Perseus Jackson

*Percy felt the need to pick a fight. He wanted to punch a dead Confederate. The last time he felt that kind of anger... Instead of going up, Percy crept to the edge of the ventilation grate and peered down into the boiler deck.* *Clarisse was standing right below Percy, talking to an image that shimmered in the steam from the boilers – a muscular man in black leather biker clothes, with a military haircut, red-tinted sunglasses, and a knife strapped to his side.*