The world, it can be wonderful and full of life. A single person can be the light shining so bright and so freely, it can be forgotten that the world can also be cold and cruel. Once it finds light, it will do everything it can to put it out.

The room was dark and damp, a dim light shone onto a metal chair in the center. There sat a boy, tall and muscular. He looked around sixteen, seventeen years old with jet black hair hanging in his face, his head hanging over his chest and slumped over. Metal clamps secured him by his wrists, ankles and waist to the chair. His hair was matted with blood, clothes turned to rags. Instruments of torture hung from the ceiling, swinging back and forth from rusty chains. A silver table off to the left of the boy held many knives, dirty needles, and syringes. The white cloth holding the instruments was stained in scarlet streaks.

"You are never going to learn, are you." Said a voice as the chamber door opened and closed with a loud CLANG.

The boy didn't answer, he didn't move, he just sat there as the tensions in the room grew. The silence rang in his ears, it was so foreign to him. Use to be screams would always echo in the facility, no matter where you were inside it, they would always somehow reach you. He could almost imagine this as a nightmare, like nothing had changed at all, but if he did that, it would be foolish. Everything had changed, there was no use in pretending otherwise.

"I asked you a question!" A voice snarled in his ear. There has been no footsteps, nothing to signify that his torturer had moved, but some how they had managed to come right next to him.

A hand came down above his head and took a handful of his raven hair. It jerked back, forcing the boy to look straight up at the glaring white light above him. He gasped and groaned, it felt as though his hair was being ripped from his skull.

"Answer me!" Snarled the voice once again. "I ask you a question! I command you to answer!"

Yet the boy stayed silent, determined to not give his torturer the satisfaction of getting his way. A masked figure loomed over him, much like an executioner. He could see his torturer ginning above him, "Perhaps, if we were properly introduced. I'm Waylon and I'll be your torturer this evening, what can I do first?"

"How about eating a breath mint?" The boy muttered. "You need it."

Waylon scowled, "Smart-mouth are we? Let's fix that."

He reached behind him and grabbed a knife from the silver table, "Such a shame we have to ruin a nice face."

"W-wait!" The boy began to struggle against his restraints, but they held him fast. Waylon grabbed something that looked like pliers, jerking the boy's head back more he pried the boys mouth open as wide as it could go and locked the reserve pliers there. He then took the knife and used it as a saw, cutting the boy's cheeks in a grotesque smile from ear to ear.

The boy made a gurgled, strangled scream until his torturer had finished. Waylon released the boys mouth and unlocked the metal chair, letting the boy fall to the ground in front of it. Blood oozed from his face and doused his clothes in blood as well the floor around him. Gurgled noises came from him, as his shaking hands touched his new smiling face. Waylon grunted, "Come on."

He dragged the boy to a pool of water in one of the corners of the room and through him in. Before his eyes, he watched the water swallow the boy whole in a glistening sheet. The water healed his wounds and left only scares in their place. Piercing emerald eyes bored into Waylon, he saw power build inside the boy and quickly dragged him from the water and back to the metal chair from whence he came, "Sorry water-boy, no water here."

The boy just stared at him, his expression emotionless, "The water here, its . . . resisting me."

Waylon smirked, "Why yes, it is only allowed to heal prisoners. It is out of your father's realm, therefore controlled by others. There is no room for you. Now, let's get started shall we? We have a lot of questions and you have a lot of answers."

"Go rot in Tartarus!" The boy snarled.

"I'm sorry to break this to you, Perseus Jackson, but we are in Tartarus."