-O-

The train ride was a bit of a blur. Oliver vaguely remembered waking up from his fitful slumber, cleaning his guns and rolling a new cigarette before falling back to the bed again. Understandable, really; the last time he got a good night's sleep was at least two weeks previously, when he rented a top floor hotel room. But then half a dozen harpies crashed through the window and he had to run, leaping down a stairwell to escape and almost breaking his legs in the attempt. He woke up, for good this time, as his apprehended transport trundled along the tracks, thick forest as far as he could see. His wounds were healed but they still throbbed numbly, especially his shoulder where the dull burn of the Manticore poison remained, and he still slightly favored his left leg. But he could run the entire length of the train without stumbling and shoot his rifle with his dominate shoulder, so he was ready to get back on the road.

Oliver managed, with a bit of advice from the Fire, to steer the train onto the tracks in the more rural areas of New York, what with him being the only person on board a train with blood stains covering half of the cars. He felt just avoiding human contact all together was his best shot at avoiding conflict while gaining land. A look at the map of the routes in the conductor's cabin told him that this line would bring him as far as Maryland, and from there he could catch another further west. But, and this was a very big but, he would have to pass through New York City, and he couldn't see another track he could get off on that would lead him around the massive city. He was in the conductor's chair, feet up on the console, just watching the New York skyline approach. It was a bit breathtaking, as one could imagine. Oliver's seen it in television and movies, everyone has, but it was an entirely different beast to actually see it, right there.

He tore his eyes from the monolithic buildings and walked back to his cabin, packing his duffel bag as calmly as he could. Oliver was hoping he could just ride clean through the city, but he had that anxious knot in his stomach that made him look twice at every shadow. As the sounds of the city loomed closer, Oliver closed and covered every window he could before sitting in his cabin, M14 leveled at the door. A voice suddenly appeared to his right, near the desk, "You are a very interesting young man, you know?"

Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin and swung his rifle instinctively, only for it to be stopped like he had hit a tree. He focused on his unexpected guest, and his heart dropped. He was a middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper hair and an athletic build, with nylon running shorts and a t-shirt that said 'New York City Marathon: 1966'. But it wasn't what he was wearing that made Oliver stop cold (although the design on the shirt was atrocious). No. It was the fact that Oliver's bayonet, made of pure celestial bronze, was ever so slightly embedded into the stranger's palm.

And he was bleeding a thick, golden blood that Oliver sometimes saw Prometheus bleed.

Ichor. Blood of Immortals.

Curiously, Oliver's first reaction was to say, "Aw, hell."

The god cocked a curious eyebrow at the mortal as Oliver shifted his rifle back into his lap, "Well, that's the first time I've been cursed at when I appear."

Oliver felt heat rise up his neck, "Oh no, it's not you," he said, "I just... I thought I'd make it farther."

The god nodded and leaned farther back in the chair, flexing his hand, "Well, do you know who I am, kid?"

Oliver gave one look at the 'New York Marathon' shirt and he just knew, "You're Hermes, God of th- travelers, and people who use the roads."

Hermes gave the mortal a sly grin, obviously catching the slight slip of the tongue but choosing not to address it, "Exactly. I sensed you the moment you took a step on this train." He brought his foot down as if to drive his point home.

Despite the cold fear clutching at his stomach Oliver frowned at the god, "You sensed one mortal getting on a train in Vermont?"

Hermes' smile faltered a little, that faint amusement in his eyes dying down, "Kind of. See, since the end of the war, Dad's been having me monitor all the ways in and out of Manhattan, to keep an eye out for anything magical or the like," he stopped to point at the pendant around Oliver's neck, "I sensed that, not you."

The Fire hummed at Oliver's neck, glowing a bit uncomfortably.

I have a name, you know.

Shut it.

I do!

You are the Fire given to mankind by the titan Prometheus in defiance of Zeus. What kind of name could you possibly have?

Marvin.

...Marvin?

Yes. Marvin.

Why in the sam hell did you name yourself Marvin?

Have you ever read 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy'?

What?

You know, the greatest piece of literature humans have ever produced. A good use of ink, I'll tell you that for free.

How'd you even- okay, never mind, I don't care.

Oliver looked at the messenger god, nervously cracking his fingers by pressing his thumb over the knuckles. All Hermes knew was that his pendant was magic. Maybe, just maybe... "Well, Lord Hermes, I admit this is magic but I don't know why-"

Every trace of humor in Hermes' eyes was wiped away in an instant, and his voice was suddenly deadly serious as he cut him off, "Do not attempt to play me for a fool, Oliver Irons. I know who your masters are, the only question is which one you serve directly."

The way Hermes said his name made Oliver shudder internally, a cold fist of fear gripping his spine, fully aware that he was about to be turned to ash. Or sand. Or whatever Hermes felt like, really. He focused on the floor, unwilling to meet the god's gaze, "Prometheus, sir. I serve Prometheus."

Oliver swore he could hear the messenger god blink as his tone shifted rather abruptly, "Oh... really?"

Oliver nodded vigorously, "Yeah, I've known him since I was a kid. He told me to protect this," he pointed at his pendant, which glowed slightly as he was recognized, "and nothing else. I don't want to hurt anyone, I swear."

Hermes lifted both his palms into the air, that little smile back on his lips, "Alright, I believe you kid, calm down."

Oliver flushed and set his hands back in his lap as a thoughtful expression crossed the god's face, "He was always one of the more mild titans, what with the whole giving fire to man thing..." he said, crossing his arms and deciding whether or not to incinerate the mortal.

Oliver held his breath. A long, long minute passed as Hermes made up his mind. The god leaned forward, that hint of slyness in his eyes that helped put Oliver at ease, if only slightly, "Okay. I've decided, perhaps against my better judgement, to let you go."

Oliver waited, not daring to say the wrong thing, only breathing out a single word, "But?"

Hermes' smirked slightly, "But, I'll need you to do something for me. Pretty normal exchange, I think." He said, leaning back again in the chair.

Oliver let out a relieved sigh he was fully aware he was holding in, "Alright. What do you need me to do?"

Hermes snapped his fingers and a yellow paper package, exactly like the ones you would get in the mail, appeared in Oliver's lap. He tested the weight, but it felt like normal package to him. He cocked an eyebrow at the god, but he only gave him another smile, "Deliver that to my sons, Travis and Conner Stoll."

Oliver's eyebrow rose further up his face, "That's all?" he asked, not really believing that such a simple task would let him go.

But Hermes just nodded, "That's it. Oh, wait," he cleared his throat and spoke that he was making some kind of declaration, "I, the god Hermes, give you permission to enter."

Thunder rumbled across the clear sky, and Oliver coughed, "Thanks?"

Hermes nodded, either oblivious are uncaring to the questioning tone, "You're welcome. Here's the address for the camp," he said, handing him what looked like a businesses card. with really fancy black lettering that said 'Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill, Farm Road 3.141. Long Island, New York 11954'. Oliver looked at Hermes, hesitating with his next words, "Lord Hermes, with all due respect, why can't you deliver this?" he questioned. Surely the god of messengers could do this with a snap of his fingers?

Apparently not, as a pained expression crossed the god's face, "Believe me, I want to do nothing more than bring them that in person. But... look, ever since the war ended, I have been a very busy god. Messages to carry between the gods and their kids, packages to deliver, receipts to fill out. Do you know how long it takes to fill out a form for a thermos full of wind? Longer than you think!" as he spoke he got more agitated, to the point that the room began to get considerably warmer.

As Oliver accepted his existence as a small pile of ash outside of New York, Hermes calmed himself with a few deep breaths and gave the mortal an almost-sheepish smile, "Sorry about that," he stood up and stretched his legs, "anyway, good luck. If you deliver that, and no one dies, then I will provide you with more... Suitable transportation."

Before Oliver could ask what he meant by that, he was suddenly aware of the screeching of the train's brakes. And of the blood stained cars that he had neglected to clean. But Hermes seemed to read his mind, snapping his fingers and Oliver felt something rush past him like a brisk wind. He blinked and had to focus to see the god directly in front of him. The Fi- Marvin spoke up in Oliver's mind.

Clever.

What?

He's coated the train in Mist, making it look like it's out of order, and you to look like a staff member of the station.

Oliver made to thank the god, but he was already gone, leaving only the faint hissing of snakes in the air. He sighed and stood up, clenching and unclenching his fist, trying not to shake, and slung his duffel bag onto his shoulder. Marvin was right. When Oliver tried to look at his arm his jacket shimmered and changed into the sleeve of a long, deep blue jumpsuit, like those of a maintenance man. He slowly began to walk down the train cars, and he heard the sounds of the station just outside.

Think Hermes'll keep his promise?

I have no idea.

Oliver just sighed and, after checking to make sure he didn't have any blood on him, opened the door and stepped out into Grand Central Station. The area where the trains stopped weren't all that different from a normal train station. There were clean concrete walls and floors, and tracks for trains to park on in rows going in line all the way down to a far wall. A ramp to his right lead further up into the terminal proper. Thankfully, there weren't too peoplemany in front of him, but there was still a sizable group looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and anger. He cleared his throat, held up his palm and did his best to mask his Vermont accent, "Sorry, out of order."

The man in front of him, a big middle-aged guy in a suit, scowled and checked his watch. His voice sounded exactly like Oliver thought it would, "What'dya mean it's out of order?"

Oliver just shrugged, "It means exactly what you think it means. Sorry for the inconvenience," and began walking up towards the ramp, just keeping his eyes down and avoiding conflict as the man sputtered with rage, face beet red. He heard little boy tug at his mother's hand as he walked past them, "Mommy, why's there ketchup all over the inside of the train?"

Oliver tried not to vomit and increased his pace, almost running up the stairs as his clothes shifted back to normal. The wind was almost knocked out of his breath as he took the last step up and saw Grand Central Station in all of it's glory. Once again, just like the skyline, Oliver couldn't quite processing what he was looking at for a few seconds. His whole lodge, along with a good chunk of the surrounding wilderness, could fit in the massive space in front of him. Thick, square shaped concrete pillars supported the colossal arched ceiling, coated in a fresh layer of dollar-green paint. Three windows the size of swimming pools were set in the far wall, letting in the rays of the now-setting sun to flood into the station. Oliver shook of his wonder and looked down at the address Hermes gave him, stuffing the package in his duffel bag.

So, do we just... get a cab?

I suppose. Unless you wanna go sight seeing.

Oliver just snorted and walked up the vast stairs that lead up to street level. After a few minutes of standing on a broad, fairly packed sidewalk as the sun slowly set he finally manged to snag a cab. He slid into the cigarette-smelling leather back seat and shut the door, locking, unlocking and locking it behind him. The driver raised a bushy eyebrow but said nothing as he ashed his cigar in the small tray on the dash, "Where to?" He asked, his accent almost as thick as his mustache.

Oliver held out the card, which the driver gave one look at and frowned, "That's the middle of nowhere, kid. You sure?"

"Seven hundred dollars says I'm sure."

The driver's eyebrows shot up, "I'm gonna need some kinda card or something here," he said, but Oliver could see he was already thinking about what to do with his day off.

Oliver pulled out Prometheus' card and the driver held it like it was solid gold, swiping it in his machine. After a few seconds of the machine sputtering and the numbers flashing until it eventually settled on a large green infinity symbol. The cigar fell from the driver's mouth as he looked back at the young passenger, "Anywhere you wanna stop, uh, sir?"

Oliver just gave the driver a slight smile, "No, thanks though," he paused and then said, "tell you what: get me there within the hour, I'll double the pay."

Probably shouldn't have said that.

The speedometer never dropped below sixty as they rode through the city that doesn't sleep.

Oliver stepped out of the cab with the car's number and a promise that 'He'll always have a ride in New York', before the cab peeled out of the forest, the sound of it's engine slowly fading away. He looked around the thick forest for this camp, but all he saw was a sign with the words 'CHB' painted in orange, and nothing else. Oliver sighed, hefted his duffel bag, package inside, and began to trudge through the forest, the very fresh memories first and for most in this mind.

A forest. It's always a forest.

Thankfully, this forest was considerably safer than the one he had been in previously, and all he encountered on his trek was a small, harmless rabbit.

Marvin spoke up.

Quick, it might be dangerous!

Shut up, Marvin.

He eventually came upon a hill, with a massive pine tree sitting atop it, with something dark and vaguely serpentine coiled around it. Oliver slipped his hand into his jacket, wrapping around his fingers around the cool plastic of the USP, and began to climb. When he got about ten feet from the tree the shape suddenly sprung to life, hateful yellow eyes burning in the night, razor sharp teeth glinting. It looked like a big snake, with Oliver held up his hands in the universal show of submission, and the beast watched him for a few, tense seconds before setting it's head back down. Oliver gave the dragon a wide berth, those eyes still following his every motion as the stranger descended into the valley. He couldn't see much: A large farmhouse, a few dark buildings, a large sparkling lake and another goddamn forest, but no details. He decided to walk to the big house in the middle of the valley, maybe figure out where the brothers were. But as he took a step onto the broad wooden porch a voice suddenly spoke up to his right, "Whatcha doin'?"

Oliver jumped and whipped around, almost tearing his gun out of the holster until his eyes landed on the speaker. It was a guy, a few years younger than himself, with oily black hair, pale skin and black clothing. His dark eyes focused on Oliver like an owl, and the ghost a smile crossed his lips as Oliver said, "Who're you?"

The guy stood up, resting his hand on the hilt of a sword Oliver didn't initially see, "I'm Nico," Nico squinted slightly at the newcomer, his eyes suspicious, "and you shouldn't be here."