III

All Hail Industry. The world revolves around what crazy ideas scientists come up with and the streams of products engineers make out of them. No place was safe from the growing sophistication of mechanized life. And yet we blindly stumble along, machine after machine.

It's no one's fault. Everyone wants the latest fashion trend, the fastest car, or the loudest gun. Once people start taking sides, the wants become questions. Can we spot them first before they spot us? Can we get away before they get to us? Can we kill them before they kill us? The inevitable build-up to a fight of us versus them; and the answers are Schodringer's.

Once the storm passes, all that's left is to clean up and do it all over again. That is the schedule of New York.

Public enemy number one: Thalia Grace. She's not from New York, so there's not much on file. Off the records, she is the toughest cookie that's not in the army. Despite the obvious fact that Thalia is a girl, her victims are dead or insane. It's hard to extract anything from the insane, unlike dead bodies that spill the beans and blood.

December 21st, the day after the Subway Shoot-out. We cleared the bodies and identified them as best as we could. Among them was Percy's mother, yet another caught in the crossfire. According to rumors, one could never identify Thalia's victims. A charred body, a face peeled of the flesh, and a curious case of mustard gas, all previous examples.

That was the first time I was told of bodies untouched by her hands, if you don't count the bullet holes. I didn't heed much of the chatter before, but the fact a kind deed was the exception for a person changed my mind. I've picked up a few traces since, but the one revolving theme of the case was the nickname Ghost of the Storm. I don't take nicknames seriously, but it doesn't help that all those cases arrive at my office after a recent storm.

"Get up."

"Nooo…" the ruffly-haired woman cooed, attempting to smack the offender.

"Her ladyship is waiting. You best not keep it that way," Zoë informed, setting down an adorably-decorated childish lunch tin aside the littered floor where the lieutenant slept.

The past few hours tested the mettle of the Hunters. Those who found time to sleep were lucky. Others found it involuntarily.

In response to the Subway Shooting, Industry Titans pooled their resources together and attacked any location that had an inkling of Hunter activity. Throughout the raids, nearly every major Hunter facility was sacked, looted, and burned. Police were dispatched, but the late hour and short time of the operation rendered law enforcement moot.

For the first time in Hunter History, surprise took them by force. Most operations against them never made it past the usual patrol, and those that did met a sizable response force. Such success is owed to the overlooked intelligence section, which kept the Hunters well informed of their advisory's plans.

But plans that don't materialize have no counters. Once word got to Titan allies, a collective agreement took place as they all picked up their arms. The Hunters had no idea of this mass mobilization until the first windows shattered.

In the aftermath, Police could only identify dead Hunter bodies, thus labeling them as the cause of the insurrection. Wounded Hunters made a run for safety, and those who couldn't kept their loyalty to the end. Healthy Hunters did not exist, everyone involved was a casualty.

The dark hours hid the weakness of the Hunter's solidarity. In that time, they did everything they could to make weaknesses temporary, including the reoccupation of their once grand headquarters.

"I brought you breakfast."

"2 pounds of pigs, Jewish round, and a belly warmer?" Thalia piped at the prospect of a decent meal, her battle fatigue magically vanishing.

"Yes…Milady thought it would get you up," Zoë commented, pulling up the baggy-eyed girl to her feet. "Eat with haste, we're overdue!"

By natural rank, Thalia slept in the least-touched spot. A door—a slab of charcoal—was Thalia's mattress, soiling her silver suit with black dust. It also had that permeating smoke smell.

As Thalia happily munched down her morning meal, she found sights and realizations that spoiled her previously elated mood. She may have fought in this building yesterday, but no one cares about how terrible a place is until it's time to clean up.

The raid on the Hunters was different, even by the unspoken mafia law. It was bad enough the Hunters had to deal with resupplying and repairing the damage, but they couldn't begin unless it was safe to do so.

In just the short stroll from bed to conference room, both inappropriately named, Thalia easily recognized the endless tripping hazards, sharp edges, and structural damage that creaked the longer it was left untouched. Continuous clouds of dust fell everywhere, coating and choking everyone in lead-based paints.

If the Hunters wanted to do something about their annoying situation, they'd need experts in this field. Apparently, the skill of hiding bodies, making getaways, and bullying the competition does not translate well into the world of occupational safety.

"Thalia, glad you could join us," A distinguished hunter greeted, handing her a stack of paperwork she'll never read.

It was a meeting. Thalia loved meetings that discussed the next big move, not monotonous, bureaucratic human resource meetings.

"Good. Everyone's here." The head of the organization collected. "This is the problem: Hestia cannot provide enough female cleaners. We need more, any suggestions?"

That was a problem. An all-female group only allowed females. Sourcing other alternatives at the cost of punctuality and efficiency was not the Hunter's motto. There was something nagging at the back of Thalia's mind though, something related to Hestia's Housing…

"...Closed for the holidays. I do suppose Thalia might have an idea?"

"Shoot, what?" Thalia fumbled, with table members mistaking her longing face for one of proper, organized concentration, a partial mistake. "Uh, I might know someone?"

That was what they were hoping for.

"We are a little desperate for a solution, my dear. We might have to bend the rules a bit, but every idea of yours so far has…worked."

Someone whispered into another's ear. Apparent shuffling took precedence at a possible convenient solution to all problems. It's an on-the-spot moment, the kind where you freeze because your brain is in the next postal code over.

But what would Thalia say? It was just as much a revelation to her that the obstinate gossip, that is Perseus Jackson, cleaned living establishments for a living. Never mind that, he was a boy, and the 2nd Hunter policy was basically no boys.

"I-I know someone who might be willing to lend a hand," Thalia confessed, mentally lighting a soothing cigar with the same lighter that burnt this bridge.

"Might?" the head inquired.

"Sooooooo, they might've been one of the civilians present at yesterday's excitement."

"I presume the same one you…what was it? Kidnaped in exchange for your safety? If we weren't in a worse position, this meeting would instead discuss breaches in protocol.

"Ok, ok, but I know where to find them! There's still a slight issue."

"Is it compensation?"

"No, we fairly compensate all allies. They just…might not have the motivation for it, especially after yesterday."

Think tanks turned around. Out of thin air, a wild card drops into their hand. By playing this card, it's very likely the odds will turn in their favor. At worst, it's another willing worker.

This was a deal that no sane leader would turn down. The head had suspicions about the individual in question, yet if it was a means to the end, no harm done.

"If this person is motivated—"

"Blackmail?" Thalia hoped.

"—How soon can you make contact?"

Thalia finally understood the carpet bomb she dropped. Unintentional it may be, this was a dastardly plan with consequences. No matter, it gave her an excuse to visit Percy!

A devilish grin settled on her face, "Gimme 2 hours."

The wind was loud, cold, and uncalled for. The Eastern Seaboard was always breezy, but this was worse than a dreadful day.

Percy was dreaming of a comfortable lodging. Too bad the old cabin at Montauk leaked worse than a worm-infested wooden whaler. Wind poured through every crack, hole, and slit, carrying the ever-imprinting scent of sea spray.

Forced awake by a chilly rush, Percy cursed his lack of funds. Whilst he got an amazing deal, the kind some would call illegal (it probably was), such an opportunity happened only because he couldn't afford the cheapest legal option. Embarrassment ran through his blood as Percy remembered that he couldn't afford a Model T, the bucket car for low-paid laborers.

Still, Percy could find peace that his deal yielded a ride of greater capability compared to the aging frame of the first mass-produced mobile. Perhaps it was a bit old compared to newer, faster alternatives. Nevertheless, the chain-driven Mack AC was a reliable truck. The quagmires of churned mud and blood didn't stop the wheels from turning, even if it caused them to get stuck.

Just yesterday Percy took his newly christened 'Blackjack' for a drive to Montauk. The path was across the country, but the aging contraption lumbered through it all, including a nasty slip that nearly drowned the engine and Percy into the frothy Atlantic.

But praise to the engineers that designed it! Neither shifting sands nor swift seawater could stop Blackjack as it continued to plow a wake to the safety of land. Percy knew mixing steel and salt water was nothing short of catastrophic, but if that was so, then Blackjack should've seized up years ago and not brought him to his most desired location.

"Oh Montauk, how thoust wound me," Percy lamented, reminiscing yesterday's wind-chilling attack as he limp-dashed soaked from the vehicle to the marginal safety of the cabin.

Compared to the rickety racket of New York, which could become a bustling bang, Montauk offered one record to play: wild wind. It was this tune Percy heard when his mother verbally attacked his father for leaving and the same one he cried to when he left for concrete pastures. Percy was not the person he was then nor the person he thinks is now, but the wind kept singing through it all.

It wasn't the sound of waves lapping against the shore. It wasn't the laughs of those (frankly) intimidating seagulls. It was the stubborn rush of the wind that made Montauk home; Percy hated that wind.

Knock knock knock.

Suspicion. Everyone in Montauk knew everyone else and no one bothered anyone, and Percy was the last official resident. The sun waited to rise, so who came to bother Percy before the sunrise?

Despite the blaring alarms in his head, Percy did the courteous thing and answered the door. He made himself modestly presentable first.

"Mor~ning!" the stunning woman at the door bubbled. In the dark, her unnaturally bright eyes lit up the immediate area. Percy wasn't sure how that worked, but combined with a brilliant smile, a princess—

Slam!

Percy panicked and did the first thing that came to mind. He knew slamming the door shut was not the most polite thing he could've done, but once he stopped drooling at the sight—

Slam!

The door flew off the hinges, taking Percy with it. Due to the small interior, the door quickly sandwiched Percy between it and a wall.

Dazed and down hard, Percy did his best to shake it off.

"The hell are you?" Percy slurred, blaming his drowsiness for the lack of bravado.

The silver-suited woman picked up the beaten door, dusted it off, and tried to stick it back on its hinges. Expectedly, there were no hinges, so she leaned it on the door frame.

"Forgotten already?" Thalia feigned, clutching a fist over her chest, "I thought we were friends!"

Percy had friends, but he was sure friends don't barge into someone's house or threaten his life.

Wait, that's exactly what Percy's friends do to him.

The situation finally processed through that brain full of kelp. Once a competent rat remover, Percy was now under the eyes of a seasoned hunter. Again, the first solution was to run away, but Percy couldn't run through the walls of his beloved home.

The next best thing was to tear a piece of mildly rotting wall paneling and use it as a biohazardous stick to bash his way to safety. If the gangster had a gun, he could throw it like a spear.

Before Percy could implement his horrible plan, Thalia beat him to the punch, figuratively this time.

"I'm not here to fight, just a messenger," she stated, holding both arms in the universal surrender pose, one Percy might've seen if he had joined the Doughboys earlier. Thalia slowly stuck a hand into her padded suit, producing a sealed envelope marked just for Percy. She inched closer, offering her other hand to Percy.

It was a trick, or some other dodgy action. Percy knew better than to trust strangers, but even strangers seem more trustworthy than this…enterprising individual. Still, Percy came to Montauk on paid vacation and unfortunately was already bored.

They firmly grasped each other's arm, lifting Percy to his feet. Both grimaced in pain as a mutual respect passed between them after yesterday's events.

He took the envelope, eyeing both the paper and the paper-giver with suspicion. He trusted the girl to help him up—no reason to turn back now.

So he tore off the seal. Seals always had an ornate design that complimented the user. Percy could care less about who sent him some choice words.

Dear Mr. Jackson,

Regardless of your current state of affairs, we are in need of your services.

In light of recent events, several of our establishments are in dire condition. While we can handle ourselves in repair work, we simply lack the available bodies needed to carry this out. We have contacted your employer for permission to immediately assign you work and expect arrangements can be made.

Regretfully,

The Hunters.

Thalia amused herself with Percy's flat-lining face as he now cared about who the seal belonged to. Of course, Percy wouldn't do something because someone wanted him to, especially when it was his time off. For that reason, there was a second part to the letter she hadn't shown him yet and fished it out of the other inside pocket.

"Youse can't be serious!" Percy finally exclaimed, a lovely shell-shocked expression making the situation funnier for Thalia.

Then he noticed the gun pointed at him, Thalia stupidly beaming at his realization.

"We weren't asking."

A/N: Hello, yes it's me again. I bet you didn't expect a weekly upload. Unfortunately, don't get your hopes up. There is one more Chappie I've managed to pre-write. Until then, tell me what y'all think so far. I need contact with the fandom.

Cheers!