Into the Fire

Ladies and gentlemen, it has been a long time coming, coming all the way back from Chapter 19 of Leviathan, but it is HERE! The third and final story of the new trio introduced a year ago, the trio including Son of Jashin, Green-Eyed Ghoul, and…

Roanapur's Sea Devil!

Now, the description says that is a crossover between Percy Jackson and Black might be asking what Black Lagoon is. The short version? It's the most American thing Japan ever came up with, including, but not limited to guns, violence, explosions, high speed chases, death, murder, and a rockin' soundtrack. Go watch some AMVs on YouTube to get a feel for what's happening.

For those who do know what Black Lagoon is, imagine the story retold with a mute, gun-toting, DelayedInspiration-patented anti heroic Percy, and then imagine the story of Percy Jackson retold with that same Percy.

Expect extreme cursing (because Revy), drinking, smoking, torture, the mafia, the mob, the cartel, death, shoot-outs, and badassery...also psychology, and non-canon shenanigans.

Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Olympians is owned by Rick Riordan, and Black Lagoon is owned by Rei Hiroe

Get ready, cause I'm dropping you suckers into the fire headfirst.


Gabe cackled madly as he laid into Sally from behind. She was on her hands and knees, fully clothed except for the tear in the back of her pants. The man taking her was much the same, with only his pants unzipped and unbuttoned. Gabe's mustache was dripping with beer, and his teeth were stained yellow with the cheap alcohol.

This wasn't the first time Sally had been forced to satisfy her drunken husband's desires, but it had never been like this...not in front of her son.

Angry at having been fired for his negligence, Gabe had been in more of a fit than he usually was, and at the onset of his intoxication, he had, in a rage, demanded that Percy stay and watch, lest he be next.

Sally had fought against that, and that was why her cheek was bruised, her mouth was full of blood, and three of her teeth were missing.

As her body jerked, she managed a strained, bloody smile for her eight year old son. He was still horrified and unable to move. He was rooted to the stairs to the upper floor of the apartment, and Gabe was taking Sally no more than five feet away from where Percy was standing.

Gabe's breathing rapidly increased, and Sally could tell he was about to finish...he was going to finish, this nightmare would end, beds would be occupied, and a new day would start. It was all for Percy, she reminded herself, it was all for keeping him safe, his scent masked.

Truly, Sally couldn't have picked a more despicable human being to marry.

With a series of loud grunts, Gabe put his full weight onto Sally, causing her arms to collapse from the strain. She shuddered, and not in pleasure, as she felt her uterus become filled with the fat man's seed.

On top, Gabe leveled an absolutely lecherous grin at the pale and shaking boy that was his lawful step-son. And laced in this grin was a smile of drunken malice.

"I want you to watch this…" Gabe slurred.

He grabbed Sally's hair and jerked her head up, exposing her neck. He grabbed the knife the woman had threatened him with, discarded to the side yet within his arm's reach. Sally's eyes widened, Percy's eyes widened, and he launched himself forward.



The child's hands came to his face as it was sprayed with red. His eyes burned, his nose was filled with the coppery scent, and his mouth...his mouth! Percy's legs buckled and he flopped to his knees as shock overcame him. He gagged and he gasped, his tongue burning with a taste. His eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and dripping with a blood that wasn't his.

He wished he hadn't.

His mother's neck was painted red, red covered her teeth, red fell from her mouth, and her eyes had rolled into the back of her head. With a cackle, Gabe dropped her, and she slammed into the floor with a thud. Instantly, a pool of red began to spread under her.

Percy crawled to her, his hands shakily hovering over her hair. He tried to speak, but his throat still burned and all he managed was a choked rasp.

Gabe chortled. "Now for round two."

Percy's pupils dilated as a primal terror engulfed him. The fat man approached his hand outstretched, and Percy's body demanded a decision between two choices: fight or flight.

An errant thought beamed across the boy's mind, and he raced up the stairs to Gabe's room, and slammed the door behind him. The walrus-like man blinked when his step-son practically blurred away, and then he heard a loud slamming from the general area of where he traditionally fucked Sally.

"He just went into my room." A lecherous grin, "Perfect."


Gabe called it a .38 special. A simple snub-nose revolver with a simpler design. Just a chrome body with a black grip and red bead sight. It was also unloaded, with all the bullets being sealed up in an unopened box.

Percy rifled through the drawers of the room, knowing his time was short. He heard the heavy thumping of his stepfather as he stomped up the stairs. Breathing picking up, Percy found the gun, and the bullets. With rapid, trembling hands, he removed the revolver and the box, not at all with gentle movements.


Percy flinched as Gabe slammed into the door. Luckily, the boy had the foresight to lock it from the inside. Now with a window, Percy ripped open the box and spilled the bullets all over the floor. The air became filled with the scent of magnesium and brass.




Heart hammering against his chest, Percy fiddled with the gun, desperately trying to find how you brought out the cylinder.


Percy grabbed a handful of bullets, fumbling with them as he tried to get them into the little holes.


Percy flinched and dropped all but one.


Gabe busted through the wood. With a roar, the walking cellulite threw open the rest of the portal, littering the floor with splinters and a ruined door. He turned his beady eyes to the hole he was about to violate, and his entire world came grinding to a halt as he stared down the barrel of his own weapon. Further down the barrel was a panicked eye of a strange shade of green.


Gabe flinched, expecting to be dead. Nothing happened, and he began to laugh. "A-At least you kn-knew to p-pull back the fucking hammer!"

Percy's jaw fell and his eyes became wider than tea saucers. He stared at the gun in his hands, his last route of salvation, terrified at the implications this failure would bring. What had happened? What had gone wrong? Gabe approached, so Percy did the only thing his terror-stricken mind could come up with: try again.


Gabe got closer.


And closer—



The crack of gunfire made all within the apartment complex flinch.

Percy looked just as shocked as Gabe, shocked as the smoke curled from the barrel, barrel at the blistering smell of gunpowder in the air, and shocked at the effects of the successful shot. However, if there was one key difference between Gabe and Percy, it was that Percy didn't have a hole in the middle of his forehead that was leaking a generous amount of blood.

The dead man's legs collapsed under his weight, and his face-first meeting with ground put him on the perfect trajectory to smush the boy...had he not rolled out of the way.

Percy stared at Gabe, wide-eyed, and then he realized that he himself wasn't breathing, and began to drink in oxygen by the mol in an episode of hyperventilation. He had just killed a man-he had just killed a manhehadjustkilledaman-!

He had just killed Gabe.

And suddenly, the severity of the situation waned, and his erratic breathing evened out.

But Percy could hear it; he could hear the rapid thumping of footsteps all over, all of them encroaching, surrounding, getting closer and closer. He needed to go, needed to leave before people came and took him away, throwing him in jail, or sticking him with some other family.

He didn't know what he was doing, he didn't know what to do, but he knew he needed to do it quickly.

The first thing he did was flip the cylinder back out and reload it to capacity, then he stuffed his pants pockets with the rest of the brass death dealers.


Winter clothes on, bag packed, gun in pocket, door being banged on...Percy stared at his dead mother, tears falling down his red speckled face.


His throat still burned, his voice only a raspy whisper.

He mouthed, I love you, Momma.

The banging on the door got louder, heavier, the door itself shuddering under the force being applied to it. Percy took that as his cue to leave. He made his way to his own room, opened the window, and climbed onto the fire escape.

Into a new world, did he enter.


Percy had no idea what to do, where to go, how to get there, or anything, really. He walked down the street, one of the hundreds that made up the sprawling throngs of Manhattan. He didn't know what he was going to do about eating, about sleeping, about living.

On a very serious note, Percy fully expected to die within the month.

He heard the wailing of sirens, felt his heart stop in the fear that he had been found, but the police cars went zooming past, heading for the apartment complex, no doubt to gather evidence at the scene.

Percy scowled at his feet.

Gabe hurt his mom, then he killed his mom, and then Gabe tried to hurt him in the same way, so he killed Gabe with his own gun. If he got caught, he'd be taken to a room, interrogated, and then stuck with some random family to spend the rest of his days with.

That wasn't going to happen, ever.

Someone grabbed his shoulder.

"Kid, you alright?" An older man, face wrinkled and covered in hair. He smelled and his clothes were ragged, dirty and torn. A homeless man, for sure. "Your face is-"

Percy remembered that he had never cleaned the blood off his face. He wrested himself free from the grip of the man, and took off down the sidewalk.

"Hey, wait! Stop that kid!"

Of course, with all the car horns and other sounds, the man's words were lost, and anyone that did hear disregarded the cry. It wasn't their problem to deal with. Still, that didn't stop the homeless man from giving chase.

Percy ducked into the first alley he saw, and then something came flying into his peripheral vision. Time slowed; it was a baseball bat—Percy could see the looping lines along the wood. He leaned back, sliding to his knees. His jeans ripped and his skin was torn away by the unforgiving concrete, but he dodged the incoming bat.

He was on his feet, but before he was off and running again, in that scant few nanoseconds, he was able to glance around and drink in the rest of the alley. Thugs, four of them after the one with the bat. In an episode of agility that left Percy surprised with himself, he weaved through all of them, perceiving their movements with detailed clarity.

He almost made it out the alley when he heard a strangled cry.


Percy looked behind, and he saw the homeless man. The thugs had turned their attention to him, pinning him to the ground, ripping and tearing at his clothes and pockets. Percy saw the desperation in his old eyes, the fear, the hope for assistance.

"Help me! Someone, please!"

"Shut your mouth!"

The bat met the man's teeth, damaging all of them. Their poor health from an extreme lack of dental care combined terribly with the force of the wood.

In Percy's pocket, the .38 Special weighed heavily.

The weapon was in his hand in the blink of an eye, and just like with the bat, just like so many times with so many other phenomena, Percy processed things like a video with only .25x the playback. One shot after the other, one hammer pull after another, and the boy gunned down five more people in the span of three seconds.

Now, gunshots were not like car horns. They grabbed attention wherever they were, and on the streets, people flinched and scrambled and screamed.

Percy wasted no more time, not a look back to the homeless man, not the few seconds needed to reload. He was off and running, becoming but one of a group of hundreds.



That was where he was going to go.

He knew the way, he had been taken there plenty of times. He didn't have any money for the bus, not without probably threatening someone with his gun, but…

He didn't intend to be reduced to such drastic measures.

Knowing where he was going, knowing how to get there from where he was at, Percy set off for his favorite place in the world.

By car, without traffic, it would take one going to Montauk from the Upper East Side about two and a half hours. On foot, it was going to take almost two days. Starting his journey at about nine, it would be almost two in the morning before Percy's fatigue finally caught up with him when he was in the area of Cunningham Park.

He climbed a tree and got comfortable...and then it all came crashing down on top of him.

His mom was dead.

He had killed Gabe.

He had killed fiveother people.

He was homeless.

He was alone.

And he cried himself to sleep.



HQ of Hotel Moscow

In New York, halfway around the world, it was the dead of night. In Thailand, it high noon.

In her office, the most powerful woman in the underworld, perhaps even the overworld as well, was reviewing mission reports, expenditures, funds transfers, munitions orders, and reflecting on life, all while smoking a cigar.

Dressed in a red suit with the jacket of a high ranking Russian military officer draped across her shoulders, with eyes that would range from light grey, to warm teal, to an arctic blue depending on how she was feeling, and a smattering of burn scars on her face, chest, running all the way down to her leg, Balalaika, the leader of one of the most powerful branches of the Russian mafia, was not a woman to ever be crossed, nor was she a person you ever said 'no' to.

A light rapping at her door prompted a clear "Come in."

Boris entered. Her sergeant, a huge man, loyal, powerful, shortly cut dark hair, a scar running from above his right eye, across the bridge of his nose, to the middle of his left cheek. The Afghan forces were rather skilled with their blades. If memory served, Boris still had the knife that scarred him in a display to the severed head of the man who scared him.

"Kapitan…" he rumbled in his low voice. His tone caught Balalaika's attention, though she didn't look up from her papers. "There's been a development in America."

"Did their government grow a spine and wipe out those ridiculous idiots that call themselves Crips and Bloods?"



After years of working with her, Boris knew that the one-word response was his que to give his news.

"Kapitan...Sally was murdered five hours ago."

Balalaika's cigar fell from her mouth.

"And Percy?" she asked in strangled voice. Her head was bowed, her bangs hiding her eyes.



"Murdered. A .38 Special cartridge to the center of the forehead. An instant kill."

"What happened, Sergeant?"

"The Americans say that it was a case of domestic abuse gone too far. Intoxication lead to rape—" Balalaika twitched— "rape lead to murder, and then it finished with Gabriel's death. Most likely at the hands of Percy."

"Details, Sergeant." From the shadows of her bangs, her arctic blue eyes glowed.

"Gabriel was fired from his job and arrived at the apartment and was quickly intoxicated. He proceeded to force himself onto Sally after a violent altercation, and then he slit her throat with a kitchen knife. Fingerprint analysis of the surrounding area revealed Percy's prints around the area of the stairs. It is suspected that Gabriel made Percy watch.

"The door to Gabriel's room had been broken down, and, given that is where his body was found, his gun is missing, and there was an empty box of bullets found nearby, the likely scenario is that Percy holed himself up in Gabriel's room, locked the door behind him to buy time, and looked for, found, and loaded a Model 60-7, which he used to shoot Gabriel in the head. After that, he most likely fled in fear of the police. His whereabouts are currently unknown."

Silence pervaded the office.

"...Kapitan...your orders?"

"We're going to Montauk."


Balalaika looked at him. "Percy's scared and alone and on the run. He has no one he can turn to, and nowhere he can go, except for one place: the cabin on Montauk beach. You said this happened four hours ago? On foot, he might have gotten as far Queens, and if he's heading for Montauk then he has about a two-day's walk ahead of him. By plane, it's almost a nineteen-hour flight, nonstop, to JFK Airport, that'll give us time to get to the cabin ahead of him, and wait. Now move, Sergeant! And pack the special ammunition, I suspect a fight on our hands of a supernatural nature."

Boris nodded. "Pryamo seychas, Kapitan!"

The scarred man left to prepare the nearest plane.

Now alone, Balalaika opened a drawer and pulled out a framed photo of Sally, holding a bundled babe with black hair and sun-kissed skin.

'I'm not letting those idiots in the sky get their hands on you, plemyannik.'


Percy awoke to the cold. It didn't bother him as much as it should have, considering his body temperature had already adjusted for the chilly weather of New York in the morning during the winter. He was hungry, but he would manage.

He hopped down from the tree he had been sleeping in, remembered he needed to reload his gun, reloaded it—he was getting good at that—and took stock of his remaining bullets. He had fifteen left, with five more ready to be fired.

Now armed and ready, Percy set off to the east.

For Montauk.

But then he happened across a stream, saw his red-crusted reflection, and washed himself. There, now his face was clean again.


Manhattan in the morning wasn't any different than Manhattan at night. Bustling cars, throngs of people, construction out the ass and vendors everywhere. If there was one thing out of the norm, it was the news broadcasts that could be found on the displayed televisions in the windows.

Or more specifically, the morning news.

"Last night, Gabriel Ugliano and Sally Jackson were found dead in their apartment, and their eight year old son, Percy, is currently missing. Gabriel was killed via a gunshot wound to the head, and Sally from having her throat slit. Authorities say that Gabriel came home after being fired and became heavily intoxicated, before sexually assaulting Sally. She attempted to defend herself with a kitchen knife, only to be disarmed, and then killed with that knife. It is suspected that Percy, Sally's son, fled to Gabriel's room and found the man's gun, a Smith & Wesson Model 60-7, and locked the door behind him, prompting Gabriel to break it down, which lead to his death via his own weapon.

"Percy Jackson's whereabouts are currently unknown, however, at 10:04 last night, multiple people called in about a shooting. Authorities arrived to find John Ashwood, a homeless Vietnam veteran, with his teeth smashed in, surrounded by the bodies of five suspected gang members, though no gang has stood up to claim them as their own. Upon being questioned, Ashwood said that he saw a boy on the street, face covered in dry blood, and he accosted the boy. The boy fled from him and Ashwood gave chase, following the boy into an alley, where the suspected gang members ambushed him, and attacked.

"Ashwood said that he initially thought the boy had lead him down the alley on purpose, but after calling out for help, the boy pulled out a gun and opened fire, killing all five suspected gang members, before fleeing from the scene. The bullets match the ones used traditionally used for Smith and Wesson .38 Specials, the same kind of gun owned by Gabriel Ugliano. When given a description of Percy Jackson, Ashwood confirmed that was the boy who had saved his life.

"Currently, Percy Jackson is considered armed and dangerous. If you have any information regarding his location or any potential sighting, please call this number below:"

Percy's dyslexia prevented him from accurately reading the string of numbers as they bounced and vibrated about.

"Authorities warn to stay away from Percy if you see him, as he may be unstable, and may open fire if he feels threatened. Next up: how this event has raised new questions and concerns regarding gun control."

Percy turned away and continued his journey after that. So they knew his face, were looking for him, and thought he was crazy enough to shoot you if you came close enough to him.

Whatever, he had somewhere to be and a growling stomach to deal with later.


People weren't very good at paying attention. That, or they just didn't care enough to pay attention. Or they simply had something more important to pay attention to. Other than a wanted little boy on the street.

If anyone saw Percy, they just gave him a sideways glance. If they gave him more than a sideways glance, they didn't recognize him. If they recognized him, they didn't do anything. Maybe it was because he was simply another story to them, or maybe it was because they were desensitized to all things at this point in their lives in this stinking city.

The sun had long since set when Percy's stomach practically roared, but he still ignored it, just as he ignored the fire in his legs from walking for hours straight. There was a forest of pine trees nearby, the Long Island State Pine Barrens Reserve. It was good a place as any to rest for another night. It would probably take most of tomorrow, but he would finally be at Montauk.

Percy headed for the park, and he almost made it before the police cruiser rolled around the corner, and just so happened to see him walking across the field to the forest.


"Hey, isn't that that kid that's on the news?"

"Well I'll be damned. You know how much OFC is offering for his head?"

"How much?"

"Ten grand."

"Nice~. Wanna split it down the middle?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Why does OFC have a bounty for him, anyway?"

"He killed five of their members last night."

"Oh~, okay. Let's kill us a kid!"


Percy almost broke into a run as soon as he heard sirens, but maybe they weren't coming for him. Maybe it was ambulance, or a fire truck. No such luck, and running at this point, with the cruiser zooming up to him, would only add to suspicion. He may end up having to shoot his way out of this…

What was he saying—these were police officers. Good people, honest people, the kind of people you went to in times of need. Maybe he had been wrong about all this; maybe it was going to be better for him, going with the police, starting a new life. A roof again, a bed, food, a family...a future.

The cruiser stopped, and Percy headed towards it, even though the lights were blinding him. They had turned the sirens off though, so that was nice.

The passenger door opened, and a smiling officer stepped out.

"Are you Percy Jackson?"

The boy nodded.

"I see. Could you come with us, then? We'd like to ask you some questions."

Percy nodded again.

The officer opened the rear passenger door, and Percy felt like a weight was being lifted off his shoulders as he was feet away from climbing in. Then he heard it.

The sound of a button being undone, the sound of something being drawn, the rustle of clothes...he glanced behind him, and then he was in motion. He didn't even consciously move; it was merely his body reacting. His gun was in hand, the red bead lined perfectly with the officer's face.

Once again did Percy see things in slow motion. He saw the sleazy look on the officer's face. His gun out and pointed where his head had been. His partner reaching for the shotgun. They were trying to kill him—they were trying to kill him.

Police officers were trying to kill him.

A single crack of gun fire shattered the silent night.

The officer's gun went flying from his hand—Percy hit the ground—on reflex, he snagged the black weapon—then he shot the other officer through the eye. The bullet must have gotten lodged there and not gone through, because the man who attempted to kill him dropped the shotgun and clutched his eye, screaming.

Percy put another bullet through the man's head, his green eyes dull.

And then he was running into the forest, running as far as he could, and running farther.

Mom had been wrong. Police were bad guys. Police couldn't be trusted.


The Russians touched down at JFK twenty hours after 2:30 yesterday afternoon, and they already had personnel waiting for them. While the Russian mob didn't have the biggest presence in America, they did have a presence nonetheless, and Balalaika and her entourage slid into the limousines with all the authority of high ranking military officials.

The drivers didn't ask questions, for they already knew where they were headed. With a screeching of tires, Hotel Moscow was tearing down the roads for Montauk. All the while, they occupants were casting dark and weary looks at the sky-bound mountain.

They needed to be careful here. No longer were they protected by the human stink of Roanapur, and this many of them in one place was bound to attract attention, and not just from beasts. However, that was why everyone was loading guns.

The limos were filled with the sounds of clacking and hammer pulling as magazines were loaded and bullets chambered. Instead of a gleaming brass, the death dealers gleamed bronze.

Balalaika's dead eyes were glued ahead. In about two and a half hours, they would be at Montauk, and then it was a waiting game.

If Percy didn't show up within the next two days, then she would pull strings she hated to pull, but if meant the wellbeing of her plemyannik, then so be it.


Percy's legs would give out underneath him and he would collapse to the damp earth beneath his feet. He would be too tired to move into a better position, and would therefore pass out on the ground without so much as a care for being eaten or found.

When morning came, he realized he still had the officer's gun in hand. He didn't at all recognize the black pistol, but it was a simple design. A Heckler and Koch Mark 23. No added attachments, just the pistol itself and a couple of bullets left. Percy like it.

A reminder that men who were supposed to be good weren't good.

Once again ignoring his rumbling stomach, the boy continued for Montauk.


A few muggers and a bunch of hours later, Percy made it to the beaches of northern Long Island, his Mark 23 empty, and Model 60-7 on its last full cartridge. The amount of people he had killed today…

It wasn't nearly as concerning to Percy as the number of limos park around the place. Or the large men with bigger guns seemingly patrolling. They didn't look like policemen, and their guns weren't the kind of guns policemen would use, and further on the note of them not looking like policemen, they didn't even look like they were from around here.

Especially the blonde woman who looked familiar.

Percy heard rustling behind him, and he whipped around, revolver aimed and ready. He saw not but a pair of massive red eyes peering at him from the shadows. A lump formed in his throat as a dog bigger than Gabe's Camaro came stalking into the visible spectrum. Thoughts raced across Percy's mind as this hellish hound came at him.

Did he fire? Did he run? What would all those people behind him do? Would they fire as well? At the hound or at him? Would they care who they shot at and who got hurt? Why was this dog so big? Would the revolver bullets even work? Would the people's bullets work? If he ran and the dog gave chase, would they all end up being slaughtered? If that was the case, then should he just run and use them as fodder while he made his escape? If he even escaped, what would he do then? The mauled bodies would attract attention, and if he was found in the general vicinity of so much carnage, he would undoubtedly get blamed for that just like he always got blamed for stuff he didn't even do.

The dog took one more step forward, and the crunching of its paw on the ground tore Percy from his thinking with such violent force that he flinched and fired. If the dog cared about it being shot at, it didn't show it. In fact, it looked more like the bullet had gone straight through the dog like it was made of air.

Percy was temporarily inclined to believe that the dog had actually just been a figment of his starved imagination, but the smell of its breath in the convinced the boy otherwise.

Alright, time to run.

Percy went blitzing for the cabin he and his mother had spent many a great night in, which was incidentally in the same direction as the battalion of foreign-looking people whom Percy planned to use as food for the dog lapping at his heels. A surge of panic struck him when he saw every gun they had pointed at, at the dog. Still, he and the dog were rather closely tied in terms of firing line.

Percy's foot caught and he tripped.

In another surge of panic, his mind made itself up to think that the previous bullet had simply been something of a misfire, the lowlight of the shade playing a trick on his eyes. So, in a desperate bid for survival, he rolled over, aimed, and rapidly unloaded. At point blank range and in the setting sun, Percy saw very clearly how each bullet harmlessly whizzed through the dog.



Oh no…


And suddenly the air was torn to shreds by the sound of several full-auto weapons emptying their clips en masse. Percy rolled onto his front and covered his head, eyes closed tightly. The gunfire ended, and Percy waited till a count of three to peak. The dog was gone, and there was a pile of golden dust where it had once been. Actually, there were multiple piles of dust scattered about the beach. In the pile where the dog chasing Percy had been, there was a single black claw appropriate the size of the dog that was apparently gone now.

The boy didn't waste any time in any more thinking on account of being more or less surrounded. He was on his feet and running as fast as he could...and he ran smack into someone's knee. A knee he was pretty sure hadn't been there before. His head swam in pain as he laid on his back. Through his blurry vision, he saw a hulking specimen of a man with a grizzled face with an ugly scar on his temple, like he had been shot there.

Percy was hoisted up, gently, into the man's humongous arms.

"Sorry about that, malen'kiy chelovek."

The last thing Percy saw before his body, reeling from concussion and hunger and fatigue, fell unconscious, were the deeply concerned eyes of the blonde woman.


Balalaika stared at Percy, her eyes unreadable. A pack of hellhounds, nice. Perhaps from Hades, perhaps not. All in all, they were most likely a wild pack. Still, it took balls to fire at them with a gun. Most would have run away at the sight of those red eyes. Already did Percy have the respect of everyone present.

"Everyone load up! Back to the airport!"

While everyone did as instructed, Boris was more weary. "Kapitan, is that wise?"

"Sparky doesn't know he exists, so he won't be looking for any nephews in the sky. Besides, his eyes haven't been fully opened yet, so his aura's still contained. Once we leave American airspace though, it won't matter."

Boris nodded. He picked up the claw and shared a look with Balalaika. "If those had been the appropriate bullets, he would've killed the dog. I think it still counts."

"Agreed. We'll make a necklace out of it later and see what Percy says."

Boris loaded up, and Balalaika lit a cigar. She stared out over the darkening waters, a single thought floating through her head.

'Do you even know of the people you left to die?'

"Kapitan, we're ready!"

With one last lingering look over the ocean, the Russian veteran of war took her spot in the limousine.

Yuri and Boris were in this transport with her, Percy too.

"Give him here."

Yuri shifted around, and after some maneuvering, the black haired child was being cradled by Balalaika, a look so tender on her face she might as well have been holding her own offspring.

"What's the plan, Kapitan?" Boris asked.

"I don't have one yet. We have a twenty hour flight ahead of us, I'll think of something. For now, just let me enjoy holding my nephew for the first time in seven years."


So, Balalaika and Sally are sisters, somehow, Balalaika and Hotel Moscow not only know about, but can see gods and monsters, and they have the weaponry necessary to combat them.

And let's take a moment to reflect on eight year old Percy's mental state, hm? Watched as his mother was raped and killed in front of him, had her blood splattered across his face and down his throat, rendering him unable to speak from shock alone, and then almost had the same happen to him if not for a gun.

From there, it was two days on the streets, involving, but not limited to, killing gangbangers, killing crooked cops, and killing street thugs, all the while developing a psychological fixation around guns.

Then he's almost eaten by some hellhounds, but he's rescued by his aunt and her loyal military organization consisting of Russian paratroopers from the Afghan Civil War.

Now, to talk continuity. The story of Black Lagoon actually takes place in the early nineties, meaning that Percy's introduction would be at the far end of BL canon, but that would derail from a lot of fun that could be had, so we're simply going to have Percy ride along with Lagoon Company from the very start.

It's going to be a blast.

Right, this concludes Chapter 1 of the newest story, so like all her sisters, show her some love by Faving, Following, and Reviewing!