Update (August 2019): I started writing this story last year based on a flash of inspiration with little in the way of a long term plan. Since then, I've reflected on the direction that it was going and have come up with a semi-coherent structure of how the narrative will progress. In practise, this means that a big chunk of the story will be rewritten or heavily edited; starting with this chapter.

Enjoy.

Tunis, 3 days later.

Nothing, yet again. If it wouldn't have drawn attention to himself, Alex would be sorely tempted just to pick up a rock and throw it at a random building. He could remember the initial sense of apprehension, perhaps even excitement, when he had discovered the Assassins' presence in Tunis. How fucking naive he was. It was never that easy, for all the resources Abstergo possessed, it had still taken days to find the Assassins in Sidi Bouzid and Tunis was much bigger.

Hassan. That name was all but taunting him at this point. Once again he questioned the value he had previously placed upon that letter. He was in a country where Arabic was widely spoken. For fucks sake! Every other nonce on the street probably has that name. And not to mention the Assassins were perfectly content in the shadows...

"How was your walk? Did you find anything?" A tired voice called over the comm, interrupting his angry thoughts.

"Nope." Alex replied, emphasising the 'p'. "You have any luck?"

"No names, nothing. We need more intel somehow, some way or it's a dead end." Callum paused for a second. "Why don't we take a break? No use banging our heads into a wall."

"Alright, I'll see you-" Thump! A barrage of noise assaulted his heightened senses, cutting his reply off. Faint yet sharp at the same time. "Hold on, there's something close by."

Focusing, interference of the general hustle and bustle was slowly but surely filtered out. The thumps continued, joined by a hum like noise. Keying in, the sound became ever clearer.

"Mmmm...Mmmm...Mmmm!" Shouting, blocked by something. Someone, more likely. He zeroed in on the noise, letting his senses guide him. Gradually, a path began to form in his line of sight, illuminated by a golden twinge. Alex's interest piqued, replacing the accumulated frustration of the last several hours. This was important.

He followed, methodically, as the golden path continued to form in front of him. Honestly, he had the half the mind to break into a sprint and seize whatever opportunity awaited him at it's end asap. In an ideal world, he would surely do so. This however, was not an ideal world but the capital of a nation in crisis. The veneer of normality still persisted for now, especially in a park like the one he was in: the clear skies, the cool winter breeze and the hustle of people enjoying leisure time. There were children, clad in miniature parka coats, playing tag under the perennially guarded watch of their parents. An old man, sitting on a bench, occasionally throwing food at the ever eager ducks in the pond. A couple, walking hand in hand, no doubt whispering sweet nothings to each other. It would have been idyllic if the not for the underlying tension in the air.

The path continued, out of the park and into the streets. Alex was pleasantly surprised at the distance he covered, his senses sharper than he had expected. All those sessions in the animus, it almost made the cyclosporine worth it. There wasn't much traffic, another sign of the tense political situation. It had been a nightmare to get into Tunis, checkpoint after checkpoint with police seemingly everywhere, yet for once he was grateful. There was little to impede him, not to mention the quiet had been a boon for the senses. The trail took a bend, into an alley and it was quite a sight. A man bound, bloodied and gagged yet still defiant. He was struggling, continually trying to shout in spite of the pain he was in. His wounds undoubtedly the result of punishment, a theory confirmed as one of his captors rewarded him with a punch to the gut for his efforts.

"What the fuck do you want now?" The brute of a man asked the hapless prisoner as he ripped off his gag.

"Release me this instant! I'll.." His ranting was cut off by another punch, this time to the jaw. The crunch was a sickening sound to hear, followed by coughing as another few drops of blood spilled from his mouth. Meanwhile, his captors seemed to grow ever the more exasperated.

"Will this guy ever shut up?"

"We're not paid enough for this shit."

At that, the brute grabbed the bound man by the chin, his face marked by a scowl. "Any more and I will cut out your tongue. The boss doesn't need you to speak to get what he wants."

This was what his senses had guided him toward? No sense of discretion, little wonder the man had found himself in this predicament. Yet, the man continued to glow in his second sight, a shining gold. Sighing, Alex waited until the two on guard turned their backs, likely to watch whatever spectacle of torture the third planned to inflict upon his hapless victim. Crunch! The sound of 2 heads smashing against was satisfying, if a little jarring. Fortunately, whatever the brute had planned for his victim had so engrossed him that his neither said smash nor the sound of bodies falling to the ground seemed to register. It was only when he felt a choking sensation as a sleeper hold was wrapped around his neck that any resistance was attempted, slowing dissipating as his world faded into black.

Alex threw his now unconscious victim aside, joining his allies on the floor. Finding a key, he proceeded to the bound man, whose eyes filled with apprehension as he cuffs were opened. His gag thrown aside, he began to run his mouth yet again.

"Out of prison for but a few days and kidnapped by these thugs. Can I get no..." He stopped mid tirade as he noticed Alex. "Not that I'm ungrateful for the rescue but who are you?"

"Your guardian angel." Alex quipped. "You're involved in the protests?"

The man straightened, eyes narrowing. It had been an educated guess on Alex's part, the likelihood of it being correct increasing by the second.

"You've been in prison recently and you look like you're used to this." He paused as the man's mouth twisted in acknowledgment, a good sign. "Tell me, who have I saved you from? You owe me that much."

Hesitating for a moment, the man began to explain: "I was imprisoned for spreading the message and to my great fortune, the day I'm released I get bungled into an alley, beaten and my possessions stolen from me." He looked towards Alex again. Was that a glint in his eye? "I do not know who these albaltajia are but if you help get my stuff back, I'll be further in your debt."

"Is Tunis normally filled with so many weapons or have you majorly pissed off the wrong people?" Alex remarked as he caught site of yet another patrol. A private warehouse, on the banks of the lake of Tunis, was not a place for this sort of security. So far he had counted at least 20 guards, around half of whom were heavily armed. It did not help either that his 'friend' was relatively unfamiliar with this region of the city, meaning he was going in blind. Unsurprisingly Callum had been against this errand, deeming it a waste of time, until Eagle vision was brought up. The circumstances may have been strange, yet no less important to the mission; he was sure of it.

"As I said I do not know, they kidnapped me and took my laptop and flash drive. Are you even sure this is the right place?" The sarcasm was lost on his companion. "That drive in particular, I need-"

"Easy...Your ears would not deceive you and I doubt your gracious hosts would spin such an elaborate deception." Alex reassured. Pulling out a spare commlink, he handed it to the man. "Put this on and speak only when spoken to. Wait here for my return and do not get spotted. If things go to shit, get out and we'll meet in time at the agreed rendezvous. Understood?"

"I'll stay here and wait for your updates. Rendezvous point if things don't go to plan."

"Excellent. I'll see you on the other side."

Alex scanned the warehouse several more times as he circled it's peripheries, taking great care not to be spotted. To most observers, he disappeared into the crowds enjoying the beauty of the lake. Seen perhaps but never registered in the memory. Eventually, his senses identified patterns in the patrols. How many there were at a time, the most heavily guarded areas and the paths they took. They were never static, aiming to cover as much ground as quickly as possible. Annoying in that it necessitated an extra degree of vigilance yet the gaps they left could be advantageous if exploited correctly. He slipped in between patrols, using the shipping containers as cover to remain unseen as the guards circled back and forth, heading deeper into the warehouse site. Surprisingly, the hairs on his back did not stand as much he thought they might. One daresay he felt more relaxed than during his training, though having both a target and pursuer breathing down your neck would stress anyone out. He continued the routine, hugging the corners, slinking from one container to the next until he heard chatter. Two guards, both well armed, speaking in heavily accented English.

"Most of these containers are empty, I don't see the point of this."

"We get paid so we do the job, why do you complain?"

"I'm not complaining, just wondering what we're doing here of all places. It would be better if everyone was around the storehouse in sector B."

His friend chuckled. "You want to see what's in there, don't you?"

"You can't blame me for being curious."

"Please, we all know Karim has the key and he's always in his office. They're probably more frustrated in sector B, so close yet so far."

"I suppose."

"Come on, we've stuck around too long. let's circle back around."

It was something, they had unwittingly given him a location. This was aided by the excessively large sign, a metal plate with 'B' raised high into the sky, 2 poles acting like legs for support. Perhaps they wanted to make it as easy possible for the guards on patrol. How considerate. Easily evading the patrols, he soon found himself deep within sector B. There was little to distinguish it at face value, more containers, unsurprisingly empty, and several buildings to his left and right. He needed a storehouse and most importantly, it's key. That meant one thing, more eavesdropping. The next several minutes were a blur, moving from group to group. Mostly small talk, mundane details or complaints about their shifts. If there was nothing at stake, Alex would have tuned out long ago.

"Just a hour left on this shift, I can taste my wife's cooking already."

"Do you think Chelsea will sign Torres? It's all over the press."

"When is Modern Warfare 3 coming out?"

"What are we doing guarding shit like this? I swear I saw a laptop being carried inside just a few hours ago." One of the guards remarked, evidently confused. Big building just behind him, to Alex's right, with a locked door. Hold on, this might go somewhere.

"Go and ask Karim yourself." His frustrated compatriot waved a finger toward another building on the left. With Alex's senses focused, it shone a healthy gold. It was unlike the others, only two storeys, more suited to a residential block than a warehouse. If this Karim was to be found, he was there.

The sky had darkened considerably by the time Alex reached the target building. The very last embers of twilight had given to the blackened embrace of dusk. To the north and the south, the cityscape was slowly illuminated; as if the lights were swarms of fireflies resting upon the structures of the urban jungle. More pragmatically, it meant the guard steadily thinned out. The atmosphere evolved from a dominant sense of mundane to one of weariness and relief, neither decisively trumping the other. Men began file in and out of buildings, stripping off fatigues, weapons and collecting paychecks. Some greeted their friends, huddling into cliques, joking and laughing. Others looked tired, presumably relieved to be going home, more than a few breathing in the welcoming sensation of cigarette smoke. Not a moment after the last of the hired guns were gone, Alex activated his left hidden blade, pivoting it clockwise. Gripping his pistol with his right, he entered with a methodical grace. The walls proved deceptively thick, for even his Eagle Vision, so he swept the floor systemically, clearing every room and checking every corner. To his relief, this proved anti-climatically dull, the rooms were devoid of life and there were no Assassins waiting around any corners.

Eventually, he reached an office. This room was different, smaller than the others. The usual clutter, furniture and files, were there though they provided little value. The computer however, shone a bright gold, flaring his senses. A few scrolls of the mouse confirmed his suspicions, this was Karim's office and the idiot hadn't logged himself off. A cruel smile painted itself onto Alex's face. The potential, the opportunity.

"Where did I put that pen dri-," His mumbling was broken by the flushing of a toilet. Shit. No wonder Karim hadn't logged off, he hadn't actually left. Alex mentally chastised himself, remembering why he here. It may have been minor but no less blatant, in his haste he had lost sight of his goals. Only the mission matters. Scanning the room, he searched for a hiding place to little avail. Wait, was that a wardrobe? It would be a tight squeeze, the accumulated clothes would not help. Still, time did not permit him the luxury of choice. Stuffing himself in, he did not allow the sense of claustrophobia to throw him off nor the uncomfortable position of his neck to annoy him. Watching, he waited for Karim to appear.

At a glance, the man was a walking contradiction. Well built with good stature, almost as tall as Alex, the profile of a leader. Yet with closer inspection, he was weary. Bags under his eyes, tight body language and slow, deliberate breathing. With a sigh, he sat down whilst rubbing his eyelids. Furthermore he seemed oblivious to any possibility of meddling, not the expected level of perception for a mercenary leader. Still, it would be harsh to blame him , stressed as he must have been. The whirring sound of a Skype call forced Alex from his judgemental thoughts.

"Are the shipments secure?" A deep, baritone voice called from the screen. Karim, for his part, sighed visibly. A sign of fatigue or an attempt to maintain composure, perhaps both?

"Hello to you to. In warehouse 1, the key's right here." He remarked, dangling the set in front of the monitor. "You needn't worry, when have your friends ever let us down?"

"My friends have all been spooked, this shipment may be the last we'll get for a while. All the worse if the Templars catch wind of this." Alex barely resisted the urge to perk up, saving his head from a painful meeting with the wardrobe's side.

"I know Hassan but, if we are to press forward, we cannot allow ourselves to be paralysed by fear." There was a lingering silence, perhaps only a few seconds, which felt like eternity.

"Fair point. Karim, there are some people that I would like you to meet. Carthaginian ruins, this time next week."

"I'll be there."

"Excellent. We work in the dark."

"To serve the light." Karim let out a tired breath, rubbing his eyes once again. Turning, he put on his coat and finished the last of his coffee, his eyes a mix of emotions. Putting the set of keys into a draw, he made for the door, seemingly unaware of any intrusive presence. Shaking his head, mumbling: "What have I gotten myself into?"

"Your laptop." Alex handed the bag to his 'friend'. "And you kept quiet, I'm pleasantly surprised."

The man snorted: "Mutually so. You were in there a while, I was half way about to compose a epic about betrayal." Alex laughed heartily in response, surprised by his own sincerity, on a mission no less.

"Let me read it when you're done." He held out a hand. "My name's Alex."

"Slim." For his stature, the other man shook his hand well. Perhaps he would prove useful after all. "Did you find anything else important in there?"

"No, run of the mill warehouse with a paranoid owner. Maybe he mistook you for a business rival." He lied, shrugging his shoulders. "Curfew will be starting soon, we shouldn't linger."