Apollo and Hermes had collected themselves after their last call. After a much-needed coffee break, they were ready to get back to it.
Not long after, they had a fun, light-hearted conversation with Roller Ricky, who called in to thank them for the service they were doing for the community. He also spoke about his dog, Maxie—who, hilariously enough, he had apparently taught to roller skate.
He offhandedly mentioned he'd recently installed a new security system called the Starling 4000, which made Hermes raise an eyebrow. That might be important later, he thought. So, after getting off the phone with Ricky, he jotted the detail down in his notebook.
The two of them sat back and relaxed, chatting casually while music played softly in the background.
"Man, he was a fun guy," Apollo said with a small laugh, still grinning from the call.
Hermes chuckled. "Yeah. I never would've thought someone would actually teach a dog how to roller skate. I might try that when we get outta here."
As if on cue, the phone line lit up again.
"Oh, hold that thought—we've got another caller coming in," Hermes said as he glanced over at the board.
Apollo leaned forward and picked up the phone. "Good evening, caller, and welcome to 189.16 The Scream. I'm your host, Apollo—and tonight's 911 stand-in. How can I help you this evening?"
"Hello again, Apollo," the voice replied smoothly. It was a woman's voice, lightly melodic, though there was an odd undercurrent in her tone. "I was listening to that call earlier... about the teens and that horrible situation. Those poor kids. I'm glad the girl didn't get hurt, though."
Apollo's brow furrowed. It struck him as a bit strange that she focused on that part. No mention of Jimmy... who had died. That was a weird omission. Still, he kept his tone even.
"Thank you for your concern, miss," he said. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Oh, no!" she replied, her voice too cheery. "I wanted to ask you again to play my song. You said you were going to, Apollo—but you didn't."
Hermes leaned forward slightly and chimed in, his tone playfully casual. "Your name was Dawn, right?"
Dawn responded almost gleefully. "Oh, Hermes! Yes, thank you for remembering. Yes, my name is Dawn, and I wanted to ask you again to play my tune, Apollo—Long Ride Home. You know the one.You know the song that's out in the street."
"
Hermes's eyes narrowed slightly. He glanced at Apollo, then He quickly scribbled something down on his notepad and held it up for Apollo to see. The message was short—but chilling:
"We weren't on air for that when I mentioned that."
Apollo's blood ran cold. He and Hermes exchanged a sharp look. She wasn't supposed to know about the record. Something wasn't right.
Keeping his voice calm, Apollo said, "But we don't have that song anymore, Dawn. You said it yourself—it's outside in the street."
As he said this, Hermes silently crept over to the window. He crouched low and peeked outside. Beyond the fence, in the shadows of the alley, he saw a figure. They stood stiffly, posture sharp, partially obscured, but clearly staring toward the building. Their head was tilted slightly, a phone pressed to their ear.
Apollo kept his tone even but locked eyes with Hermes. Hermes pointed toward the alley, then at the phone. The message was clear: She's standing right outside.
Dawn's voice returned, sweet but insistent. "But Apollo... you do have it. It's just outside your window."
"How do you know that, Dawn?" Apollo asked, his voice now firm and probing.
Outside, Tet groaned, exasperated. "Finally."
Hestia turned to him, puzzled. "Tet?"
"They're going against the script," Tet said, shaking his head with a grin. "This whole time, they've been doing nothing but following the script. I don't think they've realized... they're actually free to do as they please. They could've solved this whole thing their own way."
Hestia blinked, her expression confused. "Wait—so they could've just been doing their own thing this whole time?"
"Yep," Tet said, popping the "p" as he floated slightly off the ground. "The only rule I gave them was that they had to make sure everyone survived. That was it."
Hestia blinked again, then smiled. "Ooooh. This is gonna be good."
Back in the studio, Hermes whispered, "Apollo, keep her talking."
Apollo gave a barely noticeable nod, switching to his calm, host-like tone once again. "Dawn, can you tell me more about this song? What does it mean to you?"
Meanwhile, Hermes moved like a whisper down the stairs and out the front door. He hugged the wall, skirting along the edge of the building. Rounding the corner, he spotted a figure—the same one from the alley—clutching an old-fashioned 80's-style cellphone.
As Hermes crept closer, he heard Dawn's voice again, still speaking through the phone. "Apollo, why is it so hard to just go and get the record? It's right outside And the Whistling Man was last seen at the old murder house, miles away. he won't be over here anytime soon."she said
Then came Apollo's voice, steely and sharp through the line. "Then he won't get here in time to rescue you, will he?"
Dawn sounded startled now. "What are you talking about—"
She didn't finish her sentence.
With practiced precision, Hermes moved behind her and struck—quick and clean. Dawn let out a soft gasp, then collapsed, unconscious. Hermes caught her before she hit the ground.
He plucked the phone from her hand. "We got her."
"Great work, Herm," Apollo said through his earpiece, a note of relief in his voice. "Bring her up. Let's set a trap."
Hermes slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried her back up to the studio. They tied her up tightly with some old ropes they found in storage and laid her out, still unconscious, in the back of the booth.
Apollo returned to the mic. His voice now carried the full weight of truth and authority.
"Good evening, folks—and welcome back to 189.16 The Scream," he said, tone firm but professional. "Sorry for that interruption. As it turns out... Dawn has been the Whistling Man all along."
He let the words hang.
"My partner Hermes just found her standing outside our studio, talking on the phone. He managed to subdue her, and now we've got her locked up until the cops arrive."
He leaned closer to the mic.
"So to everyone listening out there... you can breathe easy now. The nightmare is over."
He paused, then finished with a calm nod.
"Thanks for listening in. I've been your host, and tonight's 911 stand-in—Apollo."
With that, he flipped the switch and went off-air. Turning to Hermes, he muttered, "Think he'll take the bait?"
"I hope so," Hermes replied, glancing toward the tied-up figure. "Or else... we'll have to think of something else."
Hours later, the silence of the night was shattered by the sound of crashing glass.
Apollo tensed. "Stay here, Herm. Guard the prisoner."
Hermes gave a nod and moved to secure the door.
Apollo grabbed a flashlight, descended the stairs, and moved like a ghost through the hall, every step controlled and deliberate. His muscles were coiled like springs, ready to strike. A hunter in his own right.
Rounding a corner—he heard it.
Footsteps.
Then—bam! The other Whistling Man lunged from the shadows, knife glinting in the moonlight.
He swung.
But Apollo was faster.
With divine reflexes and the precision of a boxing champion, he caught the attacker's arm mid-swing—grip ironclad.
The Whistling Man's eyes widened in panic.
Apollo said, "Bad move."
With a devastating jab, Apollo drove his fist straight into the man's face. The crack of cartilage echoed through the stairwell as blood sprayed from his nose.
The attacker stumbled, dazed—then roared in anger and slashed again. Apollo ducked, moved to the side, and launched a counter uppercut straight into his jaw. The man's feet left the floor from the force of the blow.
He hit the ground hard, twitching, groaning—but not getting back up.
Apollo stood over him, chest heaving, eyes cold. He wiped blood off his knuckles and muttered, "Your a few millennia early to beat me in a fist fight brat."
Apollo dragged the unconscious Whistling Man inside the studio, the man's boots scraping loudly against the floor. With a grunt, he tossed him down onto the ground like a sack of rotten laundry. He dusted off his hands with a satisfied smirk just as Hermes stepped forward and bumped his fist.
"Nice, bro!" Hermes said with an impressed grin. "How'd you do it?"
Apollo turned to look at him, one eyebrow cocked in dry disbelief. "Really, man? I'm the god of boxing—or did you forget that little detail?"
Hermes blinked, then widened his eyes like the realization had just smacked him in the face. "Oh, shit, yeah—I actually did! I mean, it's not something you bring up that often."
Apollo gave a casual shrug, running a hand through his golden hair. "That's 'cause I'm more proud of being the god of the sun… and music… and poetry… and archery… and medicine."
Hermes held up both hands in surrender, grinning. "Okay, okay! I get it, geez—let the record show: Apollo's got range."
Apollo chuckled, then looked up at the ceiling, speaking aloud with playful theatrics. "Hey, Tet? We took out the murderers. Does that mean we win?"
At that, a glowing golden doorway materialized in the middle of the room, shimmering like the surface of the sun. Both Apollo and Hermes sighed in collective relief.
"Well," Apollo said, smirking. "That's a good sign."
"Let's not keep the curtain call waiting," Hermes added, and the two gods stepped through.
On the other side, they were greeted by the sight of Tet and Hestia—the former tossing roses into the air dramatically, the latter clapping with a bright, radiant smile. Their cheers echoed joyfully through the golden plane.
Apollo and Hermes broke into wide grins and gave theatrical bows, hands over their hearts and arms sweeping outward.
"Thank you! You're too kind!" they said in unison, clearly enjoying the attention.
Tet floated lazily in midair, legs crossed, smiling like a cat who had just watched his favorite game unfold. "You two did better than I expected," he said with a grin. "You managed to win in half the time. Though… it took you a bit longer than it should've to realize you had complete freedom."
Apollo scratched the back of his neck, a bit sheepish. "Yeah, that's my bad. I should've tried that sooner."
Hermes shrugged with a half-smile. "Maybe it was for the best. We had no way of knowing where the Whistling Man was gonna be ahead of time, so getting to them before they killed someone wouldn't have been plausible. Thankfully, Dawn's pride gave us the perfect opportunity to take them both out. I doubt we would've had that chance if we'd acted earlier."
Apollo nodded. "True."
Hestia stepped forward, warmth radiating off her like a hearth on a winter night. Her expression was full of pride, her eyes slightly misty. "I'm so proud of you both," she said gently, placing her hand over her heart.
They smiled warmly and said in unison, "Thank you, Aunt Hestia."
Tet clapped once, drawing their attention back. "Now then—on to business, fellas. As the victors, you're each entitled to a request from the God of Games. I'm all ears."
Hermes stepped forward first, his face more serious now. "I want what you promised. Save my son."
Tet's expression softened just a fraction, though his voice remained ever playful. "Done. I'll start working on a plan immediately."
Hermes closed his eyes and exhaled a long, shaky breath he didn't even know he'd been holding in. A quiet smile formed on his lips—relief, hope, and just the tiniest pinch of fear all dancing behind his eyes.
Then Tet turned to Apollo. "Your turn. What do you want?"
Apollo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his divine features contemplative. "Truthfully?" he said, meeting Tet's gaze. "I want a couple things. I know you said I can only have one request, so I'll come back and challenge you again later. Is that fine?"
Tet grinned with clear delight. "Yes, that's fine. I welcome all challenges. Though—just some friendly advice—I'd recommend against challenging me directly. Instead, do something similar to what you did this time. Set up a game. Play it smart."
Apollo nodded, understanding. "That's fine by me."
He held out his hand. "As for my reward this time—my only request is that I be allowed to keep the key to this game. I'd like to set it up as training for my children."
Tet conjured the Key to Killer Frequency, its shape shifting between an old-school studio mic and a cassette-tape-shaped talisman. He handed it to Apollo with a playful wink. "Done. But you and your children must swear never to speak of it—or where you got it."
Apollo accepted it with solemn respect. "That's fine. I'm well aware you're trying to stay off the Fates' radar."
Tet's smile turned just a little enigmatic. "For now, at least."
Then he turned back to Hermes. "All right, Hermes. Meet me at Camp Half-Blood in a couple days. I'll handle everything. Just prepare a proper send-off for your kid."
Hermes gave a single nod, equal parts grief and resolve flickering in his eyes. "I will," he said, voice thick with emotion but steady.
With their business concluded, Apollo and Hermes turned away from Tet's golden realm and returned to their divine duties, walking side by side—brothers in arms once again.
Hestia remained behind a moment longer, glowing brighter now, her expression content and full of grace. She looked at Tet and said, "That was fun. Let me know when the next one is."
Tet smiled, eyes gleaming like stars in a night sky. "Of course, Hestia. You'll be the first I call."
Then, in a burst of majestic golden flame, she vanished.
Tet stretched his arms and floated gently back into his seat, gazing at the intricate spinning map of infinite worlds hovering before him.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Now… where would this kid thrive...?"