The night wore on and what rest came to the prince of Gods was slow. Though sleep had taken his body, his mind was tormented by a fit that images that refused to leave him be, no matter how much he tried to push them aside in favor of the blissful blackness that usually accompanied his dreams. Finally, at his mental limits he gave in to whatever the higher-ups had in store for him. A thick fog wrapped about his form and when it parted he stood in a featureless room. There was nothing there, save for him and some figures off in the distance. A heavy sigh left his lips and he walked with a lazy gait toward the figures though he paused once he could make out their features clearly.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000"><span style="font-weight: bold">From where he stood he could see the silhouettes of two women, both of them definitely overdressed, which was betrayed by the visage their silhouettes carried. <br/><br/>One of them is very sick, he could tell just by her voice, not to mention her sickly constant coughs. From what Mack could tell, she had no hair either. The other one had a soft voice, one that would be trusted by even the most suspicious sort of person. Her hair was long, and although he could only see the silhouette, just the shape was enough to look healthy. They appeared to have been conversing for some time, with him having made his entrance on the last portion of the conversation.<br/><br/>"Tell me, darling, how have our recent affairs been?” The healthier of the two spoke, in a smug voice.<br/><br/>"The trap is set. The battle in Connecticut goes well, but I'm sad to report a courier from Washington came today. Our losses are large-," the other woman replied, panting, her tone is not resentful, but laced with obedience and loyalty.<br/><br/>"Our forces are expendable," the first woman speaks, cutting the other woman off.<br/><br/>"We still haven't the slightest idea where to find the threads of fate," The sick woman replied, disappointed.<br/><br/>"It matters little, I was talking to..." the smug woman stopped speaking, her vision turned to where he had paused to observe them.  "He's watching," she said with coldness in her voice. <br/><br/>"Which one?" the sickly woman asked.<br/><br/>"The son of the grand old king," The healthy woman said, bitterly.</span></span><br/><br/>A like that he was yanked away and thrown back into a deep sleep, the remnants of what he saw doomed to haunt him in the day that followed. By the time he joined the others he was still grumpy and unhappy with whom he was forced to interact with, but he was packed and ready to leave on this quest. The only kid, he thought he could rely on, would be that brat of Ares and possibly the Hermes kid? One was far too “pretty” to be on this kind of thing, the other would probably end up too busy with his eyeliner to focus on the task at hand, and he did not even want to get started on the half-wit.<br/><br/>“Looks like the<span style="font-style: italic">Gang’s</span>all here,” he said with a sigh.