Cross-posted on FanFiction, AO3, and Spacebattle

Chapter 15
Chekhov's Shotgun

"Ready?" Sally asked.

"Ready!" The two girls dressed as Darth Vader struck a pose with their lightsabers.

Chuckling, Sally turned away from Percy and Rachel, her smile splitting as she barely concealed the snort at the sight before her. "Emiya, how about you?"

"Uhuh." The boy stared at her, unimpressed as he trudged forward in his stormtrooper gear, helmet tucked under his arm. "I could ask the same about you."

"What's wrong?" Sally dipped her head, twisting and turning as she re-examined her costume for anything out of place. As far as she could tell, the black cape and armor were unmistakably secured.

"You're dressed the same as those two," he gestured at the girls behind her.

"Only your hatred can destroy me…!" Rachel cackled under her helmet, her torso arched back as she declared to the sky.

"You don't know the power of the dark side…" Percy pressed the button of her lightsaber. The blade glowed an ill-suited blue.

Sally wanted to remind her daughter that Sith's didn't have blue lightsabers, but another idea crept into her mind as she felt Emiya's wry stare tickle her nape. The woman twirled around, striking a pose as she fanned out her cape. She grinned. "I am your father, Luke…!"

The boy sighed, and Sally had to bite her lips to resist the giggle. Oh, she could get used to this. Perhaps it was a vindictive joy against how much the boy treated her like a child—instead of the responsible adult that she was—regardless, the woman liked to believe that she was developing a rebellious streak, and it felt great.

Rachel bounced to her right, having overheard their conversation. "Yeah! What's wrong with Darth Vader!"

"Exactly! He's super cool!" Percy jumped in as well, forming a small wall as she fell in line to Sally's left. "You're just too young to understand."

The boy stared at them, unimpressed.

"You're just a puny stormtrooper!" Rachel puffed her chest and crossed her arms on her hips.

Percy twirled her glowing sword. "Yeah. And a stormtrooper is no match for us. We're the Sith, like, super strong. And super cool."

"And we're better than you at swords fighting!" Leveling her saber, Rachel jabbed the space before her brother in a flurry. "Take this!"

Anyone else would have flinched from how close the tip of the toy came to their face, but the boy didn't so much as blink. Ignoring the girls, Emiya looked at her. "Let's get going then?"

"Sounds good," Sally smiled.

The rowdy group rode their way down the private lift of the high-rise and made their way towards the awaiting sedan. Percy and Rachel, still bubbling with excitement, continued to wave their lightsabers, while Emiya trailed behind with Sally by his side.

Thwack.

Their uncontrolled toys struck the car's frame before they even entered.

"Oi," the boy scowled.

"Ah." Rachel and Percy froze.

"Dessert probation plus one for both of you. Percy your count is two. And Rachel you're at five."

"What!" Rachel jumped.

Percy's entire body seemed to sag as her energy all but evaporated.

Chuckling, Sally palmed the top of their heads. "Alright, kids. Don't go overboard now. Don't make Emiya any more grumpy than he is. So, be on your best behavior at the fair, okay?"

"Okay…" They chanted monotonously.

The boy snorted and climbed into the vehicle.

The grassy pasture of the fairgrounds bustled with costume-goers. Behind a row of booths and isolated from the festive clamor, was a small, blonde figure dressed in a torn leather tunic with a large plastic eye strapped to her forehead.

Lacy stretched onto her tiptoes, holding the small, round pumpkin in her hands. With careful concentration, she placed it on top of the bigger pile, the orange globe wobbling slightly before settling into place. She grinned and stepped back to admire her work. The Demeter kids had built a perfect pumpkin pyramid, and Lacy liked to think the tiny one she added made it look even better.

Their pumpkin booth smelled warm and spicy, like pies and cinnamon, and everything around her was glowing with orange and purple lights.

It felt both exciting and daunting to be surrounded by so many new faces.

According to Silena and Annabeth, this was the first time in years the kids from Camp Half-Blood had been allowed out into the city for something as normal as a fair—especially in a populated area like Brooklyn. Chiron, their trainer and activities advisor, had explained that the area had gotten safer over the past year or two, enough that the campers could explore so long as they stayed in groups. A Halloween fair in Brooklyn, with its bright lights and big crowds, was the perfect chance to let them stretch their legs outside the camp's borders.

"Hey! Annabeth, Silena, Lacy!" A girl's voice rang out, pulling her from her thoughts.

Lacy turned to see Katie Gardner approaching, wiping her dirt-smudged hands on her jeans. The older girl's ponytail swayed as she moved, and her green apron made her look like she belonged in the middle of a garden or the vegetable crates of a large grocer instead of a bustling fair. Then again, every member of the Demeter cabin was dressed similarly for this occasion.

"All set," Katie said in her firm but kind voice. "The booth is ready, and we've got enough people to handle it for now. You three can go wander. Oh, but not too far, okay?"

"Thanks, Katie!" Silena said, tossing her long, dark hair over her shoulder. She adjusted her silky white toga, which made her look more like a Grecian princess than a camper.

Lacy glanced at Katie one more time. Katie was nice—most of the time. She had a way of making everyone feel like they belonged, especially when it came to working with plants. But if you stepped on one of her saplings, you'd definitely get the look.

"Come on, Lacy," Annabeth said, giving her a small nudge. Her gray eyes were sharp as always, scanning the crowd. She wore her celestial bronze armor—painted gold—over a white tunic instead of her typical orange t-shirt and jeans. It was both practical and fitting for the occasion.

"Let's go before they make us stack more pumpkins," Silena joked, linking her arm through Lacy's as they stepped away from the booth.

The fair stretched out before them, a glowing maze of stalls, lanterns, and laughter. Everywhere, people in costumes weaved through the crowd, and the smell of caramel and roasted nuts drifted through the air. Lacy's eyes went wide as she tried to take it all in.

"Where should we start?" Silena asked, spinning in place to look around.

"Not pumpkins," Lacy said quickly, earning a laugh from both girls.

Annabeth smirked. "There's a haunted hayride near the north end. We could check that out."

"Candy first," Silena insisted.

Lacy was about to agree when she heard a cheery voice that stood out among the thrum of the fair.

"—Come on, Perce, throw it to me!" A girl shouted.

Drawn by the ruckus, the kindergartener slowed her pace, falling behind Silena and Annabeth as she panned around. As the crowd thinned out, she spotted two children donned in large black helmets and dark sweeping capes.

Lacy recalled this character from one of the movie nights at camp… something something Vader. Right, bad guy with a red glowstick. Funny looking too. And even funnier looking swordsmanship. Give her a few years and the kindergartner figured even she could give this Vader guy a good smackdown, like how Annabeth and Silena always gave her a good smackdown in their spars. Other than that, if Lacy was being honest, there wasn't much going on with the Vader guy.

Maybe they wanted to look goofy? Lacy touched the large, plastic eye strapped to her forehead and pouted. The young girl had a sneaking suspicion that Silena and Annabeth had dressed her up for the same reason.

Lacy couldn't control the sense of camaraderie that swelled in her chest as she studied the two Vaders—heads too massive for their narrow shoulders, boring, pitch-black capes, and silly glowsticks.

It was clear to the kindergartener that they too had their choices to dress stripped from them.

"What are you waiting for, Perce?" The one with the red lightsaber cheered, swinging at the air as if she was warming up. "I'm all ready!"

The one who Lacy guessed to be "Perce" hesitated. "Uh… Are you sure? What if I missed…"

Their voice was harder to distinguish, but if Lacy had to rely on her guts, the second Vader was a girl as well—the kindergartener's Aphrodite tingles were never wrong when it came to these situations. Going by their height, they seemed about Annabeth's age—slightly younger than Silena. The one called "Perce" stood several paces across her doppelganger, blue sword pinned to her waist while holding a small, jack-o-lantern-shaped ornament that was the size of a baseball.

"You won't miss! Just throw it!" The first Vader insisted with a few more swings of her weapon.

"Uh," Perce seemed unconvinced as she fiddled with the small, pumpkin ball, "…but what if you missed?"

"I won't! C'mon!"

"…Rachel, the last time this happened, we hit a car," Perce reminded her buddy—now Rachel—in a cautious tone.

"That was different! There's no car around this time. See? So, no car to hit. Come on, it's super simple. Just trust me."

Perce seemingly took a deep breath. "Um, okay… but be ready."

"I'm always ready!" Rachel settled into a batting stance. A few passersby eyed them warily as they parted around the two, deferring to a detour.

Perce tossed the pumpkin-shaped ornament toward her buddy.

Rachel loaded her arms. "Super smash, Yankees, Dodgers, Babe Ruth dinger!" The girl cried, slamming her lightsaber into the oncoming ornament.

Lacy blinked, her eyes tracking the sphere through the air. The tiny ball grew larger and larger, hanging in the same spot in the sky. Lacy stared as the orange blur became clearer, the menacing grin of jack-o-lantern spinning into view, occupying most of her vision.

It was almost as if it was up close…

Thwack.

The ornament smacked her right in her large eye of a Cyclops mask.

"Wah…!" Lacy stumbled back, more startled than hurt. Unfortunately, her foot tangled in her distraction, and before she knew it, she was falling back first towards the grass. In her daze, she heard Silena call her name, finally taking notice of her absence.

Lacy tried to blink her haze away as two taller shadows quickly gathered by her side, towering over her as the other one knelt and clasper her shoulder gently.

"Wow there, you okay?" Silena asked in her soft voice, the gentle scent of roses drifting into Lacy's nose as the older girl started checking her over. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Uh, yeah—" The kindergartener shook her head.

Annabeth's face focused into view right after, picking up the ornament that fell on the grass. "What the heck? Who threw this? I swear if I find out who did this… People should behave with more self-awareness in public spaces—"

"Gah!" A whispered yelp interrupted them.

"Oh my god, oh my god," another voice squeaked, "we hit someone…!"

Lacy couldn't help but wonder why they sounded so… vaguely familiar.

"Did… did she d-die? …We… We killed someone, Perce!"

"Wh-What? No! Why do you, urgh—why do you always think that Rachel…!?"

Before either she or Silena could react, Annabeth narrowed her eyes and twirled around. "You!" The blonde thrust her finger at somewhere in the distance. "Yes, you two! Were you the ones who threw the ball?"

Lacy sat up and followed where her friend pointed. There they were, the two Darth Vaders the kindergartener had observed moments ago, huddled together as they whispered loudly, all but declaring their crime to the world. Now, the duo stood hunched over, frozen, as their masked faces seemed to stare right back at Annabeth like startled deer.

Lacy chose this moment to pick herself up with the help of Silena.

"She lives!" The one with the red saber—Rachel—exclaimed. "Phew… Man, that's scary! I thought we killed someone again…" She elbowed her friend. "Right, Perce?"

"Uh… Yeah, okay, Rachel."

"These people," Annabeth muttered darkly beneath her breath.

"Ah," Lacy was about to tell the older blonde she was fine until one glance at her friend sealed her lips. The last time Annabeth had donned such an expression, the Stoll brothers had to be carried away on stretchers and spent three days in the Apollo cabin.

Yet, before Annabeth could march off and confront the two offenders, the duo of troublemakers hastily approached them instead.

"Sorry, sorry!" Rachel bounced towards them, followed by Perce half a step behind. "You alright, kid?" She skidded to a halt across them. Lacy watched as Annabeth was forced to lean back to avoid being struck in the face by a flailing lightsaber.

"You—" The older blonde began but was quickly interrupted.

"Yeah, um, sorry for hitting you," Perce stopped before them as well, standing a bit awkwardly. "I told Rachel it was a bad idea…"

"Well, obviously!" Finding an opportunity to reassert herself, Annabeth interjected heatedly. "Who in their right minds would throw—"

"What!" Rachel rounded on her friend, completely ignoring the blonde who was, in her ire, sucking in a long breath that was rather concerning to Lacy. "Perce! Not helping! We're on the same team here!"

Her friend turned her helmet away, avoiding the accusation. "You promised nothing bad would happen…"

"Well, I was right! We didn't hit any cars this time." Rachel spun back toward the group, seemingly unaware—or unconcerned—by the way Annabeth's jaw clenched tighter with every passing second. "So, yeah, sorry about that again! Anyway, cool costumes!" Rachel's voice picked up with excitement as her gaze darted between the trio. "That's like a greek outfit, right?" She pointed at Silena, who gave her a polite nod. "And you're… um…" Rachel squinted at Lacy. "A Cyclops?"

"Yes!" Lacy piped up, maybe a bit too eagerly as Annabeth shot her a stern look. The kindergartener realized that it was, perhaps, too early to befriend someone who had earned the older girl's wrath, but she couldn't help it when someone finally recognized what she was… even if her own costume was goody at best in appearance.

"And you—" Rachel's finger swung to Annabeth. "Whoa, what are you supposed to be? A gladiator or something?"

Annabeth's gray eyes narrowed slightly. Her gaze flickered to Rachel's outstretched hand, which hovered dangerously close to the hilt of the celestial bronze dagger strapped to her side.

Rachel's grin widened as her attention landed squarely on the weapon. "Wait a minute. Is that a dagger?"

"Wow…" Perce leaned in as well. "It looks so real."

It was like an invisible weight fell between them. Their little group stilled. For a moment, even the thrum of the crowd seemed to wane. Silena blinked, her lips parting slightly, while Lacy tilted her head curiously, her Cyclops mask slipping askew.

Annabeth's hand twitched toward the dagger instinctively, her eyes darting between the Darth Vader duo. The older blonde's expression was a mix of caution and surprise, her brain clearly working overtime. It was then that Lacy recalled one of her very first lessons at camp: mortals cannot see through the mist.

And they certainly could not see celestial bronze.

The kindergartener huddled a bit closer to her friends. Suddenly, the two figures before them seemed a lot less goofy and a lot more eerie.

Lacy's breath hitched.

Were they… were they monsters? Had it been a bad idea to travel out of camp, after all?

Her eyes flitted nervously between Silena, Annabeth, and the duo before them. Maybe it wasn't impossible to take them on. They looked kind of weak, a bit shorter than Silena, and only measuring up to Annabeth in height. They weren't like the cyclopes that had chased her to camp.

Maybe, they could do this—

"Anyway!" Rachel exclaimed.

Lacy almost had a heart attack.

Before they could do anything, the costume-goer suddenly reached up and popped off her helmet. Curly, ginger red hair pooled around the capes, revealing emerald green eyes, a perky nose, and an impish grin.

It was undoubtedly a girl. A human girl.

Lacy sighed, her bravado escaping her as she deflated like a leaky balloon. The slight sag in both Silena's and Annabeth's forms further convinced the kindergartener of their safety, and she didn't miss the suppressed but annoyed groan from the older blonde.

"Sorry about hitting you again." Unaware of the passing tension, Rachel continued excitedly. Her gaze landed on Lacy. "Hmm… How about this? We brought candies and snacks, but it's back at our base. Wanna come over and have some of it with us? Also, my name is Rachel, and this is Percy!" She jabbed a thumb at her partner who was beginning to pull off her helmet too.

Annabeth didn't respond immediately. Instead, Silena stepped forward with a curious gleam in her eyes, breaking the silence that was beginning to gnaw on Lacy's nerves. Her sister smiled at the two. "Oh, that sounds nice. I think we'd love to visit. I'm Silena, by the way. This is Annabeth, and this is Lacy, my sister."

"Hi," Lacy decided to offer a tiny wave when the expectant gaze of the redhead landed on her again.

"Cool!" Rachel cheered.

"Nice to meetcha," Percy's voice came out more strained as she struggled with her helmet.

"Annie?" Silena urged the blonde.

"…Fine," she grumbled, her eyes narrow. "And this 'base' or yours better not be somewhere weird."

"What!" Rachel was indignant. "It's not weird! It's cool! Cool, okay? Prepare to be blowed away when you see it!"

Annabeth's brows twitched ever so slightly. "…Sure. Also, for your information, it's 'blown away," not 'blowed away.' 'Blowed' isn't a word that exists in the English language."

Rachel recoiled and her face scrunched together like she swallowed a lemon. She elbowed her friend who—Lacy realized in amazement—was still struggling with the removal of her headgear. "Holly!" The redhead whispered, but it was loud enough for everyone to hear, including an annoyed Annabeth. "She sounds just like Emmie…! Did you hear that, Perce?"

"…Uh, yeah, kinda bossy" Percy grunted distractedly, clawing at her helm with her gloves.

Annabeth took a deep breath and the kindergartener took a mindful step away from her increasingly agitated friend.

"Um, Rachel?" Percy asked, her voice muffled by her gear. She seemed unaware of the effects her careless comment had on Annabeth, and Lacy wasn't sure if that irked her blonde friend less… or more.
"Yeah, wassup?" The redhead chirped.

"…My helmet's stuck."

Click.

Click, click, click.

The office of the 17th Precinct was punctuated with the muted notes of keyboards.

Plucking a new file as he stowed away his precious paperwork, the lieutenant rubbed his temple as he skimmed through the latest document behind his cluttered desk.

Emergency Order of Protection. Filed late last night. Flagged as high-priority.

He thumbed through the attached notes: documentation of bruises, witness statements, and a request from the family court for swift service.

Gabriel Ugliano. A real piece of work, this one. The lieutenant leaned back in his chair, groaning as the cheap leather squeaked under his weight. It was almost too early for this crap. But then again, he wouldn't be the one dealing with this case, not directly. One of the perks of seniority—leave the grunt work to the boots.

He scribbled his signature at the bottom of the paperwork, then reached for the phone. The line connected in a few beats.

"Dispatch, got an EOP that needs serving. Sending over the details—address is on the Upper East Side, apartment building." He flipped the page and squinted at the fine print. "Target is the resident male, Gabriel Ugliano. No outstanding warrants, but keep an eye out. Guy's got a history of violence."

"…You want backup on this, Lieutenant?" A voice responded.

"No. Send two uniforms," the lieutenant closed the folder and slid it to the side. "And keep it tight."

…
Gabe stirred beneath the cold, sticky linoleum of the kitchen floor, wooden splinters digging into his back. For several minutes, he laid there, unmoving and bleary-minded as sunlight poured through the cracks of the blinds from a living room that seemed all too distant.

It was morning.

…And Sally had not returned.

A strangled growl escaped as he exerted himself to sit up. The world around him spun, and he grimaced, sucking air between clenched teeth as he gripped the edge of the counter above him for support. The cupboard door—now nothing but cracked wood—groaned under the pressure of his weight.

As his disheveled form straightened, a piece of the cupboard scraped free beneath his grip. His grumbling and cursing came to a halt. The faint thrums of traffic washed over the disarrayed kitchen.

Something was tucked within the crumbled cavity under the countertop.

For all that he claimed as his under this roof, the kitchen was Sally's space. It was her responsibility. It was her duty, to prepare his meals and organize—stowing—everything that would contribute to putting food on the table.

At least that should've been her sole mission.

Not keeping secrets.

Not whatever this was.

A box—a hidden stash.

Gabe grunted as he bent over, clumsy fingers sweeping away the collapsed frames of the cupboard from what was stashed beneath the sink. His hand found a handle and his fist closed around it. Gabe tugged, but the object barely budged. He tried again. It moved, but not enough.

He growled.

And then he yanked. In a burst, the item broke free from the splintered remains, popping over the ledge, and hitting the ground in a deep thump without even a bounce.

Gabe heaved, face and neck swelling red from the excursion as he righted himself. "The fuck…?"

It was much heavier than he expected—long, solid plastic; textured casing, and dense with something that could only be metallic inside. If the muffled clattering within the container were anything to go by, the box held more than a few articles.

…

The two officers were finishing up their break in the squad room when the call came through. The man wiped the last crumbs of a donut off his fingers. "Another EOP? There goes the morning."

His partner shot him a sidelong glance as she clipped her radio to her belt. "Better than chasing drunk drivers at three in the morning. Let's just get it done."

They rolled out within minutes, their squad car cutting through the steady hum of traffic. The radio crackled intermittently with chatters from other units—routine reports of disturbances, noise complaints, and the occasional request for backup on more serious calls.

"Guy's name is Ugliano," the female cop read off the dispatch notes from the tablet mounted on the dashboard. "Served some paperwork on him last year, different complaints from neighbors. No priors for assault, but…" She tilted the screen toward her partner. "Look at that history of disturbances. Guy's been on the radar."

The man grunted, adjusting his seatbelt as they merged onto the avenue. "You think he'll go quietly?"

"Hope so." The woman grunted, eyes scanning the sidewalks as they neared their destination. "But if he doesn't, we're not going to push it. We serve the papers, document it, and leave. No heroics."

"Roger that," the man muttered, already mentally checking out of the job.

They arrived at the apartment building just after nine-thirty. The structure was a tired brick facade, worn with age, its narrow entrance completed by a wooden door with peeled paint.

They parked in the only vacant spot on the street, only several paces away from the stoop. It was a lucky coincidence—somebody had driven off recently and left them a space along this jam-packed curb.

Thump.

The man circled their vehicle as the woman climbed out of the shotgun.

They approached the dingy entrance of the apartment, arms resting on their belts and a document at hand.

"Well, let's get this over with."

…

Gabe dropped the heavy box on his bed.

He hefted the hammer in his hand, eyeing the cheap lock that refused to open. Raising his arm, he brought the tool down, striking a small shower of sparks over the bed sheets as the metals made contact.

He frowned, leaning down to give the lock a quick jerk. He grunted and raised his arm once more.

And the piercing sound of metal strikes filled the room again.

…

Inside the dim stairwell, a dog barked sharply from one of the other floors, the sound bouncing off the grimy walls. The male officer tapped his flashlight against his palm impatiently. "This guy better not be one of those sleepers. I'm not dragging him out of bed for this."

"Don't jinx it," His partner replied over the faint echoes of their boots scuffing against worn concrete steps.

Eventually, the duo stopped before a door. The female officer racked her knuckles against the wood and waited. They waited, studying the floor vacantly as they breathed in the dusty air. After a while, the woman knocked again, but no answer followed.

"NYPD, we need to speak with you," the female officer called before she turned to her partner with a blank stare.

He raised a single, exasperated eyebrow.

"You jinxed it."

The man rolled his eyes. "Right."

…

Gabe tossed the broken lock aside.

Dragging the box closer to the edge of the mattress, he breathed deeply, resting his meaty hands on the rough, polymer lid of the of the casing.

The hatches popped open, and with a slow creak, the box opened.

For the longest while, his silhouette stood unmoving, rooted in place, his head dipped as he seemed to consider the contents within.

Then, he hunched forward, plucking a photo from the pile of videotapes and pictures. The image depicted a bruise on the upper forearm… A feminine forearm that was toned and slim—elegant, despite the marring discoloration. It was a forearm he was all too familiar with.

His eyes wandered past the photo before him and focused on the many more in the box. He crumpled the print and scooped aside the remaining clutter in the case. The videotapes and pictures spilled onto the bed.

Gabe straightened his back once more. He stared at the culprit behind the container's hefty weight.

Cleared of the evidence of his abuse, the stash revealed what laid inside: long, cold steel.

A shotgun.

…

They waited. Occasionally, the muted and distant honks would reach them from a faraway street.

The female officer tried again, banging harder this time.

Still nothing.

She exchanged a look with her partner.

The male officer sighed, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted the papers in his hand. "Well, wouldn't be the first time we've had to rouse a sleeper. One last call before we try the knob?"

She sighed in agreement. Raising her voice, she knocked firmly on the door. "NYPD, Mr. Ugliano! Open up. We're here to serve you an order." They waited, shifting on their feet, the quietness of the hall settling back around them.

…

Gabe ran his hand along the cold metal of the shotgun, turning it over as he inspected the weapon, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. It was… pristine, almost untouched, as though freshly acquired. The long barrel glinted under the dim light, and he could feel the weight of it, the craftsmanship.

This wasn't just some ordinary purchase, not something one would pick up at their grocery or convivence store. And Gabe sure as hell didn't recall dropping the bands this item.

So, he came to a conclusion. And it pointed to the same source—the root of all his recent misgivings—Sally Jackson.

Knock. Knock.

Gabe shifted his gaze. The sudden knock at his apartment door echoed down the hall and jolted him out of his thoughts. Cursing, he rose, steadying himself against the edge of the bed. The hangover was still there, clouding his mind. So, he lumbered toward the door, all but forgetting the shotgun clutched loosely in his hand.

…

After another tense silence, the male officer released a low groan of exasperation. "Who the hell name's their child Ugliano… Alright. We're going in."

The woman placed her hand on her holster.

The two officers shared a look, the male officer raising an eyebrow as he glanced at his partner. "Ready?"

"Ready when you are."

The man nodded and reached for the knob.

…

Gabe's hand closed around the doorknob, the faint ring of the last knock still lingering in his ears. His grip tightened, and with an annoyed grunt, he twisted the handle—

—And pulled.

…

The door swung open with a slow creak—unlocked all along.

There was nobody in the empty frame.

The two officers exchanged a glance, and the woman drew her flashlight, stepping cautiously inside.

"Mr. Ugliano? NYPD—"

…

Gabe flung the door open to reveal a scowling woman on the other side.

Gabe squinted at her.

Who the fuck was this bitch? She looked somewhat familiar, but his pounding head wasn't helping his memories.

"Tone it down!" The woman across from him snapped. She was dressed in everyday clothes, her arms crossed, and glaring at him. "You've been making enough noise to wake the whole building, and some of us actually work in the morning, you know? And maybe take a fucking shower, a swine would smell better than you after rolling in its shit—"

Gabe remembered now—this squeaky voice and ugly face—it was his neighbor from the floor below. The woman continued to screech and harp, but his fogged brain tuned out the contents, leaving the incoherent noises from this creature before him to build on his swirling irritation. He started to snap back, and, somehow, in his growing rage, he realized the wretch had fallen silent.

He stared at her.

She was staring at something in his hand.

He followed her gaze.

Her eyes widened.

His eyes widened.

—The shotgun. Shit. Yet, before he could utter a single syllable, the woman beat him to the punch.

"A gun!? What the hell are you doing with that thing?" She hissed, fumbling for her phone. "You're out of your damn mind! I'm calling the cops!"

His face contorted. Gabe lashed out without thinking, slapping at her hand, trying to knock the phone from her grip. She jerked back just in time, managing to yank the device out of his reach.

"You're done for, you hear me?" she shouted, stumbling back down the turn of the stairwells. "I'm calling the police, and you're gonna wish you hadn't pulled that stunt!"

"Fucking bitch—" His words died in his throat. The woman had already disappeared down the turn of the stairs. His jaws clenched as he glared at the empty space.

Then, the heaves came, suddenly and rapidly, hitting him like a truck.

Fuck. He slammed the door shut, his curses echoing through the empty apartment as he stalked back to his room, heart pounding.

The static shrill in his ears grew deafening. Then, it stopped, replaced by the pounding of his heart.

It was a fucking shitshow.

But one thing was clear to Gabe—he couldn't stay here a second longer.*

The place stank.

The female officer stepped over a beer can. Many more littered the floor. Wooden splinters and shattered glass scattered across the kitchen tiles. The male officer sighed, rubbing his temple as he took in the scene.

"Looks like a tornado tore through here," he muttered. "And this guy needs to start taking baths…"

They called out again, moving deeper into the apartment, their eyes narrowing as they tried to discern any sign of movement.

…

Gabe stormed into his bedroom, cursing under his breath as he grabbed the box. His fingers tore through the contents—the damning tapes, the photos, all the evidence of his handiwork, scattered across his bed like a twisted mosaic.

He had had to get out. He had to leave, now. That woman who came knocking on his door, he knew that bitch would call the police. That wrench had filed complaints on much lesser grounds, let alone the sight of him carrying a firearm.

Gabe emptied the rest of the weapon casing onto the mattress. With a final glance at the shotgun, he tossed it in and slammed the lid shut.

And Sally… she'd planned this. She was… she was scheming against him…

How dare she schemed against him.

…

The officers crept through the apartment, nearing the open doorway of the bedroom. The woman gestured to her partner, the mess of evidence scattered on the mattress coming into view. She leaned closer, taking in the tapes, the battered photos, all the bruises and scars documented in ugly, uncompromising detail.

Her partner's voice broke through the silence. "Guy's not here."

…

Gabe thundered down the steps, gripping the heavy box in one hand, the adrenaline coursing through him sharper than his lingering hangover. He burst through the door onto the street, and the cool morning air slapped against his face as he hurried to his car. The box landed with a thud on the passenger seat, and he slid into the driver's side, heart hammering as he yanked the door shut.

He growled as he twisted the key. The engine roared to life, the familiar rumble sending a faint thrill through him as he pulled out from the curb and sped off down the street. The open spot where his Camaro had been sat empty behind him, a conspicuous gap in the row of parked cars.

As his panicked and angered mind tried to process everything, he came to a single conclusion to his predicament.

The image of a beautiful woman surfaced—curly brown hair and startling blue eyes.

Right.

It was all her fault.

…

Inside the quietude of the apartment, the female officer pulled the blinds open, staring out onto the street below. Her gaze landed on the empty parking spot where their squad car now sat.

"…I think I know why we found ourselves an empty spot," she murmured.

Apollo's footsteps echoed in the vast space.

Marble walls lined with statues reached skyward, reflecting the sunlight that cascaded through the towering glass ceilings above. He tilted his head, glancing at the statues as he passed. Mortal craftsmanship was impressive, he supposed, for beings with such limited lifespans.

Still, none of it explained why she would be here.

He slowed as his gaze caught a familiar silhouette standing ahead, tucked into one of the side chambers. Even in the dim lighting, Athena's form was unmistakable—poised and still, as if she herself were carved from marble. She stood before a statue, the faint glow from above catching in the threads of her silver-gray robes. Apollo's curiosity sharpened.

He approached, his presence unhurried, his voice carrying easily in the empty expanse.

"Knocked on your temple on Olympus," he said casually. "Didn't find you there. Though, didn't expect to find you… here, of all places. Finally sick of tinkering away in your workshop?"

Athena didn't turn. Her gaze remained locked on the statue before her. Apollo drew closer, stopping a few paces behind her. He shifted slightly, angling himself to see what held her attention. His blue eyes slid over the terracotta form, lingering briefly on the fine details—the robes, the helm, the sharp, unwavering expression etched into the figure's features.

Then his gaze dropped lower, catching on the name engraved on the statue's plaque—

Minerva.

Apollo raised an eyebrow. A slow smirk curved his lips as he straightened, his arms crossing loosely. "Never thought I'd see the day." His tone was light, laced with amusement. "Three and a half years working on your project, and now you're so desperate you're getting inspiration from your Roman knockoff? I'd imagined you'd be the first to smash this piece, not one to admire it."

Athena remained quiet, there wasn't even the slightest shift in her posture from his provocation.

Apollo's smirk deepened. "What's next? Trading your aegis for a laurel crown? If you wanted lessons in art appreciation, you could've just asked."

Still no answer

Seconds stretched into minutes. Apollo waited with no signs of displeasure.

Finally, Athena spoke, her voice cool without the faintest trace of emotion. "What are you doing here, Apollo?"

"Checking in," he replied easily, leaning his weight onto one foot. "Got some news you might be interested in. That is, if you hadn't scrambled your head."

Athena turned slightly, her profile visible as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "What kind?" She ignored his final comment.

"I spoke with Aphrodite. Figured you'd want to hear it directly."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, unreadable as ever, before she returned her attention to the statue. "And why would I be interested?"

Apollo shrugged to himself. "It's about the clusterfuck of divinities. You know, the one from a few months ago."

Her form remained unmoving.

"Which means," he added, "it's about him."

The silence stretched between them, this time longer than the last.

And then, without a word, Athena broke it again. She turned on her heels, her toga slipping over long, toned legs as she strode past him. The rhythm of her footfalls echoed softly through the chambers of the gallery.

The sunlight shifted. The clouds drifted above the glass ceiling, casting soft shadows over the scene. Apollo tilted his head, watching her quietly.

"Sometimes," she began, her voice wistful yet measured, "I wonder if we've done things… things that we're not aware of…"

Apollo blinked. So… he wasn't the only one.

He took one last, sidelong glance at the terracotta statue of Minerva—ever motionless behind the display case. His gaze fell away, and he followed her, passing under the marble arch of the museum.

Rows of sculptures flanked their path, figures of myth and history frozen in their silent vigil. At the hall's center stood the figure of Perseus, his arm extended, brandishing Medusa's severed head—glory, memorialized beyond time.

Neither deigned the sculpture their attention.

"Three and a half years," Athena's voice carried back to him, speaking more to herself than anyone else. "What an interesting way to reintroduce himself…"

They strolled on. The silhouettes of statues and relics passed them by.

"…Emiya."

Trivia

1. Chekhov's Gun: If a seemingly significant object or event is introduced, the audience expects it to be relevant later in the plot, e.g., Sally's shotgun introduced in Chapter 7.

2. In the films, Darth Vader never said, "Luke, I am your father." Rather, he said, "No, I am your father."

3. The scene between Apollo and Athena takes place in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in galleries 552 and 548. The specific sculptures that made an appearance were "Perseus with the Head of Medusa" by Antonio Canova, and "Minerva" by Clodion, respectively.