Hey there :) Meant to get this up yesterday, but I was off work and never got on the computer. So, happy Tuesday instead! Here's the rest of the fight!

Thanks as usual, gang. Enjoy!

Put on your war paint

Unfortunately, the game wasn't over quite so easily.

Not that Annabeth really expected it to be. This was Atlas, after all, and his hand-picked team of CIA specialists. Still, the sudden addition of six Olympus gunmen did provide them with a momentary advantage as the surprised agents hurried to regain their composure. Annabeth and her friends were able to slip back into hiding, reclaiming their safe vantage points.

Most of them, anyway—Atlas didn't seem willing to lose his upper hand so readily. With a feral growl, he hefted his rifle and opened fire, seeming unconcerned with whether or not he took any hits himself. He gunned down one newcomer, two portraits, and a clay vase before his clip ran out and he hurled the gun aside, almost decking one of his agents. Then he charged forward, weaponless, and lunged at Percy, who had dropped low to avoid the wild gunfire. He grabbed the leader of Olympus by the shirt and shoved him back against a stone display stand, knocking it into the wall.

As Percy ducked Atlas's follow-up punch, looking dazed, Annabeth dashed from her safe place and started toward them. Her path was immediately obstructed by a handgun that came out of nowhere and smacked her in the face. Pain burst in her nose and forehead as she stumbled back, her vision flashing with golden spots. She squeezed her eyes shut and relied on a combination of sound and instinct to find her attacker, throwing out a hand and snatching someone by what felt like the shoulder. She flung a kick at the person's torso and heard a muffled grunt as he was pushed sideways.

She opened her eyes and blinked hard a few times to clear her sight. Her head was still pounding, but at least now she could see—which was good, because the agent who'd attacked her was coming in for another round. She successfully dodged his grab and shouldered him roughly to the side, pivoting to kick him in the ribs. She dropped to a quick crouch and picked up her gun before delivering two rapid shots to the man's back.

The second she spun around, two more agents were on her. She shouldn't have been surprised—she was on the CIA's Most Wanted list, after all. But with an aching head and flying bullets making her danger senses go haywire, she would've appreciated a tiny bit of a break

She bent backward to evade a vicious right hook and sidestepped a jerky grab. Sliding behind the woman who'd lunged at her, she aimed a close-range shot at the man, which he ducked as he aimed another swift blow that connected with her left side. Doubling over, she drove her shoulder against his chest and shoved him back against the nearest statue, which teetered dangerously on the spot.

Before she turned around, something heavy bowled into her and she collided with one of the long exhibition cases in the center of the hall. The glass cracked and shattered beneath the combined weight of her and her assailant, dropping them both into the display below. Annabeth's back hit hard against piles of smooth stones and warm water from a manmade pond in their center splashed and cascaded outward, dampening her hair and shirt.

Gritting her teeth, she shoved the agent off of her and rolled the other way, more concerned with adding distance between them than staying dry. She felt someone grab the collar of her shirt before she saw them and snatched up the nearest rolling stone, swinging an arm and bashing someone—who turned out to be the woman from before—on the side of the head, effectively freeing herself.

Having no idea where her own gun had gotten to, Annabeth stole one from the dazed and groaning woman nearest her, who didn't seem at all to notice. The crunch of glass had her whirling around, expecting another attack, but the sound was farther away than she thought. She had all of a couple seconds to assess her surroundings then. Travis and Connor were near the front entrance, standing back to back as they fought off three CIA assassins. Frank had just delivered a knockout blow to one enemy and was in the process of shoving a stone bust against another. Piper was near the back entrance, ducking in and out of cover as she and an ally fought off another pair. Atlas stood in the corner, firing a pistol into the fray as two of their Olympus backup squad tried to get to him. Annabeth noticed with a pang of dread that fewer people were left standing than she would've liked.

Someone approached rapidly from her left and raised his gun arm for a strike, but Annabeth was saved from having to dodge when Percy came out of nowhere and bent the guy's arm backward before slugging him in the face.

Grabbing Annabeth's arm with a serious expression, he shouted over the sounds of fighting, "We should split up—you and me." He shot a glance over his shoulder at Atlas. "Separate him from his team. If one of us goes upstairs—"

"I'll go," she volunteered at once. "He'll come after me. He wants me dead more than anything."

She feared for a second that he would argue on the grounds of her safety, but thankfully he only nodded—although she noticed his frown deepen. "Okay, let's—"

He broke off as the agent from a second ago grabbed his shoulder and threw a punch at him. He leaned back and snagged the guy's arm, using it to pull him stumbling forward before ramming an elbow into the back of his neck. The agent crumpled to the floor and, ducking gunfire from behind, Percy yelled to Annabeth, "Go!"

Without another word she bolted. She leapt the fallen agent and skirted another one, also ducking instinctively to avoid stray bullets. Gun in hand, she fired a wild warning shot in Atlas's direction to get his attention, glad when he turned his glare on her and hollered, "Chase!"

The Stoll brothers shot her questioning glances as she rushed past them for the doorway and she jerked her head upward, loosely indicating their makeshift plan.

"Stop!" Atlas shouted as Annabeth dashed out the front doorway. She realized he was ordering his teammates, though, when he continued, "Stay here—kill Jackson! Chase is mine!"

Perfect, Annabeth thought breathlessly as she raced around the corner and up the stairs. She bypassed the second floor entirely, figuring it'd be best to keep the fight out of the main dance hall. Instead she entered the third floor Sky Loft, a smaller party room overlooking the concert stage below. It was empty—cleared out by Harley for the night's event, just in case—but the music was much louder through the open overlook cutting out most of the room's front wall. Neon lights flashed in from outside, momentarily brightening the dim, red glow from the decorative bulbs that rested against the walls. It made the wood-paneled floor appear to shift with shades of crimson. A reflective ball hung from the ceiling, bright spotlight from above casting against it and throwing white circles on the wall hangings and black, half-circle sofa that rung the center of the room, facing the overlook.

Hearing heavy footsteps behind her, Annabeth ran into the room and spun to meet her former senior coworker. The instant Atlas burst into the Loft she fired her gun repeatedly, counting on Thalia's music below to drown out the sound. One bullet grazed Atlas's shoulder, but he barely noticed. He charged at Annabeth as he slid a new magazine into his handgun and swiftly cocked it, but she didn't stand around to be shot at. She dove over the back of the sofa, grabbing the tiny square table in front of it as she did so and somersaulting over it. Back on her feet, she lifted the table and swung it furiously to her left as Atlas approached, hurling it toward him. He held up a muscular arm to block it and it broke apart against him, forcing him back a few steps from the force. Annabeth retrieved her gun from her jacket, but she'd underestimated Atlas's recovery time as usual. He picked up two broken legs of the table and flung them across the room at her. One missed, but the other whacked her hands, forcing her to lower her aim with a cry of pained surprise.

Gunshots from the Loft doorway withdrew Atlas's attention. Annabeth turned to see Connor Stoll standing just inside the door, firing continuously at Atlas to provide cover as his brother darted past him and rushed toward Annabeth.

"You're insane," Travis told her, raising his voice over the loud music from below them. "You good?"

"I'm good," Annabeth promised, regaining her composure. "Thanks for the assist."

"Any time. We want this guy as badly as you do, remember."

By the time Connor emptied his round, Annabeth was ready. Together she and Travis charged Atlas from the side. Atlas blocked Annabeth's blow with his arm, but was left open to the uppercut Travis delivered to his chin. Always quick to redeem his footing, though, Atlas immediately grabbed Travis's outstretched arm and twisted it back, causing him to growl in pain, before kicking him in the back and sending him staggering. Annabeth got behind Atlas and pushed him with all her strength, succeeding in knocking him forward over the back of the leather sofa. Connor rushed past her and leapt over it, colliding with Atlas and knocking him down.

Annabeth retrieved her gun, but Connor was too close. With the dim, flashing lights and distracting sound, there was a chance she'd shoot him by mistake. She held back as Atlas shoved Connor aside and rolled to his feet. Connor ducked a swing, but Atlas was too fast. He grabbed Connor around the throat and drove forward, shoving him against the low bottom barrier of the open window overseeing the concert hall far below.

Fearing Atlas would hurl her friend from the overlook, Annabeth climbed over the sofa to get a better shot. Before she was able, though, she heard Travis yell "Connor!" as he dashed past her and threw himself at Atlas, leaping onto his back and wrapping both arms around his thick neck. Atlas growled harshly in alarm and jerked backward, dragging Connor safely away from the deadly drop-off but smacking his head rather unceremoniously against the wall as he did so. Connor collapsed to the floor while Atlas staggered backward, trying to shake off his furious captor.

As they spun around, Atlas landed an elbow to Travis's side, successfully knocking him off, and Annabeth was finally awarded with a clear shot. She fired her gun twice and one bullet penetrated Atlas's left thigh, causing him to stumble. It would have been the perfect opportunity to finish him off, but naturally that shot had been the last in her round. Having no replacement magazines on her, she tossed the gun uselessly aside.

Looking livid, Atlas started toward her. He swung a punch, which she ducked, and kneed her painfully in the gut. When she stumbled, he grabbed a handful of her hair and tugged her upright (which didn't help her still-present headache), and she was helpless this time to dodge the powerful left hook aimed at her head. Atlas's fist collided with her temple with so much force it threw her over the back of the couch and sent her rolling across the wood-paneled floor.

The sound of the music dulled as her skull throbbed painfully. She opened her eyes, but everything she saw was gray and clouded. She rolled onto her side and attempted to push herself up with little success, instead straining her ears to try and tell if Atlas was coming close enough to kill her.

She heard a gunshot and feared the worst, but it must have missed its target. Pressing her palms hard against the sides of her head and forcing her vision by will to focus, she finally made out what was happening. Atlas hadn't come after her—not yet, at least. Travis had bought her some recovery time by once again intercepting him, this time wrestling the gun from his grip. He aimed the firearm at Atlas, but the CIA agent threw out a hand and knocked Travis's arm upward, hurling the gun from his grip. As it went flying, Travis spun around and dug an elbow hard into Atlas's stomach, causing him to double over, and followed up with an immediate blow to the jaw. As Atlas was knocked back a few feet, Travis spun around.

"Annabeth, his gun!" he shouted, flinging out a hand.

Mentally suppressing her headache, Annabeth squinted at Travis to see in which direction he was pointing. Instead, though, her eyes were suddenly drawn to Atlas as he straightened and whipped a five-inch blade from his boot, lunging so quickly Annabeth's vision blurred. He snatched Travis by the shoulder and stabbed the glinting blade between his ribs.

"NO!" Annabeth shouted reflexively as her sight cleared. Atlas ignored her, a furious snarl on his face as he gave his knife a vicious tug. Travis doubled over with a strangled yell, and Atlas responded by shoving him backward to the floor.

Vision flashing momentarily crimson with anger, Annabeth made a frantic grab for Atlas's fallen handgun, which was lying on the paneling a few yards to her left. The Deputy Director saw her, though, and vaulted over the sofa after her. He tackled her from the side and they rolled over one another. She kicked the bloody knife from his grip and felt his other hand scrabble for her neck, yanking at her hair. She drove a knee into his gut as he punched her in the stomach, each refusing to let the other gain the higher ground. Squirming away from him on the floor, she managed to bring both legs up and kick him in the chest, at last placing ample distance between them. He swiped at her legs, but she'd moved them away too quickly.

She sprang to her knees and looked around for a weapon, but the second her eyes landed on the gun Atlas's thick arm wound around her neck from behind, lifting her chin in a strong chokehold.

"It's over, Chase!" he spat in her ear. "For you and your goddamned band of criminals!"

She grabbed instinctively at his forearm, but his grip was much too strong. Gasping for breath, she reached around her and felt for Atlas's belt, snatching his radio from its clip on the side. Mustering her waning strength, she swung her arm up and smacked the Deputy Director in the face with its sharp corner.

She was rewarded with a howl of pain and a lapse in focus, allowing her to break free of Atlas's hold and draw in a few gasping breaths. She dashed forward and spun around, ready to fend off another attack, but Atlas had lost his concentration. He lumbered toward her in rage, swinging an arm wildly while his other hand tightly clutched his right eye.

"CHASE!" he bellowed, face red as the sunset. It was like he'd gone completely berserk. "I'LL KILL YOU! YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE DEAD!"

"Not today!" Annabeth screamed back, easily ducking the misaimed blow. She dodged around Atlas and threw herself into a baseball slide across the floor, snagging his handgun and wrapping both hands tightly around it. As Atlas roared furiously, Annabeth leapt to one knee and whirled around in the direction of his voice, lifting her arms. The Deputy Director was closer than she'd thought—seconds away from flattening her. Without even taking time to steady her aim, she pulled the trigger and fired a single shot. Drops of red flew as the bullet pierced Atlas in the throat, driving him to a stumbling halt.

His uncovered eye grew wide in shock. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out; his voice was cut off by the spitting stream of blood sputtering from beneath his chin. Without another sound, he sank to his knees, and Annabeth scrambled backward out of the way as gravity pulled his heavy weight forward. He fell face-first to the floor and jerked twice before falling still as the grave.

Hands shaking, Annabeth let her back hit the nearby wall. Her eyes stared at Atlas's unmoving form as her breath attempted to steady itself, but the sight didn't quite seem to reach her brain.

It had happened so fast—too fast. Defeating Atlas had been the whole point of tonight's operation, yes. But now that it was over—now that he was dead—there was something distinctly surreal about it. She had to replay the last few minutes in her mind just to make sure it hadn't been nothing but an elaborate hallucination.

The instant replay recalled to her another important factor, however—her friends. Shaking her head and letting the CIA-issued gun drop from her grip, she staggered over Atlas's body toward the sofa, stumbling against it and leaning forward to make out the scene she was stubbornly hoping she wouldn't see—Travis lying on his back on the floor, right where Atlas had left him, and Connor slumped unmoving by the overlook.

Annabeth scrambled over the back of the sofa and dropped to her knees on the floor, grabbing Travis by the shoulder. "Hey," she said to him, voice breathless and wavering, "you with me?"

His brow was tight with pain, and when he opened his eyes they were glazed with exhaustion. "Sort of," he grunted, one corner of his mouth turning up.

She felt along his side until the black fabric of his shirt turned damp and he winced. Biting her lip, she made him twist onto his other side so she could lift his shirt and examine the stab wound. It was difficult to make out in the red lighting, but what she saw wasn't good—the cut was thin but dangerously deep, positioned on the lower right of his back. She became aware of the wetness against her knees and noticed the growing pool of blood—far too much of it.

"This is…" she murmured with an uncomfortable intake of breath.

"I know," he admitted weakly, shifting back onto his back. "Knew it'd be dangerous. Still… kind of hoped this wouldn't happen." He tried for a derisive laugh, but couldn't completely manage it.

Annabeth gritted her teeth. "Atlas," she growled. Suddenly it didn't matter that he was dead. Would he ever stop taking things from her and the people she cared for?

Travis's right hand shifted toward her, but he didn't—or couldn't—lift it from the floor. "Can you…?" he began, breaking off to grimace mid-sentence. "My brother."

"Right." Annabeth swallowed her anger for the time being and got to her feet, taking a deep and steadying breath. Now was precisely the time for the level head she always used to pride herself in.

She made her way quickly to where Connor still lay—unconscious or worse—by the overlook. The first thing she did was check his pulse and breathing, holding her own breath all the while and not releasing it until she was certain he was alive. "Connor," she urged, shaking him. She patted the side of his face until he finally groaned and forced his eyes open.

"What… What happened?" he asked, his voice slightly slurred with daze. The music would have drowned him out completely had Annabeth not been leaning so close.

"It's over," she told him.

He frowned at her. "Over? Like… over, over?"

Annabeth nodded. "Atlas is dead."

Connor gave her a rather delirious grin. "You're awesome. Have I ever told you that?"

She couldn't bring herself to smile. "Connor, there's—there's something…"

Sensing her demeanor, he let his grin fade. She sat up and looked over her shoulder, and when he followed her indication his expression changed immediately to one of pained disbelief. He yelled his brother's name and sprang to his feet, instantly alert. He raced past Annabeth and she heard a loud squeak as he slid to the floor behind her.

"Aw, man…" he was muttering when she approached, his eyes studying the person bleeding to death before him as though searching for a trigger to prove the vision wasn't real. "We need an ambulance. Like, now. You called one, right?"

Annabeth slumped to the sofa and shook her head. "We don't."

Connor shot her a bewildered glare. "The hell we don't! He's gonna—!"

"I told you—it's over." Annabeth didn't quite like how thin and emotionless her voice sounded, but if the alternative was choking up, she had to take it.

Something about her tone must have been clear to Connor, though, because he let out a frustrated yell in defeat. Part of him had to know it as surely as she did—there was nothing they could do.

"That bastard!" he growled, glaring past Annabeth in the vague direction of Atlas's body. "He deserved way worse than—"

"Connor," Travis interrupted his brother, voice gravelly. Annabeth could barely hear him from where she sat. "Listen. Katie…"

Annabeth felt a horrible pang in her heart at the mention of Travis's girlfriend, back in New York and two months away from giving birth to their child—a child who, much like she herself did, would now be forced to grow up without a father.

How could we have let this happen?

"No," Connor argued, pain on his face.

"My daughter—"

"But…"

Travis lifted an arm and grabbed his brother's wrist, desperation in his stormy blue eyes. "Please."

"…Alright," Connor relented at last, shoulders sagging. The conviction in his voice seemed shaky and forced when he promised, "I'll take care of them."

As his brother gave a weak smile and let go of him, a voice suddenly sounded directly in Annabeth's ear, "Annabeth, you there? Where are you?"

She sat up straighter and lifted a finger to the communication device. "I'm here," she told her fiancé. "We're in the Sky Loft."

"Where's Atlas?"

"Dead."

"Seriously?" Percy sounded alarmed. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she told him evenly. "But you'd better get up here."

"Why, what's going—?"

"Just get here."

He was quiet for a beat, maybe speaking with Frank and Piper—assuming they were still alive, of course. When he responded, his voice was low: "On our way."

The comm fell silent. By the time the door burst open and the missing half of their team came through, Travis Stoll was no longer breathing.

Annabeth turned to look. All three of them were alive, miraculously, though not completely unharmed. Frank had a black eye and a bullet wound in his left shoulder, rendering his left arm temporarily limp and useless. Piper's shirt was torn across her stomach, revealing a shallow slice that didn't seem to bother her overmuch, and was leaning on Frank's good side, her ankle appearing to be sprained or broken. Percy had a bruised jaw and blood on his shirt that didn't appear to be his; one arm was wrapped loosely around his stomach, potentially protecting some unseen injury. To Annabeth's immense relief, though, none of them bore visible life-threatening wounds.

"Whoa," Piper muttered when she spotted Atlas's huge, limp body. Frank stepped closer to inspect him, but Percy spared him only the briefest of glances as he paced toward Annabeth. Reaching the back of the sofa, he followed her gaze to the pair on the floor—Connor hunched low over his brother's now-lifeless body, shoulders shaking—and froze. He shot a sharp glance at Annabeth and it hurt her to meet his eyes. She saw the desperate question in them, the plea for assurance. But she had none. All she could do was cast her gaze down with a gentle shake of her head.

Percy turned his back and released a very loud string of curse words, stomping away and slamming a fist against the wall. By that time, Frank and Piper had approached in concern and were now standing solemnly by, exchanging regretful glances.

"We should get out of here," Annabeth suggested, her voice still empty as she steadied her breath to keep it from breaking. "Before the concert ends."

Percy dropped his arms and turned back to face his team. His expression was a fragile mix of exhaustion and uncertainty, like he wasn't sure exactly how to feel. He ran a hand through his hair and, with a glance at Connor, said, "Harley should have someone who can fly the jet, we'll just need to—"

"I can fly," Connor interrupted in a low, dry sort of voice, sitting up slowly.

Percy flinched as though someone had jabbed him with a needle. "Are you sure?"

Connor looked up at him, his dark blue eyes vaguely bloodshot but steady and clear. "I'm sure," he answered, tightening a fist over his knee. His eyebrows drew together and angled downward in a look of angry determination. "I want to get him home myself." Percy nodded in understanding.

"What about Atlas?" Piper asked quietly. "And those guys downstairs?"

Frank stepped forward. "I'll stay," he volunteered. "I'll call Harley and explain the situation. We should be able to get everything cleaned up by the time people start to leave. You guys should get back to New York before any more trouble starts."

Annabeth locked eyes with her fiancé. She didn't want to be insensitive, but there was another glaring issue that needed to be mentioned. "Once Kronos hears about this, he won't waste time," she said. "He'll come for us."

At his sides, Percy's hands clenched into fists. A distinct conviction appeared in the depths of his eyes, making Annabeth momentarily fear for his greatest enemy.

"Good. We'll be ready for him."

Only 5 chapters left now... We're getting so close.

Review maybe? Hearts, gang! Later days!

-oMM