Percy Jackson: New Age

The New Vigilante.

The heavy rain fell in great sheets that soaked him to the bone, hammering on the corrugated roof of the dock's warehouse and roaring down the gutters, spreading across the floor like a torrent. Roy Harper sighed and stared out the window. From outside he could barely see the interior, or the depths beyond, shrouded in thick darkness.

This was not what he had expected when he arrived at the dock in Starling City on the Bay, on the east coast of the United States, to investigate a series of disappearances as the vigilante Speedy. Roy had expected a more active welcome and the exchange of blows with some Bratva or Triad thugs who were at their usual "honest jobs."

He had been in this routine for three weeks. And it had rained every day.

Everything else was fine: no perimeter guards attacking him all the time and with darkness as an ally. Starling City had one of the top twenty loading docks in the country, and even under constant threat from mobs, the city was well maintained and amply supplied.

His mentor and father, Oliver Queen, was skilled and well prepared. Roy could learn the ropes on a level equal to Robin's, but without as much paranoia.

But the rain! The constant, endless rain!

On the other end of his communicator, Oliver spoke harshly.

"Listen," he said.

"Believe me, I hear it," Roy said.

"No. Listen."

And then he heard it. Another sound mixed with the rain, a low moan that vibrated in his ears for a while and then came back more clearly. The unmistakable cry of a child. Roy thought, "He can't be lost in this place, in this weather."

But the crying grew louder and louder, and then he realized that it was more than one child crying inside the warehouse. Roy jumped up and smashed the glass, ignoring the distinctive crack and rushing inside. The metallic echo, hitting the stacked containers, ran through his legs.

He regained his balance to slowly advance over them, following the sound of the moans, and at the same time, Oliver was already bursting in from the other end.

Together they searched for the children in danger.

They were in a neglected "Blue Nexus" warehouse, with a row of flashing lights on the sides and signs that proclaimed: "Security, speed and transparency." That was the name of the import company they were investigating, after several disappearances of personnel and associates.

It was said that they worked for masked Mexicans, and that meant Bane. A serious problem that they had no way of stopping without support from the Bat of Gotham. Roy could already visualize the disaster: a massive confrontation filled with civilian casualties, with out-of-control fires and public relations problems at every turn, where vultures like Luthor would take advantage to discredit and promote the superiority of Homo sapiens.

Roy wondered what children were doing there, in that warehouse. His possible answers were not pleasant.

Through his communicator he heard someone let out a sigh of annoyance, just as a particularly loud groan broke the silence. Roy stopped walking and peered over the edge of the containers.

Armed men walked between the spaces, searching through the shadows of the place with palpable tension. Roy heard angry whispers in Spanish and could already imagine receiving a lecture from Oliver when this was over. They were looking for a woman.

Two ringleaders dressed in black led the procession of six men towards where Roy had entered, while a man barked orders over the radio. The subject had a surly tone, demanding to capture the "bitch." His hoarse voice strained the men even more, as they showed small tremors, typical of people without good training.

"Did you find anything?" the man on the radio shouted, shouting over the cries as Roy took notes of their dialogues.

"Nothing, sir," a woman answered from among the group.

The rain continued to fall in heavy drops, hitting the roof sheets and the upper skylights, amplifying the sounds of the place.

The man on the radio was not happy. He clearly expected an easy job, with minimal effort and great pay. But with the interference of that stranger, they could already say goodbye to their lives.

"The front is clear. We have a broken window where she entered, sir."

"Sir, we have a broken window here too," reported the men Roy was watching, as soon as they reached the place where he had entered. The group looked at the glass with obvious confusion.

"The dog brought help! Find her immediately!"

Roy crouched in the rear of the men. That's why he noticed it. A second ago there were six of them marching; he barely blinked to push the water away from his closest friend's face, and now there were five of them.

A second of silence, followed by a muffled gurgle: someone had been slashed in the throat. Roy winced at the sound. Familiarity doesn't make it any less unpleasant to hear.

"What was that?" they cried, upset.

"What the hell is going on?" the leader demanded.

"It was Santos."

They were restless, shivering, like caged animals.

Roy was on the warpath to keep from getting upset himself, his eyes darting around in search of the attacker. The men returned the way they had come, in a tense disarray reminiscent of a stampede. Roy tried to keep up with them from the containers in silence, leaning down so as not to cast prominent shadows. He immediately saw a golden trail, like that of a sprinter. Another soldier was almost certain to die.

A large flash spread over the five men, surrounding their bodies for a second. By the time he was done, only four remained, and a new twittering echoed through the shadows. The criminals became a cacophony of terror, ignoring the voice of their superior on the radios. A twisted pleasure coursed through Roy's body, strong enough to make him abandon his attempt to follow the group. From above, he watched as the bastards got what they deserved.

"Let me see you, bitch!" the ringleader demanded, a hint of pleading in his voice.

"I don't see her," the female member of the group whispered. "She took Ribera."

"She's a metahuman whore," one of the men complained, probing the dark hallway ahead of him.

Like most self-taught firearms guys, Roy could easily spot the rookies' bad habits, because he'd committed them himself. He saw them shivering, holding their guns unsteadily. One had the safety on, feet too close together; If he fired, he'd probably dislocate his shoulder. The others could barely stand, victims of a primal fear.

"A speedster," the leader muttered. Roy couldn't see him, but he imagined the guy was licking his lips as he spoke. He was restless, as if he wanted to run without looking back. Roy couldn't blame him. If he were surrounded by a speedster killer, he would be like that too.

The woman asked,

"Where's Tapia?"

"Shit," the leader replied, realizing his partner was gone.

Roy blinked, incredulous. There was no shimmer or twitter this time. Just a bone snap, so subtle he mistook it for the sound of gunfire.

He leaned in even closer, scanning the group. If a speedster killer was loose in the cellar, it would be a very nasty fight. But he still had no direct contact with the metahuman, just a sporadic golden glow. There was something strange about the deaths: there were no screams, just a deathly silence punctuated by gurgling or clicking. Roy had never seen anything like this before.

"What happened?" Oliver asked over the radio.

"I've got three dead," Roy replied taciturnly. "There's loose meat in the cellar."

This time, he heard Oliver Queen's whispered curse. He wondered what he would decide to do. Oliver was an obsessive man and he didn't have the patience to wait for an attack; he preferred a direct confrontation. But it was clear that he was holding back his impulsiveness in pursuit of evidence.

Roy turned his attention back to the group. For some reason, they were now running to the left side, probably looking for a side exit. They hadn't gone far when another member of the group was separated by the golden light; but this time there were screams.

The agonized screams drowned out the children's cries and the constant pounding of the rain. They were as loud as the time their teacher tore his sciatic nerve; But as quickly as they started, they were done. Once again, everything fell silent. Roy didn't bother following the mercenaries, preferring to focus on finding the kids—that's what he was there for, dammit!—in the vastness of the complex.

He followed the sounds. It sounded like an entire high school class was crying in unison. But he soon realized he was going in circles; the rain was throwing off his orientation, which was frustrating. Roy scanned his surroundings again: the lamps, the bins...

The bins.

He felt a chill as he looked at the bin he was standing on. There were tiny vibrations on its surface, and the cries were coming from it. Roy had been a Watcher long enough in Starling to know what that meant.

"Shit," he muttered. "I'm an idiot."

"Why?" Oliver asked, confused.

"I found the kids," he refused to explain further and approached the door carefully, poking his face around the edge.

Roy saw no one waiting. He didn't like that. He hesitated.

"Can you come?"

"Yes," Oliver replied, and Roy heard him start to move to help him.

Roy waited for Oliver. "I really need a break," he thought. At that moment,

From inside the container a child made a whimper, and Roy put his ear against the side, listening intently. Children called out to their mothers or to a "golden lady," which Roy assumed was the homicidal target.

"She's an angel," a little girl said in a watery voice. "And very beautiful…"

At those words, other children cried their agreement, and Roy grimaced. The children loved her.

"Is she back?" another voice asked, this time a boy. Roy tensed as he processed that information.

"I don't know."

"No?" Roy momentarily tuned out the conversation and instead focused his attention on his surroundings. He now saw flashes of gold everywhere.

"Where are you?" Oliver asked over the radio. "Something's interfering with your tracker…" Static interrupted the rest of the message, making it incomprehensible.

Roy looked around again suspiciously, half expecting to be next after the soldiers. It was not the outcome he expected. Then he saw her, advancing from the north. She looked almost like an arrow…

The children perked up:

"She's coming!" they whispered to each other in excited tones.

"Fucking shit."

"Ro… oy!" a voice called out to him.

"ROY!"

Roy woke up in surprise. Oliver's blue eyes looked at him with concern, but not panic, and that was good. He sat up carefully, still in the cellar, with his guard equipment intact. Some children were talking among themselves. Roy didn't remember losing consciousness. Oliver studied him carefully, muttering under his breath and cursing under his breath.

"This is bad," Oliver muttered. "What is the Senate doing!?"

Roy was about to question his mother when ravings, when he heard a muffled sniffle and a hiccup to his left. Neck stiff, he looked toward the sound. He was surrounded by the children he had heard earlier. Oliver gave him a look full of compassion.

Roy groaned, looking away to avoid looking at the brats and trying to regain some dignity. But, at that very moment, a small female body threw itself at him.

Instinctively, Roy was about to react in combat mode, but he forced himself to relax when he realized that it was a girl. She was shaking violently, and Roy, stunned, put an arm around her in a protective gesture. The little girl tensed completely before relaxing, as if her body reluctantly accepted the security he offered her.

"Did you see her?" she whispered to him, in a conspiratorial tone that almost made him smile. With one hand, the girl covered her mouth as if they were sharing a big secret.

Oliver tried to hide his amusement as he observed the scene, which only caused Roy to glare at him.

"No," Roy answered honestly. "Not really."

"Oh…

"But!" —he hastened to add, seeing the disappointment in her chocolate brown eyes. —She hit me. You know, she mistook me for the bad guys.

The girl stared at him, scrutinizing his face as if looking for any hint of a lie. Roy mentally laughed at her seriousness. On someone like Dinah, that scrutiny would have been terrifying; on the little girl, it was simply adorable.

Oliver, meanwhile, was on the radio talking to the authorities, following standard protocol: intervene with the mobs and coordinate with the local police.

Roy stood carefully, letting the girl remain clinging to him. Looking at her again, he grimaced. "I can't keep calling her kid," he thought.

"What's your name?" he asked softly.

"Dany," she replied, clinging even tighter to his leg.

Roy offered her an awkward smile as he followed Oliver to wait for the arrival of the patrols and ambulances. The group moved forward in complete silence, and Roy moved with what was now practically a small koala clinging to his leg.

"What happened?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

Oliver looked at him, his eyes shining with the usual mix of tiredness and resignation.

"A new watcher."

"The Bat will be delighted," Roy commented.

Oliver didn't answer, he looked at the container where the children were held:

"She left a message."

"Joy," Roy thought, "a fan of the Clown." But he walked to the aluminum rectangle anyway and saw its interior: there was straw and the smell of feces.

His blood boiled and he would have growled if it weren't for Dany. She tensed on his leg, trying to melt into him, Roy leafed through the walls. It didn't take much, a huge "SPQR" in blood next to a Helm, Roy suspected it was of Greek or Roman origin.

Oliver called him from outside

"Roy…"

"Yes?"

"The police arrived."

What followed was without Roy's awareness, it was mechanical and rehearsing. He gave his statement, reassured a panicked Dany about the strangers and promised to visit her. In the end, he ran to his room in the Queen mansion.

He decided to investigate the symbols on his own. Oliver refused to

let him use the lair's computer. Roy wasn't happy, surely his mentor was already taking the case to the Bat and turning the situation into a League level where neither he nor the other protégés could participate.

With an annoyed grunt he began to draw the Helm, putting in all the details he recorded. Wait. And sure enough, I found it on the web: it meant "Hades" or "Ares."

That gave him pause; the new vigilante's theme was suspiciously close to Themiskyra. Of course, Roy didn't believe a member of the Holy Trinity would hide a protégé. And Oliver always ranted when the League had these meetings.

Roy leaned back in his seat. "Strange," he thought. "A Helm painted in Greece three thousand years ago." Belatedly I remembered the letters "SPQR," I found those too.

"What did you get yourself into, Ollie?" Roy muttered, staring at the screen. "What is the senate doing?" Oliver's words came back to him.

SPQR: (Latin, inst. Senatus Populusque Romanus), popular senate of Rome; said of the Roman Legion.