Exile

By Kaimaler

Oh God, I blame plot bunnies. So. Hard.

Anyways, I just wanted to introduce this new mini-story before the idea disappeared and I hated myself forever for forgetting. :O

WARNING!: If you have NOT played Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood OR Portal 2, then do NOT continue. Major spoilers for both games!

With that over, I also wanted to mention that while this story seems a little ridiculous ('cause it is!) I have a secret for it. Though, in the story, it MAY or MAY NOT be revealed.
I'll decide if I want to inform our lovable Italian Master Assassin and the Last Surviving Test Subject, which, it wouldn't make any sense if I did... I mean, if I even found a reasonable excuse for them discovering the secret behind this all, it wouldn't still be as cool as just letting it go.

Chell needs a break, but, for the moment, I'm not here to give her one. Sorry Chell. :)

And with this final warning:

THIS STORY WILL NOT MAKE ANY KIND OF SENSE UNTIL THE VERY LAST CHAPTER. IT WILL BE A TOTAL MYSTERY AS TO WHY CHELL IS IN THE BEGINNING OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY WITH EZIO UNTIL NEAR THE END OR AT THE END.

I hope you enjoy this story and are patient with it, as it is something of a test story. I need to see if readers respond to this kind of story. :D

ANDDDDD My Office Word is on the fritz so please, ignore little mistakes here or there. I'm trying to fix the stupid thing. In the meantime, any reports of misspelled, typo'd, or otherwise screwed up sentences is appreciated and will be corrected upon discovery. Thanks! :)

It had been an... adventurous morning.

Through it all, he was glad his mother and sister were alive, but he felt some level of guilt over the death of his uncle and the capture of Caterina. If he had stopped his uncle before the old man charged the enemy full force from dead ahead without even knowing the extent of their enemies' militia... Perhaps Mario would still be with him.

And what was Caterina doing joining his uncle? He had to give it to the firey haired woman, she was no coward and she was dedicated to her people. That had been demonstrated in its whole the night before. Yet there she was, being confined by Borgia. Once more, if she hadn't stayed with him that night, she could be standing in front of him right now.

He was getting ahead of himself though, he wanted to remember, to figure it all out. For his families sake. (or what was left of his family)

It was early morning, he finished the day before without even uttering the name Borgia over dinner. And it was fantastic. All of his fears and concerns washed away, with Rodrigo out of the picture, the Apple safe, and his family finally could sleep in peace.

After everyone went to bed, he spent his night with the passionate Caterina Sforza. She displayed her desire to do all that was neccessary to help her people. Granted, he would have just given her the aid she needed without having to share a bed. Mario, Machivelli, and La Volpe would've made sure of this. The benefits Caterina offered were too many to resist.

And there were many flexible, benefits.

The mercenaries told him that he should expect the sounds of cannon fire in the morning, as they would be practicing for when a real battle starts.

It was only until a cannon ball smashed its way through his roof did he and Caterina realize that it was no training exercise. This was happening; they were being attacked.

Then everything happened at once.

The cannons, the citizens, the siege, then Cesare breaking in the gates and Mario's end. With the Apple in Borgia hands, things weren't looking too positive. If he was going to pay Cesare back for destorying his home and breaking his family apart again, he'd have to do it when Cesare didn't have the Apple... And he'd need a lot of help.

He needed his own army.

Since he last left Rome, nothing had changed. Borgia still opressed many of the great cities' districts and even far outside the city were they restricted by order of the Pope.

He had arrived in Rome a week ago and he knew very little about what he had to do. After solving the problems with the courtesans and the mercenaries, he now had to go see the thieves of Rome.

This was more interesting then he first imagined. La Volpe was there and more then willing to lend his hand for a friend. Upon his request, the thieves all over the city would be hearing from this particular assassin.

Leaks, informants, they infiltrated La Volpe's numbers and threatened his thieves way of life.

It was a lot to do in so little time.

He had to go into the city, a Borgia tower in the area of the suspected informant would make life difficult if he tried to complete his task with a Borgia captain marching around nearby and his many, many heavily armed escorts.

It was far north, quite a ride on horseback. As he slid onto the saddle of his steed, he tried to figure out exactly what he was going to do about the Borgia.

Strong, resourced, and limitless support from outside of Rome. Cesare wasn't the brightest man in Rome, but he was still a madman in control of a massive army that if he rubbed Cesare the wrong way just long enough, the entire assassin order could crumble.

The entire order... There wasn't many of them. A few choice fellows who had been assassin's for as long as they remember, but as more assassins are lost to Templars over the last few decades, the lesser their numbers become. No one to continue the line, an entire generation of assassins can be destroyed by one wrong step.

It kept them conditioned and humble, but it wasn't helping now. As their enemies grew more powerful, the assassins suffered more.

They need not just help from courtesans, mercenaries, and thieves. They required true assassins, recruitment perhaps? He weighed the option, he either would find people or not at all. This was a sensitive topic to an assassin. Recruitment hasn't been done for a very, very long time.

It is a possibility, though very unlikely and no doubt extremely dangerous. One questionable individual and Cesare wouldn't need his army to finish the assassins once and for all.

A sensitive topic indeed.

He had to speak with Machivelli about this, it had to be done, numbers and power was against them. The Borgia's reach is far and merciless, if they found the last of the assassins, it would be over. Yet, if there was some others across the land who could continue fighting even without their master's guidence, then maybe they could defeat Cesare even if the oldest members were compramised.

As of the moment, he needed to stay focused. With that Borgia tower hindering his work, he had to watch for aware guardsmen.

Passing through the city, he'd traveled enough of these streets to know the way by heart and on horseback he didn't have to tire himself out jumping roof to roof.

The tower was just as large as the others and had just as many design flaws. All he had to do is find the Borgia Captain, deal with his escorts then he can lite the tower.

Easier said then done, as he dismounted his horse and scaled the walls of surrounding buildings, he found the Captain must be prepared for resistance. He should've realized that after dealing with so many captains and burning so many towers, that they'd eventually start raising their defenses.

Walking across the roof, he loaded his crossbow. Quiet. It wouldn't alarm all the guards and the captain wouldn't have a chance to run and hide.

A guard turned around just as he lined up the shot. The body went down with a deaf thud and he moved on to the next. It was a rinse and repeat tactic, it failed only when a guard was either smart enough to dodge, look up, or otherwise alarm the others. In other words, it rarely ever failed him.

Just as the last guard went down, he turned his sight to the ground. Guards were standing vigilant in front of an archway. He didn't know if there were any outlets to the arched tunnels between the buildings, but he didn't have the time to find out.

Instead, he readied his hand and poised to strike.

Just as he did, the impossible happened.

A guard looked up.

"Assassino!" All the guards in the area mobilized to deal with the threat. With a groan and roll of his eyes, he engaged the armed men as he noticed the Borgia Captain in charge of this district had joined in.

Good, he wasn't a complete coward.

He wasn't about to waste his time sword fighting with a bunch of mindless drones. He went through with his attempt to assassinate the guardsmen and succeeded. With one guard down, he had seven to go.

If he was back in Venice or Florence, he'd call it old fashioned fun, but now it was a chore, a small annoyance that persisted against all odds. They knew that this notorious assassin has eluded guards for over a decade, that any guard who had discovered the assassin had died almost instantly.

Didn't stop them. He didn't know if it was bravery he should admire or ignorance he should pity.

It held no place in this fight though, sympathy or admiration, they couldn't stop his plans. A little guard wasn't going to hurt him, he was above and far beyond that.

As a pike man thrusted his long spear at him, he merely dodged and gripped the end just above the deadly point. Yanking it from the guards' hands, he used it against him and ran the spear through the unarmed opponent, who fell back with the spear still embedded in his stomach.

A few guards were sickened by this and covered their faces briefly before returning to battle. It weakened them, they weren't prepared for even basic combat, especially when it was their brothers in arms who died.

He took advantage of this, knocking an ill guards' hand from his blade and using the force of his body to break the mans' nose promptly before kicking him down to struggle in pain and disgust.

Those who realized the assassin was using their own to fight them either ran or attacked in a rage. Two left and the Borgia Captain.

As they swung and stabbed violently, they failed to notice they did no harm to the assassin and instead locked themselves with range of his hidden blade.

Without the time to question what was happening, one of the guards dropped dead, the hidden blade punctured his side, sinking into his kidney as easily as a sharp knife glides through butter.

Gasping in shock, the other guard didn't have enough time to react and met the same fate. A hidden blade sunk into his chest, if it hadn't cut into his heart, then it must've came very close to it. As he bled out, he fell like a rag doll to the ground beside the other guard.

That was easier then usual...

The Borgia Captain wasn't put off by these displays of swordsmanship, he fought men talented with all weapons and he still stood. This assassin, in his eyes, would be no different. Skilled and infamous for his deeds, the Captain would be promoted, praised by the Pope himself for ending this assassin's streak.

He knew not to attack first, the assassin would only wait for an opening, but he also knew not to let the assassin get close enough to disarm him. Too risky, he needed to fight at a distance with the tip of his sword only.

The assassin circled him slowly, watching for any signs of weakness. It was a bit futile, Borgia Captains commonly knew their weaknesses and protected them furiously. Still, he tried.

It was a waiting game almost, who had enough patience to sit still and evaluate their enemy without becoming anxious or overly nervous.

Not too hard, the assassin had fought the Pope with nothing but his hands, it was just one big staring contest as the Pope was too rash to admit he was afraid of the flying menace that terrorized his guards and his allies. That was all a test of patience; dealing with the Spaniard and his friends.

Having knowledge was also something of a detriment to the Captain; he knew about the numbers of bodies this assassin left behind and some of those numbers were legendary people who could fight an army singlehandedly.

He knew fine well he couldn't fight an army alone.

Cazzo! He wasn't going to win this, he was smarter then that. He could deal with some powerful foes, but this assassin was far passed his level of skill.

No way he was going down without some bit of honor left in his blood at least. He either fought and died or try to escape, plead for mercy and then die.

Both endings weren't favorable, he just wasn't a fool. He just didn't want to die on his kness. Instead, he charged first, as the assassin wanted him to do. With powerful swings of his blade, he met the assassin's attacks just as the assassin met his.

He struck with his fist, surprising the Captain as he dove in with his hidden blade, but the Captain side stepped him and swung his sword to the assassin's back, slicing through the layer of cream-colored clothing. He hit him, it wasn't enough to kill, just enough to hurt him. Now, when the Captain met his fate, he'd meet it with a smile, knowing he caused the assassin injury.

The assassin took his seriously now, the Captain did fear death, but not enough to turn tail and run from it. He wanted to fight and an animal stuck in a corner is the most dangerous creature one would ever face.

He stepped back, he couldn't disarm the Captain, nor stike him with his blade. He could attack with his sword in a flurry, but in the end he'd walk away with a few more scars.

He only wanted so many scars; the women of Rome appreciated a strong man who had the marks to prove it. They didn't like too many scars. He had enough of them now so he could tell every last courtesan or noble lady a new story about how he got this scar or that scar.

And they had to be placed just right, awkward scars never got a man la-

The Captain saw his opportunity and swiped from above the assassin's head in a downward motion. The tip of the sword barely missed his face.

Damn, not paying attention. That would've been a perfect example of an awkward scar; from the forehead to chin. Not appealing and it would be on his face. No one wanted a big nasty wound on their face. No woman wanted a disfigured man in their bed.

Sighing, the assassin observed his surroundings, too close this Captain would repay him in kind, too far and he'd be useless; he forgot to buy bullets again (cazzo! He could use them right now) and his crossbow bolts would be deflected by the supurb armor the Captain wore.

It is nice armor though.

There were closed stands, some shocked civilians, and... scaffolding! Just his luck, a large scaffold was on the opposite side of this open road, but he could do it rather easily.

As he turned from the Borgia Captain, who was intrigued by the assassins' sudden disinterest of their fight, and began sprinting away. Did he give up? Was he really that hurt? Was he, the Captain, that good?

Success! In this case, he wouldn't let the assassin just walk away. He wanted to pay him back for killing so many of his fellows around Rome.

Persuing the 'fleeing' assassin, the Captain watched him scale a wall. Using windows and moldings to reach the top. In his chase, he used the scaffolding beside him and just as the assassin disappeared above the roof, the Captain lifted himself up and pulled himself to the roof. It was much faster then climbing a wall. He wondered why the assassin didn't use the scaffold himself.

Standing on the roof, he was congradulated for his climbing prowess by the assassin's sword. He hadn't used it before; it was a beautiful blade.

He was ready though, perhaps he wasn't expecting the sudden attack, but he had his sword at ends with the assassin's. He wasn't done for just yet.

However, the same didn't account for the assassin and he didn't think of this. The assassin was through, he didn't want to continue this scarade. They both knew who was going to win, it was a matter of time and a test of wit on the Captain's behalf.

He did pretty good; the assassin was impressed. Though he had to count that he wasn't paying any kind of attention for the first half of this fight and that probably gave the Captain a good leg up.

So, all in all, he was a decent soldier, but he still made the mistake of being a Borgia Captain.

Taking the Captain by surprise, the assassin barreled forward into him, slamming into his body and taking them both down and onto the scaffolding. With a loud cRaCk the scaffolding's support snapped and the assassin jumped off, leaving the Captain on the shattering wood.

When the realization of the assassin's plan hit him, it was too late. The floor beneath the Captain snapped, sinking him into the middle of the scaffolding's legs and then collapsing on top of him.

Dirt clouds hid the death from everyone and, until it cleared, could the people see exactly what happened.

Well, that took care of that. The assassin rolled his shoulder in place, it hurt a little, but it wasn't a terrible cut on his back. He could still climb even without the adrenalin coursing through his veins. He needed to reach the top of the tower, burn it, and walk away.

Easy as that.

What was supposed to be easy as that, turned out to be a climber's nightmare. The footholds were maybe a inch or and inch and a half long, where he gripped stone and wood was the same.

No ladders, God forbid there be a ladder anywhere he actually wanted one. It wasn't that hard. Just take a ladder (he's seen plenty just lying around in a shed or something) and prop it against a building and voila! Ladder!

Groaning, his shoulder was getting tired much faster with that cut on his back. He really should've taken care of that when he was on the ground... Everyone always called him stubborn for a reason.

As he neared the top, his foothold became unstable and, with enough of his weight, broke off completely and forced him to stop and hold on for dear life. It was a long fall to his death; he really didn't want to die failing at scaling a tower that was exactly like the other three towers he climbed without a problem.

That's just insulting.

Dragging himself across the wall without footholds, he managed to take hold of a wooden plank that signified that he finally reached the top. Thanking every last deity he ever heard of, he pulled himself up and over the railing and took a much deserved break before lighting the tower.

It was abnormally hot out today, he didn't know why, maybe there was a drought? He hadn't heard anything, but then again, he hasn't taken the time to listen to the villagers to see if the heat was killing crops and drying out water supplies.

Didn't matter anyways, he still had to move forward.

These Borgia towers weren't going to burst into flames just because it was hot out, though that would be nice, the district wasn't going to free itself anytime soon.

Rising from his break, he took a torch off the wall and slowly lit the barrels and straw before tossing the still lit torch into the growing fire. He walked out onto the connecting planks and leaped off the end.

This was his favorite part of those long hard climbs. He always got to freefall from the top. It was a good rush and just as he met the wagon full of green leaves, he laid comfortably in the coolness of these still healthy leaves. The fall doesn't last very long and that was disappointing, but he supposed if it was much further, not even the largest pile of hay in all of Italy would save him from that leap of faith.

It was nice, but he had a little more work to do before the day ends.

Now, the thief who La Volpe referred him to has been tailing the suspected traitor for a little while now. Only recently had he found enough proof to rightly accuse this other thief of being an informant to the Borgia. Of course, it wasn't mentioned to the accused, but it soon would be.

La Volpe marked his map to where the thieves he should see about the leaks are.

Opening the map, he scoured it until he saw a mark right beside a large structure which was identified as the Pantheon. A grand structure that he couldn't miss from the ends of the city.

So it was off to the Pantheon, he'd use the buildings surrounding the open plaza to find the thief. It was a better plan then wandering through the crowds or trying to climb the Pantheon; better view perhaps, but it was quite difficult as there was only one way he knew to scale the massive building.

He rode horseback again to the plaza, the Borgia tower was in close proximity to the Pantheon and required little time to actually arrive at the archways leading to the open plaza that was decorated by rugs, stands, merchants, and nobles.

Dismounting, he found the easiest way up the building beside him. It was actually a real life ladder.

Sighing, he pulled himself up the ladder quickly. Once on the roof top, he began his search. It would've taken much longer had he not a certain talent to help him along.

Came in handy sometimes, never when fighting though. Absolute nightmare when in combat.

Focusing (which he was realizing was quite hard to do lately) he ignored the fine gowns and extravagant clothing that had three to four layers of silk and cotton. A thief wore beggar's clothing; rags, old shirts, old pants, and, if he was lucky, shoes and some gloves.

He was fortunate to have his eagle vision to find his target, else he'd have to study every last person walking down the street. Grey and brown rags could disappear fantastically into dirt, walls, and shadows.

Though, he figured that's exactly what a thief wants.

It didn't take long to lock onto the relaxed thief, he must've been expecting him as when the thief spotted him on the roof he waved him down.

Smirking, he was about to climb back down the ladder to avoid looking rushed or generally suspicious.

That was before the tell tale sounds of roof shingles loosening under heavy weight was emitted from his far side.

Snapping his head to his right, a building across a large gap was disturbed not by a guard nor thief, but an obviously female figure standing near the very edge of the roof.

Shingles broke under her weight, falling off the very ends of the roof and to the street below. No body noticed though, it wasn't too uncommon for old buildings to drop things like broken roof tiles or blocks of dirt.

It was odd to him though, because this woman paid to little attention to the things around them, the noise, him on the building beside her, or the ringing of distant bells. She just stood there stiff as stone and stared out across the city.

He glanced around, trying to see what she saw. The Pantheon perhaps? It is a great architectural and historical landmark. No, she was clearly looking beyond it.

Turning his eyes back to her, he saw her looking directly at him, shocking him. She didn't make a sound, he didn't hear her move an inch. She stood perfectly still, anyone else would have sworn she was just an oddly placed statue of... of a very strangely clothed woman.

Now that he thought about it, she looked positively foreign. Such alien attire clung to her body like second skin. He'd never seen a woman wear such... flattering cloth before.

Her... pants (that was enough to throw him off; a woman? Wearing pants?) were of a faded orange and her belt, if it is a belt he couldn't rightly tell, was the same color and tied to hug just above her hips.

A white sleeveless shirt with some odd stitching on it layered over the light blue shirt she wore beneath it. Sleeveless! Unimaginable. Yet, on her waist was some kind of opaque thin material. It was clearly attached to the light blue shirt, but not to the white sleeveless.

Two layers with only thin straps and a very daring neckline was the only clothing covering her torso.

Finally coming back to himself, he broke his gaze from her shirt and pants, looking down to her shoes.

She was no thief nor a commoner. Shoes like those... He had to be honest here, he hadn't a clue what those shoes meant only that they weren't normal and, from the looks of them, they weren't inexpensive.

Her shoes were blindingly white, the sun's light reflected off them like they were mirrors. They reached up her calves yet left her shins mostly opened, two black straps must've held the entire shoe in place. Upon further inspection, he saw some kind of black hook-shaped thing starting from the top of the shoe and stopping just below the heel.

Words like 'odd' and 'strange' didn't completely convey this woman's apparel or the amount it confused him.

Not only was her attire shocking, but her skin was as well. She was pale, very pale. By no means was she ghostly, but it was abnormal, almost like she spent her entire life in doors, leaving only at night.

Her jet black hair was a strong contrast against her light toned skin. It was pulled back and yet still escaped its knot. The black strands framed her face and whipped around freely without restrictions.

His evaluation of her as a person ended when she finally moved.

He couldn't say why her movement came as such a shocker to him, maybe he began to believe she was a statue? Now that she twisted her head back to the distance, he felt a compulsion to speak with her. Someone who dresses so boldly must have a grand story behind them.

Gauging whether or not speaking with her was a good idea, he was forced into a quick debate as he noticed her preparing to walk away.

Now or never... That was a lie. With her clothing he could find her anywhere; thieves would see her from a mile away, courtesans would fawn over her pale skin, and he only wanted to talk with her. Badly.

"Mi scusi!" He called out, but it was like she couldn't hear him.

It was then, in his last moment with her did he catch on to what she intended to do.

She was going to jump from the building's roof to the plaza below.

It was four, maybe five stories down, such a fall would break anyone's legs; even his and he's used to falling from great heights and he wasn't thinking about his leap of faith's.

"No! Nessuna attesa!" He reached out, as if to stop her with words or gestures.

As he predicted though, she jumped.

She jumped.

Why would anyone jump to what may as well be a crippling injury? He couldn't wrap his mind around the idea. He had done such dangerous things before, because in those circumstances it was a moderate injury or death, and not the fast kind of death either.

He heard a weight hit stone, but no cries of pain. Did she die? What an unfortunate incident... She was suicidal? Maybe, what other options could there possibly be?

Daring himself, he looked down.

And there she stood, utterly unaffected by the jump. She didn't even look worried, people had dodged her when they saw her hit the ground, but everyone moved on when noticing she didn't die.

It was all too much to digest. This woman was insane! Or, maybe not and he missed something about jumping from five stories and walking away from it.

"Attendere! Voglio parlare con te!" Still she did not hear him.

He wanted to catch up to her before she left, but she was already running through the crowds and had disappeared from view by the time he started jumping from building to building.

Foreign, strangely clothed, and very fast.

He liked this woman.

Okay, I give. This title isn't very... unique on account of my entire inspiration for this story came from the song written and performed for VALVe's very own PORTAL 2.

The National - Exile Vilify.

Now that that is over with, I want to clarify a few things.

I have different chapters and categories. I've mentioned these on my other stories before, so I'm copying and pasting the list from there:

My categories for chapter styles and importance are:

Required and Extremely Important: "Main Chapter's.": Prologue, Plot points, Plot twists, Character development, Epilogue.

Required to move on with Story: "Directory Chapter's.": Moving the hero/heroine, Leading Chapter's to "Main Chapters", Location Markers.

Required for Immersion: "Dramatic Chapter's.": Character death, Battle Chapters, Lone Chapters(main character alone), Life Threatening Situations.

Required to Build Story: "History Chapter's.": Historic Points, Important moments in Protagonist's history, Important moments in any character's history, Experience Chapters.

Required for Immersion: "Waring Chapter's.": Difference's between characters/protagonist/antagonist, severe arguement(some escalating to physical violence), and General Leadership Disagreements.

Now, the first two chapters of all my stories are "Main Chapters."

Alright, that's that too! :)

DisCLAAAAAAAIMMMERRRR:
So I don't get sued or anything!

Assassin's Creed and everything/character included in Assassin's Creed belongs to the lovely people of Ubisoft. Thanks Ubisoft for such a fun and deep game!

Portal and everything/character included in Portal belongs to VALVe! Again, VALVe, you guys don't disappoint... Except when you set deadlines. Just avoid those entirely. Oh... Wait... You're already doing that.

Translations:

Cazzo! - Fuck.

Assassino! - Assassin. (obvious, no?)

Mi scusi! - Excuse me.

No! Nessuna attesa! - No! No wait!

Attendere! Voglio parlare con te! - Wait! I would like to talk with you!

If any of these are incorrect and can be translated properly by someone who speaks Italian; please do so. Because I speak English and really bad English, I'm no good at Italian, so expect a few incorrect translations from time to time, all I got to work with in Google and a whole lot of research.

ALSO!

All REVIEW REPLIES WILL BE POSTED AT THE END OF EACH CHAPTER! I always do this to create a more interactive reviewing system, to reward reviewers beyond a little mention in the Author's Note.
All Review Replies are made in full, written to properly reply to each and every review made once or more times by anyone. So review, say hi! And in the next chapter, I'll greet you in return.

This is where I'll be answering most questions. At times many readers review with an important question that may or may not have been explained in completion inside the story; so when asking questions, if I deem the answer urgent enough I may answer it in the Author's Note section at the beginning.
Don't worry though, I'll always put the answer inside your Review Reply so that you cannot miss the answer, no matter how hard you try! :)

Sometimes you the reader will come up with an idea or question that requires a more elaborate answer, so I may explain it within the story. Which, in your Review Reply, I will also include the answer within so, once more, you cannot miss it and therefore I lessen the chance of a big misunderstanding.

Now READ and REVIEW! Feedback is always appreciated and replied in kind upon the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy!