hey its shorter than like a year this time? enjoy

On the roof of a slightly tall building in Paris, France, two master assassins were bickering like little children for what seemed like the millionth time.

Altair, the oldest of the two, was leaning against a wooden box with his arms crossed, looking at the Italian master like he was a child that had asked him the same question one too many times.

Ezio, on the other hand, was pacing around in front of the Middle Eastern assassin, his whole figure warming up in the last of the evening sunlight. He was trying to get some kind of point across to the other taller assassin and was speaking heavily with his hands.

"It's simple! If we just find another… well, hopefully another assassin with an artifact similar to the apple, then we might be able to return to our original times."

Ezio grinned at his own idea like it was his first born son. He was more than confident that this would work and he wasn't sure why Altair wasn't jumping for joy about it like him, other than the fact that Altair would probably rather be caught dead than jumping for joy.

Altair rolled his eyes, holding the bridge of his nose with one of his hands and shaking his head. This guy was starting to give him a headache with his crazy ideas on getting back home.

"If that thing is what took us out of our homes, then who is to say it won't bring us further down the path of no return? It is like a wild mustang, expecting something so specific from it would just lead to demise."

"That was probably the longest string of words I've ever heard from you."

Altair responded with a dead stare, looking at the other before squinting at a flash of movement by the other's feet.

Who or what the fuck was that?

Assassin instincts instantly kicked in and the Arab master snapped into a defensive crouch, one hand on the handle of his knife as he got ready to shed some blood.

Ezio followed suite, thank the heavens above, and backed away from the ledge with practiced and silent steps.

Desmond was hanging on to the top of the ledge, his head uncomfortably ducked down and his heart beating like a fucking hamster.

Oh my god, is this what pre-death feels like?

Is this what it felt like when you probably DEFINITELY swore that you heard your ancient ancestors chatting like, well, not quite friends but somewhere around there, and then suddenly hear them stop talking and-

Why was his life so stressful?

He was sure that he was shaking pretty noticeably from the sheer muscle power it took to keep him stable on the small, oh so small, ledge in addition to a considerable amount of fear of being murdered so soon after dying.

The memories of battle techniques and stealth kills that the two had performed together coursing through his memory wasn't helping in the slightest either.

Right as the tanned teen was about to start looking for a possible escape route down the wall, the hidden blade of either one of the two assassins above him plunged into the wooden frame of the building in between his fingers, forcing him to retract one of his hands from holding on for dear life, and of coarse, fucking scream.

Desmond was dead certain that he was about to fall backwards onto the hard stone road, and he held his eyes squinted shut so that he wouldn't have to see any of his bones break in front of his eyes while doing so. He was shaking, scared, overworked, and well, he guessed this was the end of his little adventure.

Well, until he realized he wasn't falling, and opened his eyes to come face to face with two master assassins.

One holding the collar of his shirt as he dangled dangerously close to falling, only his feet still on the ledge saving him from slipping through the clothes. The other had a hidden blade pressed against his neck.

Both staring at him as if they could see through his very being.

"Who are you" They said in unison.