Two hooded figures ran along the rooftops in Boston, silent and deadly. They took down guards with ease. The city was still oblivious to their presence, and that was just how they liked it. The pair dove off a roof and landed perfectly in a pile of hay.

They were Assassins, one older and experienced and the other a new recruit. A novice and his mentor. The elder was teaching his student stealth and discretion, and there was nowhere better than the crowded, bustling streets of Boston. They rolled out of the hay and onto their feet, blending perfectly with the flow of pedestrians.

Unseen by guards, they continued down the main roads until they were along the edges of the city. More people were on horseback here. The novice was suddenly jerked to the side by his mentor. They ascended a nearby wall and perched on the unstable shingles of an old building.

"Keep your voice and head low, Thomas," the elder Assassin warned.

Confused, Thomas looked down at the passing citizens. "What's the problem?"

"Do you see the two men down there? The dark-skinned one and his riding companion?" The Assassin looked further up the road, guiding Thomas with his eyes.

They both rode with a sense of superiority. They towered over everyone and everything they passed. The crowd unconsciously parted for them as they filed through the city at a leisurely pace. They weren't very similar; the lead rider looked like a typical English man, while his partner appeared to be Native American. Yet they both wore tri-cornered hats and coats. They were clearly close in ranking, but their uniforms weren't very familiar to the novice.

"Templars," his mentor said. "And not just any Templars. That's the Grand Master himself, Haytham Kenway. And riding alongside him is his son, Connor. They are as dangerous and ruthless as a Templar can be. To take either of them in a fight would be to dig your own grave. You are to avoid them at all costs. They are extremely sharp and you have no hope of evading them alone once they've found you."

The dark-skinned one, Connor, reined in his stallion. Haytham immediately turned back to his son, riding up alongside him. They leaned together and exchanged words briefly. The elder Assassin visibly tensed bit Thomas leaned forwards slightly, foolishly attempting to catch their conversation. He could hear nothing save for the usual bustle of the city.

Haytham nodded sharply and the two continued their ride. Thomas' mentor relaxed. He turned his back to the Templars, ready to call Thomas back to him. They had pushed their luck enough.

No sooner had the Assassin opened his mouth than a single shot rang out in the air. The teacher was frozen, mouth still open, eyes wide with shock. He fell to his knees as his the life left his eyes. His white robes were stained with the blood that blossomed from the bullet wound in his chest.

Thomas quickly turned his eyes back to the street where Haytham still sat on his horse. He was holding a smoking pistol. Connor was nowhere to be seen, but his horse remained.

The novice took off along the rooftops, panicked. His mentor's words still rang out in his head, but they were soon drowned out by his heartbeat. He turned his head quickly, searching for a hiding place, somewhere he could stop to collect himself and get his bearings. He could have sworn he heard footsteps behind him on the shingles, but every time he looked there was no one around.

Thomas dropped to the ground, racing through the streets. He avoided guards and patrols, weaving through seller's stalls and crowds of people. He dove through an open window and ran through the room before stepping out into a back alley. He spotted a well and dove into it, holding on tightly with his fingertips. He tried to slow his breathing, certain it was loud enough to wake the dead.

He crouched there for what felt like hours, but it was only minutes. His overworked muscles began to cramp and they begged for him to move. He pressed his face into his sleeve helplessly.

A few more minutes ticked by, and he felt like he was safe. Despite his mentor's warning, Thomas had evaded the Kenways. He pulled himself up out of the well and brushed off his robes. He wanted to get back to the rooftop to retrieve the body, but decided it would be best if he simply continued back to the rest of the brotherhood.

Thomas continued through Boston, certain that he had safely avoided death. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He ignored it, deciding that it was just the sadness he felt for his mentor's death. He wasn't sure how he would explain that to the other Assassins.

He was at the other end of the city. The buildings and crowds thinned out until he was alone, walking. He had just reached his horse when a hand came down heavily on his shoulder. He was turned around and suddenly face-to-face with Connor.

"Oh, no. You're not going anywhere. We have a few questions for you."

Haytham peered around his son's shoulder, grinning smugly.

Thomas was prepared to scream in sheer panic when a well-aimed punch knocked him unconscious.

No one paid any mind to the two Templars and their new prisoner as they rode out of the city.