A/N: This is my second Assassin's Creed fic (for those of you that have read/are reading A Night to Remember, I'm so sorry I haven't updated. I feel terrible about taking so long with chapter 2, but I just haven't been able to get this out of my head).

I finished AC3, and I wanted so badly for Connor to have a love interest. This is the result of that deep desire. Written in first person from my OC's POV.

Pairing: Connor X OC (Magaska).

Trigger Warning: Violence, and a LOT of it, Language, and smut (but that's for some later chapter that is yet to be decided).

Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed. If I did, my OC wouldn't be an OC, and this, among many other things, would be so canon and you people would love me forever.

I fled my village years ago, but everything seems the same here in New York. Redcoats pushing people around, thinking they run the place. Commoners are put to death for petty crimes, but nobles are getting away with murder and treason every day.

I am one of those commoners. No one understands my situation. I stole because I have no money. The British don't understand what it's like for my people here.

The sack was pulled from my head as I was pushed to the ground. I was screaming for help, anyone that could save me. A Redcoat held my hair tightly, practically pulling it from my scalp. He spat in my face, "No one will save you, savage! No one will care when you're gone, girl!"

That's when I saw him, a hooded man on a rooftop, his bow ready to shoot. I blinked. The arrow was in the back of the Redcoat that held me, his grip releasing me as he fell, dead.

I looked up at the shooter; he was on the ground now, fighting the three other soldiers. His blades were flashes of silver; all I heard were slashes and gunshots. A pool of blood flowed from the body next to me, the crimson creeping closer to where I was sitting.

I looked up. The Redcoats the man was fighting were now dead on the ground, and he was helping me up, cutting the rope that held my arms behind my back.

"Thank you for saving me," I said, my voice quiet and timid. He looked down at me as I rubbed my sore wrists. "I owe you for—" He raised his hand, cutting off my sentence, "That won't be necessary." His voice was like honey, soothing the harshness in my ears.

"But you saved my—" He cut me off again. "I do things like this every day. You don't owe me anything." He looked me dead in the eyes. His were like pools of muddy water, flooding the valleys of my green ones. His skin was tan, almost as tan as mine, like the wood of an oak tree.

Our eye contact remained unbroken for a few seconds before he shook his head and said, "I have to go. I have business elsewhere." He started to walk away, but I lightly grabbed his shoulder and asked, "What's your name?" "Connor," he replied. I hesitated before I said, "Will I ever see you again? I'm new to these parts, so would be nice to know someone that knows what's going on around here, you know, if I ever need any more help."

He looked back at me, a look of slight annoyance on his features. "Probably not, but if you're ever in need of any help, I live in a manor outside of Boston. Stop by if you feel the need."

I watched him leave the alley, climbing back to the rooftop he jumped from. I was honestly dumbfounded by him. He knew something that I didn't: how to fight, and win. That was something my village was never good at: winning fights, which was why I left it to begin with.

Maybe I will go to that manor. I could learn a thing or two from him.