Hey, look, I'm alive!

So that hiatus wasn't exactly planned, but I got a new job in February and it changed my entire routine around. It was a long time before I had time to get back to writing this.

The good news, though, is all three remaining chapters are finished! And yes, I'm going to post them all right now. So there was an unfortunate wait, and it was quite long. But now, as a thank-you for waiting (all those of you who are reading this, anyway, and haven't given up on this series), you get the entire conclusion right now. Almost 15,000 words altogether.

Now, where did we leave off? Ah, yes...

Wearing our vintage misery / No, I think it looked a little better on me
I'm gonna change you like a remix / Then I'll raise you like a phoenix

"Jackson."

"Been a while, Percy. Tell me. How have you been?"

"Who is this?"

"I hear you're been busy since college—made a real name for yourself. A muddy name, of course—written in blood and ash and all that. In retrospect, it makes me rather glad you turned down my job offer back then."

"How did you get this number?"

"You can't send a friend into my house and not expect me to take the time to get to know him. It wasn't easy to get him to talk, but as you undoubtedly learned from Mr. Valdez, we do have the means. And, well—once I had a line I couldn't help giving you a call myself."

"What do you want?"

"I want what you want—an end. This cat and mouse nonsense has gone on long enough. How long do you think it'll be before another accident like your father's happens? And next time the outcome may be less favorable—we could lose a lot more than a notorious crime lord."

"Listen to me, you son of a—!"

"Don't go getting self-righteous on me, boy! Remember who's on which side of the law here, whose acts are more readily justified. You think you're free of blame? You? Well, not to disillusion your heroic fantasy, but you and I aren't as different as you undoubtedly tell yourself."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Come now, do I need to spell it out for you? No one wins in war, Mr. Jackson. There is only loss. And I've lost just as much to this fight as you have. You've killed far too many of my agents—good agents. Now you've even taken my right hand—my best man."

"And you're killing my family! You think it's the same thing?"

"Isn't it? You and I… We're like two powerful storms, destroying everything in our path as we chase after each other. All this pain and bloodshed… It has to end. Now. I could go on eliminating your toy soldiers until none remain, but I'd rather not risk losing any more of my own agents in the process. Innocent, law-abiding citizens who—"

"Keep stalling. I'll hang up."

"Alright, alright. I called because this—this war—is between you and me. It started that way, and I thought maybe you'd agree that it should end that way as well. I have a… proposition for you. If you're interested."

"So spit it out already!"

"I'm holding an event at the Baltic theater in Times Square tomorrow evening—a dinner theater extravaganza, if you will. I'd like you to attend. It'll give us a chance to meet face to face—hopefully for the last time."

"Yeah, right. What makes you think I'm that stupid?"

"Not stupid. Desperate. At least as desperate as I am. And this late in the game, we have no other options. So… What do you say?"

"…Fine. I'll be there."

"Good. And—feel free to bring a date. It is a party, after all. What's a party without a little fun?"

Percy woke with a jolt as the laughing voice of Victor Kronos rang in his mind. His phone conversation with the CIA Director late the previous night had been brief but by no means forgettable—at least, not if his evidently-masochistic subconscious had anything to say about it. The entire dialogue had been on a non-stop replay in his ears all morning.

Pressing both palms to his forehead, Percy sat up with a groan. His head ached incessantly—another note of misfortune that hadn't receded for hours. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain his bearings. He didn't have time to dwell on Kronos's jibes (no matter what inklings of truth they may have contained).

Come to think of it, did he really have time to be nodding off, for that matter? He remembered being awake for most of the night, troubled and anticipating the following day, then having a meager breakfast with Annabeth and Grover in the morning (not that any of them had eaten much of anything), then parting ways to get everything together before it was time to prepare for Kronos's party…

Blinking the haziness from his eyes, Percy sat up straighter and looked around. He was on the sofa in his father's penthouse apartment, still dressed in the clothes he'd thrown on early that day after giving up on getting a decent night's rest. With a stab of nervousness he reached over and snatched his cell phone from the coffee table. He winced when he noticed a couple missed calls and text messages, but none of it seemed terribly urgent, so he made the slightly-irresponsible decision to ignore them all for now. It was almost four o'clock, anyway; with Kronos's event set for six, he figured he might as well start getting ready.

Physically preparing was a simple task—it was the mental aspect about which he was less certain. Keeping himself busy was the best way not to think about what Kronos had said; soon enough, though, he was dressed and ready, and with little left to distract him he decided on dropping in on Annabeth to see if she'd finished as well.

When he opened the door to the one-room apartment she'd been crashing, he caught a brief glimpse of his fiancée, who was noticeably less than half-dressed, before she whirled around with a startled, "Hey!" and leapt behind the nearest piece of furniture.

"It's just me," he told her as he shut the door, unable to keep from smiling in amusement. "You know, you could've locked the door."

Annabeth shot him a pointed glance as she relaxed and stood up straight, one hand on her hip and the other holding the dress she'd yet to put on. "Most people knock," she argued.

He shrugged. "I'm not most people. Need any help?"

"I will in a minute, actually, yeah." She carefully lifted her black dress over her already-done-up hair and let it drop, shifting it until the fabric comfortably hugged her curves and the hem fell to the floor. She stepped in front of the full-length mirror against the closet door and turned her back to him, exposing a long, open zipper that stretched from her collar to her waist.

She watched his reflection as he approached her, and when his hands touched her dress she said in a soft voice, "I'm not okay."

He stopped halfway through fastening the zipper. "What?"

"I know you're probably about to ask if I'm okay, so I'm preempting it by telling you the answer," she explained as he frowned at her reflection. "I'm not. I'm… scared."

Percy took a step closer to Annabeth. "I am, too," he admitted.

"I feel sick just thinking of what we're about to do—what we're going up against. What… what could happen. I've already thrown up twice today," she added with a weak chuckle.

He smiled, dragging the zipper on her dress farther upward until it reached the clasp. "Well, if it helps at all," he went on, sliding his hands over her shoulders and down her arms and taking in her reflection in the mirror, "you look beautiful."

She cracked a smile in return, then twisted around to face him. Reaching up to straighten his tie, she replied, "You don't look so bad yourself." She gave his tie a gentle tug and he gladly leaned toward her, pressing his lips to hers.

When they separated, he slid his arms around her and pulled her into him, letting her rest her head on his shoulder with a sigh. He could feel the tension in her body when she asked, "Is this ever actually gonna end?"

"What do you mean?"

"Say we kill Kronos tonight. Do you really think the government will stop hunting Olympus down?"

"Kronos is the one with a vendetta against us—you and me, particularly. With him out of the way… Sure, we won't be totally out of the woods. But it'll get better—easier. Plus, it'll send one hell of a message."

Her grip on him tightened. "Okay… But turn it around. If… If you die—if he kills you, what's to stop the rest of the family from retaliating? They'll seek revenge. And… the war will go on forever, until there's no one left to fight it."

Percy forced back a grimace and chuckled instead. "You'll just have to beat up anybody who tries."

Annabeth retracted an arm and punched him in the ribs. "That's not funny," she scolded, backing up to glare at him. "Please tell me you realize how dangerous this is."

His smile faded at the serious expression on her face. "Of course I do," he replied, letting go of her and taking a few steps backward. "What, you think I'm an idiot? We're going up against one of the most dangerous men alive—and who-knows-how-many other trained killers. I could die—we could die tonight, all of us. Our fight could be over… just like that." Percy ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He'd intended to try his best to remain confident in the hours leading up to their confrontation with Victor Kronos. Discussing the worst-case scenario wasn't exactly the way to go about sticking to that intention.

Annabeth wrapped her arms around herself as though fighting a chill. Soberly she asked in a quiet voice, "So what do we do?"

Percy sighed shortly, staring at the floor. He considered the question for a second—but only for a second. There was just one answer, after all.

"We fight anyway," he decided, raising his gaze to glance seriously at his fiancée. "If we don't… we miss what could be our only shot."

Slowly she smiled, some of the tightness receding from her stance. "I suppose… it'd be worth it, huh?" she asked rhetorically. When he smiled back, she stepped closer and added, "Promise me something."

"What?"

"When today's over… we take a break from all this. Not a long one—just enough time to plan our wedding without having to worry about getting shot. Okay?"

Reaching out to touch Annabeth's hand, Percy grinned. "That sounds like a great idea."

-0-0-0-

The Baltic theater, as it turned out, was rather small in comparison to the heavy hitters in Times Square, and was actually located on a side street off of Seventh Avenue. Percy and Annabeth had no trouble gaining access, despite their lack of written invitation, and were seated at—big surprise—a table right in front of center stage. They could see Jason and Piper four tables to their right, but they made no contact with the other half of their team save for an exchange of cordial glances. The programs they were given upon arrival informed them that dinner would be served at six o'clock, and the play would begin at 6:15. There would be a half-hour intermission between acts, and a short presentation following the show before the expo was opened in the secondary event hall.

Evidently, everyone invited was some kind of corporate high-roller like Jason. Each of them had a title and a business card and a private car—the whole nine yards. It made Percy a bit nervous—not because he felt inferior or anything, but because any one of them could very well be in on Kronos's plan.

As it turned out, however, he would have to wait to find out for sure. Dinner was served right on schedule and the show (which turned out to be some indie production about a kid going off to war) began without a hitch. In the dark theater hall, Percy paid the stage little attention and instead kept his eyes and ears trained as inconspicuously as he could on his surroundings, his reflexes poised should anything disrupt the festivities. He was also sure to try and spot Kronos in the crowd—surely he had to be watching them. Why else would he have placed them so close to the stage? But when nothing out of the ordinary happened by the end of the first act, he settled on the begrudging realization that the CIA Director must have been waiting until the remaining guests were busy at the expo to make his move.

That is—until the theater hall began to empty for the half-hour intermission and one of the caterers tapped Percy on the shoulder as he approached the exit doors.

"Excuse me, sir," the man said with a polite inclination of his head. "Our host would like a word. It's about your presentation for the expo later this evening."

Percy considered pointing out that he wasn't presenting—and subsequently avoiding what was quite an obvious ploy to get him alone. But a quick glance showed him that they'd drawn the attention of a number of surrounding onlookers. Making a scene would likely not be in anyone's best interest.

"Sure," he told the caterer. "Lead the way."

When Annabeth held back to follow, the man reached out a hand to stop her. "Oh, you needn't worry, miss," he told her. "This won't take long."

She looked about to argue, but Percy quickly interrupted, "It's okay, go ahead." In response to her skeptical look, he added with a meaningful glance of his own, "Just watch for me outside, okay?"

After a second she smiled and said, "Of course," and the gleam in her eyes told him she'd understood exactly what he'd meant.

He followed the caterer back inside the theater hall as the last of the evening's attendees filed out to where an open bar and dessert buffet awaited them. He was led straight up to the edge of the stage, where a second man in a caterer's uniform was awaiting them. Percy felt his muscles tense as the man stepped aside and stood at his left; now he had a slightly-sketchy guy standing threateningly on either side of him, and he didn't particularly like it.

His attention was diverted when suddenly the stage curtain began to rise, revealing behind it a lone figure—first a pair of shiny, black shoes, then a pristine dark suit, and finally an age-worn face framed by slick, white hair.

At last, Victor Kronos had decided to show himself.

The CIA Director's was a face Percy hadn't seen in years—not in person, anyway. As such, he'd forgotten just how impressive a figure Kronos cut. Standing there in his perfect suit with his perfect hair and his perfect posture, it was obvious to any observer just how much power this man possessed.

But rather than frighten Percy, this served to remind him of a fact he'd begun to doubt since their phone conversation—evil or not, this man was the enemy. His enemy. And no matter the lawful justification for Kronos's actions, the only way to end the war that had taken the lives of so many of Percy's loved ones was to end him.

And as Annabeth had said—a victory like that was worth any risk.

"Welcome, Mr. Jackson," Kronos greeted him with a false smile showing perfectly white teeth. His cool, smooth voice seemed to flow from his lips like oil. "It's good to have you with us this evening. For a while, at least."

"Thanks for having me," Percy replied calmly, rationing roughly half of his attention for the men on either side of him in case they tried something. "For a while."

The corner of Kronos's mouth tilted upwards. "It's nice, isn't it?" he went on, lifting an arm and indicating the stage on which he was standing, still set from the last scene of the play. "I rather thought it'd be the perfect setting for our little 'showdown'. It's sure to be iconic, wouldn't you agree?"

Percy felt a scowl attempt to twist his features as he stared Kronos in his icy blue eyes. "A little much," he responded. "Can't say I'm the theatrical type. Publicity was never really my thing."

Kronos chuckled, pacing two steps to his left. "Oh, but it will be. After tonight, I expect we'll see your name in every newspaper. After all…" His lips spread in a smug sneer. "The death of a dangerous criminal is more than worthy of the front page."

Kronos's eyes flitted upward and Percy felt his throat tighten in dread. He had a hunch he knew exactly what the CIA Director was looking at.

A sniper.

Gritting his teeth, Percy started to spin around, but the men on either side of him were faster. They grabbed tightly onto his arms and shoved him to one knee, and in the split second before the gunshot blared he felt a powerful wave of confused disbelief. How the hell had he let himself get caught off guard so quickly?

But then another second passed after the loud bang, and another, and another after that. He wasn't dead—wasn't even hit. The men flanking him must have been just as surprised as he was, because he could feel their grips loosen. Taking the chance, he tore himself from their captivity and spun around, searching for the source of what had definitely been the sound of a gunshot—just in time to see the limp form of a woman in black slump from the mezzanine and fall like a sack of flour to the floor below. She landed on a table still laden with dirty dinner dishes and it collapsed beneath her dead weight.

"What?" Kronos growled from the stage. "How—You!"

Percy looked back and followed Kronos's gaze to the left mezzanine door, through which the true source of the gunshot had just strode purposefully.

"Oh, was she supposed to be your new star assassin?" Kronos's former star assassin called to him in a falsely apologetic tone. "I'm sorry. Guess I just don't like being replaced."

Percy grinned at Annabeth as she twirled her handgun around her fingers before stretching her arms and taking deadly aim at her former employer. It seemed she'd taken his request to keep an eye on him to heart.

"Enough!" Kronos shouted angrily. "Move in! Now! I want them all DEAD!"

Apparently that was the signal to do away with all formality. Percy heard movement from behind him and dropped to the ground, expecting gunfire. And he wasn't disappointed. Kronos's two goons—and possibly also the head honcho himself—had pulled weapons immediately and starting firing.

Yanking his own gun from beneath his jacket, Percy rolled sideways beneath the nearest of the round tables dotting the theater hall, earning himself a moment of cover. He unclipped the tiny radio from his inner jacket pocket and held it near his mouth, saying into it, "Showtime, Jase, get the hell back in here." Then he threw it aside just as one of the fake caterers lowered to a crouch and tried to get a good shot at him. No such luck, though, as he was already darting out from under the table. He landed a shot in the closest man's shoulder, knocking him onto his back, and immediately pivoted to hurl two more bullets into the other's chest.

He thought he'd be safe for a moment, but Kronos's order to move hadn't gone unanswered. When Percy spared a second to survey the area, he noticed with a jolt that an alarming number of agents—many dressed as theater employees—had entered the hall. So had Jason and Piper, he was glad to see, but the opposition was keeping them quite busy.

That second, as it turned out, was all Percy had. He was forced at once to duck more continued gunfire as somebody rushed him from the side, tackling him to the floor. He kicked the woman off right away, but not before she dragged what felt like a knife along the side of his jaw. Annoyed, he grabbed her wrist and twisted it, forcing her to drop her blade, then jammed his palm against her face, breaking her nose. He didn't exactly need another new scar. Sure, it was sort of a lucky break, considering that she'd probably been aiming for his jugular. But that didn't stop him from disliking the fact that his face was starting to look like a game of tic-tac-toe.

Not that he had much time to dwell on it. As soon as he jumped back to his feet, an usher appeared out of nowhere and landed a punch below Percy's right eye. He stumbled back against a wooden chair and quickly grabbed it reflexively. Regaining his footing, he lifted the chair and hurled it against his newest attacker, causing it to break apart and him to stagger sideways to one knee. The man seemed to be just as quick of a thinker as he was, though, because he snatched up a broken chair leg and lunged with it. Percy jerked to the side and very narrowly avoided being stabbed in the stomach, inside grabbing the makeshift weapon with one hand and using it as leverage to tug the man forward. He jabbed an elbow into the guy's forehead and then was able to pull the chair leg from his grasp. He swung it like a baseball bat and grand-slammed the usher in the head.

This is stupid, Percy couldn't help thinking as he ducked more gunfire and dashed from one table to the next. I need to go after Kronos. Knock down the kingpin and the rest will follow.

But by the time Percy found his gun and began making for the stage, he noticed one conspicuous flaw with this plan—Kronos was no longer standing on it. He clucked his tongue and glanced from side to side, but the mess of activity made locating one man much easier said than done. Just when he was about to give up and go back to incapacitating the Director's agents one by one, a familiar voice said from behind him, "Looking for me? Now you know how it feels."

Percy spun around and scrambled backward in reflexive avoidance, but whatever ground he covered made no difference. Kronos was ready for him, .45 in hand and barrel aimed with perfect precision at the left side of Percy's chest.

He'd barely taken a breath by the time Kronos pulled the trigger.

Moving on in just a mo'...

-oMM