A Son From Lands Unknown (PJO x Male Reader)

The Gang Goes to Hell(-ish)

The group stood in the shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at gold letters etched in black marble that read, 'DOA RECORDING STUDIOS.' Underneath, stenciled on the glass doors, a similarly golden font read, 'No Solicitors, No Loitering, No Living.'

It was almost midnight, but the lobby was brightly lit and full of people. Behind the security desk sat a tough-looking guard with sunglasses and an earpiece.

"Alright, remember the plan?" Percy asked the others.

"The plan," Grover said. "Yeah, I love the plan."

"What happens if the plan doesn't work?" Annabeth asked.

"Pray?" (Y/N) suggested, though eyes were rolled at that.

"Don't think negative," Percy said.

"Right," Annabeth said. "We're entering the Land of the Dead, and I shouldn't think negative."

Percy took the pearls out of his pocket, the four milky spheres the Nereid had given him in Santa Monica. They didn't seem like much of a backup in case something went wrong. Annabeth placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Percy," she apologized. "You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine." She gave Grover a nudge.

"Oh, right!" the satyr chimed in. "We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem."

Percy looked between the two and felt really grateful. He looked to (Y/N), looking for more encouragement, but the older boy didn't know what to say, so simply shrugged his shoulders. Percy slipped the pearls in his back pocket.

"Let's whoop some Underworld butt."

"Attempt a diplomatic solution first, please?"

The group walked into the DOA lobby. Elevator music played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel gray. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, though it was standing room only. People were sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved, talked, or did much of anything. Out of the corner of his eye, Percy could see them all just fine, but focusing on any of them in particular made them look... transparent. Like one could see right through their bodies.

The security guard's desk was a raised podium, so the group had to look up at him.

He was tall and elegant, with chocolate-colored skin and bleached-blond hair shaved military style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair, one which (Y/N) could tell just by looking at it was high quality. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.

Percy read the nametag, then looked at him in bewilderment. "Your name is Chiron?"

The security guard leaned across the desk. There was nothing to be seen in his glasses except the onlooker's own reflection, but his smile was sweet and cold, like a python's right before it eats you.

"What a precious young lad." He had a strange accent, British maybe, but also as if he had learned English as a second language. "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"

"N-no," Percy stammered.

"Sir," the guard added smoothly.

"Sir," Percy repeated.

The guard pinched the name tag and ran his finger under the letters. "Can you read this, mate? It says C-H-A-R-O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON."

"Charon, sir," (Y/N) interrupted before they could get any further off track. "We require passage to the Underworld."