When a Hero Trades His Sword for a Stapler

Chapter I: Welcome to Dunder Mifflin, Perseus Jackson

The Dunder Mifflin parking lot, a barren expanse of asphalt, seemed to shimmer in the morning heat. It wasn't the kind of heat Percy Jackson was used to. This was a dry, prickly heat, not the humid, valley infused warmth of Camp Half-Blood.

He had chosen Scranton as a place to start over, a quiet town where the echoes of his past battles wouldn't follow him. The war was over, a victory won at a devastating cost. Percy had lost more than just friends in that war.

He tugged at the collar of his button-down shirt, a far cry from his usual orange camp shirt and worn jeans. A paper company. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way to blend in, to become just another face in the crowd. But now, standing on the threshold of this new chapter, a wave of uncertainty washed over him.

"A paper company, Percy? Are you sure about this?" His mothers voice echoed in his memory, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and amusement.

They stood together, feet dangling over the fire escape of their apartment, one final goodbye before parting.

"It's… time for a change," he had replied, trying to convince himself as much as her. "Besides, how hard can it be to sell paper?"

Sally had just smiled sadly, her hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Just try not to flood the office."

Percy took a deep breath, the smell of ozone and old coffee wafting from the building. This wasn't a hydra, this wasn't a minotaur, this was... an office. He could handle it. Probably.

He pushed open the glass doors and stepped into a cramped elevator, its mirrored walls reflecting his slightly rumpled appearance. He rode it to the second floor, the Muzak jingle doing nothing to calm his nerves. When the doors slid open, he was met with a sea of beige cubicles, the fluorescent lights casting an unflattering pallor on the occupants. A few heads popped up, curious eyes assessing him. It was as if he had wandered onto the set of a low-budget TV show, and he was this episode's "guest of honor."

A woman with kind eyes and a warm smile greeted him at the reception desk.

"Hi, I'm Percy Jackson, the new guy," he introduced himself.

A beat of silence hung in the air, as the woman stared at him. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing delicate features and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose.

Percy blinked back.

She then let out a startled gasp, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Oh my god!" she squealed, her cheeks flushing with excitement. She fumbled for a moment, then regained her composure. "Welcome aboard, Percy! I'm Pam. We've all been so excited to meet you!"

Before Percy could even do so much as think, a booming voice echoed through the office. "Well, well, well! What do we have here?"

A man with an air of misplaced confidence and a hairstyle that exuded Italian emerged from an office directly to his left. He strode towards Percy, his arms outstretched as if greeting a long-lost relative.

"Percy Jackson! Welcome to the Dunder Mifflin family!" the man declared, nearly crushing Percy's ribs in his enthusiastic embrace. "We're a tight-knit group, like a family of paper-loving ninjas." He released Percy, beaming with pride. "And I," he gestured to himself with a flourish, "am your dutiful sensei, Michael Gary Scott."

The only thing Percy felt capable of doing was laugh. This dude was like a satyr on too much nectar, all wild gesticulations and over-the-top pronouncements.

"Don't mind Michael," a kind voice interrupted Percy's shock. It was Pam, the receptionist, her warm smile returning. "He tends to... overshare."

"Oh, come on Pam, really?" Michael shook his head rapidly, as if he was trying to tell Percy, don't listen to her.

First thing Michael did was lead him to a right nook in the office space, where a woman with meticulously styled hair and a look of perpetual disapproval sat hunched over her computer. "This is Angela," Michael announced, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "She's our head of accounting, and she's a real stickler for the rules."

Percy offered a polite nod, but Michael wasn't done. "Don't let her cold exterior fool you," he continued, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "She's a real softie... deep, deep down. Like, Mariana Trench deep. Deep down in there."

Angela shot Michael a glare that would have turned Medusa to stone, but he just winked at Percy and moved on, leaving Percy to wonder if he should apologize for Michael's... colorful commentary.

"Hi, I'm Percy."

Angela could've given Ms. Dodds a run for her money with her resting bitch face. "Hello."

On second thought, maybe Michael was right.

Percy continued to follow his new boss through the maze of cubicles, each one a miniature world unto itself.

"This is Phyllis," Michael said, gesturing to an older woman with a friendly smile and a collection of ceramic frogs on her desk. Phyllis offered a gentle wave, her expression curious.

"And that's Stanley the Manly!" Michael added, pointing to the man adjacent to Phyllis, who was engrossed in a crossword puzzle, his coffee mug steaming beside him. Stanley grunted a noncommittal greeting without looking up.

In another world, Stanley and Mr. D. probably would've been best friends.

As they passed by a pair of desks pushed together, Percy felt the kind of chill that you get when you see a gorgon wearing a leopard-print bikini, run down his spine. Two people were engaged in an intense staring contest. One was a thin, disheveled man with a glazed look in his eyes, the other a woman with wild hair and a penchant for animal prints.

"This dynamic duo is Creed and Meredith," Michael announced with a hint of unease in his voice. "They're... having a blast!"

Percy nodded slowly, trying also to decipher the cryptic conversation they were having without words. Creed offered a sly grin, revealing a set of surprisingly sharp teeth, while Meredith simply winked at Percy, a playful glint in her eye. Or sultry? Gods, he wasn't sure.

Michael then steered him towards a more composed-looking man with glasses perched on his nose. "This is Oscar," he said. "He's another one of our accountants, and he's always got a logical explanation for everything. Don't you, Oscar?"

Oscar nodded in greeting, his eyes scanning Percy with a discerning gaze. Percy couldn't help but feel like he was being assessed, as if Oscar was trying to calculate his worth as a potential addition to the Dunder Mifflin team. Regardless, he seemed to be the only sane person in the office.

Percy, his head spinning with names and faces, couldn't help but ask, "Is there more to the office on the other side of those doors?" He pointed to glass doors at the back of the room.

"Oh, that's our kitchen," Michael very hastily replied, as if trying to steer the conversation away. "Just a kitchen, you know, where we cook stuff?"

Percy leaned to look through the windows. "But I see there's more cubicles back there."

"Ah, yes, yes!" Michael said with such acrid pain, he too may have seen a gorgon wearing a leopard-print bikini. "That is the annex. Do not go back there!"

"Michael!" Pam chided, shooting him a disapproving look from across the office space.

"What? It's true," Michael retorted, crossing his arms defensively. "They're a bunch of weirdos."

Pam sighed. "Toby and Kelly are back there," she said, her tone implying that Michael's assessment was a gross oversimplification. She gave Percy a knowing glance that said, I'll show you another time.

Just then, the camera crew that had been trailing them caught Percy's attention. His eyebrows furrowed. "Why are we being followed by a camera crew?"

Michael puffed up with pride. "Ah, yes! The documentary crew! They're here to capture the essence of Dunder Mifflin Scranton. We're the stars of our very own show!

"Documentary?" Percy's eyebrows furrowed. "About what exactly? The exciting world of... paper sales?"

"This isn't just about paper sales. This is about life, love, laughter, and the pursuit of the perfect Dundie Award!" he clapped Percy on the shoulder.

Percy glanced at the camera crew, who were now filming him with an unsettling intensity. He wondered if they had captured his skeptical look when Michael mentioned the "Dundie Award."

"So," Percy said, trying to keep his voice casual, "how long have they been filming this... documentary?"

"Oh, a few months now," Michael replied, waving his hand dismissively. "But don't worry about them. Just be yourself. Be natural. Pretend they're not even there. This is all ordinary."

Percy couldn't help but snort. "Ordinary? Right." His eyes landed on a man humming to himself while meticulously arranging M&Ms into a color-coded pattern on his desk.

The man, noticing Percy's attention, looked up with a wide, childlike grin. "Hi there," he said slowly, his voice a bit muffled by a mouthful of candy. "I'm Kevin. Welcome to Dunder Mifflin. Best company ever."

Percy smiled back, amused by Kevin's simple enthusiasm. "Thanks, Kevin. It's good to be here."

Percy's gaze then landed on a tall, lanky figure leaning against a filing cabinet, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And this," Michael said with a proud smile, "is Jim Halpert, our resident prankster. Salesman, just like you! If you ever need a good laugh, or a stapler in Jell-O, he's your guy."

Jim raised a hand in greeting, his grin widening as he caught Percy's eye.

Before Percy could respond though, a stern-looking man with an immaculate haircut and a no-nonsense expression stormed up to them. "Perseus Jackson," he declared, his voice as sharp as his attire. "I am Dwight Schrute, Assistant Regional Manager."

From behind him, Jim chimed in with a playful smirk, "Assistant to the Regional Manager, actually."

Dwight, not missing a beat, countered, "Let's not get caught up in semantics right now, Jim. There are more pressing issues at hand." He turned back to Percy, his eyes laser-focused. "Your tie is non-regulation."

Percy glanced down at his blue tie, which was adorned with a subtle pattern of hippocampi. "Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong with it?"

"It does not conform to the company dress code," Dwight stated flatly, as if stating a universal truth. "You will change it immediately."

"Dwight, really?" Michael chimed in, his tone uncharacteristically conciliatory. "It's Percy's first day. Let's not scare him off with petty rules. Besides," he added with a wink at Percy, "I think the tie looks rather... dashing."

"Or what?" Percy challenged, a hint of his demigod spirit rising to the surface.

Dwight's eyes narrowed. "Or you will face the consequences."

A tense silence descended upon the office, so thick you could cut it with a letter opener.

Percy held Dwight's gaze. Dwight, for his part, stood his ground as well, jaw clenched. The two of them were locked in an epic staring contest, a battle of wills waged not with swords or magic, but with sheer, unadulterated stubbornness.

"Hey, Dwight," Jim said, stepping in. "Relax. I'm sure he didn't realize there was a dress code for mythical sea creatures."

A ripple of laughter broke the tension, but Dwight remained unamused. He turned his glare towards Jim, as if daring him to make another quip. "This is not a laughing matter, Halpert. Regulations are regulations."

"I'll tell you what, Dwight," Percy said, "How about we settle this with a little competition? If I win, I get to keep my tie. If you win, I'll change it. Deal?"

Dwight's posture straightened. "Very well, Jackson. Name your competition."

Percy's lips curled into a sly smile. "How about a paper airplane contest? Whoever's plane flies the farthest wins."

-Ω-

It was obvious now to Percy that nobody had anything productive going on today. Everybody was up from their seats, even Stanley, who had reluctantly abandoned his crossword puzzle in favor of the unfolding drama. The only ones missing from the impromptu audience were the mysterious inhabitants of the annex.

Jim had quickly produced a stack of paper and a ruler, setting up a makeshift runway along the conference room side of the office. He even added a miniature finish line with a Post-it note, declaring, "And the winner is..." in bold, black letters.

Percy judged the distance with a frown. He needed a plan. The closest to him was Kevin.

"Kevin," Percy began, "any tips for a winning design?"

Kevin, his mouth full of candy, mumbled, "Make it like a bird... or a chocolate bar."

Percy nodded thoughtfully, filing away the advice (questionable as it was). He then turned to Oscar, who was observing the proceedings with a skeptical eye.

"Oscar, what's the most efficient way to fold a paper airplane?"

Oscar pulled out a calculator and started crunching numbers. "Based on the dimensions of the paper and the average air density in this room, I'd recommend a design with a slight upward angle for optimal lift..."

Percy's eyes glazed over as Oscar launched into a detailed explanation of aerodynamics and lift-to-drag ratios. He nodded politely, trying to absorb as much information as possible, but his mind kept wandering back to the image of a flying chocolate bar.

Meanwhile, Dwight had disappeared beneath his desk, emerging moments later with a stack of blueprints and a determined glint in his eye. He ignored all attempts at conversation, muttering to himself about wingspan ratios and air resistance.

"Dwight," Jim called out, a hint of amusement in his voice, "need any help with those calculations? I hear Percy's got a friend who's a master of aeronautics."

Dwight shot Jim a glare, then turned back to his blueprints, his lips moving silently as he recited gibberish.

The office buzzed with anticipation as Percy and Dwight meticulously crafted their paper airplanes. Pam offered words of encouragement to Percy, while Angela cast disapproving-looking glances at the commotion.

Percy, drawing on some vague memories of Yancy Academy, opted for a classic dart design, with sleek lines and a pointed nose. It wasn't fancy, but it looked sturdy and reliable.

Dwight, on the other hand, had constructed a monstrosity. His plane resembled a miniature B-2 bomber, with intricate folds, multiple wings, and even a tiny rudder. He held it up proudly, proclaiming, "Behold, the Schrute Buck! A marvel of engineering, designed for maximum airtime and unparalleled precision."

Jim leaned over to Percy, whispering, "I'm pretty sure he's been working on that thing since the day he was hired."

Percy just grinned.

As the moment of truth approached, Michael, not to be outdone, decided to join the fray. He grabbed a piece of paper and hastily folded it into a crude approximation of an airplane. "Behold, the Scott Special!" he announced, holding up his creation with a flourish. "It's not about the looks, it's about the spirit!"

The office erupted in laughter as Michael's plane promptly nose-dived onto the floor. Undeterred, he picked it up and declared, "Round two! This time, the Scott Special will soar like an eagle!"

Percy and Dwight exchanged a glance, a silent agreement that they were the true contenders in this battle. The rest of the office held their breath as the two rivals prepared to launch their paper airplanes into the unknown.

Dwight's plane glided smoothly, covering a respectable distance before gently nose-diving onto the carpet. Percy's plane, however, seemed to possess a life of its own. It dipped and swooped, riding air currents like a seasoned seabird, before finally landing with a triumphant flutter near the water cooler.

The office erupted in cheers as Percy emerged victorious. Dwight, though visibly disappointed, begrudgingly accepted defeat. "Well played, Jackson," he muttered, extending a hand. "You may keep your... non-regulation tie."

Percy chuckled, shaking Dwight's hand firmly. "Thanks, Dwight. I'll try not to let it go to my head."

Pam led Percy to his new cubicle, situated directly across from Dwight and next to Jim, with Pam's desk just behind him. As he settled into his swivel chair, the hum of the office filled the air.

He glanced at Pam, who gave him a thumbs-up and a knowing smile. "Welcome to the jungle, Percy," she whispered, twinkling with amusement.

Percy couldn't help but grin back. He had a feeling he was going to need all the luck he could get in this place. But hey, if he could survive a war with the Titans, surely he could handle a few quirky coworkers and a mountain of paperwork.

Right?

He glanced at the clock.

Gods, it wasn't even 10 o'clock yet.

Author's Note:

First of all, shout out to my friend IDKHowToWritePlzHelp for helping me plan and write this story. Excited to continue it, hope you all are looking forward to reading :)

If you're a true OG to my profile, you might remember when I used to have a PJOxTheOffice story with Reyna. Man, has time gone past.

Thanks for reading!