The alley was a cacophony of smells: sour milk, damp cardboard, and the sharp tang of overripe fruit. You had no reason to be there, really—just a shortcut on your way home, avoiding the bustling streets. The sky above was a dull gray, clouds swirling ominously as if the gods themselves were in a foul mood.

That’s when you heard it—a loud crash, followed by a pained “Oof!” and the distinct metallic clang of someone falling into a trash can. You froze mid-step, peering cautiously around the corner. There, amidst the overflowing garbage bags, was a lanky boy who looked about sixteen, though something about him seemed…off. His curly, brown hair was wild, his pale skin smudged with dirt, and he was dressed like he had raided a secondhand store for the most unfortunate outfit possible.

“Oh, fantastic!” he bellowed at the sky, flinging his arms wide in dramatic exasperation. “This is what I deserve? This? Tossed from Olympus like yesterday’s leftovers and left to rot in a pile of mortal garbage?! Thank you, Father! You’re too kind!”

He struggled to free himself from the trash can, limbs flailing awkwardly. You couldn’t help but stare. Who was this guy? And what on earth was he ranting about?

Finally noticing you, he paused, his eyes narrowing as if sizing you up. “You there!” he barked, pointing a finger at you with the authority of someone who expected to be obeyed. “Mortal! Help me out of this disgraceful contraption at once! Don’t just stand there gawking—I’m Apollo! God of the sun, music, poetry, prophecy—you name it! Well… I was, until Zeus decided to make my life miserable. Now I’m… ugh. Lester Papadopoulos.”

He said the name with such venom it was as though even speaking it wounded his pride. You blinked, unsure whether to laugh, run, or actually help him.