There was an almost eerily quiet feel to the convenience store that morning. It was almost entirely deserted, except for the cashier who continued to idly flip through his magazine, occasionally flipping out his cell phone, to check the time. Of course, the quiet and solitude were not anything new to the current sole patron of the store that morning. In fact, both those things suited Altair just fine. He liked it a lot better than being in crowded supermarkets, or even busy city streets, and on this particular morning, the store he was in had an almost postapocalyptic feel to it. Or it could just have been the fact that no one was going to a convenience store at ten in the morning on a Wednesday.

Altair reached up and tugged his white beanie down a little further over his light hair, and fidgeted with the obnoxiously colored basket he gripped tightly in his right hand. He slowly made his way up the aisle, reaching out and running his fingers over the bright packages, filled with junk, and luxuries he could not afford, or want. He came to the end of the aisle and found himself standing in front of a large glass door, behind which sat several cardboard packages, each containing enough sugary drinks to stop a young man's heart. His lip quirked as he pulled the corner back, in a thoughtful gaze as he stared at the bright red package sitting behind the glass. Slowly his hand when to his pocket and his fingers closed tightly around the package within as he started counting in his head and glancing down at the basket in his hands. So far it was only filled with necessities, and nothing more.

He counted out the prices in his head, and as he did, he tapped his fingers up and down along the white envelope he held tightly in his fingers. He had enough. Just barely enough. Altair sighed and wrenched the glass case open, he propped it up against his shoulder and grabbed the cardboard container by the handle, and wrenched it from its nesting spot among the other boxes. It fell heavily in his hands and he grunted, before readjusting his grip. He kicked the door shut, and then turned around, balancing himself and making his way back towards the counter. He hoisted the goods up onto the marble top, causing the cashier to look up at him through thick black rimmed glasses in disbelief. Though Altair couldn't blame him. It wasn't every day that a fifteen year old boy came in and bought groceries rather than junk food.

"Will this be all for you?" He asked as disinterestedly as possible.

"Yes," Altair returned with coolness of his own.

Slowly, and with a great dramatic sigh, the cashier managed to shove himself away from the counter, and began to run the items Altair had set in front of him through the scanner. As he did, Altair pushed his hand into his pocket and retrieved the bulging white envelope. Once all the items had been run through and the price blinked onto the electronic pad, he split the envelope and pulled several bills from the case, and handed it over to the clerk. The teen eyed him suspiciously, and slowly accepted the money and tapped the cash register. He slid the bills under a few metal slots, and began to remove the appropriate amount of change, his eyes never leaving Altair for one second.

"So what happened to your hand?" He sniffed before handing the change back. He then began to pull the goods from the counter and deposit them into plastic bags.

Altair tilted his head at the question and looked down at his hand. He groaned, as he suddenly realized what the teen was talking about. The fact that his ring finger was gone from his left hand did not bother him anymore, his stub was just a part of him. He reached forwards and picked up the plastic bags offered to him, and then looped his three fingers under the cardboard handle of the box of soda. "I was in an accident," he explained curtly. "I don't need a receipt."

He turned on his heel, and grimaced at the heavy bags and box he held, suspended only by his fingertips. A long time ago, the pain would have started to bother him, but over the years his hands had become calloused and immune to the feeling. He pushed the door to the store open with his shoulder and stepped out onto the street. He took a deep breath and began to make his way through the parking lot.

The sun beat down on the back of his neck, and despite the sweat that began to accumulate under his hoodie and beanie, he did not stop. Winter was just beginning to set in, and the slight chill in the air wasn't enough to cool him down as he continued to walk. The streets were lined with small one-story houses, with faded yellow plaster for walls, and old brown shingles for roofs, and busted screen doors with metal rimming in the center of almost every one. The lawns were unkempt and dying, and what bushes there were, were overgrown and wild. The large trees that grew along the street and in the backyards created a sort of canopy, shielding the neighborhood from the sun.

Altair continued down these streets for several blocks, stopping every now and again to readjust his grip on his groceries. Finally he came to a stop in front of a small, unassuming house with grey vinyl siding, and iron rods over all the windows and a large cedar door. He walked up the broken up sidewalk and stepped up to the door, and moving the bags up to his mouth and taking the handles with his teeth. He then began to fish through his pockets until he produced a small metal key. He slid it into the lock and turned it with some difficulty, until a creaking noise was heard, and then a loud noisy thump. He sighed through clenched teeth and grabbed the door handle and twisted it, pushing it inwards. He took the groceries from his mouth and stepped inside, taking a deep breath.

"I'm home," he announced loudly.

The door opened up to a small dusty living space, with an old dirty brown couch, and one very large cushy arm chair. There were a pile of shoes by the door, and a long wooden coffee table in front of the couch, which was littered with pieces of paper and crayons. Altair kicked his shoes off into the pile and slowly began to make his way past the living area into a darkened hallway. There were several doors along the hallway and one lit opening closest to him.

He turned and walked into the kitchen, though calling it a kitchen was being generous. The refrigerator had more than likely been white at one point, but it was yellowed and blackened by time, and the doors looked more than ready to fall apart. The cabinets that could be seen had had their doors pulled clean off, leaving their insides bare and exposed, and for the most part, their insides were completely empty. One shelf held a few bowls and plates, and even a pot and pan or two. A black microwave sat on one of the counters, but other than that, there was nothing that would suggest any form of cooking happened in this kitchen. There was one large circular table in the middle, that was lined with water stains, and stains of other natures that Altair still wasn't sure of. He set the carton of soda onto the floor and set the bag of groceries onto the table, before running a hand along the back of his neck. From behind him, he heard footsteps, and turned around in time to see another boy only a few years younger than him walk into the room.

"Altair, you're back!"

"Good morning, Ezio," Altair sighed, slumping into one of five rickety wooden chairs.

"Is it still? Oh, its only eleven," the boy sighed after a glance at the microwave which still, despite its age, displayed the time in big blue numbers. He picked at one of the handles of the groceries and then looked up at Altair. "Another packet of money from our mysterious benefactor?"

Altair looked up at Ezio and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Altair," Ezio folded his arms. "The children may not question how it is we are able to live here, or how it is you come back with food every week, but I am no child."

"Are you sure?" Altair cracked a smile, the scar on his lips whitening at the pressure.

"Do you know who it is?" Ezio avoided the insult.

The smile was gone from Altair's face, and he sighed. "Do not look a gift horse in the mouth, Ezio. Just be grateful that someone is looking out for us."

"But I would-"

Before the words could leave his mouth, there were more footsteps and three small children burst through the opening into the kitchen. One boy with dark tan skin ran up to the table, hopping up onto the chair and grabbing the plastic of the bags anxiously. "What did you get, Altair?" He asked, peeking into the bag.

Almost instantly, another child, a girl this time, with very dark skin and black hair climbed up onto the chair with the boy, reaching across to grab the same plastic handle that the boy was grabbing onto. "Let me see, Connor!" She said, nearly clambering onto the table.

Ezio folded his arms, and frowned at the two as they continued to vie to see all the things Altair had brought back. "Connor, Aveline, please get off the table."

The boy, Connor, leaned back onto the chair, and frowned having thoroughly searched the contents of the bags. "You only brought back boring things."

Altair smirked a little at that, and leaned forwards. "I brought what we needed."

"I know, that's what I said."

Aveline looked up at Altair, and sighed. "You didn't get anything good?"

Altair shook his head and then leaned down, grabbing hold of the canister of soda and hauling it up onto the table. Both Connor and Aveline's eyes lit up, and instantly they grabbed at it, tearing away at the cardboard. Connor dug his hands into it, and pulled two of the cans from their confines, and Altair frowned. "You can have one," He held up one finger to drive his point across.

Connor nodded and jumped off his chair, holding one of his cans out to Aveline. "Come on, Aveline. Lets go outside."

The two darted from the room, like bullets shot from a cannon, and Ezio jumped up to follow. "Don't go climbing every tree you see-!" The door slammed, and Ezio dropped his hand. "I don't know why I bother. I am starting to sound like their mother."

Altair smiled at the thought and shook his head. As he began to lean back to relax, he felt a small hand curl around the fabric of his pants and he looked down at the youngest of their 'family'. "Oh. Good morning, Desmond," he smiled, and reached down to pick the four-year-old boy up into his lap.

The boy turned around in Altair's grip, and pointed at the large container of soda. "Can I have one too, Altair?"

Altair frowned and looked up at Ezio, who shrugged as if to say: "Hey, if you want to deal with a caffeinated four-year-old all afternoon, be it on your head."

Altair grimaced at the thought, and then looked down at Desmond. "You can have one with lunch, Desmond."

"Promise?" The boy glanced back at him.

"Of course," he nodded. He looked up at Ezio and put his hands under Desmond's arms, lifting him up slightly. "Why don't you go outside with Ezio? You can help him keep an eye on Connor and Aveline."

Ezio walked over and picked Desmond up, and set him on the ground before taking his hand. He looked Altair up and down, and frowned. "What time did you wake up this morning?"

"Early."

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard."

"I'll push myself as hard as I need to."

"Then, at least go take a nap or something," Ezio tilted his head to the side and Altair chuckled as he stood.

"Believe me, I intend to," he stretched, and followed Ezio and Desmond to the opening to the hallway. They both turned to head out the door, and Altair watched as Ezio sat Desmond down to fasten his shoes, and then turned around again and walked back into the house. At the end of the hall there were a three doors, and Altair turned the one to the left of him, and with a few difficult twists of the door knob, pushed his way inside. The room was completely barren except for five twin sized mattresses, all sprawled out haphazardly along the floor. There were some ratted pillows and even worse were the state of the blankets, but Altair was unperturbed as he took a few steps towards the mattress closest to the door, and flopped down on it, face first. He sighed as he pressed his face into the pillow, which smelled of sweat and salt, and turned his head slightly.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope that had previously held the money he had spent, not even an hour ago, and examined it. As usual, no name, no return address… no writing of any sort. The money came like clockwork, and Altair was by no means ungrateful for it, but he couldn't say he wasn't curious about who it came from. He turned his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes again, dropping the envelope.

It was a mystery for another time.