A/N: 'Lo there! This is the first chapter of my story Decode. Each of the titles for the chapters (sans Prologue) will be named after a song that deems itself appropriate for a name. This one is called Dreamers & Schemers. The song is by Jade Monkey. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All of this, with the exceptions of the original characters, belongs to Rick Riordan: God of Trolling.

"First Cohort! Up and at 'em!" Centurion Chekov called into the barrack. Marysa heard a chorus of groans and yawns, then the sound of people rolling, some literally, out of their bunk-beds and onto the floor. Marysa stayed in her bed, not daring to open her eyes. Gods, how she hated mornings, but she had to hurry. If she didn't then...

"Marysa!"

Then that would happen. Now it was her turn to groan as she heard Octavian getting closer.

"Marysa, get up! You don't want to be late for breakfast again, do you?" he said in pleasantly acid-filled tones. Octavian was good at masking the emotion in his voice, but so was she. She could tell when someone was upset or angry or really spiteful. And at the moment, the centurion's voice was pretty spiteful.

Why does he always sound so hateful? Marysa thought. It's not like I've ever done anything to him.

"I'll get up, Octavian. Just let me get ready." Marysa replied, scornfully. Octavian shrugged and walked away, whistling a mournful tune that was a cross between "Lacrimosa" and "Happy Birthday". She watched as his skinny frame sauntered over to another legionnaire and began nitpicking at their every flaw.

You know, sometimes Marysa wished she could've been assigned to the Second Cohort. That way she could escape Centurion Persnickety and his perfectionist ways. But she liked the First. She was part of the pride and joy of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata; that was enough to keep her going.

Marysa pulled on a purple Camp Jupiter t-shirt, black jeans, white Converse and a black North Face fleece. When she caught sight of reflection in a mirror, she sighed. Pulling a comb out of her pocket, she combed her messy, light brown curls out of her face. Satisfied with her handiwork, she made her way around the campers getting ready and out of the barrack.

The sunlight warmed Marysa. It was pretty cold outside, yet there were kids running around in shorts and t-shirts. She shuddered. Marysa hated the cold. There was a theory she made up. There were two types of people in the world: polar bears and chickens. The chickens, like Marysa, hated the cold. As for the polar bears, they could thrive in it. She knew a few polar bears. Speaking of polar bears, Nick was coming towards her.

Nick Devereaux was tall. He was only 15 years old and he was six foot five. Marysa always felt like an ant around him. She was only five foot three. He was dressed in shorts and a gray hoodie with black Nikes on his feet. His long, un-regulation, strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and his pale blue eyes were lit with a mischievous fire, as always.

"Hey, Marysa," he said in his resonating, tenor voice. "You wanna head to breakfast?" she nodded.

On the way to the Mess Hall, Nick did most of the talking. He went on about the events of yesterday, like how their mutual friend, Loki, lost her gladius in a bet with a legionnaire from the Third Cohort, but won it back by setting a trap outside his barrack and taking it from his backpack. Nick always spoke animatedly and it was best Marysa just let him talk himself out. He had ADHD and could not focus one bit. Once, he started going on about Darth Maul from Star Wars but about ten minutes later, Nick was in a seriously one-sided conversation with Marysa about Anne Frank.

On the battlefield, things were a lot different. He was a fighting machine, one of the best in Camp Jupiter. When he first came to Camp from New Orleans and was claimed as a son of Venus, nobody took him seriously. He then showed everybody up when War Games came along by single-handedly taking the Fifth and Fourth's flag. That made everyone quit calling him "pretty boy Nicky".

Romans were tough, but they were pretty bad at coming up with creative insults.

"Are you even listening?" Nick asked Marysa, who had zoned out, lost in her memories.

"No, sorry. Just lost in thought." she answered. Nick studied her with a thoughtful expression.

"You're awfully quiet this morning. Anything on your mind?" she shook her head.

"I'm 'awfully quiet' every morning. You know I'm not a morning person."

"Well, you're not late for breakfast, like most days. What got you out of bed so quickly?" Nick asked in worried tones. She rolled her eyes. He always noticed the little things, but he never saw the big picture.

"Nothing," she lied. "I just wanted to be on time for once." she thought of Octavian and how he had bothered her this morning. Geez, what was his problem? It's not like her punctuality was any of his business. But then again, it did reflect on his Cohort. If she was late, it would look like the whole Cohort was a mess. She glanced up to Nick, who was still staring at her worriedly. "I'm fine. Don't worry, Nick." he shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

By the time their conversation was over, Nick and Marysa had made it to the Mess. Kids of all ages, from ten to 18, were sitting at tables according to their cohort. The First and Second sat at the front, the Third and Fourth in the middle and, of course, the Fifth Cohort at the back. Marysa and Nick sat down at their usual table with one of the First's centurions, Sam Chekov.

Sam was a pleasant guy: calm and easy-going. That made him a great centurion as well as a healer. Being a son of Apollo, god of medicine, gave him extraordinary healing abilities. His mom, who he never mentioned, must have been beautiful because Sam was gorgeous. Hazel eyes and fiery red hair, he could give you one glance and you'd melt. He was muscular but kind of short for seventeen. He was also part Russian and could speak it. He called Nick klubnika or strawberry, because of his hair. He called Marysa milyi which meant cute. That always made her blush. He was like the big brother she never had. When she sat down at the table, Sam stood up and bowed, which made her face flush bright scarlet.

"Good morning, Miss Cunningham." he nodded to Nick. "Hey, pretty boy." Sam was the only one who could make fun of him like that. Nick grinned and punched him in the shoulder

"Hey, you little Russian ginger." Nick said teasingly. Romans were really awful at coming up with insults. Nick and Sam sat down at their table.

They went into a game of arm-wrestling, in which Sam beat Nick twenty-three times out of twenty-five. While they were doing that, Marysa ordered their food: a breakfast burrito for Nick, waffles for Sam and an omelet stuffed with ham and cheddar cheese for herself.

When the aurae delivered the food, Nick and Sam chowed down. Marysa took small bites; she didn't want to make herself sick. Speaking of sick, was Loki pretending again? Gods of Olympus, that'd be the third time that week. And it was only Wednesday. Marysa sat in silence, listening to Nick and Sam talk about weapons, the legions and praetors.

"I wonder where Jason is. Reyna's up at the praetor's table, but he's MIA." said Nick. Marysa looked over to the praetor's table, where Reyna, the legion's praetor, sat.

"Yeah, this isn't like him," Sam said knowingly, "He's usually on time." Marysa then drifted into a very vivid daydream of Jason on his way to breakfast, fighting through crowds of monsters and Titans. This made her remember back to last summer, when the Twelfth Legion stormed Mount Orthys, and Jason went into hand-to-hand combat with a Titan. Marysa couldn't imagine how terrifying that must have been.

"Marysa?" Sam said, snapping her out of her daydream "Earth to Marysa! Are you having another daydream?"

"Yeah," she said, then for some reason felt stupid when she answered truthfully.

"That's our little Marysa Cunningham: Quite the dreamer." Nick piped in. She smiled a meek smile.

Then, the whole Mess jumped when Reyna wolf-whistled. The whole room went completely silent. Standing up from her seat at the praetor's table, she cleared her throat.

"Romans, listen closely as I say this. What I have to say will affect us all." her voice boomed out over the Hall, echoing a bit. She took a deep breath.

"Our praetor Jason," she said as Sam took a big bite of his waffle. "is missing." At this the whole Mess Hall exploded into conversation. Sam choked on his waffle and Nick was pounding his back to get it out. Marysa dropped her fork. Reyna tried to speak again, but was overpowered by the shouts and side conversations. She glanced to Octavian, who stood up at his seat and yelled,

"Silence! Despite what many of you think, this is not a joke. Our praetor, Jason Grace, is truly missing. If anyone has any information of his whereabouts, please, let myself or Reyna know." After saying this, Octavian sat down and continued to eat his pancakes. Nobody in the Mess stood up, but the doors swung open to reveal someone who was backlight by sunlight.

Everyone turned and looked, probably hoping it was Jason. The person stepped into the room as the doors slammed shut. Everyone groaned when Loki stepped into the room. The legionnaires went back to their breakfast. She strode through the tables.

"Yeah, thanks for the warm welcome. Love you too!" a legionnaire from the Third, presumably the one that Loki had pranked yesterday, made a rude gesture with his hand. She grinned as she passed him by. "Thanks for that, sugar."

Sitting down at Marysa's table, she smiled at them all.

Loki was tall and broad shouldered. Her blond hair was short and straight. She had green eyes that were always glancing around the room, as if looking for a good way to prank someone with whatever she had. The Second Cohort legionnaire was a master at pranking. Her mom, LeAnn, had a thing for Norse mythology. When she and Mercury had a baby girl, LeAnn had insisted on naming her daughter Loki, after the Norse god of mischief. Sure enough, Loki lived up to her namesake. Pranking was her "favorite sport", as she put it.

"Good morning," she said pleasantly. "I trust everyone slept well." Seeing their shocked faces, she looked around the room, as if looking for the reason for their expressions. "What's up?"

Marysa filled her in on Jason's disappearence while Nick ordered a donut and coffee for Loki. Once her coffee arrived, she took three huge gulps. She slammed it on the table; Marysa noticed it was empty.

"That was impressive." she said to nobody in particular. Nick laughed.

For some reason, Marysa looked over to the praetor's table, only to see Octavian eating his pancakes. He looked up. When he looked at her, his gray-blue eyes bored into her brown ones. She watched him as he smiled, and continued to eat his pancakes. Marysa shuddered very slightly. He looked at her almost as if he was scheming against her.

Don't be absurd, Marysa thought. He just looked at you. That's all there was to it.

Marysa decided it was nothing. Then, Nick tapped her shoulder.

"It's time for Latin. Are you ready?" she nodded.

"Yeah," she said. Marysa got up from her chair and followed Nick out of the Mess Hall.

A/N: Every time you don't review, a tree falls in the forest with no one around to hear its cries of terror. So, please: Review.