“You know, I don't believe you’ve ever told me about this one, my son. Perhaps for good reason, hmm?” Zeus comments as he studies Apollo's only bastard, stroking his lengthy wavy beard while doing so. Presently, the hero is sitting at a lengthy dining table within the King of Olympus’ palace, along with Zeus himself, Hercules, Hades, and Apollo. While waiting for the arrival of food, Zeus believes it best to resolve the conflict between his son and his son's son.

  “It was a mistake that fate refused to let me solve, father… I wanted nothing to do with him, yet he persists with his troubling presence. A thorn that I simply cannot rid myself of.” Apollo informs with a bitter tone.

  “Aye. It's no wonder you have wife troubles. And here I thought the lad was just a friend of your offspring. Who knew he’d turn out to be a bastard of yours.” Hercules remarks with a smirk, drawing the glare of the Sun God in his direction.

  “I’m glad one of us finds this ordeal amusing, brother. Though it shows your taste in comedy is as poor as your dull sense of fashion.” Apollo rebuttals. The comment simply earns a soft throaty chuckle from the strongest man alive - Hercules feeling he’s stung his brother's pride enough for the time being.

  “Well, my interest is certainly piqued enough. Tell us, who is the mother of my newly discovered great nephew?” Hades prods as he leans forward in his seat and rests his forearms upon the table.

  “Is it not obvious?” Hercules questions with an arching brow.

  “Sometimes, it's best to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth than to speculate in vain.” The Olympian God of the Underworld reasons as he shoots a brief glance toward Hercules.

  “... It's–... My mother is Hel.” Tyson answers almost reluctantly.

  “The Norse’s Goddess of Death!?” Zeus chimes in with a rhetorical question. His eyes then shift toward Apollo.

  “Huh. It would seem the phrase drop-dead gorgeous isn’t merely a figure of speech after all, eh son?… Heh. Haha! HAHAHAHAA!” thump! Zeus breaks out into a fit of hearty laughter and can't help himself from slapping the table at his own jest. Apollo, of course, looks away in discontent and annoyance while folding his arms.

  “Father, please… this is hardly the time to make light of my circumstances.” The sun God protests like a snobby adolescent. All the while, Tyson looks on with nothing short of soft confusion on his face.

  “Aye. Heheh… Aye, perhaps so, my son.” Zeus responds while wiping away a tear from his eye. Then, the King of Olympus' attention shifts toward the American deity among them today.

  “So, what was your ultimate purpose of coming here… my newly acquainted grandson? Surely that fight wasn't simply an unexplainable impulse the two of you suddenly found yourselves stricken with.” Zeus inquires. With the heart of the situation finally arising into the conversation, Tyson sits up and puts on a serious face.

  “I was the one who started the fight. And I attacked him because I grew frustrated with his callous responses and I felt I had to make my position as clear as possible to him.” Tyson begins.

  “And what position was that?” Zeus prods with genuine curiosity.

  “Wait till you hear his answer, father…” Apollo chimes in with a roll of his eyes, already aware of what's to come from the foreign hero. The remark briefly grabs Zeus’ attention, but it quickly shifts back to Tyson.

  “Because of the countless human lives that he took and the tragedy he brought to an entire city, that he's no longer permitted anywhere near the USA.” The young man answers. It's a response that draws a mild frown of confusion upon Zeus’ face as he leans back into his seat, sitting in a short moment of silence.

  “...Human lives…?” Zeus repeats as if only bearing sheer skepticism.

  “The creation of that bleeding heart fool, Prometheus?” He adds rather bitterly. He then tilts his head slightly.

  “I too can appreciate the sophistication behind his handiwork and acknowledge that there is indeed a certain level of beauty to behold from the likes of them. However… they are ultimately nothing. Just simple, artificial creatures, just like any other animal in this world.” The Olympian King elaborates coldly.

  “I strongly disagree. They're not nothing. They're people.” Tyson asserts while maintaining eye contact with his biological grandfather.

  “You’ve been living in a falsehood, boy. They were fashioned after the Olympian Gods, as so stated by their creator himself. They're mimics. Expressive replicants with some distinction between themselves, but still inconsequential beings. You blink and they die. Delicate creatures that weren't meant to live for long at all. You're pouting over broken toys…” Zeus nonchalantly insists. And this presents a contrasting divide in their perception of the world. Despite learning of his lineage, Tyson is no pagan worshipper, but instead a man of Christian faith. In his eyes, there's only one true creator and that's the father of Jesus Christ himself. Even so, he sees no benefit in debating the topic. Especially when he's on soil where Greek faith reigns supreme.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “...To ME they mean something. I acknowledge that your perception of them differs from mine, but I cannot simply be expected to not care when they're in harm's way… I’m not asking you - any of you - to grant them favors, just to allow them to live in peace. Please, they don't deserve to suffer your anger, be it directly or indirectly.” Tyson reasons. The hero’s persistence draws another expression of confusion across Zeus’ face. Across every face in that room. Silence creeps in, though before it can get too comfortable, servants finally enter the room to roll in a generous spread of food. Half a dozen trays of food soon occupy the previously vacant stretch of space upon that lengthy table. When there's nothing left to provide, the servants don't hesitate to leave the room.

  That awkward quietness returns immediately. There's a lot of contemplating going around, for this is a topic rather foreign to such beings.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  [Hardy / San Diego]

  The time is 5:54am this fairly dark early morning and presently, the deadly mercenary of a blonde is lying prone atop of a rocky elevation at the San Diego border and periodically taking peeps through the scope of the sniper rifle she owns, checking for the arrival of the ‘opportunistic people’ her client isn't too fond of. She possesses no idea what these sorts of people look like, but she figures anyone who shows up from the side of the border that she's on is likely her mark and that's good enough for her. In addition, Hardy doubts the meeting she's awaiting will take place at the checkpoint of the border, but instead believes that they’ll simply make an exchange through the ‘wall’ dividing the two sides. Countless tall thin iron pillars run along in a straight line as far as her gun’s scope allows her to see - while there's no room for even a child to squeeze through, there is however just enough of a gap for, say, suitcases to easily slide between them.

  The wait for the arrival of both parties finally comes to an end. Idly kicking her combat boots-clad feet behind her, Hardy hums along to a catchy song that just won’t stop playing within her mind, though she's able to divide her focus enough to pay attention while scanning the area through the scope. She easily does sweeps with the aid of the small but sturdy rotatable rifle-mount she's using to support the firearm, and her diligence finally bears fruit. A black SUV truck about seven miles out enters her line of sight, of which her eyes perk up at seeing and quickly begins tracking by carefully keeping the scope on it. She follows it all the way to the wall of the border, observing as it comes to a stop and parks. Though a fairly long moment passes, perhaps just a little over a minute, she patiently keeps watching. Slow deep inhales and exhales keeps her excitable anxiety at bay to maintain patient calmness and a steady aim. At last, several people exit the vehicle and approach the dividing wall. She sees the reason for such is that the delivering side of the exchange is finally here. She sees several members from both sides speaking and making gestures, but she can't hear a single word between them. Luckily, context doesn't matter in this situation. One way or another, Hardy is dead set on making sure that deal concludes in favor of her well-paying client.

  At the very least, the blonde gets visual affirmation that the product is exactly the one she’s meant to return with. An individual on the outer side of the wall moves to retrieve a thick blocky briefcase from the worn white pickup truck near him, then opens it to pluck out a jar to hand it over through a gap. Hardy blinks at how the substance inside the glass container seems to glow within the man’s hand.

  “Oh? That definitely looks like the specific brand of ‘honey’ he wants.” She comments softly, though stays her awaiting trigger finger. In the next moment, the opposite side sends someone to grab two steel suitcases from the SUV and in turn, open it to reveal that it's full of cold hard cash. An adequate amount it seems. The two sides begin making an exchange - simultaneously trading cases through the gaps. By the time it's done, those on her side of the border receive eight briefcases and proceed to pack it into the back of their truck. The dealers head off almost immediately. Before the buyers can also take their leave, Hardy finally moves her right point finger to curve around the trigger of her sniper rifle as she adjusts her aim. When they're all inside the car, ready to get going, the blonde gives a fatal greeting from afar.

  KROOOOOOWWW!!!

  A Bullet discharges and swiftly punches a hole through the passenger window to pierce the driver's skull in an instant, splattering fragments of brain matter and blood on the interior. A fresh corpse goes limp as panic ensues inside of the SUV.

  “Got this icebox where, my heart, used to be ??–” Hardy murmurs and sings along to the song that's still stuck in her head, casually cocking her refile to remove a shell casing before preparing her aim again. This time however, her mark isn't so easily accessible through the scope. The individual in the front passenger seat makes the wise decision to both keep their head low and also eject the dead body from the driver's seat, shoving out of the door and onto the dirt road. The individual then shuffles over to take the wheel and attempt to start the ignition. However, Hardy is keen on keeping the car from moving.

  “I’m so cold, I’m so cold, I’m so cold…??

  And your body mass has to be right about…–”

  KROOOOOM!!

  She pulls the trigger and sends a parting gift in the form of a bullet piercing through the car door and injecting into the side of the new driver's neck. Far from intentional, but conveniently lethal all the same. Now, this is where her years of experience in warfare and intimidation tactics come in handy even more. It's a gamble, but she rises from her spot and turns to head back down to her car with her rifle in hand, believing the individual in the backseat will be far too stricken with fear to take any immediate action to get away. He has no idea who's shooting or how many gunmen are watching the truck, after all. She hustles around to enter the driver's seat, places her firearm on the passenger side, and then starts up the engine. She puts her foot down onto the gas and swerves from behind her hiding spot to head straight for that SUV at full speed.

  Pulling up to the truck, Hardy slows to a stop about eight-feet away and exits her sporty vehicle, this time with a pistol drawn. Nonchalantly, she approaches and circles around the SUV. It's there that she uses her free hand to gently knock several times on the window, hoping to get the attention of the final living person inside. She does without fail. So well in fact, that she gets an immediate reaction. In the form of the suit-wearing underling popping up from hiding and desperately busting rounds at her until he empties an entire clip on her.

  BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!!!...click, click, click.

  The bullets do actually hit their mark through the window, but none of them pierce the blonde's ivory flesh, nor leave a blemish. Instead, they trickle onto the ground in vain while the adolescent-looking woman arches a brow and grins softly in amusement at him. In the next moment, Hardy backhands that fragile window to shatter it into pieces, then reaches inside to unlock and open the door.

  “Hi there, stranger. Enjoying your exciting day so far?” She asks rather mockingly.

  “W-who are you!? The fucking hell you want!?” The man barks at her.

  “The merch in the trunk you three were stealing.” She answers.

  “Steal? We paid for it with cash!” He rebuttals. In turn, Hardy lifts and points her gun at his face.

  “I’m afraid that wasn't your deal to make. Now, be a good sport and politely hand it all over. Out of the car.” She commands While gesturing with her head. She steps back and allows him room to exit. For the next two minutes or so, she holds him under threat of her gun while watching him carry the merchandise from the trunk of the SUV and into both the trunk and backseat of her car. When he's nearly done with the job, he finally speaks up again.

  “My boss isn't going to appreciate this, you know. When he finds out what happened here, he’s–” Before he can finish that thought, Hardy cuts him off.

  “That's the idea. My client wants him to be aware of what happened here. Luckily, since you're the last one alive, you get to deliver the news to him. Oh, and a simple message. You can summarize it any way you want: Mind your own damn business. Can ya deliver that to him for my client? He’d appreciate it.” She tells him. Without a response in mind, the underling finishes up the task in silence. Once done, the blonde places her gun away into a hostler then moves to head back to her car.

  “Alrighty. You're free to go tattle tale on me to your boss. Gotta long trip back, so I am outta' here like last week's news.” She gives her parting words, enters the car, and takes off f

  rom the scene just as the sun is high enough to bring forth more light to the day.