The windy streets of Chicago were deserted. A particularly brutal winter had set in. The few souls moving about the cold, damp night were doing so in a hurry. They were eager to get to their destinations. The only ones who sought the streets at this ungodly hour were the wicked and the desperate. Drug dealers, prostitutes, thugs and the homeless. This was their hour. Among these night dwellers was a particularly strange figure. He was dressed for the weather. A hooded trench coat clung to him. The hood covered his face; the coat itself billowed with the wind. Comfortable jeans wrapped his legs as he made his way through the snow covered streets. He ignored the winks and the passes the hookers made. The hooded man had somewhere to be.

She was waiting for him, a stern expression on her face.

"You're late Kyle."

"Sorry." The hooded man replied shortly.

She had expected a better reply than that. She checked her phone and continued.

"We agreed to meet at 1:45 sharp. You are eight minutes late. Why?"

He rolled his eyes. Of course she won't let this go.

"My neighbors were having a party. I was invited. I have to spend some time socializing, don't I?"

She didn't reply. She simply gestured him to follow her. A small café was open. They both ordered Americano and made themselves comfortable in a corner booth. The woman reached inside her pockets and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. She began writing. The hooded man did not bother asking her what she was writing. She paused for a while and then continued scribbling. Their beverages had arrived. The man took off his hood. In the bright lights, he looked absolutely ordinary. He had a plain face. Dark hair, dark eyes and a slightly long nose. He wasn't specifically handsome or attractive. But he did have a pleasant face and a calm, easy going expression. The woman was similar. She had long dark hair and dark eyes. Her nose was thin and pointed. She wore glasses and had a rather haughty expression on her face. Nevertheless, she had a strange power over most people that made them nervous or feel intimidated. Looking at them, they looked like a regular pair of co-workers or maybe even a couple. No one would look at these people and suspect them to be a pair of highly trained assassins.

The man named Kyle quietly sipped his coffee as the woman in front of him continued writing on the piece of paper. He gestured for a refill and as he sipped on the warm, refilled coffee, he cleared his throat. The woman looked up at him. They were alone.

"What's new? Are you close?" She asked him.

"I think so. The leader trusts me. Or rather doesn't see me as anything more than a kid looking for a job. He's been teaching me how to fix engines for a while now."

The woman nodded. He took it as a cue to continue. So he did.

"He deals mostly with upscale clients. Rich teenagers living off their parent's money. He gets them illegal parts for high prices and uses the surplus to pay off police officers. He also has a moderate influence over the flow of drugs. He provides vehicles for the drug mules. The other gangs leave him alone though. They mostly use burners to get in touch. Far as I can tell, that's all he's involved in."

She nodded again, confirming what she already knew. This infuriated him. Why hadn't she simply told him that? He was about to voice his thought when she spoke up.

"Okay. So he's a quiet fellow. Does he have a clue about the turf war that's brewing?"

He shook his head.

"I see." She replied.

"What does William say about all this?" He asked her.

"He thinks that the cartel is trying to take over the local guns as well. You need to make sure the cartel manages to do that."

"Why?" He asked her.

His simple question reminded her of his lack of experience. He was 17 years old, after all. She had been surprised that he had agreed to perform this operation. She had even voiced her doubts to William. But William had been confident about him. Then again, he had proved to be effective so far. So she gave him the benefit of the doubt and answered him.

"The cartel supplies all the drugs in Chicago and transports them through a wide network of dealers. The local gangs know that the cartel is powerful and won't interfere with the drugs. This has reduced them to trading guns. Rusty automatics and the likes, stolen from abandoned cold war outposts and so on. All in all, they supply mediocre product. If the cartel takes over the gun business as well, the local gangs will be out of jobs. Naturally, they'll have to fight over the territories."

He understood easy enough. And yet,

"But say the cartel takes over. What good does that do to us? Far as I'm concerned, these are all gangland thugs. They have no military experience, no tradecraft. I can defeat the local gangs or the cartel and I can do it quietly. Why bother letting the cartel take over?"

She smiled quietly and replied.

"The cartel is backed by Templars. They probably don't know them as the Templars but it hardly matters to them. They're all greedy criminals looking for a quick buck. After the failure to launch Eye Abstergo, the Templars have been careful not to get involved with the crime syndicate in America directly. They know that there are Intelligence agencies looking into them. We let the cartel take over because the profit the cartel makes is funding Abstergo's research facilities and militia in the United States. William and his team may have found a possible Piece of Eden in America. They need to take out Abstergo's infrastructure before researching further into this."

Realization dawned on him and he smiled back.

"So I assist the cartel in taking over the gun business. The local gangs will be forced to rise up against the cartel and the resulting battle will cripple both sides. I finish off their remaining networks and cripple their supply and demand. The cartel will be forced to pull out of Chicago and Abstergo will lose a major source of their income stateside."

She nodded and added,

"Not to mention the turf war will attract federal attention and Abstergo will have to pull out for good. We cripple Chicago and we essentially cripple Templar control in America's criminal element. Assassins kill with more than just blades, Kyle."

He grinned and nodded his head enthusiastically and replied,

"So, what do I have to do?"

She pushed over the piece of paper she had been writing on earlier and replied,

"This is the address and details to our Chicago cell. You'll find all equipments, tools and necessary dossiers over there. Go back to your apartment. I'll contact you in two hours after you check in from the cell. I'll give you further instructions then. For now just do you job and watch. Note down anything odd and contact me only if it's an emergency. Just remember that if you are in immediate danger, don't hesitate to kill. Your life is far more important than the mission."

And with that she got up and left. He knew she was lying. The mission was far more important than him. He would follow her instructions for now and pretend to be a normal teenager who worked to put himself through school. He sipped the warm coffee. Yes. This was going to be an adventure.