It was long, but not too bad."

"I'm glad to hear it," Mr. Morris said with a smile. "Well, I'll waste none of your time after such a long journey."

The two of them spoke for over an hour. Cato had a fair few questions, but Mr. Morris succinctly and satisfactorily answered every one of them. It appeared to Cato as if the man really did want him at UCLA.

The proposition would be hard to turn down. Cato had a hotel booked in Los Angeles for the next few days, and he was planning to mull everything over before deciding for certain.

"Before you leave today," the old man said, "I thought it was a good idea to introduce you to our Lead Professor of Greek History. He's who you'd be working most closely with if you accept our offer and he's eager to meet you if you have the time,"

"I got time," Cato answered.

Mr. Morris smiled and stood from his chair, beckoning for Cato to follow him. Cato found himself once more being led through the labyrinth of hallways. The door they stopped in front of was one of rich, dark oak. Mr. Morris knocked sharply, and scarcely twenty seconds later, it opened.

Standing in its entrance was a tall man who looked very stern. He was thin and pale, with black hair and a hawkish face. His most striking feature was the odd irregularity that was his eyes. One of them was a dark blue whilst the other was a deep brown.

"Professor Thorne, this is Cato Anders; the prospective transfer student I told you about a few weeks ago."

Thorne's dark, mismatched eyes roamed over Cato, who felt an odd prickle on the back of his neck. It felt as if he was being x-rayed.

"Of course," said Thorne with a noticeable French accent. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Anders. I am Professor Thorne and I teach Greek 'istory at zis institution."

"Nice to meet you, sir." Something about Thorne put him on edge. His movements seemed almost too deliberate, his words too measured.

"Well, I'll leave you two to get acquainted," said Mr. Morris. "Professor Thorne, you'll have no problem showing Cato out once your meeting is over, will you?"

"Of course not. I'll make sure 'e finds 'is way out."

"Excellent. Cato, if you have any questions you want to ask after today to help you make a more informed decision, you can phone or email me at any time. You should have both of them from our earlier discussions."

"Yup, I've got 'em. Thanks for everythin', Mr. Morris. I'll be in touch."

The white-haired Educational Director stepped back and closed the door, leaving Cato alone in the room with the man who was set to become his new boss if he took the offered position.

"Care for tea, Monsieur Anders?"

"I'm alright, sir, but thank you."

Thorne took a seat behind his desk with a curt nod and gestured for Cato to do the same. "You are quite young, non?"

"I'm eighteen."

"Do you 'ave any practical experience teaching?"

"I've worked as a tutor for about five years now, but that's it."

"What subjects 'ave you tutored for?"

"History, philosophy, science, and math. The last one ain't really my strength though."

"Lucky for you, we 'ave leetle use for math in our field of study. Tell me, 'ow is it you came to be interested in Greek 'istory?"

"My dad had a bunch of books lyin' around. Ain't nobody left me alone while bored after that."

Thorne's lips twitched. "Naturally."

"I was four when I picked up the Iliad. Read it and the Odyssey back to back. Read Herodotus 'bout a year later and just kinda spiralled from there."

"So your fazer was interested in Greek 'istory?"

"Yup. We'd always talk about it after I read somethin' new."

Cato thought he saw Thorne's eyes narrow. Perhaps he had imagined it. It was possible, but for some reason, Cato didn't think he had.

"So you've studied it ever since?"

"Yup; history and languages have always kinda been my hobbies. Like I said, bad stuff happens when I get bored."

Thorne studied him impassively. "Who was Leonidas's and Cleomenes's fazer?"

Cato smirked. "That's a trick question."

"'ow so?"

"Leonidas's father was Anaxandridas. Thing is, he seceded Cleomenes, so technically, they ain't formally recognized as father and son."

Thorne's face didn't change. "'ow was 'elen born?"

"From an egg her mother, Leda, laid after sleepin' with a swan."

"'ow did ze city of Delphi get its name?"

"Because Apollo saved a ship in the form of a dolphin. The ship got to shore and the passengers founded Delphi. They called it that after his dolphin form."

This time, Thorne's eye twitched. Cato could tell the professor was becoming agitated. His accent had become thicker and more pronounced over the course of his interrogation.

"You said anozer 'obby of yours is learning languages?"

"Yes, sir. Mostly ancient ones."

Thorne slid open a drawer and pulled out a heaping stack of papers. "You know Ancient Greek, I take it?"

"Yep."

"Which dialects are you familiar with?"

"All forms of Aeolic, Doric, Ionic, Attic, Koine, Mycenaean, and Arcadocypriot, with all sub-variants."

Thorne blinked several times as Cato reeled all of that off casually and without preamble. He had to sort through his stack of papers for quite some time before he thrust one under Cato's nose. "What does zat say?"

Cato leaned down and studied it.

ζάω ὅλως δαπάνη

It appeared to be a fairly basic, later form of Doric blended a bit with Koine. "The rough translation is 'exist or live at all costs'."

Thorne nodded stiffly, reaching into his pile once more and pulling from it yet another sheet. "And zis one?"

Cato frowned; it was a dialect he could never remember seeing, yet after looking at it for a few seconds, a meaning came to him. "Rough translation's 'that the deception's over'."

Thorne smiled coldly. "Indeed it is. Do you know which dialect zat was written in?"

"No, sir."

"That, Monsieur Anders, was Macedonian — a dialect you did not claim to know."

Cato's eyes widened. "I don't—"

"Oh, I don't zink you were lying. Non, it all makes perfect sense to me. It confirms what I 'ave suspected about you for some time. Unfortunately, it means zat you won't be getting ze job."

Cato knew something terrible would happen seconds before all hell broke loose. He threw himself to the left and out of the chair he'd just occupied. Almost as soon as he'd abandoned it, long spikes dripping with something green and foul impacted against the backrest.

Cato only just avoided a second volley of spikes when he scrambled hastily back to his feet. He looked towards his assailant for the first time and could hardly believe what he was seeing. Thorne's face was still unmistakably human, but the rest of him had changed. His body now resembled a lion's more closely than a man's, he even had a long, spiked tail.

Cato only had one thought as he stared in awe-struck shock at the beast before him.

It was a manticore.

His first impulse was to reach for a concealed weapon. Then, he remembered exactly which state he was in and how strict their gun laws were and cursed internally. God, how Cato hated California.

Knowing that guns were out of the question, Cato reached for the nearest available weapon, which just so happened to be the chair that he had been sitting in. He hefted the chair with a grunt and hurled it towards the manticore with as much force as he could muster. The beast must have been surprised because it moved too slowly to swat it away, instead lunging out of danger at the last possible second.

The chair sailed through the space the manticore had been standing in and smashed straight through the floor-to-ceiling window behind its desk. Cato's eyes lit up at the size of the break and he dove through the hole the chair had left behind, suppressing a shudder as the manticore screeched horrifically behind him. It was the kind of sound that haunted men's nightmares; the kind of sound that chilled blood and froze one's muscles solid.

Cato sprinted through the campus — he had no idea where he was going, he just knew that he had to get away from the building and from the monster inside. His eyes searched for the parking lot he'd used as he ran, but finding it in this place was a nightmare. The campus was an endlessly complicated maze.

The manticore was on his tail now, charging at him with shocking speed. It took a swipe at him but Cato sprang out of the way and changed directions, putting another few feet between him and the monster. He could at least move more agilely than it, which was something. Any advantage he had right about now was going to be key.

One advantage Cato had hoped for as he ran across the sun-kissed campus was the help of others. Whether they acted directly or caused confusion and chaos whilst fleeing from the manticore's wrath, Cato had hoped the school's occupants would give him something to work with, but he was both baffled and disappointed. None of them even looked at the manticore — it was as if they saw nothing strange at all.

Cato wove in and out of buildings, ducked behind trees, and switched directions. The manticore just smashed his way through whatever Cato had used as a barrier. By the time he seemed to have lost the beast and wound up in an open field near the forests, he was both panting and reflecting on the amount of property damage he had indirectly been a part of.

He idly noticed how many birds were loudly squawking as they flew overhead. Cato frowned up at them. They were strange birds; like hawks, but bigger and with feathers made from gold. At least, Cato thought they were made from gold. It was difficult to say; they gleamed so brightly in the sunlight that they were difficult to look at.

Cato tried to remember where he had come from and how to find that blasted parking lot, but the feathered demons from above were making it difficult to think. Their cries were high and piercing and they grew more and more frequent. Within about a minute, they had mounted and sounded across the field like the frantic ringing of gigantic bells.

Cato scowled and refocused his attention, almost leaping with glee when he spotted a sign pointing him in the direction of the parking lot he'd come from. He took three steps before an almighty cry sounded from somewhere behind him and the manticore leapt from the trees like the world's most ferocious deer.

Cato began to run, but he was moving too slowly. The manticore had a head of steam already and he would be caught in seconds. The birds overhead knew it, too. Their squawks grew louder as they swooped lower and lower. They must have been like crows; sensing that a kill was coming and craving the taste of dead flesh.

A different scream from behind Cato almost pulled him up short. He dared to spare a glance over his shoulder and his jaw fell agape. The birds were swarming the manticore. Some scratched at it with vicious talons whilst others fired dagger-like feathers towards the monster as if they were golden arrows.

Cato's mind was on Greek monsters after running from the manticore and another myth had surfaced, one that fit the birds. These vicious bastards weren't normal birds at all — they were Stymphalian birds; the sixth labour of Heracles.

Not even he had been able to best them with brute force. The legendary hero had resorted to brass bells given to him by Athena to force their retreat.

Cato couldn't help but be furious about being here in California. It would be so much more convenient to just shoot them out of the sky.

He decided to just keep running, either until a plan presented itself or until he dropped dead of exhaustion. He feared the latter may come first; he was taking deep, heaving breaths and the stitch in his side felt like a dagger being twisted over and over again.

The impossible happened then after a minute or so of running as Cato actually thanked whatever higher powers may exist that he was in California, nauseous as the very idea of such heresy made him.

A group of inebriated college students was clowning around at the side of a large pool, blaring rock music at an ear-piercing volume in the middle of the afternoon. It was the most California thing Cato had seen all day, but if the myth surrounding Heracles and these birds could be extrapolated, it meant there may be hope.

He charged towards the deck hosting this impromptu party. The birds and the manticore had slowed each other down, but they could both move much faster than him. By the time he neared the pool, both of them were hot on his heels.

The effect was instantaneous.

The loud music worked just as Cato had hoped. When the Stymphalian birds neared the pool, they all began to squawk in protest before, one by one, they turned and began to fly away like an angry black cloud held hostage by a ruthless wind.

Cato's other foe was not so easily deterred. There were now several gashes leaking blood all over the manticore's body, but it appeared hardly to notice.

Cato brought his eyes back in front of him just in time, frantically diving to the side, narrowly avoiding what could have been a disaster. A large, burly man in his early twenties who had been running from his friend and almost hit Cato barreled into Thorne less than a second later, sending them both crashing into the pool with a resounding splash. Cato actually laughed — a crazed, wild sound that tore free of his lungs in a rush like howling wind — he couldn't help it.

Not only had that pool tackle been hysterical, but it may very well have saved his life. It at least provided a much-needed opening that Cato seized, sprinting towards the parking lot at top speed.

Another splash from behind him was accompanied by a feral roar that meant Thorne had already extricated himself from the pool and was back on the hunt, but Cato was already free. He was in the parking lot now, which was swarming with traffic by the time the manticore began to catch up with him. He could see his truck; Thorne was already too late.

That was what he thought until the manticore leapt impossibly high, soaring straight over Cato and landing directly between him and his Chevy S10.

The monster smiled at him and Cato was sure for the first time that day that he was about to die.

He jumped about a foot in the air when a new sound tore through the smouldering air. A sharp blast like a fog horn gave but a split-second warning before a full-sized bus slammed into the manticore, travelling much too fast to slow down.

The bus didn't even stop after running Thorne down. It seemed like these people really were blinded to the horrors of what had been lurking on this campus.

Cato watched the manticore crumble into golden dust in an odd, dream-like state. Now, without the pursuing monster, he found the relative silence around him deafening. He shook his head and blinked several times to rid himself of all that had just happened the best he could until only a single thought dominated his mind.

He really hated California and he would sure as hell not be taking the offered job at UCLA.

Author's Endnote:

I have a feeling Cato will be a fan favourite. It should be noted that I do not endorse his views on California, or gun laws, or really just in general. I write characters with their own views based on their own experiences; those do not always reflect mine, and Cato is a perfect example of that.

Please read and review.

Thank you to my lovely Discord Editor Asmodeus Stahl for his corrections/contributions this week.

PS: The next chapter will be posted next Sunday, November 22nd, 2020.