Warnings

The Plotter

-Rome-

"The Metropolis", "The never ending city", " The literal heart of the Roman Empire", they called it. The grand city of Rome could indeed be called that. With just leaders and a righteous sense of justice, equality and opportunity, it seemed that anyone, no matter their status in the hierachy, or intellect, could excel in this magnificent city. With its central district, acting as its financial hub, and a host to government buildings, and its surrounding fourteen districts serving to support its central district with ports, military bases, and residential areas surrounding the outskirts of the magnificent city. All through its years, poets, musicians and artists sang praise to Rome, admiring its fair and just way of ruling its subjects.

And while its leader, Diocletain "Jupiter" Augustus Grace, Caesar of Rome, was honor-bound in his ruling of Rome, his senators and advisers were less so, more susceptible to corruption, ambition and greed for the finer things in life.

Quintus Caessenius Gelasius, Representative of the precinct of Syracruse, was a portly man. Fat, in his late 50s, and reeked of luxury, greed and corruption. His thirst for power made him ambitious, and it paid off. He held power in the House of Representatives, becoming one of its most influential members and a key adviser to the Emperor. However, this hunger for power made him predictable, and his twenty year old aide - Octavian Caeparius Calenus - exploited it. Through an intricate web of backstabbing, blackmailing and spreading false information, Quintus's power declined, his support base falling and with many wishing him dead. This was not that uncommon. It was pretty standard for aides to try to usurp their overlord, whether through legitimate means such as popularity, getting elected, or forcing his master into an early retirement, or through illegitimate means such as blackmail, forced confessions or even death.

Octavian was a rather successful man. Shrewd, ambitious, and handy with a suppressed handgun he carried for "self defense". However, his loyalty was not to the Roman Empire. No, his loyalty lay with himself, for which he served only. Using connections, he managed to rise up the ranks of the Roman senate. From a desk clerk, to a regional governor of a minor city, eventually becoming a aide to a somewhat powerful senator in the Roman House of Representatives.

And in the shadows, he plotted further. Plans were drawn up, the chess pieces were in place. All that was left for him was to stay at home, with a perfect alibi. And tomorrow, he will be appointed into his master's office. He dreaded this process. Never in control, having to trust others to do his bidding. He paced endlessly around his sparse room, coming up with contingency plans should his plan fail to follow through and the need arises where he would have to improvise to save his own skin. His breathing never steadied, his heart beating hard. Goblets filled with wine were downed into his throat endlessly, his throat savoring, then detesting, the liquid that made him dizzy and muddied his throat.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Until finally, at half past twelve midnight, he received a call on his smartphone in the middle of his cozy, if small, downtown apartment. The caller seemed to be in a noisy environment, filled with the sound of heavy machinery coming from one of the numerous Roman ports coming from the district of Aventinus.

"It is done". Came the smooth voice of the contract killer.

Octavian's heart soared. His heart beat all the same, but this time with ecstasy rather than dread. One more pawn taken off the chess board, one more obstacle removed from his path to the highest position in the Roman Empire. He could hardly suppress the smile that made its way onto his thin lips adorning his normally stoic face.

He would react violently, shedding crocodile tears for the media, sing praise of him, and take on the position of senator onto the Roman Assembly at the tender age of twenty. He could see himself there, persuading the old, balding senators that were drunk on their self-content. He would bring waves of change into the Roman Empire.

It would be limited at first, yes. The Emperor, although a considerate man, held most of the power within his hands. With enough support from the people, and the senators, he could overthrow him, and fully commit his plans. Making his dreams, his ideals, his values, into reality.

Octavian slept well, none of the usual nightmares plagued his rest tonight. And he awoke to the sound of the wooden door banging with the knock of an impatient person practically screaming of urgency. Octavian smiled into his pillow. He got up, and made his way to the door, yawning and not having a care of the repeated knocks that would have spurred anyone else into walking faster. He opened the door. A cursus publicus, a messenger, was outside, raising his hand into a fist to knock on his door again. Octavian feigned annoyance at the messenger, knowing full well his purpose here.

"What is it, it's seven in the morning" He grumbled.

"Sir, it's a calamity. Senator Quintus Caessenius Gelasius has been killed in the docks sir. The tribune has been informed Cohorts Urbanae have been summoned, they suspect that he was killed!" The messenger was near out of breath when he stopped.

Octavian's eyes widened comically, his mouth agape. This was all for a show of course, but he could hardly give a unsurprised face, suspicions will be raised, he may be prosecuted.

"Take me to the Roman senate". He had to act quickly.

The Diplomat

-Aigai, Macedonia-

The dialogues between the Greek and Roman delegates had gone poorly, and Annabeth Melampos Chase knew it.

They don't respect her enough to continue dialogues with the United Greek City States. She thought angrily. It infuriated her that, for all of Rome's ideals of equality and social mobility, they were oddly backwards when it came to the attitude regarding women in power.

The fact that they walked out of their fellow delegates was troubling. Greco-Roman relations were never at their finest, maintaining a stance of Cold War, waging trade wars and looking to undermine each other's international relations with their allies.

Annabeth stepped out into the warm sun, rubbing her skin in an attempt to warm them up from the chill of the air-conditioned room where their dialogue took place.

At twenty one, Annabeth was the youngest serving Representative in the Greek assembly. Hailing from the Greek island of Rhodes off the main-land of the Greek States. Her father was born from a cadet line of the ruling Chase family. And had always had a line of connection to power. However, the main reason for her early success was her ability to manipulate around people to get what she wanted, aided by her high intellect and ability to read people.

Annually, meeting were held in the Macedonian capital of Aigai, to settle disputes over territory, sanctions or military. Whatever that the Greeks or Romans had to complain about. Either side will attempt to compromise to an agreement, or just leave it as it was. But, in its two hundred years of open dialogue, the Romans had never walked out impromptu. Something was happening, and Annabeth didn't like it.

The Assassin

-The Royal Palace, Rome-

Perseus "The Avenger" Jackson stood over the Emperor's cold, dead body. His knife buried hilt deep into his, it's, chest. His Praetorian guards lay dead outside too, their throats slit from edge to edge.

The rest of his guards must be coming soon. Perseus thought. From his waits pouch, he produced a small, blue, cheesecake. A homage to mother. He tried to suppress his emotions within, tried not to let his tears, fear and anger show through his mask devoid of emotion.

He failed.

Tears streamed endlessly from his eyes, blurring his vision. The Old man had to die. He was the one giving the orders to execute innocents living peacefully within his empire, disrupting their blissfully simple lives with violence. His mother and younger sister were among the casualties, as well as his friends and step-father from the distant coastal town of Pisaurum. He was caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realize that the Praetorian guards had entered and formed a semi circle around this grieving, shrouded figure in black. They noticed their dead Emperor's body immediately and lowered their lances against him.

Perseus Wiped his tears away with his gauntlet, taking a deep breath before crouching low into a predatory stance, hand close to his sheathed pistol. He took aim, and fired.

The Heir

-Camp of the 12th legion, outskirts of Barcelona-

Sixteen year old Jason Grace was loved by his subordinates. Closely following his father's values of honor and courage. His legion was well known through out the world as being one of the most elite legions, taking on the barbaric tribes of the yet uncivilized world at the Roman borders. He led his legion of five thousand men, defeating barbaric factions and suppressing dissidents throughout the empire. Not through violence, no. He would rally the people to his cause, align them with Rome's goals and let them dispose of dissidents. He was judged as fair, yet brutally efficient in the way he carried out warfare. Opposing generals trembled at his lightning adorned insignia, his armored carriers and tanks moving at tremendous speeds to outflank their opponent. Bombs, friend and foe alike, raining down all around them.

As of now, he relaxed in his office in Barcelona, letting the soft bed absorb his fatigue. At his side, lay a whore, curled up at his side, sheets over her. Piper had been the long time "Concubine" to Jason Grace, since the age of fourteen last year. She was a year younger, and her beauty was whispered throughout the empire, poor and rich alike. He enjoyed her warmth, he found. It comforted her through his troubling nights of nightmare, blood and gore from past expeditions. The sex is just a bonus. He thought amusedly. In the corner was a study, a rectangular table sitting in the middle, to discuss strategy with his centurions.

As of now, the map stood ugly. Red and Blue decorated the world map between the Roman Empire dominating the Eastern New World and Western Europe, as well as Africa. The Greek City States controlled The Western New World and Eastern Old world, reigning over the barbaric tribes of Asia.

How glorious it would look to see all of the World under red. He thought. He had pondered over the most effective way to defeat the Greeks. He had considered diplomacy at the start. To find a way to bring Greece under the fold, granting self autonomy at the start, then slowly subjugating its people.

Maybe, if I try to create an alliance with the Thracians. Yes, they are an enemy, but if we grant them enough land as a reward-.

The telephone rang. Jason groaned out loudly. It seemed that duty never trailed far behind his pleasure. He moved to answer it. And in the process, woke Piper, who rubbed the sleep from her kaleidoscopic eyes. He ignored it, and picked up the phone, silencing its annoying ring tone.

"Sir, Sir, It's a calamity! The Emperor-". The messenger started.

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down there. Take a deep breath. What happened to the Emperor?"

"He is dead, Sire. The Roman Emperor has been assassinated."

His blood ran cold in that moment. His strong, willful father was dead. The man who ruled the Roman Empire for a healthy twenty six years. He put down the phone and collapsed to his knees, bringing his hands up to cover his falling tears.

Now was his Reign.