OOC: Sorry it took so long, work and all :P Prometheus does all the things and he's coming for you next.

It was a glorious dawn. Soft beams of light, shimmering manifestations of the early morning's twilight, filtered in through the curtains hanging over their window, filling the room with a gentle milky luminescence. His girlfriend lay beside him, her supple natural curvature only accentuated by her creamy dark-caramel complexion. To him, she was truly the epitome of beauty. Slowly, he slid his hand across the bed sheets until his fingertips came into contact with her bare shoulder, which he then lightly stroked. She opened her eyes in response to this sensation, her lips curving ever so slightly into that petite little smile of hers. She grabbed his hand with her own, mimicking his motions before eventually bringing their hands to rest upon the side of her face. Parting her lips, she began to whisper his name. "Oli—"

Oliver Liam was forced from his daydream by a series of curt finger snaps, his vision blurry. All he could see was a mess of lights and colors. Eventually, his vision clearing, he came to realize that he wasn't asleep in his bed, to his utter disdain. Where was Alecia? Where was he? That's when someone forced their fingers into his eye. Or, rather, around his eye, forcing his eye lids apart. Like a doctor, the man shined some sort of bright white beam directly into his left eye before repeating the same process on the right. When he was done, he pulled a clipboard and began marking something down.

"Ugh, hebuwheami..." He tried to speak, but he slurred his words like a drunk. The doctor looked up from his clipboard without moving his head, giving Oliver a quick glance, as if to chide him. Oliver only stared back, dumbfounded. What was going on here?

In the middle of scribbling, the doctor actually spoke. "Interesting observation. The Ares subject continues to experience an acute reaction to the Staphylococcal-enterotoxin-Venezuelan-encephalitis hybrid, even several days after the administered dose." Still scribbling, he took a few steps closer. It was then that Oliver realized his hands were bound down by his sides. Surveying his surroundings, he came to the conclusion that he was lying on some sort of operating table, to which his hands and feet were tightly secured. He was also stipped of his clothing. That's when panic began to set in.

Where the hell am I? He tried to speak his thoughts aloud, but more nonsense came from his mouth. He couldn't help it. The doctor nodded, narrowing his eyes, obviously pleased with himself. "Excellent." He put down the clipboard, carefully placing his gloved fingers up to Oliver's neck, feeling for a pulse. The man reeked of Ammonia. "Truly excellent. We are closer now to sussing out the God property than any point in our research." He put his tips of his fingers together, forming an oblong triangle with his hands. "Lord Crow will be so pleased."

Ignoring the doctor's senseless ramblings, Oliver looked about the room. Weird. He wasn't in a room per say. He was actually in a small nigh-transparent glass cubicle with six air holes on the side and some sort of front-locking mechanism. Said mechanism had allowed the frontal face of the cubicle to slide to the side, granting the doctor entry. Like a frightened animal, Oliver's anxious gaze oscillated from left to right. Adjacent to him were other glass cubes, similar to his. Inside, there were others...

He stopped shaking his head, focusing on the cubicle on the left. It had an electronic display at the top that read: BK201. The atmosphere inside the cubicle itself was very dense, as if it were inhabited by a heavy mist or rain cloud. What caught his attention was the frothy viscous liquid that seemed to cover the entire bottom of the glass cube. It was a deep dark red, perhaps an inch or so in depth. Oliver's mind flinched away from the thought of what that red liquid might actually be, either that, or he was way too groggy and drugged up to care.

That's when he noticed something else. Something that made him scream and snap his head in the other direction. For, from within the blackened internals of the cloud-mist emerged the remains of a human leg, dripping the same viscid mucilaginous substance that occupied the cube's floor space.

What he saw in the cubicle to his right—marked HA156—wasn't any less unsettling. There was a person strapped down to a table, just like he was, except... this person was surrounded. Surrounded by white coats, like the "doctor" who was currently in his cell—that's what these little cubicles had to be, prison cells. He could tell the person strapped to the table was still alive because she was still squirming, albeit faintly. He could tell she was female because she, like him, was naked. She seemed to be locked in a perpetual scream, eyes wide and vacuous, face contorted, but if she was actually making any noise, Oliver couldn't hear her at all. In fact, all he could hear was the sound of the doctors talking amongst themselves. Something else about her mouth struck Oliver as weird, but he couldn't place his finger on a specific attribute. Something was just off about her. Off about everything around here.

The doctors had attached some sort of machine to her abdomen and were extracting... stuff from her—though what they were actually removing, Oliver couldn't tell. Whatever they were doing to her, it couldn't be legal. It couldn't be right. Oliver was transfixed, eyes wide with horror. As if sensing his piercing stare, one of the doctors slowly turned her head back towards Oliver's cell, but, before eye contact could be made, Oliver looked away, electing instead to stare up at the ceiling.

"What is this place?" He whined softly, almost offhandedly, not even expecting his voice to work, let alone a response from the doctor next to him.

"Subject Ares has regained control of his vocal faculties," the doctor started, picking up the clipboard again. "Fascinating. We may have to move him to a new prism." After quickly scribbling something, the doctor returned the clipboard to hang from the side of the operating table, moving behind Oliver to a small table whose existence the captured man hadn't yet noticed. As his gaze landed on the doctor's destination, his jaw dropped. It was miniature steel table on wheels. It had two rows, each filled with various peaked needle-like objects, as well as a few scalpels and what he could only assume was an effing drill.

As his luck would have it, the doctor picked up the drill, attaching some sort of sharp component to its business end.

"Hey! What are you doing with that? Answer me you bitch!" Oliver demanded, arching his back in an attempt to keep away from the doctor and his medieval torture device.

"I need a tissue sample." Something flashed across his eyes, like the devil himself. "Unfortunately for you, a deep sample." He moved closer, chuckling, as if this whole thing were funny.

"What the fuck man. No. NO! KEEP THAT SHIT AWAY FROM ME!"

In response, the doctor pressed the trigger on the drill, revving the engine and spinning the pointed head. "I'm going to need you to stop squirming." The drill bit was now a mere centimeters from the bare skin of his chest. "I'll be inserting this under your 3rd rib, so if you move, you'll only damage yourself." He said it matter-of-factly.

"NO!" But it was futile. No matter how much he struggled or shifted, squirmed or resisted, he was restrained. He wasn't going to escape this. "NO! PLEASE!"

The sound of a door bursting open and the rapid footfalls of many men filled the room outside Oliver's cubicle, interrupting the doctor's attempted sado-science. In response to the raucity, the doctor backpedaled so fast that he almost dropped the drill. "Oh my, oh my," he kept muttering over and over. "Oh my." Quickly replacing the electrical device on the table behind Oliver, the panicking white coat rushed out of the cubicle to stand at the side of the door, hands behind his back, chest puffed out, as if he were a military private about to have his quarters inspected by the President himself.

Looking up as much as his restraints would allow, Oliver noticed a cadre of dapper military men with enough medals, stripes, and stars to be generals. These men followed slightly behind a person in the middle, their formation reminiscent of a lopsided-triangle. Something was off about them, however, for the "person" in the front was different from the rest of those that followed in his wake. He was a child, a boy of eight or ten years at the most. Looked to be fresh off his pampers. He walked with the saunter of a man well beyond his years, aware of his purpose, swayed by his own dogma, here to execute some righteous duty.

What the hell is this world coming to?

Being bound to the table severely limited Oliver's range of motion and, consequently, his vision. Even whilst fighting the restraints, he could only lean forward so far. The boy and his men walked up to the glass cubicle to Oliver's left—the one with the mist and the pool of red—before leaving his field of vision altogether. All he could see was some random white coat standing off to the side, waiting to greet these strange visitors. Judging from the whispers that managed to reach his ears, he deduced that there were many other cubicles of similar form and function layered through the room, which was probably massive in terms of floor area. All of them filled with people like him. People who had been kidnapped or snatched or stolen. The vagrants of society. The people who wouldn't be noticed. Wouldn't be missed. People who didn't belong in this torture zoo from hell.

Focusing, he strained to hear the conversation.

"... rch, so how fares candidate BK201?" It was the child's voice. It seemed small—fragile, even—when compared to the booming baritone of the others.

"Even with the favorable reaction to the PT3306 compound, he was still no match for the Dirae, Lord Crow, sir." There was fear in the man's voice.

"Can we salvage any parts?"
"... I d-don't believe so, sir."

"I see." There was a lengthy pause and the sound of light curt footsteps. The thump of a hand on glass. "A shame. I had such high hopes for this one." The rapid almost gentle footfalls began anew, this time followed by a cacophony of boots clicking and scraping along the floor—soldiers walking in lockstep. "Oh well," came the boy's voice. "Purge prism 17 and bring in the next PT candidate, please. It would be inconvenient for us if the Dirae were to grow restless before we are able to clean up its little... mess."

"Yes, Lord Crow, sir!"

The gaggle of suits then moved over to the cubicle to the right, but they were out of range and Oliver could not hear their conversation. It took them but a few minutes to make their way to Oliver's cubicle. It was the boy who had come to a stop in front of the doctor whom stood outside of it, his hands still folded behind his back, chest still artificially inflated.

"Lord Crow," the doctor started. "It is truly a pleasur—"

Ignoring him, the boy walked in to Oliver's cubicle, pushing his hand out, palm outward, giving his entourage the signal to stay put. After a moment, the doctor followed the boy inside, and they both walked up to the table Oliver was tied to. The boy seemed barely able to see past the top of the table, let alone give commands to these fully grown men as if he were their leader. Said boy spoke then, interrupting his train of thought.

"I've been waiting for you to reach one of my tables for a very long time, Ares, child of Zeus."

Oliver just stared at the kid, completely dumbfounded. "Huh?!" Ares? me? Is this kid off his meds? He renewed his efforts to break free of his bondage, struggling against his bindings with as much strength as he could muster, which wasn't much at the moment. Whatever incapacitating agent they'd given him was still coursing through his system.

"Yep." Using his small arms and hands, the boy was able to hoist himself up onto Oliver's table. Taking a seat on the edge, he began kicking his feet back and forth, like a normal child would. Oliver didn't buy the ruse for a single second. "You've been kept awake for—" The boy snapped his fingers a few times, as if trying to recall a number. "—five days straight now, right? Well, five days, fourteen hours, thirty-two minutes, and seven seconds to be exact." The boy looked Oliver in the eye, a benign grin plastered onto his face. All Oliver could see was his own amber irises reflected back at him. The boy's eyes were like nothing he had ever experienced before. Simultaneously impenetrable and abysmal, and in stark contrast with his childish features. They were the eyes of a creature who feared nothing, was prepared for everything, and capable of anything. He was dangerous—quite possibly the most dangerous person Oliver had ever met, if he even was a "person".

"How are you feeling, hmm, Ares? I'm curious."

Oliver's anger, a simmering coagulation of emotion, like a fist centered in his gut, had been slowly building since he'd been snapped out of his daze, and the condescending tone of this child was enough to push him over the edge. "Listen kid. Fuck you." He hissed, spittle flying from his mouth. There were audible gasps from some of the brass and white coats that had gathered outside of the cubicle. With his confidence bolstered, Oliver pushed his luck. "Release me now and I won't come back to spank you ya little twerp, I promise." His final words had a sarcastic ring to them, and Oliver couldn't help but smirk. The moment he got out of this, he'd beat the stuffing out of these people. He'd call the police. He'd free the others.

He'd be the winner. As usual.

The boy only shook his head, a look of disappointment upon his face. "You impudent child. No respect. Even your reincarnation is spiteful and ignorant." He slid off the edge of the table, landing on the floor. For a moment no one said anything, and the silence was deafening.

"My contempt for you is brobdingnagian," the boy muttered, turning then to the white coat and the military brass outside of the cubicle. "I've changed my mind. I will not be taking this one to the pit. I will take subject Hephaestus alone."

"But Lord Crow, the demands of Kro—"
"Silence!" He commanded. It was as if reality bent over backwards to heed his edict, his voice deep and alien. All noise ceased. When he spoke next, the boy's voice returned to its normal high-pitch. "We'll bring Him a few of our PT subjects. They, along with Hephaestus, should sate Him while we determine the whereabouts of the other reincarnations. He will have no complaints."
"Understood, sir!"

Almost out of nowhere came the sound of someone clearing their throat. It was the one white coat who was standing in the cubicle. Everyone, including the boy Crow, turned to stare at him. "Uh... and what are we to do with this one, sir, if he is not to be sacrificed at the pit?" He pointed at Oliver.

A wicked grin overcame Crow's face. "First things first: remove his tongue and teeth, disable his vocal cords, and sever his flexor tendons, like we did with HA156." He walked up to Oliver, whose eyes were wide and fraught with indignation. "After that, I want his eyes. Oh!" Crow ran around to the other side of the table, pointing at Oliver's restrained wrist. "I want his right hand dissected and analyzed as well. He is the God of War, after all, and this is his primary sword hand. A virtual treasure trove of data ripe for the picking."

Oliver was effectively non-plussed. "W-what did he just say to me...?!" He asked no one in particular. "This can't be real," he whispered.

Ignoring him, Crow turned back to the white coat. "Now doctor, I'm sure you understand the immense value that subject Ares represents for our research. I do not want a repeat of HA156, or, god forbid, AJ011. This one is to be kept alive at all costs, do you understand?"

"Yes, Lord Crow, sir."
"Good. With Hephaestus gone, he'll be the only one we have left to use in our research."
"Very good, sir."

As Crow walked out of the cubicle, the white coats who had been operating in the adjacent cubicle, on "HA156," now flowed in around the table Oliver was strapped to like so many reapers, each with surgical instruments in their hands in lieu of scythes, blank expressions upon their faces.

While Crow talked with his people, Oliver had been muttering to himself. "This has to be some sort of sick joke, has to be. Not real. No. No way." As he noticed Crow leaving, he went apoplectic. "GET BACK HERE!" He shouted at the boy's back. Crow continued to ignore him. "I'm going to get you you little shit! YOU HEAR?! ALL OF YOU! YOU'LL NEVER GET AWAY WITH THIS! AGH, GET YOUR HAND OFF ME YOU SICK FUCK!"

One of the decorated military men pressed a button on the wall, closing the glass pane behind Crow, sealing Oliver and the doctors inside the cubicle. Crow smiled then, looking up at the crowd that had gathered. It was rare that Crow visited the research laboratories directly. Even rarer for anyone to actually lay eyes upon him. The boy nodded a few times in understanding, clearing his throat. "Ladies. Gentlemen. With your actions this day, it will be you, my progeny, who are directly responsible for both the salvation and eventual evolution of the entire human species. Your species. With this latest acquisition, we are one step closer to achieving our goals. Congratulations."

In response, various white coats and soldiers began to clap. Some even cheered.

Though they went largely unnoticed, muffled screams could be heard coming from within the cubicle marked ARES for several minutes, a testament to the unholy actions transpiring within its transparent walls. After his operations were completed and the proper body parts removed for further study, subject Ares was put on ice to ensure his survival for use in later experiments.

Chase sat back listening to everything that was being said. She shook her head as she looked at her card. Chase Hunter/Artemis. “No.” She said emphatically. “ No, This isn’t right.” She said and stood up and started for the exit. She took one look at Orion and her head ached. “That means I kill him, you know that right?” She said pointing to herself and then to Orion. “ I fucking shoot him through the head with an arrow, because of my brother. You mean to tell me, that that’s my life. I murder some guy I lo-” She stopped and shook her head. “ This is bullshit.” She said and stormed off.
She knew all about Artemis. When in school, she thought, Artemis was a cool goddess, save for the perpetual virginity....No sooner had that thought crossed her mind, Chase froze. This explains everything now. Why she was always so bloody nervous when it came to guys and going too far. She just thought she had more willpower than most girls but no, she didn’t. She wanted to but she just couldn’t because her past life as a goddess fucked that way up. Yes, Pun very much intended. She sat against the wall, pulling her legs up to her chin and sighed heavily. She killed Orion, that’s why she was so heartbroken and so guilty the moment their eyes met. Not only that. She loved him. She could feel it. Over who know how many centuries, she could feel the love she felt for him and it was making her angry. She dropped her head on her knees and let her dreadlocks fall over her face.

Tom Angelo

Tom glared at the arrogant little man. "Zeus", his nameplate read. It fit him. He was rich, little prick that thought that the world revolved around him because he happened to own one of the biggest companies in the world. He sneered and crossed his arms. This was not going to be any fun whatsoever, but if what the professor said was true...

"Have I not proven myself to you? How many people do you know are half man and half horse. Certainly, centaurs are a rare sight nowadays or I wouldn't hide myself in this wheelchair," Chiron began only for one other of their number to snap. Tom watched as the one labeled "Artemis" broke down because of one of the old myths. Apparently she was sitting next to the guy she supposedly killed and had loved.

"Dear God," he muttered. The said guy, for his part, seemed to bolt from his seat. How chivalrous. Chiron, however, ignored them and looked straight at "Zeus".

"Very well, do you want your proof? Take a look at this," Chiron told him. He touched his head and closed his eyes, "Remember what it felt like when you first sat enthroned on Olympus."

His hand seemed to glow.

Tom snorted, "Hey, hasn't Carter-boy gotten enough bailouts to last a lifetime?!"

Orion Lee

Orion followed after Chase. Seriously, she really needed someone to talk to and he felt he should be the one to help her. It was only fair. He scratched his head when he found her in the hallway and stood next to her. What should he say? 'Well, do you want to give our millenia old relationship a try?'

"I did not know what the Sam Hill was going on when I first met you, but I guess now we know," he stated awkwardly. He really didn't know what to do with his hands but he felt he should do something so he patted her shoulder gently.

"I really don't know how you're feeling. I don't know how I'm feeling. But, for the record, I don't blame you for what happened. I remember that story about how Orion, I, died and I felt bad for all three of them: Artemis, Apollo, Orion. Hell, Apollo was probably just trying to protect his baby sister in his own way. Not that you really are a baby, but... Well, my point is that I'm alive and I want to help. Just don't tell my Grandma. She warned me against joining a fraternity in college. She said they were all cults."

He grinned at the irony, "Well, I certainly ain't going to worship you. At least, not without your permission."

He blushed red. Really, how did he go into dirty territory. She was going to slap him something fierce.

Chase felt Orion approach her, her head ached, so she knew it was him, she didn’t bother looking up. She just sighed.

"I did not know what the Sam Hill was going on when I first met you, but I guess now we know,"He said and patted her shoulder, as soon as his hand met her skin, she felt a jolt.

"I really don't know how you're feeling. I don't know how I'm feeling. But, for the record, I don't blame you for what happened. I remember that story about how Orion, I, died and I felt bad for all three of them: Artemis, Apollo, Orion. Hell, Apollo was probably just trying to protect his baby sister in his own way. Not that you really are a baby, but... Well, my point is that I'm alive and I want to help. Just don't tell my Grandma. She warned me against joining a fraternity in college. She said they were all cults."
He said and Chase grinned a bit. “Yea well, I guess she isn’t too far off.” She muttered quietly and finally looked up at him. She had to admit, he was pretty hot. If she had to be paired by destiny to anyone, he was not a bad option. Hell, It could have been worse. She could have ended up as Persephone. She might just shoot herself if that happened.Orion grinned than, causing Chase to frown curiously.

"Well, I certainly ain't going to worship you. At least, not without your permission."
He said and Chase’s eyes widened but when she saw his pale face turn pink she realised he didn’t mean to be so forward or so cheeky. She just shook her head. “You said that, almost as if you wanted to.” She said with a smirk and stood up. She liked him already, she figured it was because of what they shared in the past. “ And for the record. Artemis is the older twin.” She said and then smiled.

---

---

Calena watched as both Orion and Artemis left. She looked at her card. Calena Piper/Calypso.
She watched the movie the Odyssey once, she remembered Vanessa Williams played Calypso. Was that who she was? The Sea Nymph? “ Excuse me, but...What does t’is all mean?” She asked anyone who was listening. “ I mean...I don’t understand. What are we supposed to do now t’at we know who we were? Are we supposed to fight or hide or what?” She asked, twiddling her fingers somewhat nervously.