Disclaimer: I don't own anything, the genious minds at Ubisoft do, thanks for bringing us such great characters, settings and stories.

* A/N: it's been a while, please be gentle. Hope you'll enjoy. I wont abandon this one, I promise. *

Work

From the way he sat on the bench, hands folded, the hood drawn deeply into his face, he could have been a mere scholar sitting amidst the ordinary people, studying their behavior. But despite his seemingly relaxed composure, that would have indicated someone who is really deep in thought, in this very moment he was everything but that.

His senses were fully fixated on a target just a stone throw away, an older man talking to a city guard. And although they talked under their breaths, their tense and uneasy body language betrayed their effort to make it look as if they were having an everyday conversation.

He could hear every word that was exchanged; see every wink, every tense quiver of either one of the talking parties.

He was the assassin, trained to kill, willing to give his life without a doubt for the cause, the brotherhood's cause.

He had overheard the two men talking for a while now; they had just said their farewells, now it was time for him to act. The man had talked about a secret parchment, highly confidential, that would lead him to his target: Conrad de Montferrat.

He would get it somewhere in the Noble District, just a little east of their current location and he had to so so without causing any commotion. The man had packed some stuff into a bag and left in the opposite direction of the guard. For a second he wondered what that was before returning his full focus on the old man. Like a cat, careful and silent, he followed him, seeking cover in the crowd, trying to blend in like a shadow. If anyone around here would recognize him or his face he was as good as dead.

Luckily for him the man he was chasing right now seemed totally oblivious to any possible threat. He wouldn't turn around or try to take some shortcuts through thickets or tiny spaces between houses, he went straight towards the point the guard had told him to go to. The meeting point. There were more people here, making it more difficult to blend in and keep track of the man at the same time. But he was a professional, had done this hundreds of times, pushing people aside very gently who came into his line of sight.

Then it happened: A slightly smaller figure seemed to accidentally bump into the man, but slipped the parchment into his pocket within mere seconds. He had a very well trained eye for people, was used to surveying this kind of actions, quickly, surrounded by many people pushing him into different directions and yet keep invisible to the common eye. But even he was surprised how quick and how well disguised this transaction took place.

The delivering party had disappeared within seconds and his target now tried to blend in with the crowd as well and get out of here. He still had a clear sight. Right now he was not sure whether or not he would need to kill and extort him or if he would just pickpocket the man, take the parchment and go. But his decision-making process quickly dissipated into thin air as a person in a wide, wallowing cloak appeared out of seemingly nowhere behind his target, followed him for a few seconds and then tried to disappear again. Although he was astounded, he knew exactly what went on here: His target had been pick-pocketed by an unknown third party before he even finished considering that.

On the inside he cursed but then quickly let go of his target and started to follow the figure in the cloak, which was way harder than he had first anticipated. The big cloak stood out of the masses, but the person wearing it knew his way around extremely well.

Also he had noticed his tail very quickly which made him wonder whether or not the person had recognized him and tried to disappear into a side street where he climbed onto the rooftop of the closest house very quickly. Could he be another assassin from the brotherhood? No, a brother would not have to hide from him even if he had a somewhat sensitive matter to take care of. It was pretty common that the other parties, the Saracens or even the Templars had spies, but he had never actually met one on one of his assignments himself.

For him following the figure was fun, he felt the thrill of the hunt, felt like an animal stalking its prey, trying hard not to let lust wash over him and cloud his mind. Over ledges and beams he followed the figure in the big cloak until luck decided to play for him. His opponent tripped and fell so the distance between them was gone within seconds and he pounced his prey like a tiger, ready to deliver the deadly blow. He landed in his opponents back and pushed him to the ground, both knees on the figure's arms, straddling him, holding down his neck with one hand he threatened:

"Your life means nothing to me! You will tell me what you know and then you will die!"

Something was wrong. Instead of an answer, the figure under him just coughed, which was fully intended by him. He would let him choke a little and give him a taste of death, before he would start asking any questions.

Although everything went the way he wanted it to, some alarm in the back of his head went off to warn him that something was wrong with this spy. He felt how the figure slowly relaxed under his tall and strong frame and a sigh escaped his lungs. It froze him.

I'm sorry, but I had to have that cliffhanger here.