There were days that people woke up and just knew they were going to do dumb, dumb heroic shit. There had to be. Days where you woke up, stood in the shower and felt it in your gut that things weren't the same after this. He wondered if the heroes in fiction had ever felt that way in the heads of their creators; Jack Bauer? Ben-Hur? Sarah Connor? Kamina? Dallas had never lacked for self-confidence or bravado, but the question of whether he was fit to count himself amongst that hallowed crew of men had haunted him last night, and haunted him into morning.
Stepping out of the shower and getting dressed from the waist down, Dallas walked around the Relo-pad. For most of the year, going back three years, this place had been his home. He'd grown fond of the apartment, and could recount memories and stories for every inch of countertop and floor, and more than one night spent crashed in the tub. There were laughs and boy's nights that were imbued in every single disc in his game library. In this apartment, he'd swiped more numbers than an Enron exec.
He wondered how many more times he'd get to see it.
Not that he was scared. Dallas was fearless; every fight was
the fight, the one that could end poorly for him and come down hard on him. There was always the risk of rolling snake eyes. But that didn't scare him. That came with the territory of predicating your life on kicking as much ass as you could before you went down too hard - and if somebody wasn't ready for the first swing, then ayy, fuck, they weren't in an octagon. That was how the game got played when you were on Dal's turf. And until he was dragged, shitposting, to the depths of hell, this was Dallas' school more than it was the headmistress'.
The sheer enormity of the woman's mouth warranted fucking festival seating. He wasn't amazed at her prediction of his presence the day before at the faculty building. Dallas Relo had, in fact, been there, because teachers were dirty fucking plutocrats sitting atop the only vending machine that spat Twix bars on the entire campus, and the blonde son of the sun led his noble insurrection by ganking as many of the caramel cookie bars as he could gank. What he hadn't expected was that the teachers had been holding out on the kids about the source of Vivian's kidnapping. And the news of an inside job had been even more frustrating. Gods had enemies, sure. Some of them probably had deep pockets. But wasn't making them all attend a college with bullshit classes like
Greek Mythology enough!?
Wanting to catch as much of this as possible and share it with Delilah later, Dallas struck a great blow for millennials everywhere whose parents told them that whipping out an iPhone and recording everything would land them nowhere.
He whipped out his iPhone and began to record everything. No video, because he had nestled his attractively slim frame against the side of the vending machine, but he had caught every scrap of audio in perfect Silicon Valley high definition.
He'd been about to leave when most of the teachers filed out, but it appeared that he'd been forgotten entirely, so he stayed at his perch when he realized that Celina hadn't left yet - and was, in fact, continuing the conversation. Baiting the headmaster. Saying...
...
Well, fuck.His blood boiled hotter and hotter as he listened on to the monologue, and the old headmaster's death. Not that he gave a shit about the old man's life or anything, more baby boomers really needed to be shuffled off to make room for the new generation and all, but...
that BITCH. That fucking harlot. That two-timing motherfucking SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECHThe last noise had been the sound of his brain steaming along with Celina screaming, and Dallas had scooted out of a side door after he heard the other teachers approaching again, so anything after that...fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all.
That bitch owed him 212 dollars for a pair of tinted Prada sunglasses from Fall 2013.
That bitch owed him for two weeks of wasted time and energy mounting search parties she knew would be fruitless.
That bitch owed him for a sister. And Dallas was a petty fucking thug, an unrepentant brawler with a chip on his shoulder and quick hands. People
fucking paid Dallas.He would make her pay.
But a mature part of him - a part that thought maybe there was something to old Greek heroes - wanted to make sure that people knew the deal. In every movie ever, people decried idiots who didn't tell anyone else vital information before they got themselves got. Or people who hid it where anyone could find it.
Au contraire. Dallas was not some idiot Hollywood stereotype from a horror or spy movie. Dallas thought his dumb ideas
through.First, he made backups - first five, then another three, and hid them in places Jonas, Tara, Zaheed, and Zeke would know to look if something ever happened to him or his phone found itself in the wrong hands. Places that were dear to him. Special, secret places. The original file itself found its way onto a home computer in Oakland, California thanks to the power of iCloud and asking his mom to download a recording of a Power Control speech for him. Like it or not, Celina's plan had left Olympus Academy. Dallas had left implicit instructions, in case of his disappearance, to a couple friends:
Text my mom if I get myself grabbed. He allowed himself a grin at the thought.
Now came the important part - telling people while he was alive. Far from keeping things secret, he wanted this
out. No matter what she'd done to kill the Headmaster (Dallas hadn't been in visual range and was damn sure not about to creep into it) she was still just a human, and the only thing that could tank her harder than one demigod was a bunch of friendly demigods. And it just so happened, Dal had made some friends.
To: [Jonas] [Tara] [Tali] [Zaheen] [Roze] [Zeke]
From: Dallas
Listen to this. Make copies. Pass it on. Don't say I never did nothin' for ya.
Attachment: youreameanone.m4aAnd two more personal messages:
To: Delilah
From: Dal
Whatever you do, skip classes. Lock yourself inside. Don't open up for anyone. Not even me. You'll know if I'm safe....
To: Delilah
From: Dal
You're a good kid.Okay, three messages.
To: Vivian
From: Dallas
If you ever read this, whenever I was actually thinking, I was thinking of you. PS. Way to get yourself kidnapped, dumbass.And with that, the evidence was dispersed. If there was a lick of sense, the student population would know most everything about the Headmistress by the end of the day.
Dallas Brett Relo, son of the sun, had started the fire. Whatever it may cost him.
Holding a couple beers between his fingers, Yeezy playing from his pocket, Dallas walked outside and took a deep breath of the morning air.
It's
a
beautiful day in the neighborhooooooood
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