Personae Non Gratae (a Percy Jackson AU)

Tragedies of Individuals

I looked up at Zeus and jutted out my chin. He was no scarier than Kronos or Krios or Hyperion. He didn't have Atlas's cruel laughter or Krios's sneer. He definately did not have Kronos's razor-sharp gaze that cut down enemies and recruits alike. Still, he intimidated me with his self-assured stance and sharp gaze. I felt like a naked bird being put in the oven-still sore from having its feathers cruelly plucked off. "I could tell you some names," I conceded. "I suppose I should begin with how I was recruited."

Zeus nodded and I began to force the words out of mouth, however painful they were to share with him. If I had suffered, then so be it. Many people suffered; my own pain hardly mattered. "My father was a soldier," I said. "He was a friend of Kronos's, but after he was lamed in battle, he took his anger out on my sister, Hylla, and I. We ran away, but got lost and separated-"

I stopped as I felt wetness on my cheeks. I brushed my face and continued to tell my tale. "I ran into one of his recruiters-a man named Atlas."

"How would you describe Atlas?" Zeus asked, looking up from the laptop he was typing on.

"Tall with cruel eyes," I said, repressing a shiver. "Pale skin and a bald head."

Zeus gestured for me to continue speaking. "I was only ten then," I said, "but there were younger kids there. Dakota was only nine and Gwen told me she had been there since she was seven."

"Were you forced to engage in combat?" Zeus asked.

I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming. How else did that arrogant judge think I had gotten my wounds? Was he really so dense that he couldn't put two and two together? "Yes," I managed, blinking furiously. "I saw battle. Many of us died..."

"How many?" Zeus asked.

I balled my fists, wishing I didn't have to remember seeing my friends sprawled out on the ground, their lifeless forms eerily still. "So many," I whispered. "Dakota, he died first. He was only ten then. It was his birthday and they forced him to fight; they forced us all to fight, but we were outmatched. He was shot by another kid. He fell and never got up."

I looked at my hands and saw the blood and dirt that clogged them after combat. "Gwen," I managed. "She didn't want to, but they told her she'd be punished if she did not help. She was shot in the back, after the battle, by a sniper. She could have lived if she had received medical attention."

"Michael," I said, remembering the loyal friend of mine. "He was sixteen, but he believed in them. He believed that they were his ticket to heaven. He was the one who detonated the bomb in this village. He was the one they convinced to be a suicide bomber."

"Thank you Reyna for your help in the fight against terrorism," Zeus said. "I shall see about offering you a reduced sentencing in exchange for your testimony against the Titans."

***Luke***

I never wanted to be a poacher. Most of us never did. As kids, we would run around and gawk at the majesty of the very animals that we were now butchering. I never wanted to see a baby elephant grieving for the stolen life of its mother. I never wanted to see a rhino charging at me after we had shot its companions.

Then again, I had never wanted to see my mother unable to find a job or even farm the land because of her fits. I never wanted to have to plow the fields when I was only seven years old. I had never wanted to go to bed hungry because we never produced enough food. Poaching was the way out of it. Through poaching, I could bring in more money in a month than my mother could make in a year. Through poaching, I could afford to install a new well, repair the roof, and even buy a bike to make the trips to other villages easier.

I killed animals so that I would not die. I stole their lives so that I may have a chance to survive. I was no better than Kronos. Kronos was the one who had convinced me to become a poacher. He had goaded me into it, using my bitterness to convince me to sell my soul to his organization.

The more I learned about Kronos, the more I despised him, but I was so entrenched in his organization that there was no way that I could ever leave it. Kronos kept the facade of a rich businessman in the village, but I knew he had more blood stained on his soul than money in his bank account. Kronos ran a terrorist organization called the Titans. They preyed on the disfranchised and the disillusioned-people like me. He funded his terrorist efforts through his illegal brothels and poaching schemes. Every bite of food I ate came with the realization that the money to buy it came at the cost of lives.

I gazed at my target and readied my gun. The elephant was browsing from a tree, unaware that its fragile life would soon be stolen from it. Ethan aimed his own gun and pulled the trigger. The elephant bellowed in rage and pain. It turned its massive head and stared at us. The bull's shoulder was bleeding heavily from the gunshot wound, but it merely tossed its head and trumpeted, making a trickle of nervous sweat run down my neck.

I saw the terror in the animal's eyes, as well as the pain. I didn't want to hurt it, but I must. I pulled the trigger and Ethan did the same. The elephant's movements grew jerkier and slower as wounds peppered its body. It eventually sank to the ground, its breathing laborious, and raised its trunk to the sun. For a moment, I could have sworn the elephant was praying.

Then, its trunk dropped to the ground and it stilled. Ethan and I left the underbrush and examined the specimen. "It's a fine specimen," Ethan said pointing to the reason we had killed it: its large, magnificent tusks.