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.

"What the fuck do you want with me, Pothos?" Annabeth asks.

He smiles with Percy's adorably stupid grin. "You're not as smart as I thought you'd be."

Oh no. This cannot be happening. Sure, he's just a minor god. Annabeth might be able to take him, but that doesn't mean she wants to deal with this.

"Put those things down. You know you can't kill a god, especially not one you've really gotten to know in the past few years, Darling. Or is it Babygirl now? Doll? Pet?"

"Shut up!" she shouts, feeling a little exposed. It's Pothos though. He knows all this stuff about her, and could probably tell her mother if he wanted.

"Feeling a little dominant? I can put a brat in her place," he teases.

Ew. Ew, ew, ew.

"You know you like it."

Annabeth's knuckles turn white from how hard she grips her chopsticks. She stays silent, not sure what she's feeling. Anger doesn't quite cover it all. Neither does humiliation.

"It's funny, you know," Pothos says. "Such a smart girl, and you can't even figure out your own feelings!" He cackles to himself.

There's another person. "Hello again, Annabeth. Love the 'fit. Change your mind about that threesome?"

"Jesus fuck," she says without even thinking. "Marty McFly?"

He smiles, handsome as ever, but not the same smile he had seduced her with at the club. Damn, that feels like ages ago. Had it only been a little over a month?

"Ah, so you know each other. Good. That's how things were supposed to go," Pothos says, nocking an arrow.

"I did my part," says Marty. "Where's my reward?"

"You'll have your next beast in a minute," says Pothos. "I need a few more moments with my damsel in distress."

"Excuse you," Annabeth says. "Last I checked, I was about to whoop your ass, so, you know, not really feeling the 'damsel in distress' thing."

"Oh, I know what you're really feeling," says Pothos. He draws the bow, but Annabeth's too fast. She rolls to the side, and the arrow narrowly misses her.

She smirks.

"Oh, Doll, I wasn't aiming to hit you."

What?

Pink fumes spew from where the arrow hit the wall.

Don't breathe it in, don't breathe it in, don't breathe it-

"What did you do to her?" Marty McFly asks. Is he... concerned?

Annabeth collapses, trying to hold herself up on her elbows. Her fingertips are stained pink. She coughs, trying to expel any of... whatever it is that came from the arrow.

"Hey, where are you going?" Marty shouts. "What about my next monster?"

"It's coming," coos Pothos. "I think you'll like it. Just remember-"

"Yeah, yeah. The plan. I'll get her where that guy can find her," Marty says.

"Which one?" tests Pothos.

"The short one?"

"No, you idiot! Get her to-"

Annabeth stumbles to her feet and reaches out to strangle Marty McFly. Her hands barely close around his throat before she's tossed back to the ground.

Pothos vanishes in a new puff of pink smoke.

Marty kicks Annabeth in the gut, but it doesn't hurt. A vibrating sensation courses through her body, like nothing she's ever felt before.

Oh fuck, is this addictive? Because it won't be easy to chase this high. She can feel it coming over her like a tsunami.

Can't give in.

Marty crouches down to Annabeth's level and sneers, "Hope you're liking my beasts."

Annabeth wheezes and spits at him. "Your dick is small."

He kicks her in the gut again, and the moan that escapes her is borderline pornographic.

He laughs, and it's absolutely maniacal, or at least Annabeth thinks it is. She's not entirely sure how much of what she's seeing is real and what's fake. Like, the dancing toaster probably isn't real, and the spider on her wrist probably is. Maybe it's an effect of a lack of oxygen combined with the-

"What's your name, kiddo?"

Sickness. That's all she feels. A churning in her stomach like one of those old windmills.

She knows this man and recalls this moment, the very encounter that might as well have ruined her life.

Like reading lines off a script, she answers in the same meek voice from her nightmares: "Annabeth."

This never should have happened. He should have left her to die in that alleyway. None of this would have ever happened if he did. She wouldn't have turned out like this.

"Nice name," says Luke. That smug grin will forever be a scar in her mind, a reminder of the person- no, monster- that ruined her life.

Annabeth wants to scream in protest; this flashback is like a film at a museum, constantly playing, beginning at different spots, and a little blurry. The only difference is that she can't just move on to the next exhibit. Every time she closes her eyes, there he is.

"I tell you what, Annabeth. You're pretty fierce. We could use a fighter like you." Luke smiles with that stupid crooked grin, and Annabeth, on cue, smiles back.

It's a feeling she's come to crave and abhor all at once, a cognitive dissonance she's all too aware of. "You could?" she asks, even though she knows the answer. They don't need her. Thalia takes pity on her, and Luke...

Luke...

"Oh, yeah," he says.

Sometimes it's the reminder of Luke that does her in, sending her into a screaming frenzy until someone can try to help her while she protests- no more monsters, no more monsters!

Some people call it 'attachment issues'. Annabeth calls it a trauma response, and one that'll protect her from monsters like Luke.

Other times, like this one, it's the knife that completely sends her over the edge. Those times are the worst.

He holds that celestial bronze dagger towards her, hilt ready for her to grab with her grimy little seven-year-old hands.

Every part of Annabeth wants to scream, Get away from me, monster! But she can't.

She grabs the cursed blade by the hilt.

Luke disappears, and so does the alleyway. In place of the hilt, she's holding on to a ladder rung.

She's back, but barely.

Ok, pull yourself up. Ride this wack-ass high out somewhere else.

She's had ecstasy once or twice before- she doesn't fuck around with drugs much- but this feeling is unreal. Screw ecstasy. This is Nirvana, and it's deadly.

"Oh my gods, Cerberus!" she shouts. Then she giggles at the unfamiliar sound of her voice. "C'mere, boy!"

The hound runs at her with intense speed, but she soon realizes that maybe her friend from when she was twelve might not recognize her.

She starts climbing, miraculously not falling into one of Cerberus's mouths.

Fresh air!

Oh, fuck, fresh air. It's too much.

Annabeth opens her mouth to say something, maybe to scream for help, but then she passes out, Luke's voice still echoing in her fragile mind.

"You're part of our family now. And I promise I'm not going to fail you like our families did us. Deal?"

In her sleep, she mumbles, "Deal."