Assassin's Creed II Novelization

Mirror and Image

"My name is Desmond Miles; I'm a prisoner of war. A war I never new existed, waged by two groups I never thought were real: Templars, and Assassins. The Animus showed me the truth...

"The things I've seen; the things I've been...

"A thousand years of history flowing through my veins, brought to life through this machine. They're using it, using me, to search for something. They call it the Apple. It's an artifact, one of the many so-called 'Pieces of Eden'. Templars collect them... It's how they stay in power.

"And if the Templars get their hands on another one, everything would change. They want to make us all their slaves. When they first brought me here, I was afraid of what would happen if I tried to fight back.

"Now? Hehn. Now I'm afraid of what will happen if I don't. But I can't do it alone, and maybe I don't have to. I met someone: Her name is Lucy. I think she's on my side. ... She's gone now, taken away by that bastard Warren Vidic and his Templar masters.

"I don't know what will happen... what will happen to me... All I know is I need to get out of here, and I need to do it soon.

"My name is Desmond Miles. And this is my story."

The writing was on the wall.

Literally.

The butterfly of chaos theory, Arabic, numbers, Chinese, Biblical notation, the abyss, it was all on that wall above the bed, written by the guy who used the room before Desmond. The guy who used the Animus before Desmond. Subject Sixteen. Induced in a coma and left in the Animus for days at a time, a guy who suffered a break in sanity, and who had written on the wall in his own blood.

His own blood...

Desmond... He couldn't turn it off. The Eagle Vision, the angry red letters kept staring at him, coaxing him, playing with him. There was a message somewhere there that he didn't understand. Couldn't understand because he wasn't crazy like Sixteen. Except... Except...

it's all gone there's nothing left I'm completely drained I've done all I can and now it's his turn it's your turn the next subject the last subject subject seventeen I've given you all the tools now break the chains Desmond break the chains I'll see you again soon after I die

His dreams.

He remembered his dreams. And... And...

Desmond wasn't completely sure how long he stared at that wall, or the floors of the other room where that damned Animus was kept. Hours? Days? Weeks? He lay his money on days, he dimly remembered sleeping and food being given to him, but it was all vaguely in the back of his head because that wall commanded all of his attention. He kept looking at the Arabic, Al Zalzala, "Armageddon." What did it mean? What did any of it mean? What did it have to do with him?

I've entered the Abyss and never returned...

... Was that going to happen to him? Or would the Templars kill him before he went mad?

He heard his door beep, an unfamiliar sound in the crescendo of his erratic thoughts, and he blinked, the blood disappearing with his vision and he turned.

Lucy strode in, in jeans and a white shirt, her face determined. Lucy!

"We have to go," she commanded.

Desmond blinked, having never heard such an authoritative tone before. "Lucy, where've you been?" he asked, trailing after her into the second room of his prison. "Why did they-"

"Now," she said forcefully, marching quickly to the Animus and booting up its systems. Desmond stared dumbly, not quite following, part of his mind still on the blood on the wall. Wait... Blood? He saw specks of it on her pristine white shirt. More blood? What?

But Lucy had finished powering up the damned machine and jutted her jaw to it. "Get in," she said, once more in a commanding tone.

Desmond was still struggling to catch up.

"What's with the blood? Are you okay?"

Her pouty lips pressed together and her eyes narrowed, no longer the patient and compassionate assistant to Warden Vidick. "Look," she said sternly, "we have maybe ten minutes - maybe - before they figure out what I've done. If we're not out of here and on the road before then..."

Desmond blinked. "Wait, we're leaving?"

"Desmond," she said with forced patience, "I promise I'll answer all your question. Later. But right now, I need you to just shut up and do as I say. So please get in the Animus."

He looked at that damned machine, eyes darting from it to Lucy. He hated the Animus but... He trusted Lucy.

"... Alright."

He hopped onto the curved table, laying back and feeling the thrum of the machine come to life, the pressure on the back of his skull as the visor rolled over his line of vision. The white fog of the load screen slowly filled his perception, and he saw menus opening.

Subject Seventeen: Desmond Miles

Subject Sixteen: Confidential

Wait... Sixteen? What did he have to do with...?

Searching for relevant memory data...

... What? What did that mean? "Lucy..." he started to say but then,

Memory match found. Accessing memory...

And he was falling away...

Screams there were a lot of screams and it was small and hard to breathe too hard to breathe and everything was so dark and tight and small he couldn't breathe and nothing made sense and the screaming wouldn't stop and it wasn't his voice his lungs were too full and he still couldn't breathe. There were voices, women's voices, saying things he didn't understand and couldn't understand, Spingi, spingi, but what did it mean it didn't make sense and it was just all so confusing. He didn't want to move but things were forcing him through that painfully small space and he was fighting so hard but he still couldn't just breath it was all so unnatural and when would it just stop? Another voice came in, male, desperate, and there were hands on him and a soft coaxing tenor voice that would mean the world to him.

"Tu sei un Auditore. Sei un combattente. Percio combattente!"

Desmond didn't understand it at all but the voice was strong and soft and rich with love. And so tiny legs moved, testing his body out and he took a deep breathe and the air tasted so sweet so sweet that he remembered all his discomfort and let out a great wail. And behind all of his wails was another voice, a woman he would cherish his entire life, and the that strong voice said with great pride:

"Ezio. Ezio Auditore da Firenze!"

And that would be a name that would be feared and loved and forgotten in history...

Whoa. Whoa...

Did he... did he just live through being born? Did he just remember what it was like to be born? Everything was so... so...

"Get up. Let's go."

Desmond struggled to swing his legs over the Animus, sensations still swirling over him. He had been so small, and everything was just... just... "Yah, well..." he panted, "Uh, I'm gonna need a second..."

"There isn't time Desmond," Lucy said in clipped tones. "We have to leave." The blond reached down and pulled out something from the machine, a memory card or some sort, Desmond wasn't an expert and frankly wasn't looking as he still tried to get his legs under him. Baby legs were so weak, and the sensations were so different. A... A stillborn? Brought to life by the sound of its... his... that ancestor's father? How... Who...?

"Ezio. Ezio Autidore da Firenze!"

Was that mouthful the name? Desmond shakily staggered after Lucy, the door that she and Vidic always left through opening and for the first time since his captivity he went through those damnable doors. Beyond the cyan blue lighting was... a hall. A painfully drab, normal, unassuming hall. The jarring disparity with whatever Desmond had imagined only slowed him down further. Lucy was already power walking down the way, and Desmond half jogged to catch up, even if his mind was still on the blood writing on the wall and the fact he had just lived through birth.

"... We're really getting out of here, huh," he mused, looking around, taking in details and marveling that any of this was actually happening. Lucy didn't answer, still marching her way out of there, and her silence pressed the seriousness onto Desmond. He couldn't handle the silence, his own thoughts were entirely too loud and he wasn't remotely ready to process all of it. He tried for comedy. "Abstergo's got some fucked up interior decorators," he quipped, passing by an innocuous plant. It was all so barrenly normal, he couldn't stand it.

They navigated the maze of halls and closed doors before Lucy slowed at a corner. "Stay close," she murmured; not that Desmond needed to be told twice as he pressed up behind her. She looked around a corner briefly before half running to an elevator, Desmond hot on her heels.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be up here!"

Fuck. Fuck, not even twenty feet and they were already caught. They were dead, dead, and it was all so stupid and fucked up.

Desmond's head whipped around to see two men, obviously security, on the other side of a glass door. The one who yelled was pressing his hands on the glass, trying to open the door while the other was moving to some kind of callbox on the wall.

"I'm calling it in," he announced, picking up a receiver and punching numbers into the phone.

Lucy didn't even comment, she just switched to a flat out run, and Desmond was hard pressed to chase after her as he heard more damning words. "We have a breach in the research wing. I repeat: there's been a breach in the research wing. Send all backup..."

They were so screwed! Desmond cursed as he continued to chase after Lucy. The pair ran left and right seemingly at random for Desmond but Lucy's focus never wavered, her face dead-set and determined. Two more security guards, not hindered by convenient glass doors this time, came upon them and Desmond watched in horror as they drew batons. Fuckity fuck this beating was going to hurt and he didn't want to die like this and it wasn't fair and he what the hell was he supposed to-

Only Lucy, instead of turning and running in a different direction, bolted towards the two armed security guards and deflected a strike from the first, shoving him in the back before blocking a second strike from the second guard, kicking him once, twice, hard in the gut. She stole his baton from him with ease as he crumpled to his knees and mercilessly struck him in the head with her newly acquired blunt object before turning and viciously attacking the first guard, sneaking under his guard and stabbing him with her baton before a brutal upper strike that sent blood flying.

Holy shit that woman could fight!

And, nonplussed, she was still running.

Gaping, Desmond had no choice but to follow.

She finally stopped at an elevator, Desmond skidding almost into her in his attempt to stop before the doors slid open with a soft hiss. She pressed a button and the door closed, giving them both a moment of quiet.

One corner of his mind finally started to catch up. "What about the cameras?" he asked, eying the red blinking light above them nervously.

"I rigged them to loop old footage," she said. "How do you think I managed to hide all your nighttime snooping from Abstergo?"

... That was her too? Holy...

"You're good..." he breathed, awestruck.

"So I've been told," she said with a smirk, pride filling her face briefly before what Desmond was quickly staring to call the Terminator face reappeared. "But they're on to us now. We need to hurry."

The elevator dinged and the two exited, Lucy still charging forward, her head swiveling left and right, keeping an eye out for more guards. Desmond followed, admiring her ability (and her ass) as they navigated yet more hallways. She paused at a corner, motioning for him to stop. She gestured for him to have a look, and when his gaze crested the corner he saw what at first glance was a cubicle farm, albeit fancier and more expensive and enormous, with glass instead of cloth tackboard, office chairs, desks and... and...

"We need to get to that elevator on the other side of the room," she whispered in his ear, hot breath tickling his nerves. "Follow my lead, but keep an eye out for security. I'd rather avoid a fight."

"Yeah..." he whispered, and that was all the confirmation she took before darting forward, Desmond once more left to catch up. It was like some kind of spoof of the beginning of that movie, The Matrix, keeping a low center of gravity through the maze of cubicles to keep from being seen. The pair ducked left and right, around cubicles with computers, occasionally decorated with a plant but mostly sterile, dull and drab.

Then they passed another glass rectangle of office space and Desmond saw the distinctive curved table.

"Is that an Animus?"

"Stay with me," Lucy said, looking left and right at an intersection. She ducked right and Desmond followed, his eyes roving over the rooms more acutely now. He saw another curved table, and another, and another.

"What the... How many of them are there?" He darted through one mini hall filled with the dreaded machines, and Desmond's head once more overloaded with information he couldn't process. He tried to crack a joke. "Is it Animus-es? Or Animi? What do you think Lucy? ...Lucy?"

But she was in Terminator mode again, and she was proving to be a terrible audience when she was like that. But, then again, Desmond couldn't blame her either. If he was stressed to the point of saturation he couldn't imagine how Lucy, mastermind of this breakout, was feeling. He tried for a less awkward question. "What do they need with all of them?" There were so many...

But they cleared the farm and made it to the elevator. Lucy quickly slid a card through a security terminal, punching in a code.

Nothing happened.

"Fuck," she cursed, surprising Desmond with her language. "I thought this card would work, it must be on a separate system and I don't have the code."

They were stuck? They were stuck when they needed to get out of here? There had to be something, some way to fix this, something Lucy had missed, something she couldn't see...

"Wait..." he said, thinking of the blood on the wall and his eyes and Altair. His gaze focused on the keypad, his mind drawing in on itself and opening it up to the eyes of an eagle, begging the majestic bird for help. Blue filled his vision, and he could see the soft glow of fingerprints like some kind of lame crime drama. Frowning, he looked at the numbers: 2, 3, 4, 7. He pressed them in order. Nothing, shit. He tried again, in reverse order. Still nothing. Come on, come on, open. He tried again.

And the light dinged to life, and the doors slid open.

Lucy's face softened into open surprise. "How did you do that?" she asked.

Desmond blinked, his vision returning to normal. "I... don't know," he said, uncertain how to explain it.

Time pressed on both of them, and the question would have to wait, they walked into the elevator, and Lucy pressed another button. "It's always something," she muttered to herself.

Desmond was still trying to catch up. He had moved on from blood on the wall and escape, but the next roadblock hit his head. "What was that in the Animus? Subject Sixteen? Ezio..." he winced at his butchering of the name. "Audi..." That sounded even worse. "Audisomething?"

"I think we've been wrong all along," the blond said in clipped tones. "That's why we need to get out of here. Vidic and the Templars they're only part of the problem..."

... Only part? Desmond was still stuck on living through a still birth, he didn't need another roadblock dumped on his head.

"What do you mean?" he asked, feeling an impending headache.

"I'll explain when we get there," she said in a tone that ended the discussion.

"Get where?" Desmond asked, frustrated. Where were they going? Back to New York? The Black Hills? Where were they in the first place?

But the elevator dinged again, and Lucy ignored him in favor of striding out into some kind of parking garage. Desmond trailed after her, confused and frustrated and struggling to keep up with the bombshells that were going off left and right. No sooner had they cleared the elevator that five guards all but ran towards them. Lucy obliged by leaping into the fray, still holding the bloody baton from before and adding more hemoglobin to it's spatter. Desmond, unarmed and only really experienced in barfights, held back. The guards were of course not nearly so obliging as two moved in on him. One swung hard and Desmond ducked under it, proud that he had avoided the blow for all of a millisecond before the second guard socked him hard in the stomach. Far more trained than the drunkards in a bar, Desmond was sure this was going to end very badly for him, but he persisted regardless.

He wondered dimly why he was fighting instead of running.

Had he run out of places to run?

No, there was stubbornness here, one he never remembered experiencing before.

"I've never been one to run!"

"Never been one to listen, either."

"I still live because of it!"

... Altair?

One punch was inches from his face before Desmond darted to the side, grabbing the wrist as it blew past him and twisted, following up with a hard punch of his own, under the armpit, and kicked at his assailant's knees. The moves shocked him, and he couldn't quite understand how he'd even done it. The second guard growled and moved forward, but Desmond backed up quickly, panicked over what his body had done without his knowledge. Shit, shit! He evaded a second swing, light on his feet and deflected another attack before tripping over the body of the guy he took down. Yelping, he skittered backward, half on his ass, as the security guard advanced for a final strike. Bar fights didn't compare to trained men, he was out of his league, and he was going to fucking die...!

But then, of course, a certain bloody baton landed heavily on his skull, and the man fell, leaving Lucy to stare over him.

"Come on," she said, adrenaline making her voice gruff. She offered a hand and Desmond took it, looking out at the five groaning and unconscious bodies at their feet and somehow ashamed he'd been outclassed by the hot blond. Male ego.

But there was no time for that as they dashed through the structure to a nondescript white sedan. Lucy popped the trunk, jutting her head in motion that he get in.

"You're joking," Desmond said, hoping for something else.

"It's for your own protection," she said in a matter-of-fact voice, and Desmond was forced to agree she was right.

"Oh man," he groaned, crawling in and hoping the spare tire wouldn't dig into his back too much.

When he looked up she smiled briefly. Softly. "We're almost there," she said gently, and it was the Lucy he had known for a week, compassionate and soft and so, so beautiful.

Just for her, he smiled.

The drive took forever. The tire did dig into his back, as did the wrench and other equipment necessary for a change, and Lucy seemed determined to hit every bump and dip and crack from here to wherever with shoddy suspension.

Desmond curled into himself as much as he could, and tried to let his brain catch up with what was happening to him. Abstergo had kidnapped him, forced him into that damned Animus machine from hell and make him relive memories of his tough-as-nails ancestor of the Third Crusade, an Assassin who fell from glory and killed his way back to the top only to find out his master had betrayed him and used a Piece of Eden to mind-control his entire home. Now, Lucy had broken him out after making him relive birth and driving to a heretofore undisclosed location. And there was Subject Sixteen, whoever the hell he (she?) was and the freakin' blood on the wall. God, what a fucked up life he had fallen to. Bitter resentment coursed through him, and he spent most of the ride deciding whom he hated more: the Assassins, the Templars, or himself.

They eventually came to a stop and Desmond heard Lucy kill the engine. He assumed that meant freedom, and he felt several parts of his body pop after hours of being curled up into a tight space.

"Thanks for that," he groaned in a flat voice. "It was great... being shoved into the trunk, being bounced around. Loved it."

Lucy smiled briefly, before gesturing him to follow. "This way."

"So... gonna tell me where I'm going now?" Desmond asked, wondering if he was going from one cage to another.

"There was a reason for the escape, Desmond," Lucy said.

"Figures," he muttered bitterly.

"We need your help," the blond pressed, leading him into a warehouse-like structure. The two began climbing a steel staircase.

"For what?" Desmond demanded, angry that things weren't being explained to him. "Another treasure hunt through time?"

Lucy shook her head slightly. "Abstergo's gonna replace their Apple of Eden. The map your ancestor found guarantees it. The other Assassins... They'll do what they can, where they can. But..."

"What? What is it?"

"We're losing this war, Desmond," Lucy said, turning a pair of pained eyes to him. Hurt rippled over her face and she fought to contain it. "The Templar's are too powerful. And every day more of us die..."

Desmond couldn't refute that look of vulnerability. But still, "I still don't see how I fit into things."

"We're going to train you, turn you into one of us."

... Wait, what?

"What?" Desmond shouted, a panicked crack in his voice. "No, no... you've seen me in action - I'm no good at this!" He hadn't even managed one guard in that fight in the parking garage, Lucy had done everything! His training from before was agility, climbing, and even then he hadn't used those skills in ten years! "And even if I were... it would take months - years, even." To retrain his muscles, to build up muscle memory, endurance, all of it...

"No," Lucy replied with confidence. "Not with the Animus. Not with the Bleeding Effect."

She... She was serious...

"But I'm just one guy..." he said, desperate.

"Sometimes that's all you need," she said, smiling at him. Something in Desmond melted at her belief in him, and he took a breath.

"So that's why you found him... My ancestor. What was his name? Ezio?"

Lucy nodded, ascending the stairs and leading him down a hall. "If you can follow in his footsteps, you'll learn everything he did just like he did. Years of training absorbed in a matter of days."

"... You broke me out of Abstergo and brought me here just to make me an Assassin?" ... Nothing else? No other motive? Just to use him? He felt a pinprick of hurt.

"Look," she said stopping and turning around, "there's more to it than that, but it'll have to wait. Trust me, okay?"

More to it than using him... and she had done so much for him already during his captivity... And she was... He smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "Alright. I'm in. Tell me what you need."

The blond blinked, her pouty lips open and gaping. "Really? You're sure?"

"I... thought you'd be happy about this," Desmond said, confused.

"Sorry..." she said quickly, backpedaling. "I'm just a little surprised. I spent the whole ride over here figuring out how I was going to convince you to do this..."

"Save it," Desmond said, stepping in closer. "After what those Templar bastards put me through, I'm ready, willing, and able." Whatever he thought of the Assassins, the Templars were infinitely worse because they didn't care, and whatever Desmond thought of his father, Lucy did care, and had gone out on of very thin limb for him. The Templars were wrong, and Lucy was living proof that the Assassins were more than just rhetoric.

Relief like Desmond had never seen in her before flooded her face, and without a thought she threw her arms around him and hugged him. Desmond briefly flashed back to the time he had hugged her, after hearing how she had been trapped by Abstergo. The heavy emotion around her was different though; relief instead of terror, and Desmond liked this much better. They fit together perfectly. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear, and pressed herself just a little bit tighter before pulling away.

Desmond was grinning like an idiot, he was sure of it, but he followed after her.

He may never have had a proper public school education, but Desmond did watch the History Channel on occasion, and the building Lucy had taken them two felt like an old warehouse or factory built back around the industrial revolution. Exposed brickwork framed huge arched windows that were broken into smaller planes of fogged glass (some grayer than others), with structural pillars of brick, then wood to support the massive weight of the building. The modern, steel stairs Lucy lead them up brought them to what was likely a workroom separate from the factory floor, or a very large office that had been converted for Assassin needs. The building had clearly been retrofitted over the years with fluorescent lights hanging overhead and clean hardwood floors.

The converted space had separate desks and what looked like a living area of couches and a bed behind a glass-partitioned wall. Under some of the window light, as almost the center stage of the room, was an orange reclined chair, hooked up to an impressive set of servers. In fact, turning, Desmond saw more servers, with the cool blue-green light of Abstergo flickering at the lightning pace of processing. There were shelves of massive books, many ancient looking, and many appearing to be modern technical manuals.

A young woman who looked more like a punk-rock DJ glanced up and saw them, immediately standing. "Lucy! You made it!" She came over in a rush, pulling her large headphones down to her neck and embracing Lucy in a tight hug. "God!" she said, pulling back to study her, "It's been so long! Seven years! Can you believe it?" The almost-DJ's grin was almost splitting her face and Lucy had one to match.

"Indeed," came a British accent. A tall man looking very upper-crust and above their ragtag group stepped forward, also smiling, though more gently. "Welcome back."

Desmond felt oddly like he was intruding and started to examine the converted space, but the redheaded Englander turned right to him.

"Ah, so you must be the infamous Subject Seventeen..." He raised an eyebrow and pushed up his glasses. "Desmond Miles, was it?" Arrogance dripped from his voice and Desmond glanced to Lucy to try and figure out why this guy had such a stick up his ass. She only smiled softly.

Desmond responded, "Who are you?" in a decidedly cool, if neutral tone.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners?" The redhead replied, a touch more civilly. "I'm Shaun Hastings," he turned to the almost-DJ, "this is Rebecca Crane."

Rebecca stepped forward, her arm outstretched to shake his hand and with a wide grin. "Nice to meet you, Desmond," she said in a contralto voice that sounded like it has shouted a great deal in years past.

Desmond shook her hand, gave a small smile, and opened his mouth for a similar greeting but the arrogant accent interrupted him.

"Right, well it's been lovely chatting, but if you don't mind, Desmond, it's best we get straight to work." Shaun glanced around them. "Time is precious," he said quietly. "Doubly so these days." He turned on his heel and went straight to the what must have been his station by the wall with lots of papers and maps tacked up with strings connecting them in some way Desmond wouldn't even try to guess at.

Rebecca stepped forward, clearly used to easing whatever toes this Shaun character stepped on. "We got everything set up and ready, Lucy," she said, switching topics. "Just say the word and we'll get going."

Lucy smiled warmly, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the memory device she'd pulled from the Animus during their quick escape. "Here," she said, handing it over. "I brought you something. A parting gift from Abstergo."

Rebecca's face seemed to light up like a toddler on Christmas. "Whoa!" her jaw dropped. "The memory core! This is amazing!" she looked up with her face-splitting smile. "With their data, things are gonna go a lot faster!" She started to backstep, turning to the intimidating orange recliner. "I'll get to work merging the code... we'll need to see which pattern buffers and storage protocols connect with the assembly code..."

Desmond chuckled quietly. Given the technobabble starting to spill from her mouth, he doubted he'd ever understand Rebecca fully. Clearly she had some engineering in her background, along with being a shouting DJ.

Lucy looked to him with a soft, warm smile. "It'll take her some time to merge the code on that. Would you like the ten-cent tour?"

He couldn't quite hold back a grin. "Sure, but could we start with the part that has a shower? That was a long car ride in a trunk."

She gave a light laugh. "The bath is this way," she said, taking his arm.

The shower was heavenly, especially after being stuck in the car trunk for who knew how many hours. It eased his aching muscles and refreshed him. Desmond finally was starting to feel human again. The memories of the blood on the wall, his captivity, it was hard to believe it was behind him now. But now he faced a new kind of captivity. The kind he'd escaped ten years ago. But where growing up was a prison he didn't understand and wanted escape from, now he was entering the responsibilities of chains of the way of life of an Assassin with open eyes and completely willingly. He'd told Lucy the truth. After what the Templars had done, Abstergo had done, he was ready, willing and able to take them down.

Personally, Desmond doubted he could do all that much. He was only one person. But if he could help, he would.

Refreshing as the shower was, Desmond still felt tired after the day of travel, and Lucy's tour showed him down into the factory-come-warehouse and the two rooms they had for sleep. One for Lucy and Rebecca, one for Shaun and now Desmond. (Desmond vowed to himself he'd take the bed behind the glass partition rather than share a room with that arrogant ass.)

Lucy brought them to their small kitchenette and made a couple of sandwiches for him. Desmond, admittedly, was getting tired of sandwiches from Abstergo, but hopefully he'd have a chance to actually cook a little now. While hardly chef material, Desmond did think he was a decent cook. When he mentioned this to Lucy, she brightened at the idea of something other than take-out, instant, or plain old sandwiches.

Leaning back from his sandwich, Desmond hesitantly brought up a subject that had been bugging him. "Lucy," he started, "I've been seeing things. Symbols in my prison-bedroom. The code on the keypad. Just like Altair."

She nodded, sipping her drink. "It's from the bleeding effect," she replied. "You're taking on more than your ancestor's memories. You're taking on their skills too. In this case, Eagle Vision."

"Skills?" He'd read the email at Abstero outlining the effects, but it had seemed so far-fetched. So out-there. And Subject Sixteen had gone insane as a result. He had to wonder how much time it would take.

"You're more receptive now," Lucy replied, looking away with a touch of guilt. "So if all goes well, everything Ezio learns in the Animus, you'll learn too."

Desmond leaned back with a sigh. "You really think this will work? That I'll become an assassin?"

"You already are an assassin," she replied with a smug smile. "You'll just be better at it."

"Yeah. Hopefully much better at it," came the sarcastic, arrogant tones of the Brit snob, leaning at the door with a cup of tea in one hand. "I mean seriously - I saw the tapes of you from Abstergo. You didn't even try to escape."

Desmond's anger flared briefly, because he had tried, thank you. By getting information instead of stupidly throwing himself at an armed and trained guard. But he let it slide and turned to Lucy. "What a dick."

She chuckled and Shaun merely scoffed, dropping off his teacup in the sink and stalking away.

Desmond went to bed shortly after, exhausted, while Lucy sat at her desk. He fell asleep to the light chatter of Lucy and her friends, getting the first deep sleep he'd had since he was taken. He wasn't safe, not by a longshot, but the sweet taste of freedom did a lot to ease him into slumber.

He woke to someone lightly shaking his shoulder. He looked up blearily and saw Lucy above him, smiling softly. "Sorry, Desmond, but we need to get started."

He nodded, yawned, and fumbled by the freaky orange chair and down the hall to the kitchenette, glad to even be able to get his own breakfast instead of getting it at gunpoint.

Rebecca stumbled worse than he did into the kitchenette, making a somewhat beeline to the coffee pot.

"You okay?" Desmond asked as she chugged a mug then poured another.

"Yeah," she replied in her contralto voice. "Up all night merging the code from that memory core. Can Abstergo use a standard system like Windows, Linux, even a Mac? Nooo," she grumbled, sipping from her mug. "They have their own OS and even then, the Animus OS is different from their standard OS, and the only way to make anything talk to each other is to get into the actual assembler code. DOS, it isn't."

Desmond gave a quiet chuckle. "I think I maybe understood every other word."

Rebecca blinked, then gave her own chuckle. "Sorry, all-nighters usually leave me unable to shut-up." Going into a cabinet, she pulled out a bag of popcorn and set it into the microwave. "We'll get through our morning meeting, I'll set you up and monitor for a while, then those couches have my name on it."

"I understand the feeling," Desmond replied, saluting his mug to her. "Sleep is such a necessary evil."

She smiled her face-splitting smile. "Word of advice? Don't mess with Shaun's tea. I may not be able to keep my mouth closed when tired, but he's even more of a dick when he hasn't had his tea."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, enjoy your breakfast. I'm heading for the morning meeting. Sooner we get it over, sooner I set you up, sooner I get to sleep."

"I'll be along in a minute."

She gave her own mug-salute and headed back, a little steadier than when she came in.

Desmond finished his breakfast quickly and headed back. Lucy was sitting next to Rebecca, both eating from the popcorn bag the techie brought with her. Shaun was at the massive flatscreen that dominated the wall, glancing through some papers. Desmond sat on the other couch, knowing the Solidarity of Girlfriends made it a Bad Idea to sit with Lucy and Rebecca as they were clearly catching up after being apart for so long.

It was strange being here like this. For the past week, he'd been captive of Abstergo, and now he had freedom of a kind.

"Right, now that we're all finally here," Shaun groused, clicking his remote to the monitor, "let's get started."

On the massive widescreen came a picture of Abstergo's logo. "The biggest event of yesterday, needs no recap. Lucy has finally returned after seven years of undercover work at Abstergo, and dragged along with her our baby assassin, Desmond."

Both Lucy and Rebecca chuckled, while Desmond merely rolled his eyes. New Guy equaled Fair Game, after all. He'd gone through this whenever he got a new job, he could hardly call this a surprise. Though he'd have thought that, as an Assassin, this arrogant ass would be more mature about it.

"Now," Shaun continued, "since Desmond has agreed to join us, there is the matter of actually making him an assassin. Lucy's recommended using the Bleeding Effect to our advantage."

Lucy nodded solemnly. "It's the fastest way. By living through his ancestor's training, he'll get the muscle memory and instincts necessary to be able to survive in a fight."

Desmond had been thinking about that. "I'll also need an exercise regime."

All three turned to look at him, surprised.

He just rolled his eyes. "Look, I might get the muscle memory and instincts, but my body has been lying around for over a week. Even with my jobs and exercises to keep in shape, I'm not going to be at peak condition for a while. I'll need strength and endurance mostly, since I've kept up my agility training to a degree."

"Great idea!" Rebecca gushed, leaning over Lucy to slap Desmond's leg. "We've been so focused on the technical aspects of what we can do, I don't think we'd have ever thought of that!"

"I remember your walks," Lucy chuckled, clearly remembering how irritated they made Vidic. "I think we can schedule that for the evenings, say before dinner?"

Desmond nodded.

Shaun groused. "Clearly our newest member has even more catch up to do than originally estimated." He clicked his remote and continued. "I've been digging around records for this Ezio ancestor. Abstergo records mostly talk of some of the historical figures of the time and I've already started setting about a database of a lot of the major events of the time period. Some fascinating contemporaries this ancestor has. Machiavelli, the Medici, da Vinci. These memories will be fascinating."

Desmond noted a certain appreciative gleam in the Brit's eye. Must be a history buff.

"Since we've rescued Desmond and Abstergo is out in force looking," Shaun continued, "we'll be maintaining our communication blackout with the rest of the Assassins. We should be safe here, but the blackout will serve as an additional security blanket."

Lucy frowned. "Do you have an update for me on what has been going on? My communications have been sketchy at best."

Shaun gave her a small smile. "Your wish, my command, and all that."

What followed was a lot of names and locations and information that Desmond had no prior knowledge of and went straight over his head without any sort of context. There was Osaka, Russia, an outpost in rural Mexico, somewhere that sounded like the Congo, names of people Desmond felt might be familiar, but were mostly just noise in his ears as he recognized nothing. He was sinking further back into the soft cushions of the couch getting bored out of his skull with this debriefing as Lucy was avidly taking notes and asking questions, trying to catch up on what she'd been missing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Desmond spotted Rebecca stifling a nod and he gave her a hidden smile.

She grinned back as well, then winked. In a blink of an eye, she had pulled out a kernel of popcorn and sent it flying through the air, hitting Shaun right in the ear. The arrogant ass turned with a severe frown and in response, Rebecca just through another piece, making it bounce precisely off of his glasses, leaving a buttery smear.

He raised an eyebrow as both Lucy and Desmond started hiding snickers.

"Rebecca? Really?"

She just smiled unrepentantly and aimed another. It landed right in Shaun's small red fauxhawk before Lucy reached out and snatched the bag from the techie's hands.

With supreme dignity, the Brit brushed the popcorn out of his hair, pulled out a handkerchief, and cleaned his glasses. "Tell you what, Lucy, I'll fill you in later, once the children have been put to bed."

"Probably a good idea," Lucy replied with just as much seriousness. If you didn't look at the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Let's get Desmond set up and started."

"Right, meeting adjourned," Shaun replied.

"I'll boot up my baby," Rebecca said, stealing her popcorn back and heading down to her computer by the orange recliner. Lucy took her computer nearby and Shaun went to his bulletin board wall. Desmond followed, walking over to Lucy.

"Hey... Listen," he said quietly. "I just wanted to say thank you." Because he'd still be stuck in Abstergo if it weren't for her. "And that... I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Lucy asked, perplexed.

"Yeah, you know, before," he replied. "Everything at Abstergo. You risked a lot for me. It was just..." Desmond sighed. "I wasn't ready."

She smiled at him. "It's okay," she said quietly.

"No," Desmond insisted. "Going through all that. Knowing that the Templars still exist. What they're planning..."

"What's done is done, Desmond," Lucy interrupted. "You're here now and that's what matters."

He nodded. He still felt guilty for the danger he'd put her in, the risks she had to take to free him. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She gave a smile and patted his hand.

A glance at the orange recliner showed Rebecca was still checking cables and booting up her "baby", so Desmond walked over the Shaun and his bulletin board. He'd at least try to be sociable.

"What's all this stuff for?" he asked, gesturing to the maps and documents.

The Brit swiveled in his chair, looking insulted and above it all. "This stuff, Desmond, oh this 'stuff' is nothing special, really, this 'stuff' is just the stuff that keeps our entire operation from falling apart, really." And even though Desmond was standing and Shaun was sitting, Desmond got the distinct impression Shaun was looking down his nose at him. "It requires a great deal of concentration to keep it all moving so you'll forgive me if I don't have time to play meet-and-greet."

Arrogant ass.

Rebecca, however, was happy to provide information. "Shaun's in charge of maintaining our knowledge archives - like a digital library," she said as she finally sat at her station and started booting up. "He'll be riding shotgun with me while you're in the Animus. Anything of note, he'll make a database entry for it."

Desmond nodded. "I see."

"Which means you clearly weren't listening during the morning meeting," Shaun groused under his breath. "I also provide tactical support for the other Assassins. You know, Desmond, the ones who are out there," he said with a sneer, "actually doing 'stuff'. Risking their lives, little things like that?"

Right. It wasn't just that Desmond was the New Guy. Shaun had other worries and Desmond made a convenient target for frustrations. He shook his head as he headed over to the orange recliner and Rebecca.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down on the orange recliner. "So you'll be running this thing?"

"Yeah," Rebecca said cheerfully. "I take care of Baby. It's my job to keep her up and running."

"Baby? You mean the Animus."

"Actually," she drawled, pulling off her headphones again and tapping on her keyboard, "I prefer Animus two-point-oh, since Baby's twice as awesome as anything you'll find at Abstergo." Her face was split with her smile again, as she continued with great enthusiasm. "The Templars might have deeper pockets than us, but they've got no ambition. No passion! No competitive edge! That's why," she winked, "even with all their resources, anything they can do, I can do better." She dipped her head coquettishly. "Faster, too!"

Desmond smiled at her and tried to relax. "So how does this work?"

Rebecca came over with a cable and pulled up his hoodie's sleeve.

"Of course."

"Deep breath."

"Ah!" The cold metal slid far too easily into his arm, indicating that Rebecca had more practice at this than he really cared to think about.

"Oh what are you?" Shaun called from his bulletin board. "A tiny child?"

"Shaun!" Rebecca reprimanded.

"Well..."

Desmond closed his eyes, his focus drifting.

"Here we go," he heard Rebecca say, almost like from a distance.

Really, this was like taking a nap. Much better than the pressure at the back of his skull from Abstergo.

The loading room was different, Desmond noticed. Still white, but not fog. He secretly found that less creepy and debated on commenting, but Rebecca wasn't kidding when she said faster, too, because no sooner had he acclimated himself to the white that buildings seemed to spring up from nowhere. Desmond startled, stepping back slightly, and immediately recognized that this was decidedly not Syria. Not mosques, no souks or madrasaahs, no Roman arches. All the buildings were in neutral browns and whites and some oranges; tiled roofs were everywhere, and the architecture was so...

"Where am I?" he muttered to himself, looking around. He was on a bridge of some kind, overlooking a river that was spotted with the occasional gondala. Venice? No, he wasn't a Venetian, he was a proud son of Firenze! Desmond blinked, startled a little, and turned around to see a veritable throng of compatriots; friends, all well fed and slightly drunk, rubbing their fists and stretching their muscles, itching for a fight. "Boys will be boys," his father said, only Desmond's father never said that, and he realized he was starting to synch with his ancestor...

Author's Notes: This was our Memorial Day weekend.

Three days to eek out these fifteen odd pages for your enjoyment. It's started, ladies and gentlemen. We're novelizing AC2. You'll have to wait for the future chapters, since we're still writing the thing, and we have a beta now, too. But hopefully this will tide you over.

Also, as a pseudo-disclaimer. Neither of us thought it particularly fair that AC1 only had a minimal number of Arabic: souk, madrasaah, assassyun, and Altair's little blurb at the end, while AC2 and Brotherhood have entire paragraphs of Italian. Besides that, we don't read, speak, or remotely understand Italian, and while listening to it with subtitles in a game is cool, writing it in fanfiction is a headache waiting to happen. In light of that we've given ourselves three "rules" for using Italian: Ezio's assassinations, curses, and "polite" language like "Hi," and "How are you." We haven't decided yet if we'll translate them, per se, but we will at the very minimum gives them a context so that, even if you don't understand the meaning, you'll understand which of the above three it is. In other words: how the Italian works for this fic is still in the works.

This is exciting. We still have a lot of decisions to make and creative nuances to invoke, but we look forward to the ride and hope you'll be patient with us a little longer. Let us know what you think!