The Third Life: The Most Powerful Gun
I'm going to be playing around with the fact that the Revolution had Greeks and Romans on the Patriot and British sides. Sounds fun to me.
Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or AC
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Was Connor angry? One could make the argument, yes. He had just been informed by his best friend that William Johnson was currently conducting a meeting with the Iroquois leaders at this very moment, and the subject was about the land.
It was a conversation that was less about the money to buy, and more about how many were going to die before they gave up.
So Connor went out and did what any Assassin did when regarding a Templar: kill them.
Going about the process completely undetected, taking a long flanking route through the occupied territory around Johnson Hall, and then scaling the backside of the mansion, using just the barest bits of fingers and toes to latch on to and climb the windows up to the roof, Connor leapt from above, executing a perfect air-assassination by burying his tomahawk into Johnson's neck.
And then they were somewhere else.
Achilles had told Connor about this happening, how when an Assassin killed their target they were sometimes granted the opportunity to share last words in a place of peace, uninterrupted by whatever chaos might be happening around them. Something about the Precursors, of course, but Connor didn't buy much into that.
No, this was a blessing from the Great Spirit, that he may be better yet understand his enemy, and grant them peace.
"No," Johnson groaned. "What have you done?"
"Put an end to your schemes," Connor said. "You were trying to buy this land for the Templars."
"Aye," Johnson responded, "that we might protect them! Do you think that good King George lies awake at night hoping that no harm comes to his native subjects? Or that the people of the city care one whit about them? Oh, sure, the colonists are happy to trade when they need food or shelter or a bit of extra padding for their armies. But when the walls of the city constrict—when there's crops that need soil—when there's...when there's no enemy to fight—we'll see how kind the people are then."
Connor kneeled down next to the man, slightly confused at what he was getting at. "The colonists have no quarrel with the Iroquois…"
"Not yet," Johnson agreed, "but they will. 'Tis the way of the world. In time, they'll turn. I…" the Templar breathed deeply, "…I could have stopped it. I could've saved you-"
"Fooooooool," a guttural new voice chimed in.
Connor bolted up in shock and surprise, and Johnson could only arch his back to give his head enough leverage to look in the direction of the voice.
"Jake?" the Assassin asked.
"Aye," the captain said, and he noted the look on the young man's face. "You're literally in the middle of a battle between the natives and Johnson's mercenaries, yet you're also right here. Why is it such an impossibility that I can't hop in here with you?"
"Um…" Connor didn't really have an answer to that.
Jake took a knee next to Johnson. "I told you Templar, you'd die for your failure."
"You lying bastard," Johnson cursed. "You said Achilles-"
"Like you've never lied about anything before, boy. Let's take what you were just now telling Connor, for example, about how you could've saved the natives from the inevitable turning of the colonists. Bullshit, son. You can no more save these people than you could stop the sun from being hot.
"Unfortunately as it is, gentlemen, the time of the native is over. Sure, we're all in for one hell of a fight, but the natives will lose. The colonists, pioneers, white men, entrepreneurs—whatever label you want to give them—will take, and take, and take. Appeasements will be made, of course. The government will establish some massive areas for the natives to still claim as their own, but it'll be a far cry from it used to be. They'll be spat on, frowned on, used as scapegoats, etcetera, and history's eventually going to remember the natives as these poor, misplaced, pitiful peoples that were done wrong, and ignore just how violent and cruel they really were."
Jake shrugged, wholly ignoring the glare Connor was giving him.
"Progress marches, gentlemen, and when progress marches, something is always trampled. In this case, it's the Native Americans." The pirate patted Johnson's bloody cheek. "And this fool here thought he could stop progress. I pity you, William Johnson, and the rest of your Templar brothers, for in the coming years all of you will die, your work undone, your dreams unfulfilled, your goals unmet, and your souls damned. May God have mercy on your soul."
Johnson let out one more gurgle, before the life faded in his eyes.
The world around Jake and Connor erupted away, leaving them both just two seconds to get their bearings back as they were left in the middle of a battle between the Iroquois leaders and the mercenaries that Johnson hired.
With expert movements, Jake pulled his pistols and felled twelve men in less than five seconds. He was out of shots after that, but it didn't matter. Enough of a window had been made for him, Connor, and the Iroquois to escape. The pirate and the Assassin went swan diving off a cliff into the waters far below, and when they surfaced, Connor glared daggers at Jake.
"The time of my people isn't over, nor will it ever end."
Jake winked. "Hold that conviction close to your heart, son. Keep it kindled in the flames of your passion, and don't ever let that flame die. You keep it nice and hot, and you're going to be just fine."
"Your cryptic words are annoying."
"And here I though I was being poetic."
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1775
Connor received word from Paul Revere that the Recoats were up to something in Boston, and while initially disinclined to go and aid the Sons of Liberty due to the fact that he was not a member of their party and merely helped them before because their goals temporarily lined up, he was persuaded differently when the name John Pitcairn was mentioned in Paul's letter.
At the mention of the Templar, Connor couldn't get to Revere's house fast enough, and nearly broke the door down upon entrance. Inside, sitting at a table lit by candle, was Paul himself, along with two other men Connor didn't know, and a familiar face that Connor hadn't seen in a few months.
"Jake?"
"Hi."
"Ah, Connor!" Paul greeted. The man rose and attempted to pull Connor forward by the arm, but was shrugged off with a scowl from under the hood. Undeterred by the act, Paul continued. "This is William Dawes and Robert Newman.
"Now, Pitcairn is planning to march on Concord, where Adams and Hancock have taken shelter. He plans to destroy weapons and supplies there, and make it so we can't fight back. You must help us. Captain Swallow here has already agreed to lend us his aid."
Connor looked at Jake, who tipped his hat slightly, making the feather rustle. The Assassin looked back at Revere.
"Only tell me where Pitcairn is, and I'll put an end to this."
Paul swallowed and moved away, hands spread. "He has dozens, if not hundreds, of soldiers at his command. You cannot hope to match him by yourself."
Jake coughed into his fist. "I beg to disagree on that one, kid. You haven't seen Connor fight."
"Never compromise the Brotherhood, remember, old man?"
"Ah, but no one will notice, if there's no one to notice."
"Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent."
"Yeah, pretty sure if we combed through the Lobsterback's heads, we'd find some damning evidence."
Connor's training had primarily focused on physical attributes, along with history. Training in how to use his mouth to verbally combat opponents was something Achilles neglected, and despite Jake's best efforts over the months, Connor remained a blunt and direct man that thought of issues as black and white, which was why he was so often at a loss of words when it came to words of certain men.
Jake was one of those men.
"Anyway," the pirate said, "you were saying, Paul?"
"Right. We need your help to warn our boys in Lexington and Concord about the coming threat."
"Sounds good to me. Let's go tell everyone the British are coming."
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Before everyone parted ways for the night's festivities, Jake pulled Connor aside.
"What's crawled in your ass and died?"
Connor's nose wrinkled. "What?"
"Why are you showing your ass tonight?" Jake amended. "You're being rude, distant, and unengaged."
Connor decided now was as good a time as any to unload his frustrations, and the man before him was good as any other.
"I am no friend to the colonists or the Patriots," he said heatedly. "Repeatedly, they come to me for help, and it's only been luck thus far that they have been directly involved with my real concern, the Templars. My promise is to my people and the land we live on; I promised to protect them and save that land. Whether it is the Patriots in control or the British is irrelevant, because both will seek it in time. I cannot allow that. Right now, the Templars pose the biggest threat, and after them, it'll be someone else. And I will kill those as well."
"Ah, there's the problem," Jake said sagely. "Brace yourself, boy, you aren't going to like what I have to tell you:
"Your people are fucked. With you, it's all my people this and my people that; your people are fucked. They've had thousands of years to roam the land and kill the wildlife and pick the berries—now it's over. Like I told Johnson, progress is marching, and something's going to get trampled. That's going to be your people, and the best thing you can do about it, Connor, is to get into the very good graces of the Patriots. That way, after this war and they're the ones in power, you can pull all the favors they owe you, and ensure you have federal backing for your land's and people's rights. Do you understand me, son?"
Connor understood, but he was still young, hotblooded—he wanted to be right, he wanted to stay his course and it be the right one, with no need for deviation or correction from anyone. Not Achilles, not Jake, not any of the Sons of Liberty. However, Connor was also developing in wisdom and maturity, and had displayed such a few times, and this was one of the times where he chose to swallow his pride and nod his head.
"I…do understand."
"Good man," Jake nodded. "Now, Paul is a handful and can get on your nerves very quickly, so take a deep breath, prepare yourself, and go warn the Patriots without slaughtering a decent swath of the British Army.
"…do you really think the two of us could fight through hundreds of men to get to Pitcairn?"
Jake's dark eyes gained that familiar mad glitter to them, and he grinned.
"Absolutely."
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April 19, 1775
What would come to be known as the Midnight Ride was over, with Jake, Revere, Connor, and the rest having performed their duty to the letter, warning Patriot forces around the Eastern frontier about the impending British threat, and it had all led up to this:
Jake sat upon the roof of a nearby home, partially obscured by its chimney. Arrayed before him was the ragtag group of Minute Men, and across the way were the uniformed, disciplined, in-formation, well-trained…British Army.
At their head was Templar John Pitcairn, and Jake could've blasted a hole through the man's head right then and there, but it wasn't his place.
Jake was brimming with anticipation. Here it was, what he had been waiting decades for: a chance to redeem himself. A good, solid, chance for redemption after Kingston all those years ago. Sure, there had been battles and uprisings about the New World that Jake had been in, thinking those were his chances, but they had all fallen through, but this—a whole nation rising up against another, headed by strong men in their primes, with strong ideals and faith—this was it.
Besides that, Jake was old. It seemed those missing six years had caught up to him somewhere along the way, and he was every bit the 75 that he was. Sure, he could still climb, run, fight, swim and more, but it was far more taxing than it was. He chalked it up to the Precursor in him that he was able to yet perform as well as he could, but he knew he couldn't last much longer.
If this new revolution—this American revolution—wasn't the redemption Jake was looking for, then he feared he was going to die a damned man. That was Jake's fear, you see, his flaw, the fear that he wasn't going to be able to redeem himself, at least in his mind, and he was going to die unclean and as righteous as he could, given his lifestyle.
As such, with that fear spurring him forward, Jake removed all possibility of the revolution not happening. He removed any chance that this meeting between American and British would resolve peaceably, and there'd be many more events happen before the inevitable came to pass.
Jake pulled one of the pistols free of the holster on his chest, pointed in the general direction of the redcoats…
And he made history.
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He didn't actually participate in the battle itself. Jake didn't flee with the Patriots back to Concord, nor did he stand alone against the red tide. Instead, thanks to Eagle Vision, he had noted that a few of the British and a few of the Patriots had a different glow to them. Sure, they both had the red and blue of enemy and ally, respectively, but those mentioned few had an additional glow to them, ones that were beyond the standard red, blue, white, or gold.
No, these select few soldiers were glowing grey, pink, yellow, orange, and an angry red.
They also had bayonets that were not made of steel, but of bronze and gold.
Jake knew these metals, and he knew who these boys were, and if they were here, then there was actually a lot more to the war he had just started than what he had originally thought, and now he was feeling like he might've just been too hasty in his decision making.
Oh, well. Too late now.
However, it was not too late to get answers to the questions that had popped up in his head regarding the presence of the demigods.
"Graecus scum," a recoat with sky-blue eyes snarled. "Rebellious little shits, always cocking things up, starting wars."
"Roman fool," a Patriot with grey eyes countered icily. "Your king refused to listen to his subjects, treated them poorly. It's only natural they would rise up. Besides, just like the ancient times, your empire got too big, and you weren't able to maintain control. This war is on your heads, Romans."
"Enough of this," spat another Roman, purple eyes on him. "Kill the Graecus!"
That was enough to kickstart a different war, a secret one, and Jake was there to watch the first battle.
Boy, watching demigods fight from an outside perspective was something else. Jake knew he was a fantastic fighter, with the Precursor blood granting his strength, stamina, reflexes, and precognition—an inherent awareness of his surroundings that allowed him to just know when someone was about to shoot him, or attack him from behind—but these kids were something else.
They moved faster, they were stronger, more vicious. They were near blurs to Jake's eyes, their muskets and bayonets flashing and blinking around them as they spun and twirled, the clashing weapons creating showers of sparks like the finales of a fireworks display.
The old pirate knew better than to tangle with so many. Hell, fighting against just one was a monumental struggle. Their natural physical superiority was difficult to overcome.
What Jake was doing was waiting for the victors to emerge. Whether that was the Romans—by which he could tell by their golden weapons, and their sterner, meaner looks—or the Greeks—by which he could tell by their bronze weapons, and their more raggedy style—it didn't matter to Jake. He didn't care for either side of the coin, just for the knowledge about what his actions today meant for the mythological world.
The brief fight continued until it was two Romans up against one Greek, and Jake shrugged to himself and shot the lone young man, probably no older than his second decade, in the head. Unlike him, demigods didn't have the same precognitive awareness. It had to be in their line of sight in order for them to dodge it.
A weakness Jake had exploited a few times.
The two Romans blinked in surprise, their red uniforms stained a different red from the Greek blood.
"Good morning!" Jake called as he approached. The demigods eyed him warily. "Quite the show, lads. Haven't seen fighting like that in several years."
"You saw us fighting?" one of the Romans asked.
"Of course. It's not every day that one can witness a battle between the offspring of the gods."
"A clear-sited mortal," the other Roman muttered to his partner, who nodded.
"You can see our weapons and you know of the gods, and you also know of their lesser Greek forms as well," the Roman noted. "You stayed there and watched us fight, our comrades and enemies dying."
In the distance, the sound of heavy gun fire rang loudly, and it was clear that a war was now officially underway.
"What is it that you want, mortal?" the Roman asked.
"Information," Jake answered honestly. "This war that's just started…what impact has it had on your gods?"
"By now they've become addled and tortured by the Graecus scum," the Roman sneered. "With us praying to them for guidance, and the Graeci also praying, it's torn their minds in two, leaving them broken between their true Roman forms, and their weaker Greek personas. The only way to fix this is to eliminate the rebel Greeks entirely and reestablish Roman dominance over this part of the world."
"Uh-huh," Jake nodded, and his eyes were starting to gain a manic gleam to them. "So, that gunshot earlier, the one that kickstarted this whole thing…"
"Aye?"
"That was me. I've grown tired of watching the Colonists do their protest thing and want to speed stuff along. Sorry about your gods."
The two Romans stared at Jake, completely gobsmacked by the revelation that this new war, this war that was no doubt hurting their poor divine parents, was the fault of this old man before them, all because he was effectively bored. Because of that, now so many of their siblings were going to die.
It didn't take very long for the thought to pass through the two soldiers' heads that if they killed Jake and presented this case, that the whole problem would blow over. They also ignored the little voice that told them to stop and think about their next course of action, and they charged with Imperial gold bayonets lowered.
Now, Jake was no idiot. As stated previously, he had tangled with demigods before, and he knew was no physical match for them. They were too strong and their reflexes too sharp for conventional melee combat, but like Epic Voice Guy from Honest Trailers said about Arno in the Unity Honest Trailer:
He's another smelly European Batman with the power to see soon-to-be-dead people.
Only Jake wasn't that smelly and he was of African descent, but he certainly was like Batman, in that even in the face of much stronger opponents, he had a plan in place to take them down. Also, prep time. Jake's talking and watching was prep time. Also also, in a profession where men die young, beware the old man.
Jake was a few years shy of being eighty. He was very old.
The Romans came charging at Jake, incredibly fast for human beings, and Jake let the smoke bomb in his hand drop at the same time he activated Eagle Vision. The surrounding ten meters was enveloped in thick smoke that obscured normal vision, and the demigods, despite their physical prowess, had eyes that were only just sharper than a human's. Immunity to smoke, however?
Not a chance.
They went running into obscurity, too much momentum to stop, and their bayonets hit nothing but empty air as Jake had already. Two gunshots pierced the air, accompanied instantly after by a scream and a couple of dull thuds.
The smoke cleared out to reveal one dead Roman with a hole through his head, the other one writhing on the ground, a bleeding hole in the small of his back where the musket ball and broken his spine. He was now paralyzed from the waist down, and was in a lot of pain.
Jake stepped into the demigod's view, looking down at the dying man with zero sympathy.
"You know something funny, son? As much as I hate the Templars and Assassins for all the trouble they've caused the world, I hate you demigods so much more. All the power you have, all the ability and potential you possess, and you don't do a fucking thing with it. You could end slavery at any time, fix every political issue with a snap of your fingers, bring about a peaceful and prosperous peace to the world, but you instead sit on your asses and fuck around in the shadows of history. No different than the Templars and Assassins…"
"What," the Roman croaked, "what the fuck are you on about o-old man?"
Jake kneeled down. "Not much. Just the ramblings of a geezer, I suppose. Just thing before I send you on your way: when you get to the Underworld, tell Pluto that if Mary Read is anywhere but in Elysium, I'll be coming down there to put her there."
"D-Damn n-nigger," the Roman spat.
Jake's head tilted a bit, the feather in his hat swaying. "You know, when you cucks invaded Egypt, you bastardized the original version of that word. What it really means is God. Now bow."
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"It takes a true monster to do something like this…"
Those were the words spoken by Colonel James Barrett of the Colonial Militia at the end of the Battles of Lexington and Concord, in which a Patriot victory was secured by Connor's leadership and the Minute Men's determination, referring to the numerous dead British soldiers. Those were also the words Jake heard upon his arrival, and he had some opinions to share on the sentiment.
"Bullshit, Barrett. These boys are the enemy. Aye, you can think of them as human beings with family all you want, and while that makes you a good and empathetic human being, wise too I suppose, those thoughts are poison and can cloud your judgement, lead to bad outcomes. When it comes to battle, it's easier on the mind, body, soul, spirit and heart to think of these boys as subhuman, as just things to be killed. You'll get more sleep too at night, I promise. You understand me, Connor?"
Angling his head in such a way that the beak of his hood obscured his eye, Connor answered shortly. "Yes."
"Captain Swallow," Barrett greeted cordially with his rumbly old voice.
"Colonel," Jake nodded. "Let us depart, gentlemen. The war has started."
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June 16, 1775
Philadelphia
Jake stood at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, hidden among the shadows cast by the candles. Before him were passionate men willing to send others to die in their stead, one arguably overpowered Native, a Templar, and one of the most famous individuals in all of American history, giving a speech about his new position of command.
"I can think of no man more qualified for the job," Sam Adams commented to Connor, which prompted a very displeased Charles Lee to speak.
"I can think of several," he grumbled.
At the sound of his voice, Connor's blood instantly heated to a boil, and Jake moved as the Assassin rose with fire in his eyes.
"Charles Lee," he hissed with only the upmost contempt and venom.
Connor moved before the Templar, literally about to draw his tomahawk and spill blood over the floor of the Congress, but Jake's hand clamped down tightly on the young man's shoulder. Their dark eyes met, Jake silently telling the Assassin to stand down and wait for a better time.
Against every fiber of his being, Connor silently agreed, casting one last scathing glare at Charles Lee, who was endlessly confused over why the Native in the Colonial outfit would bear such hatred towards him, and why Captain Swallow would be making said Native desist.
With a pat on Connor's shoulder, a look at Sam and a jerk of his head to the newly appointed Commander-in-Chief, to which Sam got the message and steered Connor away for a quick meet and great, Jake looked back at the Templar.
"Leave this place, Lee. I will only be this generous once."
Swallowing, Charles Lee left the room before anything else could happen.
After watching the Templar leave, Jake made his way to Connor, Sam, and the other guy, whose eyes widened at seeing the approaching pirate.
"Captain Swallow!" George Washington gasped. He rushed forward and embraced Jake in a tight hug, one which was returned.
"Georgie! Congratulations, my boy! Now, you've got the future of a fledgling nation on your shoulders, but don't let that weigh you down. Just remember to be wise, and look to your mother for guidance. Got it, son?"
"Yes, sir," Washington nodded dutifully.
"Uh, Commander?" Sam blinked, "You know Captain Swallow?"
"Of course I do! After my brother's passing, Captain Swallow was there to give me counsel and advice. He set me on the path I am now, and I wouldn't be here if not for him. I owe this man my life."
Connor walked up to Jake. "Is there any important man you don't have a personal connection with?"
"Yes."
Jake extended his hand to the future president of America. "George, I hate to cut this meeting short, but Connor and I have things to attend to."
"Of course, of course," Washington said, vigorously shaking Jake's hand. "Don't be a stranger now! Just because I'm Commander-in-Chief doesn't mean I don't have time for my mentor!"
"Right you are, Georgie," Jake winked. "Sam," he nodded.
"Captain Swallow."
With that, Jake and Connor took their leave.
They had another battle to fight on some hills.
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Yes, as per AC:T canon, Jake Swallow, Percy's Third Life incarnation, officially started the American Revolution with a random gunshot. He also is responsible for the same kind of Olympian Schism featured in the HoO series, effectively making him an infinitely more badass version of Leo Valdez. He's also the subject of one George Washington's fanboy tendencies, which means America as this fictitious world knows it was influenced by a time travelling pirate.
It's also been way, way too long since the last update, and I'm very sorry for that. Working two jobs, one from 8:00-1:00, the other from 6:30-11:30, getting only about an hour nap and then five hours of sleep, living off of cereal, sandwiches, and TV dinners because you don't have time for a cooked meal, leaves one very, very tired. There's also that conference I went on to Cincinnati.
Which was amazing. The math part, with all its lectures, was a total bore, but the city itself was wonderful. The Duke Energy Convention Center, Hyatt Hotel, Fountain Square, the Ohio River, Roebling Bridge and the Murals, etc. Just awesome. The whole experience will not be getting its own AN of a chapter like the Lex, however, because I'm way behind on chapters.
But, since I've quit Job 1 on account of school starting back up and Job 2 paying more money, and I can't viably work both jobs, keep my grades up, sleep, eat, and write, I've now cleared up most of my days and am ready to be back in business.
If you're happy to hear that after all this time, Fav, Follow, and Review please!