Author note: This story has been developing in my head ever since I started playing the game. I know it is rough and yes, oh god it is an OC, but I just have a strong muse for this story. For you history buffs and any fan who payed attention to the timeline, I know the British were kicked out by 1783 but it is for my plot. You will see.

Ailill belong to me. She is the woman, more work be explained later on.

Connor belongs to Ubisoft.

Conflict is inevitable. Throughout the years wars of been fought, lives have been taken but still we live on. Freedom is what we seek, but with it comes a new chaos. We rebel against those who oppress us but to what end, for what cause? There can never be peace; humans will continue to slaughter eachother because we are flawed. Because we are human.

There are those we fight for our freedom though. For what would you prefer freedom or order? Maybe a little of both? Whatever your answer you must understand that everyone, no matter who they are, believes that what they are fighting for is right. There is no right or wrong, just perspective. There is no truth or lies, just perspective. Perspective is the key to everything and when you learn to take in everything, when all human beings learn to see both sides, that is when we will achieve peace, freedom and order.

But until then, chaos rules.

Boston, 1784

Feet collided on the cobble stone street, leather shoes making soft 'thwack, thwack' sounds as a figure ran. Following closely was the unmistakable march of soldiers as they chased their prey like hounds. Some even bayed, calling out obscenities, "When I catch you, I'm going to make sure your pretty little 'ead sits atop the biggest spike," jeered one having recognised the runner as a woman his English accent plain.

She did not stop though, but ran faster spurred on by the threats. More guards joined the chase, some tried to cut her off but she knew these alleys well, knew the back streets like the back of her hand. She had run these often, stealing to survive but helping others when they needed food more than her.

The city of Boston was quiet during the dead of night, the only sound being the chase. The night was clear and a near full moon hung in the sky making it harder for the young woman to hide. The streets began to take a turn for the worst as she fled into the poorer district of the city. Coloured houses were replaced with brown and rotting wood houses. The smell changed as well, though not considerably.

A wrong turn and the woman ran straight into a guard ambush. She collided with one of the redcoats with an 'oof' as she fell back. Muskets pointed at her, the men smiled wickedly their white teeth glinting in the moonlight. Four of them surrounded her, cornering her between two walls in a blocked off alleyway. They reminded her of feral dogs cornering a startled cat as she looked at them with wide blue eyes, "Well, well, well. Ain't nowhere to run now is there sweet'eart," taunted the one who had threatened to put her head on a stake, "Strange, seeing a female with short 'air, still ain't gonna make me want to fuck ya any less."

The man, whom she had nicknamed Rat for his startling resemblance to one, sauntered closer to her. He wore the traditional soldiers outfit, red, white and black. His blonde hair was pulled back, very messily, and he looked at her with small beady eyes and a smirk that looked more like a scowl. He closed the gap between them so whenever he spoke, his breath hit her face, strong and repugnant, "Of course, I'll be having to teach ya some proper manners."

Too close. He was too close to her and then he reached out, grabbed her arm tightly and went to pull her closer. Big mistake. Her instincts kicked in and with a sound resembling a growl, she struck out, kneeing the man where the sun don't shine. He collapse with a groan, coughing and whimpering, "I'll be getting no lessons on manners from you, pig," she spat then turned to his companions. As she feared, they were already moving and before she knew it, she was sprawled on the ground after receiving the butt of a musket to her face. Blood poured out of her nose and the woman tried to get up. Rolling on her hands and knees, she started to lift herself but was given a sharp kick to the stomach and ribs for her efforts.

Winded and seeing stars, she coughed but did not give up. When another kick came, she lashed out with her own foot as hard as she could and heard the satisfying crunch as her kick created enough force to broke the man's leg. He fell, howling in pain while the two remaining guards pointed their weapons at her. She swallowed, fear bubbling into her chest, hot and sticky as she looked into the face of death. But it did not come for her, but for the two men as they were suddenly felled by a figure from above.

The woman found herself staring as a figure rose slowly off of the bodies that had once been two soldiers. She heard the shink of a weapon sliding back in place as she watched the hooded figure get slowly to his feet. She could tell it was a man from the clothes and his stance. He approached her slowly but the woman wasted no time in scrambling to her feet with what energy she could muster. Grabbing the nearest blade off a musket, she held it in front of her, blue eyes warning him to stand back.

The hooded man stopped and this gave her a moment to assess him. His clothing was unlike anything she had seen before. White mainly; maybe even grey she could not tell in the poor light, with blue accents. His face was hidden from view, something that made her all the more wary, and he had three weapons that she could see. A tomahawk and pistol on his belt, she guessed a flintlock from her quick look, and a bow strange enough. He was taller than her, making him around six feet tall she guessed, and well built, 'More than a much for me even if I were not injured.'

"You do not need to fear me, I will not hurt you," he spoke softly, holding out his hands as if you would with a startled animal. She almost laughed at herself, realising that she must have looked like such a thing, "My name is Connor, I heard the fight," he too assessed her and did not move just yet, "You are injured. Let me help." Connor took a step closer to her but she showed her dislike in such a move by tightening her hold on the blade.

"I. Am. Fine," she hissed voice low and dangerous as she tried to remain conscious. It was a battle though, her current state enhanced by the lack of food. Times were tough on everyone, which meant they were tough on her as well. Less money on the citizens meant less money for her to pickpocket and generally what she got, she gave to the children who definitely would not survive.

"Why do I not believe that?" Connor said as he stopped moving again, jaws tensing slightly though she could not see as it was hidden beneath his hood. He could tell that she was in no state to be doing anything on her own, much less now that the nights were getting colder as winter began to hold the land in its icy grip. There had been snow fall, but not enough to cover the ground, yet.

"Because I lied," came her smooth reply before the weapon slowly fell from her hand. It hit the ground and she was soon to follow, had Connor not rushed forward and grabbed her. The assassin pulled her short hair back to look at the strange woman's face, and saw she was unconscious. She was still breathing. At least that was something. Taking a moment to look around, Connor lifted her up over his shoulder with surprising ease, 'Light for someone of her height,' he mused before he whistled for his horse. A black stallion trotted over, whinnying and tossing its mane as Connor placed the woman on its back. He then jumped on and once he made sure she was secure, he began the long ride back to the Homestead.