ꜱᴘɪᴅᴇʀ ʙɪᴛᴇꜱ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴀʙᴇᴛʜ/ꜱᴏʟᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ

xxxᴠɪ ᴀɴɴᴀʙᴇᴛʜ | ᴀɴɴᴀʙᴇᴛʜ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ʜᴀʀʀʏ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇꜱ

A rational person would wander the tunnels, hand pressed to the right wall. That old corn maze trick can really come in handy.

But here's the thing: Annabeth isn't too rational when there's a spider in sight, and especially when hundreds or maybe even thousands of tiny spiders dot the walls.

Annabeth keeps close to the middle of the tunnel, hoping that perhaps they won't notice her. It's a surprise that she's only had to shake off a few; Arachne's children have it out for Athena's. That's so not fair. Annabeth didn't turn Arachne into a spider, but you know, typical gods, leaving their kids to deal with the consequences of their actions.

Her breathing quickens. Ever since facing Arachne and thousands of other spiders in Rome, her arachnophobia's been a little extreme. Images of being bit by thousands of spiders all at once flood Annabeth's mind, a time when she thought- no, knew- she was about to die at the foot of her mother's statue. Where was her mother then? And where was her mother when she was a child in the dark, face sore from spider bites? Nobody believed her when she cried about what happened the next morning, and her real mother never came when she prayed for some sort of intervention.

It wasn't a fun lesson to learn, but now she knows there's nobody she can depend on but herself. Some people call it 'abandonment issues'. Annabeth calls it 'smart'.

She doesn't even wonder what her mother might be doing right now that's so important she can't offer some help to her struggling daughter. Annabeth doesn't even pray for wisdom. Athena gave her all the wisdom she was willing to share the moment she was born.

Annabeth twists her Yankee's ballcap forwards in hopes of shielding her from spiderwebs. No amount of peppermint lotion and citrus shampoo can ward off this many spiders.

Onward she walks, the thought of making it to the surface and showering for the second time today comforting her.

Then there's a sound, like a tiny buzzsaw. Annabeth retrieves her chopsticks from the pocket of her jean shorts.

And then like a total idiot, she asks, "Who's there?"

One by one, lights along the top of the walls click on. The sound is enough to provoke Annabeth's almost-cured hangover. The lights are too bright. The sounds are too loud. She forces herself to keep her pained eyes open, ready for a threat.

After adjusting to the darkness, she readjusts to the light and finds herself in an abandoned gold mine. Weird place to build a resort.

"Congratulations! You found me!" A figure walks up the tracks.

Annabeth struggles to make out who they are. At first, it looks like it might be Monique, the tattoo artist, but that's not quite it...

Patrick Swayze? No, her childhood celebrity crush is long dead.

Now it looks like Reyna. Finally, someone who can help.

Nope, not Reyna.

Wait. The figure's shifting. What do these people all have in common?

Think Annabeth.

Now he looks like the guy she hooked up with a month ago, the guy dressed as Marty McFly. Or is that the real Marty McFly?

Oh, fuck.

These are all people Annabeth's hooked up with, or almost hooked up with. Well, except Patrick Swayze.

They're all people she finds attractive, which can only mean-

"Don't recognize me? What a shame. I sent you some great dreams. Yes, yes, I did," the man, who now looks like Harry Styles, says. When did Annabeth ever find Harry Styles attractive? Oh, the hair. And the dimples. Shit.