Graveyard Shift (LEAR PLOT - Private)

2:55am PST. Throughout New Rome, the citizens of the city were either asleep, partying, passed out at those parties, or about to pass out at those parties. In the military camp, Camp Jupiter, the soliders of Legio XII - the 12th legion of Rome - were either getting some limited rest or were keeping watch for any threats to their beloved New Rome; monsters don't sleep, and Graeci aren't the kind of people who shy away from surprise attacks - just ask the Trojans.

Of the select few legionaries to be awake at such early hours was Nathan Scott, son of Angerona; a lowly unaccomplished, unproven, and antisocial probatio of the Second Cohort. And he was soaking wet after a run through the Little Tiber, en route to his late night post at the Caldecott Tunnel. Normally, the legion assigned Nate to the day shifts, one of the more social members of the Second had plans to party it up in town tonight, and it's a bit hard to guard Rome when the liquor decides to bite back. So, with Nate being of probatio status, he was stripped of his sleeping, handed a can of Red Bull, and reassigned to the 3am-4am shift at the gates.

Upon arriving at the New Rome side of the tunnel, Nate got his first glimpse at the guy he'd be stuck with for the next 60 minutes. He was tall, muscular, held a spear in his left hand, a pugio strapped to his right hip, and had the markings of a Ceres kid on his arm. "I was told that a Lauren was comin';" bellowed the Ceres legionnaire, his voice sounding like a mix of Canadian and redneck, "and you look more like a Lawrence than a Lauren to me. Care to explain, probie?" "Well sir, Lauren had a party to go to, so I'm here filling her spot, sir." The taller demigod nodded, letting out a quiet, annoyed sigh. "Right, because partying takes priority over the lives of your brothers and sisters in arms." Putting the fellow demigod's lack of discipline aside, Sean picked up his spear and motioned to Nate that it was time to go, saying "Regardless, you're here now and it's five minutes until the two out front are clockin' out. Let's get up there." as he did. The son of Ceres turned around and strolled into the mosaic-filled tunnel, Nathan tagging along behind him.

Lear lit a cigarette and took a drag as she sat in what was affectionately named the Pedo-Van. Time for part two of riling up the camps. She grabbed a set of binoculars and looked towards the Caldecott Tunnel, though from where they were it was hard to see what exactly was going on. "Alright, Bolt. As soon as there's just one, simple snatch and grab. Do not try to eat the demigod before I have a chance to offer redemption. You can have him if he doesn't take it...but leave the body identifiable."

After several minutes of traversing the tunnel, Sean and Nate reached the other side, two other legionaries before them, one on either flank. "Alright ladies," called out Sean to the two guards - both of which were male; "shift's over. Get back to your barracks and get y'all beauty sleep." "Whatever you say commander d*ckhead." replied one of the two standing guards, moving to take point on the trip back to camp. The post now back to two guards, Sean and Nate took to either side of the tunnel and set up for the long hour ahead of them.

....

It had been an uneventful forty-some minutes, and both boys were anxious to get relieved from the night's duty. But for Sean, twenty minutes was too long for the kind of relief he needed. He glanced over to his left, breaking the figurative radio silence of the night. "Hey, Lawrence? Mind if I step aside and...you know..." Sean held up two fingers, hoping "Lawrence" could see from where he was.
Nate nodded. "Yeah, go ahead, knock yourself out. It's Nate, by the way." "Yeah, whatever Lawrence." With that, the son of Ceres ran off for a port-o-john half a block or so away from the tunnel.

And now Nate stood there, the lone probatio, guarding Camp Jupiter.

After being fairly convinced that she was going to die of boredom before someone left, Leer saw her opportunity. She threw down the binos and turned on the van, throwing it into gear."We're on, Bolt. Grab him and we'll pop smoke before the second guy can get back." She said as they headed up the tunnel. There was no traffic. Just to be on the safe side, they had placed fake detour signs a few miles back. The police were probably having a field day with it.

Lear stopped the van, activating hazard flashers and put it into park, rolling down the window. "Hey, kid, don't you know that tunnels aren't safe places to play dress up? You could get hit by a car standing there. Is that a spear?" Lear said, feigning genuine shock. "Who are you planning to skewer, kid?"

Bolt slipped out of the back as Lear distracted the Roman. Once she saw him starting to come closer, Lear pulled her taser and shot it at the unprotected legs of the Roman.

"Terrorists." replied Nate with a laugh. Dress up. Cars. Getting hit. That's funny, really damn funny. F***ing mortals. "I'm planning to skewer terroris- OH S*** IS THAT A GU-!?"
Nate's shock was cut off by an electric current running through his body, causing him to hit the hard concrete beneath him.

With the skill and precision of a military operation, Lear and Bolt decended on the violently convulsing teenager. Lear moved first to disarm him of both his spear and shield. Bolt had the duct tape and zip ties. They just needed to secure him, throws him in the back, remove his tablet and leave a few breadcrumbs behind.

Tazed and confused, Nathan did put up much of a fight. However, the closing of a plastic door and an accented voice could be heard off in the distance: "Hey Lawrence, ya still hangin' in there?"

It was well into the afternoon before the van stopped for more than a quick fill up, the sun was starting to fade in the west. Lear was feeling exhausted and irritable, but stopped the van at the remote farm location, pulling it into the Barn.

She climbed out of the van and went to the back, opening up to reveal the bound and helpless demigod. She and Bolt manhandled him into a wooden chair in the middle of the Barn, and then Lear smiled. "Whew. What a workout. Sorry, 'bout that. I'm going to take the gag off now. You can scream all you want, but it won't bring help." Lear explained before quickly yanking the duct tape off in one pull.

"Now, before you ask. My name is Lear, and I apologize for the roughness needed to rescue you."

OOC: Out of curiosity, what restraints is Nathan bounded by? What's stopping him from falling out of the chair?

BIC: Nate winced when the tape was torn from his face, his reaction caused by the bits of hair taken with the adhesive. "Rescue?!" the seized demigod replied, his voice filled with anger; Since when does tazing someone and throwing them in a van bound like an inmate constitute as rescuing someone?!" In his anger, Nate's accent started to poke through.

OOC: He's from Odessa, TX if you forgot Manda. I'm not sure how strong that accent is, but it should sound "southern" to some degree.

OOC: Zip ties. And nothing but his own equilibrium.

Lear sighed and grabbed a stool, pulling it over to sit down. "Well, I respect that question. See, we could have come up to you and said 'Look, the gods suck and they're using you and making you live a miserable life and you're going to die before you're twenty after not having any sort of childhood, all for the hope of Elysium, so leave the gods and join us...' But you Romans tend to be the most stubborn, dyed in the wool brainwashed bunch. You would never leave your post, even if you agreed. So a more forceful rescue is needed."

"Let's try this again. The gods suck, and they're using you. There is more than one option than forced slavery in exchange for safety."

Nathan leaned back in the chair, letting out a massive sigh while looking up at the barn's ceiling. "You're f**king kidding me, right?" He let out another sigh, continuing before "Lear" had a chance to answer.

"Of all the people from all the places in the world to throw me into a van an whisk me away, I had to luck out with the woman just as crazy as everyone I got whisked away from. Could've been some trafficker in cohorts with some Eastern European mob, or maybe some psycho wanting to hold me for ransom. But oh no, not me; I'm just so lucky to get thrown in the van owned by another person connected to dieties of antiquity." He looked back at Lear, an expression of annoyance plastered on his bruised face. "It just so happens this one is playin' the anti-Rome card here. How fun."

Lear clinched one fist, tightly enough that her knuckles turned white. She set her jaw and resisted the urge to beat the whelp into a pile of kibble. "Listen, friend, while I'm quite capable of finding a nice Eastern European Mafioso, and of posing ransom, the fact of the matter is only people who can see through the Mist would ever find you standing at that tunnel. That means you're stuck with people who are connected to the narcissists of old. Would you like something to drink?"

"And yes, I am anti-Rome. Actually, more to the point, anti-deity. Don't care for the Greek f**kers either. I don't like how they come to you, give you the option to serve them and go to Camp to be brainwashed into worshipping their ne'erdowell a**es and killing monsters to keep from being killed. Doing their bidding. Keeping them in power. You think that's fair? You're a probatio, you want to spend another ten years in the Legion working your hindend off for...what? For them?"

"Something to drink? From you? I'll just bottle up my own p1ss and have that if I'm thirsty."

"And truthfully, no, I'd rather not go back to Camp Jupiter." Nathan took some of his energy to address an itch on his wrists, rubbing the bound piece of anatomy against the wooden chair. "And that means I'd hate to go back there under any circumstances. After spending six months as a private no-class, I think I've had my fill of the place for a lifetime."

"I find both experiences to be equally terrible, although the 'slave' one don't leave you stuck in a barn with Ms. Conspiracy Theory and One-Eye Joe. Or maybe it does, and that's just how it goes." Nathan took a quick glance around the room. Although the only thing between him and the door were two goons and some plastic, there wasn't much hope for escape.
"Alright, y'all got me stuck here, so I'd assume there's somethin' y'all want from me. Might as well just tell me 'stead of playing this 'would you rather' s**t."

Lear threw up her hands in disgust. "Well, I had wanted to save your life. Since you're not particularly into that, I think I'll let One-Eyed Joe eat you. His name is Bolt, by the way, and he's a very nice Cyclops when you get to know him. He does really enjoy demigods, but holds out for those who abandon the gods. You on the other hand are just obnoxious and I'll be happy to see you eaten. Bon appetit, Bolt.

Well, that escalated quickly. What started out as an innocent shift of tunnel duty turned into the demise of Nathan. There was a flurry of emotions going on in the doomed teen's head: anger, disgust, shock. It was just surreal. And unjust, really, dying for a cause, a nation he wanted no part in being of. He never asked to be Roman, but here he was about to see what lies beyond while wearing the colors of a nationless army.

"Well;" Nate muttered, partly out of defeat, partly out of anger; "y'all better cook me all the way through."

Lear pulled a celestial bronze dagger from her coat pocket, looking at the blade for several seconds before looking at the Roman demigod. "It's a shame you had to be like this. Although, killing you won't tear me up the same as the last one. She had potential, and spunk. Still. Your death, and hers, serve a greater purpose. The gods are powerless generals without their privates, and will fade to nothing if they have no one to worship them."

With that, Lear stepped forward and swung the dagger into Nate's abdomen.