'Pettiness'

20-Nov-2030, 2300U

Annabeth Chase, Hero of Olympus, Daughter of Athena

Joint Operation with Task Force 101 and Legio XII Fulminata

Oakland, California, USA

I wasn't looking forward to this at all: my mother, the Big Three, and Percy all being in the same room. And worse, they all had to collaborate for the sake of this absolutely outlandish prophecy spat out by the Oracle of Delphi a week ago. And I already hated that fucking bitch (the actual Oracle, I mean, not its vessel... the vessel herself is fine).

And here's another oddity to add to the chaos: the version of Mother present was a combination of Athena and Minerva. I personally saw a bit more of Minerva in her, but Athena was undoubtedly present. After the Athena Parthenos was returned (so to speak) to Camp Half-Blood, the goddess of wisdom had undergone a drastic reformation. She was still the same omniscient goddess as always, but she'd managed to go from utterly insane (which I saw right before the whole Mark of Athena episode) to one of the more clear-minded Olympians when it came to resolving her Greek and Roman halves.

In other words, while Mother was now probably just a Minerva that had taken her antipsychotic medication and had all of Athena's combat experience and knowledge, she was still a completely different goddess from both the intelligent-yet-arrogant Athena and calculating-yet-batshit insane Minerva I'd met in the past. She was both and neither at the same time... I can't even put it into words, to be honest with you.

Adding to the bullshit was the fact that, for the past week, Nico, Jason, Piper, and I had been receiving instruction from a couple of Korean-Americans at "Rockies' Range" in Arizona... where Reyna, Frank, Hazel, and Leo had been apparently learning gunfighting ever since September. And when our instructors Kyung and Nai weren't teaching us, our Roman friends plus Leo ended up running us through additional training that we would use on a few... missions, so to speak. We weren't Delta Force, SEAL Team 6, or full-time SWAT operators by any means, but we at least had managed to grasp the basics of shooting, moving, and communicating fairly quickly... one of the benefits of immortality, I suppose.

But why the hell didn't Percy tell us about this? Why did he keep his so-called "fireteam concept" a secret?

But there wasn't time to worry about that now. Now, I was just praying that nobody killed each other, particularly Mother, Neptune (or Poseidon... fuck it, I don't care anymore), and Percy. Heck, I was hoping that this was all just a bad dream.

"Okay, let's go over the prophecy again so I'm understanding it," Percy said as we gathered around the table in the big conference room in the Principia. The select Olympians, Trivia, Great Prophecy questers, Nico, Reyna, Task Force 101's leadership, and 12th Legion's leadership—which evidently included "Evocatus Percy Jackson," who was treated by the Romans like he was a second legate, or even a general—were present in the room.

And yet somehow, that wasn't nearly as weird as the sight of myself, my fellow young immortals, Trivia, and the select Olympians all being dressed like modern American troops. I mean, it made sense for Tyson and his deputies to be wearing it (the "Torrent Troopers'" whole thing seemed to be modern warfare) but I felt absolutely weird in this MultiCam combat shirt, pants, plate carrier, and other tactical paraphernalia. And thanks to a plethora of information I discovered on the Internet between gun training sessions, I knew that all of the gods were wearing the OCP pattern, with "name tapes" designating them as members of the United States Army (Pluto, Vulcan, Trivia, and Mother) or Air Force (Jupiter, Apollo, and Mercury). This, of course, did not include Neptune, who was wearing the US Navy's AOR1 pattern, otherwise known as "NWU Type II..." because the military is apparently just as confusing and bureaucratic as Olympus.

"Run it from the top, Annabeth," Percy ordered, jolting me out of my thoughts.

I nodded, taking a breath to ensure I was remembering everything correctly, before beginning:

In thirsty land, the battle will be,

Nature and half-men united by sea.

Elder Gods' blessings will be there,

Or failure from foes loaded for bear.

Prophet, Messenger, Blacksmith, Witch

They too shall help with the eldritch.

The Strategist, both Roman and Greek,

She must be clear or prove to be weak.

"Has this been confirmed by the augur?" Kahale asked, making Percy glance towards the massive camp prefect in confusion.

"You guys still have an augur?" he exclaimed.

"Yeah... he just doesn't really show up to leadership meetings or formations."

"So he's a warrant officer."

"A what?"

"Before we get off-topic, yes," Apollo interjected before Percy could explain. "The augur and Oracle have conversed. And I myself can also confirm the prophecy's validity."

"Back to the prophecy. Let's see... 'in thirsty land...' the desert," the sole female tribune deduced. "Though that could be anywhere: California, Nevada, Arizona, even Baja California... where the hell would we look? Nathan, any ideas?"

"Well... in terms of massive, massive desert land for building up an army—which seems to be the case here—I'd suggest western Nevada. But maybe not," the tribune named Nathan answered. "We could consider the Mojave Desert, Death Valley... further away, but probably better as a staging area: just enough mortals milling about and plenty of space to do things very discreetly."

"Well, they've already got intel on us," Percy said. "That attack on the valley five days ago, they weren't actually trying to crush us... if I'm not mistaken, that was reconnaissance by fire—A.K.A. "fighting for information"—they were provoking a reaction, seeing what we were capable of, routes of ingress into the valley, weak areas. Hell, them trying to poison the water probably was just a Hail Mary... if they got it, great, but if they didn't, they still had intel to work with."

"What're you getting at?" Jason queried.

"I'm saying that, while the fuckin' prophecy will come to fruition as it always seems to do, it never provides the full story. We launch an attack, we better keep a defensive force here... not a skeleton crew, either. Lares and Lupa's wolves are good, but they can't keep the enemy out forever."

"So you're saying this'll be a war on two fronts," Hazel realized.

"Yup. I don't need Annabeth to figure out the second line: that's just the One-Oh-One with the 12th Legion Fulminata. But the real kicker is the rest of the stupid thing: how the fuck are eight gods—discounting our young guns—explicitly involved, when the universe's R.O.E.—"

"'R.O.E.?'" Piper inquired.

"Rules of engagement," several of us replied simultaneously.

"Yeah... blah blah blah, we've got seven Olympians and Trivia here. Considering that they can't really do shit unless someone challenges them first, what the fuck are they supposed to do? Sit around and wait for a fucker to stab 'em?" Percy asked.

Come on, what do you think? A very familiar male serpentine voice grumbled, appearing to come from the smartphone attached to Mercury's plate carrier (the "ATAK," I think). Have you really been gone for that long, you maritime buffoon?!

George! A female serpentine voice chided. Be nice!

What? I'm just saying, if he's dumb enough to not bring me a rat, he's probably dumb enough to not understand this shit.

George! I'm so sorry, Percy dear. He's been so irritating recently.

"Oh, hey George and Martha, what's up?" Percy asked nonchalantly. "Sorry, George. I had a rat to bring you, but I don't know where he is anymore, and he wouldn't fit in my carry-on anyways."

Really? What was it?

"It was a dumbass one-star general who got a dressing-down from my old boss and a two-star general who actually had balls and a brain."

For reasons I can't really explain, George found the comment hilarious... I had to ask Percy what the hell he was talking about later.

"Uh, excuse me?" Hazel piped up, with all eyes falling on the smallest person in the room. "Could it be that they're working in a support capacity?"

"Define 'support,' Haze," Piper asked, still sounding incredibly confused (and I couldn't blame her, to be honest).

"Well... if an army is a spear, then the combat personnel are the spearhead. And while the spearhead is quite deadly alone, it's even more effective when attached to the pole: those are the logisticians, the armorers, the medics, the engineers, and so on. So perhaps they're in those roles?"

"Preposterous! Why would the Oracle of Delphi declare our involvement specifically if it meant we were relegated to mere support?" Jupiter scoffed oh-so-pompously, making Percy and I roll our eyes.

"Sir, Your Mightiness is surely aware of the fact that support personnel, while not necessarily elite warriors or shedding blood, are nevertheless crucial for ensuring the men at the front can continue to stay in the fight," he stated, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I don't believe I like your tone, Perseus."

"Forgive me, almighty Uncle. I meant no disrespect... I was merely attempting to educate the room in a manner that wouldn't hurt their feelings... I was confident you already knew this information in all your wisdom."

There is no way that's going to work. How obviously can you butter someone up?

But Jupiter, oddly enough, seemed satisfied with that response and didn't press the issue further. In fact, the airheaded (pun intended) Olympian king's head seemed to inflate (again, pun intended) at the remark. Pluto, Neptune, Trivia, and Vulcan gave each other side-eyed glances that seemed to say "oh, brother" while Apollo and Mercury looked like they were barely constraining their laughter.

THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY THAT JUST WORKED!! PERCY, YOU AUDACIOUS BASTARD OF A SEAWEED BRAIN!!

"Anyways, there's the next six lines of the prophecy, which say nothing more except for the fact that Ladies Minerva and Trivia, along with Lords Jupiter, Neptune, Pluto, Vulcan, Apollo, and Mercury are to be involved," Jason said, bringing us back on track. "The Elder Gods' involvement, namely their 'blessings,' is the lynchpin. Lady Trivia, plus Lords Vulcan, Apollo, and Mercury are apparently critical for battling the 'eldritch,' and then there's Lady Minerva, who's... well, I'm not sure."

"Is it not obvious, Krateros?" Mother replied in a clipped tone, invoking Jason's godly name. "As goddess of wisdom, strategy, and war, I am here to ensure this army will actually win this engagement: with a wise, prudent strategy. It shall be especially simple considering that my Greek and Roman selves have fully reconciled."

"What is your strategy, daughter?" Jupiter asked.

Mother proceeded to summon what appeared to be a massive sandtable, fitted to the dimensions of the conference room's table. With another wave of her fingers, new images appeared on the sandtable: legionaries, cyclopes, onagers, ballistae, and so on. The entire force was present in the elaborate, intricate fashion that I expected. She then began explaining her plan, which made a lot of sense.

Open up with light skirmishers? Check.

Heavy forces jump in when the skirmishers withdraw? Check.

Cavalry provides security and flanking? Check.

Artillery pounds the enemy? Check.

Now, Mother obviously wasn't that simplistic. She gave lots of details, lots of information, and was generally very intricate. In other words, she was exactly what I expected: an excellent plan. The wisest strategy, which couldn't fail. It was perfect.

There was just one problem...

"That's an excellent plan... for 5,000 B.C.!" Percy snapped, making all of us jerk our heads towards our bold and brash friend. "That plan doesn't belong in the trash, it belongs in a fuckin' museum!"

"S-sorry, Mother... p-please forgive him, he has mental issues," I stammered out, nervously laughing as I stepped between my old friend and my infuriated mother, before. "Twenty years in the mortal military will do tha—"

"I'm not that fucked up, Annabeth. Your mother however, is a complete and utter jack wagon!"

"Percy, shut the fuck up!" I hissed through my teeth, trying to prevent an incident between the annoyed son of Neptune and my increasingly angry mother.

Oh... this is getting interesting... if only we had some rats to snack on, George commented.

Dash it all, George! Let's not get into the middle of this mayhem! Martha scolded.

I'm just sayi—

GEORGE! SHUT YOUR TRAP!

... yes, dear.

"You listen here, sea scum," Mother growled, her eyes darkening and her body glowing golden. "I don't think you understand your place."

"Minerva, it would behoove you to not kill my son," Neptune warned, summoning his trident—which looked quite out of place with his desert camouflage. This, of course, prompted Jupiter to start crackling with electricity. Looking around the room, the legion's leadership and Trivia looked concerned, my fellow young gods looked terrified (except for Leo, who was recording the whole shitshow), Mercury and Apollo looked amused, Vulcan and Pluto looked bored, and Task Force 101's leadership looked positively unfazed.

Seriously, how the hell are Tyson and his deputies so calm right now? What bullshit have they witnessed already?

Before the situation got worse, the room was suddenly plunged into darkness, with the room shaking and breaking the tension rather quickly.

"One moment," Pluto boomed as the shadows retreated and the ground stabilized—evidently being the master behind the interruption, given his umbrakinetic and geokinetic abilities. However, more shocking than his little peacemaker moment was what he uttered next: "Perseus, I am quite curious. You claim Minerva is a... how did you say, 'jack wagon?' I assume this is some insult concocted by mortal man. While I applaud your tenacity, I must ask: what solution do you propose to the problem? What do you envision that the goddess of knowledge cannot see?"

Is... is he taking Percy's side right now?

"Brother, you cannot be serious," Jupiter sighed, exasperated.

"I am. Perseus here has a long history of mouthing off. Yet, especially in recent times, ideas and solutions at least accompany his disrespect. I only wish to see if he is consistent in that regard."

No, didn't think so... what is he trying to do? Is he just fucking with Mother, or what?

"In all honesty, it isn't as complete or as thorough as Lady Minerva's," Percy admitted, and it took every ounce of strength in me to not facepalm. "But it's a plan that'll actually fuckin' work."

"How interesting... continue onwards, nephew. Let us see how a naval officer with less than four decades' worth of life prepares for battle," Pluto urged, a thinly veiled smile on his face as his eyes darted between Percy and Mother, only confirming that the Lord of the Underworld was just trying to troll his niece. And hell, given that Mother damned Arachne for being better than her, Pluto likely was anticipating that she would make Percy's life a living hell somehow (she couldn't kill him—Neptune was right here). And given Pluto's less-than-positive view of Percy, the Elder God was killing two birds with one stone.

To quote Leo: it was "a pro gamer move."

"Your wish is my command, Your Edginess," Percy began, cracking his knuckles and grabbing a marker as he moved to the dry-erase board on the wall. "Tyson, give me a complete breakdown on the assets of the One-Oh-One."

"Let's see... from TF Green, Grover has brought along a decent number of his kinsmen and has also brought along some cloud nymphs and wind nymphs—including both harpies and aurae—and at the moment, he's talking with more local wind and cloud nymphs, along with any naiads in mountainous bodies of water, dryads in the valley and surrounding mountains, and any oreads, alseides, and napaeae in the AO. Most of them are not combat arms, but they will certainly be useful in communications, intelligence, surveillance, reconnaissance, and logistics," Tyson rattled off. "We also have a 50-man contingent of personnel from TF Orange, all of age and combat-ready. Primarily out-of-camp veterans and fighters from the Ares, Athena, Hephaestus, Hermes, Hecate, and Nemesis cabins."

"Are the Rodriguezes back from their honeymoon yet?"

"Yes, they are present."

"Good. The batshit insanity of Clarisse and the Ares boys will be helpful... and with Chris holding their leash, they can go wherever we need 'em to. What've you got from TF Redeye?"

"As I mentioned earlier, brother, I regret to inform you that we are horribly undermanned, despite almost the entirety of Redeye being present. Of all the necessary assets to make up a Stryker brigade combat team, our only fully manned units are one infantry battalion, one artillery battery, one cavalry troop, one weapons troop, and one forward support company. The brigade headquarters and headquarters company is platoon-sized while the brigade engineering battalion and brigade support battalion are each company-sized."

"Alright, alright... do you have any other assets rolling in that I should know about?"

"We are currently acquiring some additional ground vehicles along with some fixed-wing and rotary-wing aircraft. "

"Okay... lemme stop you right there. Where the fuck are you getting all of this?"

"Some of it was purchased, some of it was acquired from graveyards, and some of it was stolen from military bases," Nico bluntly answered, making Percy's eyes widen.

"Technically, we did not commit theft. We were strategically transferring equipment to an alternate location... temporarily. We will return the borrowed equipment eventually," Tyson added, making Percy grin evilly.

"God-DAYUM, bro! That's what I'm talkin' about!" he chortled maniacally. "I'm so fucking proud of you, Tyson. Seriously, you're the best goddamn little brother a man could ask for."

"Thank you, brother!" the cyclops general replied, with one of the biggest smiles I'd ever seen, breaking his own record. Never let it be said that Tyson didn't think highly of Percy's opinion.

"While I love the wholesome fraternal bond between you two, I'm quite curious as to what your grand plan is, Percy," Trivia interjected.

"I gotcha. Long story short, there are two parts of our entire strategy: defensive and offensive. On the defense, we scatter Green elements all throughout the valley. Mobilize reservists, lares, Lupa's wolves. Man all of the fortifications and heavy weapons, and stand by to drop the hate on anyone that tries to come in. Keep a few of the Torrent Troopers here to reinforce the defensive element with boots and guns," Percy began.

"What about the offensive element?" Frank asked.

"Well, we know that the enemy is building up a force and we just don't know where, right?"

"Yeah."

"If it's going to be big enough to take over the valley, it's going to be heavy. So we need to drop the hammer on their staging area."

"So your plan, if I'm understanding you correctly... is to shore up defenses, wait for the staging area to appear, and just... 'drop the hammer,'" Mercury bluntly stated. "I'm no war god, but from a logistical point of view... that seems a bit simplistic."

"That, good sir, is where you come in. You're a god of comms, shipping, finance—you're a natural logistics officer. You're not on the battlefield, you're getting our men and materiel into the battlespace."

"That's... a good point. And I suppose Apollo is in charge of a casualty collection point? Or perhaps a combat support hospital?"

"You catch on quick, sir."

"I suppose it's the benefit of being part of a highly militarized society."

"And what of your offensive plan overall?" Jupiter asked skeptically.

"There are two phases," Percy explained, writing on the whiteboard. "Penetration and domination."

Coincidentally, Piper was taking a sip of nectar, and she subsequently spit it out in response to Percy's words. Reyna let out a choked sound, Leo stifled his laughter, and many of us were just generally caught off-guard... except for the leadership of TF 101, Hazel, and Frank.

"Piper, you okay?" Hazel asked, oblivious to what Percy just said.

"I beg your fucking pardon, Percy Jackson?!" Piper spluttered in indignation.

"The fuck are you talking about, Hollywood?" Percy asked, dead serious. "It's what I just said: penetrate the enemy's defenses, then dominate the battlespace. What did you think I meant?"

"Well, I... I..."

"Fuckin' hell, woman. Just calm down. I don't know what you're thinking, but calm down. Anyways, this is a pretty broad concept—I've never been the one sitting in on the planning of big-ass operations involving thousands of men—but it's for a good reason. The only thing we need to tell our troops is what to do, not how to do it. I mean, if they're in on the planning process and they know what tactics work best for their situation, we're looking at a higher likelihood of cohesion and effectiveness, with a lower chance of insubordination."

"And... that's it? That's the plan?" Jason asked.

"Nope," Percy replied with a grin before crudely drawing what looked like a top-down view of a military base (minus the walls) and then adding some arrows and annotations. "Now, before anything, we'd have to insert an AFO—er, advanced force operations—team to prepare the battlespace. They find the bad guys, designate targets, and generally look for the shit we can't see with imagery. These guys reconnoiter, and they kick off the larger assault. Of course, to do that, we'd need to train them as JTACs and FiSTers."

"I beg your pardon?!" Piper gasped, her cheeks flushing golden. And just like before, everyone was caught off-guard by Percy's... vocabulary, save for TF 101's leadership, Hazel, and Frank.

"Piper, are you okay?" Frank asked, sounding confused. "What are you so amped-up about?"

"Yeah, McLean. Calm down. I don't know what you're thinking, but stop," Percy chided. "And that goes for the rest of you. Don't overwork your brains, guys. But yeah, the FiSTers are the fire support team—forward observers for arty—while JTACs control fires from the air. And they fuck up the enemy by punching a shitload of holes into their defenses. We then insert our armor through the holes, the infantry spill out inside the enemy's perimeter, and fuck 'em up so hard, they'll be screaming for mercy. Once the infantry and armor have penetrated, they team up with the arty and air, blow out the back of the enemy advance, and pound 'em into submission. Cakewalk!"

I know Percy's a complete and utter seaweed brain, but... seriously, what kind of degeneracy is running around in his head?

"Perce... you do realize how all of this sounds, right?" Leo asked, doing his best to restrain his laughter. "I mean... dude, you're fuckin' filthy."

"What the hell are you talking about, Repair Boy?" Percy exclaimed mockingly. "Oh my God, are you stupid? You go and make the almighty RA-RA your personal consort and you think you're all that, don'tcha? Well, I don't know where you get your delusions, laser brain, but your sex-addled mind is worse than that of a teenage boy... weirdo."

"Damn, bro. You... you mean you weren't dropping innuendos?"

"No, fuckwit, no! What is the matter with you? Is that what all of you were thinking, you sick fucks? Lord have mercy on my soul... y'all need Jesus, I swear," he muttered disappointedly, shaking his head. "Fuckin' inbred morons. No morals, no cleanliness, no nothin'! What's the matter with you, huh?"

... well... okay, maybe he doesn't realize what he's saying. He doesn't realize that he's dropping innuendos left and right. I mean, considering how much of a seaweed brain he is, that doesn't seem out of pocket.

"C'mon guys, why can't you be more like Frank, Hazel, and our Torrent Troopers here?" Percy exclaimed, gesturing towards the young immortals and the leadership of TF 101, while sounding like a very disappointed dad. "I swear, look at these good souls: they're focused on the mission like proper warfighters... and y'all are just acting like some horny Eleven-Bravo in the John on his first deployment, I swear. Seriously, this fatherless behavior needs to stop."

Am... am I seriously getting lectured by Percy on having a dirty mind?

"Well, brother, I believe I understand your overall operational plan," Tyson said. "Now, we must focus on integrating TF Purple and the One-Oh-One into one joint task force. It will be crucial for us all to work together and be on the same page."

"That's a good idea," Frank agreed. "Maybe a combined command center, or something. Hazel, any suggestions?"

"Well... I can't say I rightly know. This ain't my wheelhouse," Hazel replied frankly (pun not intended). "But we could definitely make sure everyone knows what his or her part is."

"Beautiful!" Percy declared, clapping Frank and Hazel on the shoulder. "Alright, buddies, let's go to work! Let the filthy-minded weirdos stew in their juices and clear their heads."

With a nod, TF 101's leadership walked out of the conference room to speak to the rest of the One-Oh-One. And with Percy's urging, Frank, Hazel, and the 12th Legion's leadership scurried after the cyclopes. At that moment, I was seriously assessing everything about myself, considering I, along with the rest of the room, had been thinking some very dirty thoughts... all the while Percy, a fucking sailor, wasn't... and the same sailor just berated us for having filthy minds. However, before Percy walked out of the conference room, he turned to the rest of us, his serious face replaced by a mischievous grin.

And he fucking winked before striding out, whistling.

"... wait a fuckin' minute," Leo murmured. "Wait just a motherfuckin' minute."

Oh... OH... OH!! OH NO, HE DIDN'T!

"PERCY, YOU SEAGOING SHITHEAD!!" I screamed, realizing what the bastard had done. Apollo, Mercury, and Leo were losing their minds, with the latter actually falling out of his chair laughing. Trivia, Vulcan, Pluto, and Nico rolled their eyes, Mother and Jupiter looked absolutely furious, and Neptune looked oddly proud. As for myself and the rest of my fellow young gods still in the room, we all bore the same expression of betrayal.

Percy Jackson has just played us like a guitar... nay, the entire orchestra.

After calming myself and shutting down my instinctual desire to strangle my old friend, I left the Principia to discover that he had assembled the 12th Legion Fulminata in TF 101's staging area to explain the situation at hand. The staging area was illuminated only by the moon, TF 101's lanterns and floodlights, and miscellaneous headlamps and flashlights carried by Percy's Minions (seriously, what the fuck were Frank and Reyna thinking?).

"Romans! Here's the deal!" Camp Prefect Kahale shouted, silencing what little murmuring remained in the formation. "We've got a principal-level objective to accomplish: the destruction of a massive enemy force. We have limited intelligence, with only one thing for certain: alone, we are outnumbered and outmatched. It will be a war on two fronts: we must assault the enemy's staging area and defend against any Hence, as decreed by a prophecy from the Oracle of Delphi—which was confirmed by our augur—we are graced by the presence of Lords Jupiter, Neptune, Pluto, Vulcan, Apollo, and Mercury; Ladies Minerva and Trivia; and the Heroes of the Great Prophecy. Moreover, we are allying ourselves with Task Force One-Oh-One."

"The One-Oh-One are a conglomeration of our friends from the sea, nature, and Camp Half-Blood," Legate Reed continued. "We will train together and prepare for battle."

Already, murmuring broke out in the ranks: exasperation over yet another prophecy, excitement for battle, confusion over the team-up with TF 101, shock over the prophesied involvement of seven Olympians and the goddess of magic herself, and so on. And people were already shouting questions. They'd gone from "Percy's bootcamp from Tartarus" (to quote one of the tribunes) to preparing for a literal war. I supposed I couldn't blame them for feeling discombobulated.

Percy, however, didn't have any time for this.

"LISTEN UP, LADIES!!" he thundered, not quite reaching the strength and intensity of Kahale, but certainly close enough. "I don't think you understand the matter at hand. WE. ARE. ABOUT. TO. GO. TO. WAR!! Against a numerically superior enemy! And if the attack five days ago is any indicator, it will take ALL of us here to flush out and destroy the enemy! Look to your left and right! Your front and back! You don't need to like 'em, you just need to treat 'em like your own! Because you all have the same enemy: the motherfuckers who attacked this valley and tried to poison your city!"

Percy wasn't just speaking like the teacher he apparently was (a thought that terrified me), he was speaking like a commander: an ancient chieftain addressing his men as they readied for war.

"We're gonna show those sonsabitches what we're made of! But it'll take a team! All of us, gods and mortals; Purple, Orange, Green, and Blue; we train together, we fight together, we kill the enemy and bathe in their blood! And we'll do it at night! Zero dark fuckin' thirty!"

So this is what Dad was talking about when he said officers need to know how to give a good speech... he certainly seems to be inspiring his troops.

"These bastards think they own the night! Well, when the time comes, we'll go forth like sandstorm: a natural disaster, the hand of God wiping these fuckers right off the face of the earth! We will emerge from the shadows, annihilate them, and disappear as quickly as we came. We will make them fear us, we will make them fear the dark! They shall fear their own domain! But it'll take all of us! WE... ARE JOINT TASK FORCE 12! ONE TEAM, ONE ENEMY, ONE FIGHT!!"

"Holy shit, is this guy part Viking?" Leo murmured to my left. And Poseidon's underpants, it didn't seem all that unlikely, especially if we went purely on tropes and stereotypes. "We should make him do a 23andMe..."

"IMMORTAL SPECIAL FORCES, ONE-OH-ONE, THEY ARE YOUR BROTHERS NOW!"

*METALLICA'S "WHEREVER I MAY ROAM" INTENSIFIES*

I know I'm going on a tangent here... but what the absolute fuck has been going on with Call of Duty recently? Why are the writing teams hell-bent on creating the dumbest campaigns possible? I'm not going to shit on Modern Warfare III (because plenty of people covered that $70 DLC already) or Vanguard (because plenty of people have already taken care of that retarded, utterly disrespectful monstrosity of a game). As for the rebooted Modern Warfare (2019), the issues are mainly some semantics and realism shortfalls, along with not enough "Clean House" style missions, but whatever.

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II, though... what even is this? First of all, where the fuck is the rest of TF 141? In the original, you had operators from the USA, UK, Canada, Australia, and even Russian Loyalists (Nikolai, Yuri, etc... I know this may be stretching it, but bear with me). Now, it's just four SAS operators... that's it. There's no SBS, no JTF-2, no SASR, no DEVGRU, no CAG, nothing! TF 141 is literally just General Shepherd (the commander), Laswell (CIA liaison, station chief, and apparent targeting officer), and our four main men. And if I'm not mistaken, all of them appear to be from 22 SAS's B Squadron's boat troop... that's it. NOT MUCH GOING ON HERE, WRITERS!! AND URZIKSTAN REALLY DIDN'T NEED TO REAPPEAR IN THIS ONE EITHER!!

And when you consider the whole narco situation, isn't it weird that literally NOBODY from the DoD, DHS, IC, or even the DOJ gets involved (discounting the FBI, because according to writers, that's the only federal law enforcement agency in the US)? I mean seriously, what the FUCK?! Did the writing team not look into this at all? You want to know who's combating the cartels in real life? There's the DEA, CBP, ICE... and don't forget the frickin' Texas DPS who, especially when reinforced by the Texas National/State Guard, are basically the second border patrol.

https://youtu.be/SUROls6oM1s

I mean, look at what the Texas Rangers did a few months back:

https://youtu.be/AVoSZYdq5sQ

And of course, there are the recent events that have put Texas at odds with the dumbasses in the White House.  You'd think Texas, of all people, would have a stake in this. Not to mention municipal/county law enforcement, who would've been the first responders in that one border-jumping mission. So where the hell were they when all this shit was going down?

Seriously, that mission in which the two GAFE operators (one of whom is a fucking colonel—someone who should be nowhere near the frontline) jumping the border was so fucking dumb. There's no way Alejandro and Rodolfo wouldn't have gotten smoked by a pissed-off Texan. And also, the four policemen who temporarily detained the pair responded with... sidearms. No patrol rifles, no shotguns... just sidearms. And they were responding to MULTIPLE shots fired and border-jumpers. So it could just be yet another undermanned and underfunded agency (like the vast majority of law enforcement agencies, at least in the US), or just the writers not having a fucking clue about how law enforcement works. And why did Miss CIA Bitch decide to call up the FBI first and not, oh, I don't know... the local PD, the county sheriff's office, the Border Patrol, ICE... MOTHERFUCKING TEXAS DPS?! Seriously, after those four policemen were murdered by the bad guys, there's no way the Texas Rangers (at minimum) wouldn't have gotten involved.

Hell, the most realistic part of the whole border town mission—and in the whole goddamn campaign—was when the lead policeman said "hard to tell you boys apart from the cartel." Seriously, when I've looked at photos of cartel shooters (especially for those such as CJNG and Los Zetas), I've legitimately had trouble telling them apart from the Mexican military.

The whole thing about capturing that Quds Force officer (a literal fucking terrorist, with the Quds Force being designated as a foreign terrorist organization) and then not chucking him into Guantanamo or smoking his arrogant ass is fucking dumb, especially when you consider the tagline of MW: "We get dirty, and the world stays clean... that's the mission." A few hours earlier, the 141/Vaqueros authorized the Shadow Company gunship to level an entire village. Price and Garrick had that whole interrogation-by-intimidation scene when they held and threatened two innocents (relatively speaking, at least... the boy was just a boy and the wife seemed to want nothing to do with her husband's terrorism). Price chucked an innocent dude with a bomb strapped to his chest off a platform. Alex, the Marine Raiders, and the CIA authorized white phosphorus strikes on a Russian base (I know they only saw PMCs, but still). Oh, and the Posse Comitatus Act was violated when the Marines were deployed to Chicago (I know that's stretching it).

And on the Mexican side... 141 appears to be working with GAFE, which is under the Mexican Army, who have a pretty bad corruption problem. Remember, GAFE deserters were the ones who started up Los Zetas. Where is the Mexican Navy and their Marines, who are literally the most trusted government force with guns (both by Americans and Mexicans)? Considering the history between Valeria and Alejandro, it would've made FAR more sense for the GAFE to be the secret bad guys (and again, remember... the Mexican Army, including its SOF components, are significantly more corrupt than the Navy).

The Las Almas cartel and Valeria are both utterly idiotic. Disregarding the MASSIVE missed opportunity of making the whole campaign an anti-cartel operation, there's this shit: "As long as there is a war on terror, there will be no war on drugs..." BITCH, THEN WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU ASSOCIATE YOURSELF WITH A TERRORIST?! Seriously, the USA is just one piece of paper away from designating the cartels as foreign terrorist organizations. Remember: lots of people want to treat the cartels like ISIS, AQ, or the Taliban: wipe them off the face of the earth with American manpower and firepower. In real life, if she pulled this shit, she'd be getting Hellfire missiles dropped on her head faster than you can say "Narcan."

Shadow Company was mishandled as fuck. Once again, writers have proven that they don't have a damn clue how PMCs work. But the lack of knowledge about PMCs aside, when you consider Phillip Graves... he was literally the single best character in the whole damn game (along with the whole fucking MW reboot universe): Marine, lead-from-the-front CEO, hard-charger, absolute American madlad, fucking hilarious, and generally the most likeable of the whole cast. He felt real, raw, genuine, and unfiltered. He was your brother-in-arms, he cared deeply for his men, was a fantastic boss, a mission-focused hard-charger, and overall a great teammate.

And the betrayal was stupid with Graves' complete 180, going from tactical hype man to SAS hunter. The betrayal was only there because Shadow Company and Shepherd betrayed 141 in MW2 and because "PrIVaTe mIliTarY CoNtrACtOR bAd..." that's it. And the writers seriously tried to make us feel some sympathy for a fucking cartel: shitbags who should be designated as a foreign terrorist organization. Shadow Company's so-called "massacre" of Las Almas was literally just them smoking cartel guys and corrupt cops. THAT'S LITERALLY ALL WE SEE BOTH VISUALLY AND HEAR FROM SHADOW COMPANY COMMS/DIALOGUE. WOMP-FUCKIN'-WOMP. Shadow Company going full-vigilante is somehow not the most fucked-up thing in the world, especially when they're smoking narco-terrorists left and right.

Did Graves take over a Mexican military base and imprison its occupants? Yep. Was it a good move, even if operating under the suspicion that the Vaqueros were corrupted (again, due to the connection between Alejandro and Valeria)? Probably not. He also gave the "good guys" a chance to walk away peacefully under orders from Shepherd. You can see that he tried to avoid any unnecessary conflict, but if a fight came, he'd bring all of his weapons to bear. He even tried to get a kid caught in the crossfire away from the violence. Plus, he had a good point during his boss fight: 141 really didn't give a fuck about the war on the cartels. Once they were done, they bugged the fuck out. They dropped the Mexicans like a bad habit.

It would've been far more shocking if Shadow Company were actually the good guys and didn't betray 141 (and maybe the Vaqueros executed the betrayal instead): perfect to subvert expectations. Sure, if the writers wanted to be dumbasses, they could include a little pissing match between Shepherd and Price over the cruise missiles (NOT BALLISTIC MISSILES—FUCKING WRITERS BEING STUPID AS ALWAYS), but in the end, Shadow Company and 141 remain a joint force to take down the cartel.

There is so much I could trash MWII about, but I'm going to finish off this part of the rant with the following: Shepherd. So Shepherd lost three missiles... BOO-FUCKING-HOO!! He's a four-star general in the world of special operations—and not just any special operations, but operations utilizing special missions units and paramilitary units (the most secret of the secret squirrels)—so what fucking punishment could he possibly get, realistically? Losing a star or getting a "strongly worded letter" from the Joint Chiefs of Staff, at the very worst. The betrayal did not need to happen, considering how tame Shepherd's failure was... especially when you consider the real-life legendary fuckups of the CIA, DoD (on the conventional side), and SOCOM (yes, including JSOC... for reference, see Operation Anaconda).

What happened to the original Shepherd in the original Modern Warfare trilogy? He was a three-star general in charge of the massive joint task force invading the unknown Middle Eastern nation (potentially based on Iran, based on some maps of the unknown nation), and he lost 30,000 men to a nuke. "And the world just fuckin' watched," leading me to believe that nobody gave a shit: not the military, not the government, not the public, nobody except for the families of the 30,000 and Shepherd... who had to forever live with the fact that he sent those men to their deaths. Plus, the Ultranationalists (i.e., the bastards who killed his men) came to power in Russia and nobody cared, only adding to Shepherd's pain. The guilt he felt and the sheer apathy of the world transformed Shepherd for the worse, and he basically went: "None of you cared when I lost my men... I'll make you care when you lose yours."

It's like the saying goes: "Nobody loves a warrior until the enemy is at the gate."

The original Shepherd was one of those bad guys who makes you think, "he's a bonafide bad guy, but damn it, I understand why." He wanted Makarov's head mounted on his wall, both to avenge his lost 30,000 men and to find some inner peace. So he turned his pain into anger, and his anger into terrible actions. There are villains like Makarov, who are truly evil, and then there are villains like Shepherd: a broken man, a fallen hero who became a villain because he was so consumed by sadness and hate.

And the reboot Shepherd? A piss-poor character and an absolute waste of the legendary Glenn Morshower (AKA, one of the most iconic military actors of all time). Seriously, they could've just kept Shadow Company and Shepherd as good guys, just with some dubious motivations and compartmentalization bullshit involved (if they so wanted to make the player distrust/dislike them).

In summary: the MWII campaign trailer was absolutely amazing with Metallica blaring, but the game was a fucking disappointment.

ACTIVISION, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU IDIOTS DOING?!

Anyways, I digress. I'm sorry about the long-ass essay on a fucking videogame of all things, but meh. I felt like writing it and hopefully starting some civil online discourse (something we don't have enough of... looking at YOU, Reddit). Let me know if I'm right, wrong, or just plain mentally ill. Tell me your own opinions about the Modern Warfare reboot universe or any videogames you like! If someone would mind explaining the Halo storyline to me, I'd appreciate it. 

Caption this blessed image:

As always, don't forget to comment your feedback on this chapter (good or bad) and please have a fantastic day.

Until next time,

- ADF-2