September 1st, 1998

Los Angeles, California

George Mackenzie's office was mostly dark, lit only by the desk lamp that permitted him to work. He'd removed his jacket and tie and rolled up the sleeves of his white business shirt while a fan sat running in the corner atop a filing cabinet. The windows were closed by the blinds were open, giving a decent view of Los Angeles.

The fan made the room bearable in the September heat. This was a particularly hot day, with temperatures estimated at nearly thirty degrees Celsius. That was what George had always hated about Los Angeles; it could get unbearably hot sometimes.

George had been born in England, but spent most of his childhood in the Australian city of Launceston, Tasmania. Rarely would he have ever had to deal with hot weather.

That had been until he was thirteen, and his normal life had been shattered. His aunt and uncle – James and Celia – had been killed. Their children, Lewis and Moira, had come to Australia to live with their only living relatives, which included their only cousin; George Mackenzie.

Lewis and Moira never set foot in Tasmania. George's parents had scrambled to move to the Gold Coast in Queensland, where they'd then meet Lewis and Moira. The cousins had been a year older than George, but age hadn't mattered much after James and Celia had died. They'd been lost, and George had been their only friend once they arrived in Australia.

Being born in England, Moira and Lewis had never been close with George, but it had only been two months before they'd began to warm to Australia. The Gold Coast was as beautiful a city as the same suggested and – to Moira and Lewis – a welcome change to England.

The fun hadn't lasted, but at least the three of them had managed to stay together in their own way, despite being on different continents years later. Lewis had returned to England and George had moved to America while Moira stayed in Australia. Now, George was thirty-two and the cousins were thirty-three, and they were back together again. If only it had been under better circumstances.

Unable to stand the heat any longer, George marched out of his office and into the bathroom of his quarters, stripping down and stepping into the shower. The cold water was a relief from the exhaustion and weariness that had followed George around for the past four years. Ever since Charlie and his family had 'disappeared', he'd been overworked and tired, desperate to ensure that centuries of work wouldn't be undone.

George had the benefit of not having to worry about how much water he used, but he knew staying awake for too long would just make the next day of work harder, so he stepped out of the shower after two minutes (which felt much too short). He couldn't help but groan at the thought of working in the September heat. Sometimes he wondered how his cousins – Lewis and Moira – managed to do their part in the Los Angeles heat and not be exhausted at the end of the day.

As he dried himself off and slipped into some clean clothes, someone knocked on the door to his quarters. He called for them to enter, and Lewis stepped into the room. Lewis had the typical nerd appearance, but in the 'I'm a rich dickhead' kind of way. Blonde hair combed back, thin spectacles, black suit and white shite with no tie and the top button undone. He looked like he could be the next Donald Trump, which he could if he wanted to.

"Moira just paged me," he said quietly in a tone of excitement. "She said she'd meet us here and that she had big news."

"No specifics?" George asked with a yawn, hoping that this 'big news' was worth a few extra minutes without sleep.

Lewis shook his head. "Nope. Honestly, I thought you'd be more interested. We haven't had any good news in four years."

Moira barged into the room without bothering to knock, which made George more irritated than he already was. He didn't bother calling her out on it though; he was too tired for a fight.

"This better be good," he grumbled, sitting down on the living room couch. "I could fall asleep on concrete right now."

Moira sat down on the lounge chair across from him and brushed strands of messy blond hair out of her eyes. "It is good. We've tracked down Ryan Williamson."

Lewis and George had been slouching in their seats, only to practically leap out of their seats with a mix of disbelief and excitement.

"Y-You're sure it's him?" Lewis stammered.

Moira nodded. "He's using an alias, of course, but he's only been gone for four years and he looks pretty much the same. He's Charlie Williamson's boy all right."

"Where is he?" George asked, feeling newly energized by the news. They'd learnt of the fates of Charles Williamson, his wife Kathleen, and their two oldest children Keith and Julia, by Ryan had been unaccounted for ever since the family home was raided.

"Working a construction job here in L.A," Moira informed them. "That's not all. Troy spied out his shitty apartment one night. He's got his father's wrist blade as well. Troy saw him taking it apart and cleaning it."

George exchanged a look with Lewis. "You don't think he plans on using it, do you?"

Moira shrugged. "Hard to say. He could be keeping it as just a memento, but maybe he's found one of the people involved in his family's kidnapping."

"Then we need to tail him," Lewis said. "If he assassinates an Abstergo associate he'll have no chance of disappearing again. It's the best chance to contact him."

"Hold on," George said, sitting back down. "We don't even know if he has found someone from Abstergo."

"We do," Moira told him. "The construction job Ryan's working on is managed by a Mr Julian Wallace. He's been on our hit list for ten years and we know that he led the raid on the Williamson home. It can't be a coincidence that they're in the same place."

"Then we need to move now," George said. "Moira, take two of Ethan's group and watch over the construction site. Bring Ryan in, but kill Wallace if you see the chance. Lewis, tell Troy to get on the radio and start broadcasting false reports. If Abstergo thinks we're about to hit them somewhere else, then getting to Ryan and Wallace shouldn't be hard."

As the two left, George let the bittersweet reality settle in; Ryan Williamson had been the one child Abstergo had failed to find four years ago, and maybe finding him would be like having Charles back I a way. But did Ryan even have anything to offer them? Would he even want to help them?

George hadn't seen Ryan for four years, and Ryan had probably just seen him as one of his father's many friends. Would he even remember George as anything other than a vaguely familiar face?

With the exhaustion of the day setting in, George stripped into his boxers and settled into bed, wishing that the fan on his dresser was twice as powerful. Banishing all thoughts of Ryan, Charlie, Abstergo, and the Assassins from his mind, he finally settled into sleep.