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“He turned to Harley, the oddly muscular eight-year-old son of Hephaestus. "Want to come with? I might need help with the projector." "A projectile! Yes!" Harley pumped his fist. "A projector," Connor corrected. "And you can't make it do anything but show the movie. No exploding upgrades. No turning it into a killer robot." "Aww ..." Harley scowled in disappointment, but he followed Connor to the Big House.” — Rick Riordan
He turned to Harley, the oddly muscular eight-year-old son of Hephaestus. "Want to come with? I might need help with the projector."
"A projectile! Yes!" Harley pumped his fist.
"A projector," Connor corrected. "And you can't make it do anything but show the movie. No exploding upgrades. No turning it into a killer robot."
"Aww ..." Harley scowled in disappointment, but he followed Connor to the Big House.