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Ezio crouched, leaning over the edge. He watched the townspeople bustling about through the busy street below. He watched every movement closely— examined every pace, every hand gesture. It was somewhere. He knew it had to be. His eyes darted from person to person, searching. Searching for his target. A group of guards passed slowly: the evening patrol on their first round through the city. Ezio's eyes narrowed as he watched them disappear into the distance.

The shadows were growing long, and the constant hum of the town's chatter began to fade with the light. The street traffic was thinning as children were called home by worried mothers, and the working men returned to their nest after a long day of labor. It was soon. His target would emerge soon. All he had to do was wait in the shadows, lurk in the dark until his time came. Patience was the key to this type of work; so is the life of an assassin.

The sun had now sunken far below the city's horizon and a cold air had settled over the empty streets. Silence, save a few drunkards' shouts now and then, pervaded the abandoned alleys. Ezio turned his head as he heard a soft, but recognizable sound: footsteps. He could see a lone figure striding meaningfully, but cautiously down the alleyway. The footsteps echoed off the stone buildings as the figure drew near, and Ezio felt a small smile pass his lips.

His target had arrived.

The thrill of adrenaline rushed through him as he recognized Enrico Moretti, a local corrupt politician and high clergyman of Venice. Ezio could feel his hot blood surging through his veins: the hunt was on.

Ezio slipped into the shadows of the moonlight, silently stalking his target, matching his steps on the rooftop above. A slight rumble and shake distracted him briefly, but he ignored it and leapt quietly from the shingled roof. He landed lightly on his feet, crouching behind a stack of boxes as his target turned to investigate the noise behind him. He stood for a moment, staring down the empty alley behind him, but seeing nothing, turned and continued on his way.

Quickly and stealthily, Ezio followed in his soon-to-be victim's footsteps, his whole body tense with excitement. It wasn't that he liked to kill; in fact, he truly didn't enjoy knowing that he took the lives of so many. It was the concentration and thrill of adventure that excited him during the assassinations.

The cold steel of Ezio's hidden blade glinted in the moonlight as it slid from its hidden sheath. Ezio tensed, readying himself to strike. His fingers twitched with excitement as he closed in on his target. His pace quickened. And suddenly he was at full speed, dashing at his target and tensing his legs to push off from the ground—

The ground beneath him rumbled again and something hit him over the head. Hard. He staggered backwards, trying to regain his balance as his target shouted for the guards. The rumbling started again, violently shaking the streets beneath his feet. He toppled to the ground as the guards closed in around him—he seemed to be the only one affected by this quaking. He scrambled to his feet in time to be stabbed by a guard's pike. He stood, looking down at the pike protruding crudely from his chest. He staggered backwards and coughed blood over his white garb. With a loud yell, Ezio toppled to the ground as the guard pulled the pike out of him. He struggled to his hands and knees, more blood spurting out of his mouth as he moved. The guards stood in a circle around him, watching his struggle. They had him, and they knew it. He was losing blood quickly and he was beginning to black out. In a final attempt to escape, he stood and clumsily tried to run to the safety of the shadows. An archer's arrow pierced his back, and he let out a grunt as he fell to the ground. He had no energy left. He lay listless and bloody on the cold cobblestones of the alley. Everything around him was going white… Everything was fading…

Desmond started awake as another book fell from the shelf, landing squarely on his face.

"'The fuck?" He rubbed his bleary eyes as the truck rumbled turbulently, bouncing roughly and knocking various items inside to the floor. "Are we going over a rock quarry or something?"

"Sorry Desmond, this path is treacherous in parts. You can go back in the Animus if you'd like—I'll make sure no more books fly at you." Rebecca smiled mischievously as she turned back to her desk, pulling a paperweight out of the drawer.

When Desmond had first stepped into the back of the truck in their quick escape, he'd been surprised. It was the first time he'd ever seen a commercial transport truck converted into a small study. There were bookcases that lined one side of the truck with a single desk in the far corner. Directly across from it, they had laid the Animus down for Desmond to use to pass the time of the trip. The rest of the space was occupied by three cots, a fridge, and a small table barely big enough to fit four. Though not particularly bright, the small lamp on the desk provided enough dim light to see the entire truck's layout.

"Nah, I've had enough weapons lodged into my body for one day, thanks." Desmond sat up, swinging his legs over the edge. "Where's Shaun?"

"Over here, Desmond." The snarky Brit was lying on his bed, his laptop on his stomach, and several notes in his hand. "I'm still doing research for Subject 16's video, and I haven't come up with anything lucrative yet." Shaun returned to his research, his laptop's keyboard clicking as he typed.

Desmond stood up and stretched, yawning. "So it's still Lucy's shift?" Rebecca glanced at her watch. "Yeah, Shaun or I'll relieve her in about an hour or so, if we haven't already gotten to the hideout… it's been about six hours since the last shift change, and if I've gauged it right, we've only got about another two hours to go."

Desmond nodded as Rebecca turned back to her sketch on the desk. It looked like an engineering design, but he couldn't tell what exactly it was. "Hey," Desmond nodded at the paper. "What's that?"

Rebecca looked up at Desmond, a mysterious smile forming on her lips. "A new design." Desmond cocked his head to the side, sliding off the Animus to get a closer look. "Yeah? A new design for what? Animus 3.0?"

Rebecca laughed. "I could never replace my baby! Sorry Desmond, you'll just have to deal with 2.0 while you're with us." Desmond smiled, then asked again what the design was for.

"A new idea. Something that I haven't had the chance to work on since I last left safety." She paused, pulling out several more sheets from the drawers. "We've been losing a lot of assassins, Desmond. At this point we only have 10 groups left. Seven, if you're only counting the ones we know are alive at this point. That's only 28 assassins left." Desmond leaned against the wall, bracing himself against the truck's tremors.

"So I came up with an idea," Rebecca continued. "Something that will help us regain our numbers—or at least… temporarily." She smiled, a glint of excitement in her eye. "How would you like to meet Ezio and Altair in person?" Desmond tried to hide a cynical smile, and bit back a sarcastic reply.

"You're going to make a time machine?" A small smile escaped his lips as he asked. Rebecca frowned. "No. Time machines are only fiction. No, I'm going to do something much more complex than that. Desmond, the design you're looking at right now is the very first design for the Animator."

Hey!

You don't know how good it is to be back and writing again, guys. I've been feeling really down, and writing really does help me relieve stress. Not to mention how much I missed you all! I know this probably won't be the same group of readers, since I used to write Naruto, but I hope at least some of my old readers will read this! Thanks for the support, and I'll update more later… for right now, I'm going to bed. (I'm sick and have school tomorrow… so yeah. XP)

Thanks!