AN: Cover art credit to KM33

Citadel Security HQ

Year 2183, 2 months after the Battle of the Citadel

"Next."

A lanky young adult stepped forward and grabbed a proffered stylus, a set of ungracefully orange clothes covering his entire frame except for his face. A pair of light blue eyes flickered from the turian in front of him to the datapad in his hands, then to the long line behind him.

"Seems an awfully inefficient way of doing business, officer."

The cop looked up at him with bright golden eyes and an intensely annoyed expression on his face. Not even the strangeness of turian facial construction could hide that one. "Most of our VI systems have been down since Saren's attack, so for now, this is the best you get, con."

The younger man grimaced noticeably as he put a date down on the 'pad. "Miles."

The turian shot him a glance. "Excuse me?"

He leaned forward. "The name is Miles. I'd appreciate it if you used it."

The cop snorted and typed on his terminal. "Well excuse me if I have to process three dozen of you in the space of an hour, but as far as I'm concerned, you lost all right to my or anyone's respect the moment you decided to—" The turian's golden eyes widened comically as he gaped at the man's record, a single entry on the list. He looked up at Miles slowly, to which the younger man responded by arching an eyebrow and giving him a sarcastic look. "Well...uh...just sign here, Mr. Miles, and I'll have you on your way."

Miles smirked and picked up the stylus, signing his name on the provided line.

"Don't take this the wrong way, human, but I hope we never see each other again."

His smirk vanished, replaced by a grim expression. "Don't worry," he replied quietly, finishing with a flourish and tossing the stylus on the desk. "We won't."

Without another word, he grabbed the parcel containing what little possessions he had and marched out the door into a nearby bathroom. Two minutes later, he emerged wearing a light gray hoodie and dark blue jeans, zipping up the former even as he walked out the door. Endless, listless minutes passed as he wandered the halls of the Citadel, many of them torn up or outright demolished. He didn't care. He didn't notice. All he knew was that around forty minutes after leaving C-Sec, he found himself on an upper catwalk, leaning against a railing overlooking one of the Presidium's massive lakes.

"You gonna jump?"

Miles jumped slightly before whirling around to face a woman with multicolored hair and a roll of cotton candy in her hand, steadily disappearing into her mouth. "What?"

She took another bite and nodded toward the rail. "The lake. You gonna jump?"

Blue eyes narrowed. "What makes you say that?"

The woman shrugged. "Dunno. Just the look'a you."

The rest of his body turned to face her, arms crossed. "And how do I look?"

"Like you're gonna jump," she answered simply.

Miles rolled his eyes and sighed hard.

She gulped down another bite. "It's your eyes, and your stance. Your whole body language. Everything about you."

He cocked his head. "Would you stop me if I did jump?"

The girl thought it over for a moment. "Considering how far away you are, and that I'm sitting down, I don't think I could. Nor would I."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Her violet gaze locked with his intensely. "Because it isn't my place to meddle with another's fate."

Miles stared at her for a long moment. "Who are you?"

"My name is Rada, but that's not really what you're asking, is it?"

"What am I asking?"

She stood slowly, keeping a safe distance from him. "You're asking who I could possibly be that I'd care what happens to you."

He stared blankly. "Something like that."

Rada smiled a little. "A friend. If you want me to be."

"What makes you think I need a friend?"

"You're thinking of jumping."

He snorted and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "And why would you want to be my friend?"

"Because you're special, Arthur."

The color drained from his face as his jaw dropped halfway, then clenched with a snarl. "Who the hell are you?"

She lifted a hand calmingly. "Like I said, I'm a friend. One that knows who you are and why you feel like death is the only option left to you."

"You don't know anything about me," he growled, turning back to the railing and leaning his hands against it.

"Don't I?"

He smirked bitterly. "Okay, I'll play. Full name?"

"Arthur William Miles."

"Date of birth."

"September 4th, 2162."

"Place of origin."

"Terra Nova. Parents: Patricia and Reginald Miles, deceased. Siblings: one, Teresa Miles, deceased. Served two years for second-degree murder, released on a legal technicality and for good behavior. Psych profile suggests a reckless disregard for personal safety." Rada arched an eyebrow at him. "Did I miss anything?"

Arthur blinked slowly, his expression blank. "The profile also had a very short life expectancy outside of prison."

She shrugged. "Well, considering the diagnosis, I can't say that one's a shocker."

Arthur stared at her, his expression pinched. "What do you want?"

Rada's expression softened considerably as she took a few steps toward him. "I want to help you, to give you another option."

"Why? You've seen my record. I'm an ex-con, a killer."

She shrugged. "That's what the file says. But see, I've seen a lot of people commit suicide. Thieves, businessmen, racketeers...not killers. See, most killers, the true killers, don't just take lives, they make a point to put other people in the ground, not themselves. If anything, they're the consummate survivors, because from their point of view, every person that dies and isn't them increases their chances of survival." Rada smirked. "But you don't have that problem, do you? You don't care whether you live or die, because after Teresa...you have nothing left to lose."

His eyes stung and voice dropped to a whisper. "Exactly."

Rada took another step toward him, a gentle hand laying on his arm. "Then come with me. Let me show you something, give you a chance to make another choice, give you something to live for, or at the very least something better to die for. If after everything you decide that you still prefer death, I can provide a much quicker and more painless way than falling half a mile into a frigid lake."

Arthur glanced up at her, gulping hard as he blinked several times. A full ten seconds passed before he nodded slowly. Rada smiled warmly and took his hand, leading him to a nearby skycar and taking off seconds later. Arthur blankly stared out the window as the wrecked Citadel passed them by, the spire holding the Council meeting chambers coming into view before vanishing behind a slew of high-rise buildings. Rada brought the skycar down onto the landing pad of one, motioning him out and into the penthouse suite of the residence.

"Nice pad," he commented once they were inside, absently sliding his hand over the surface of an oak-wood table.

"Thanks. It's a work perk."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Oh? What do you do?"

She smirked and waved him toward another room. "You'll see."

Arthur marched after her, seeing the woman put her palm against a panel, a beep sounding through the room a moment later as a section of the wall gave way. They entered together, Miles staring at a whole lot of sophisticated equipment with wide eyes and an open jaw.

"Sit," Rada said simply, motioning to a contoured, backward-leaned chair with wires connected to both it and an array of terminals.

He cast a dubious look at the equipment, but sidled up to it anyway and cautiously seated himself. His eyes flickered from one terminal to another as she pulled up several dozen programs, data flickering across the screens too fast for him to process.

"What is this thing?" he asked.

Rada glanced up at him. "It's called an Animus, a device that can process the finer bits of your DNA and unlock hidden troves of buried data."

Arthur blinked rapidly and shook his head. "Meaning?"

She smiled at him. "Memories, Arthur. The Animus accesses memories."

"My memories?"

Rada nodded. "And so much more."

He arched an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

She smirked. "You'll see. Before we get started, I need to tell you a few things that probably no one ever has." Rada leaned toward him. "We've been watching you for a long time, Arthur. You and your family. We waited years, decades, for someone like you to emerge, so we could finally step in and bring you into the fold."

He sighed hard. "What are you talking about? Who's 'we'?"

Rada's lips pursed. "Your family is part of a long and distinguished line of people whose contributions to humanity cannot be overstated. The things your ancestors have done..."

"Okay, that's them, what about me?"

She blinked. "You have that potential too, Arthur. You're worth far too much to throw your life away, and the Animus is going to show you why."

His brows furrowed. "How? I haven't done anything of note or worth in my life."

"Not yet."

He stared at her, thinking hard as his eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. You mentioned that my ancestors were notable. Do they have anything to do with what's in my DNA?"

Rada smirked. "You catch on quick. As a matter of fact, they have everything to do with what's in your DNA."

His eyes widened. "You can access their memories through me."

"Exactly."

He blinked a few more times. "Then...what exactly are you going to show me? There must be billions, trillions of memories buried in there."

"Oh, there certainly are," she replied, "but for now, we're going to focus on a few from one of your more...recent predecessors. Desmond Miles." She pulled up a picture of a white-hooded man who looked vaguely similar to Arthur. "Lived in the 21st century. Perhaps one of the most impactful and important of your line to date." Rada looked over at him. "He saved the world."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "I'm guessing you mean Earth."

"Yes, I mean Earth, but we'll get to that memory in time. For now, I want to show you something he saw a great deal earlier."

Arthur took a deep breath and sighed hard. "So...how does this work, do I just—"

"Relax, Arthur. You just relax."

He nodded slowly and laid his head back, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. On the fifth, his eyes shot open and air shot into his lungs as white flooded his vision. The blank sheet of light faded after a few moments, and he was confronted with a shower of golden light, the blurry haze sharpening into a glowing room seconds later, a holographic humanoid hovering in front of him.

"Before the end and after, we sought to save the world."

Arthur nearly shrieked at the force of the voice assaulting his senses.

"Hang in there," Rada said softly in the edge of his subconscious.

"We built vaults within which to work," the hologram continued as more holograms appeared, one of each planet in the Sol system and its sun, "each dedicated to a different method of salvation. They were placed underground to avoid the war which raged above, and also as a precaution, should we fail in our efforts. Each vault's knowledge was transmitted to a single place."

The hologram of Earth flared with energy on the far east coast of North America, showing a location somewhere in what used to be New York.

"It was our duty—mine, Minerva's and Juno's—to sort and sample all that was collected. We chose those solutions which held the most promise, and devoted ourselves to testing their merits."

Three figures, two female, one male, appeared, splitting off in separate directions.

"Six we tried in succession, each more encouraging than the last. But none worked...and then the world ended."

A massive solar flare sparked from the sun, consuming everything on the surface of Earth, including, as the hologram said a few moments later, all but ten thousand humans and just a few of these...Precursors.

"Listen," the figure said sharply. "You must go there, to the place where we labored...labored and lost. Take my words. Pass them from your head into your hands. That is how you will open the way. But be warned: much still remains in flux, and I do not know how things will end—either in my time or yours."

Suddenly, the vision shifted, and sparks of another flashed through Arthur—Desmond's vision. Shrieking—wailing—explosions and death. And machines. Gigantic, building-sized machines.

Arthur's eyes flew open as he sat upright with a loud gasp, sweat pouring down his face and chest, a haunted look in his eyes. Slowly, he looked over at Rada.

"Desmond...he saw."

She nodded slowly.

"But he...he didn't know. It was incomplete. He didn't know what they were."

Rada moved to his side and sat next to him.

Arthur's palms pressed against his eyes, rubbing them hard. "He was the first to see the Reapers."

"From what little we've been able to piece together, that vision you saw was of a defunct Reaper corpse on Earth in the cycle before the Prothean extinction, when they were still building their empire."

"And the solar flare?"

"A Reaper field test, of a weapon set on a timer, meant to wipe out entire populations without directly harming the planets themselves. Soften up the galaxy's population so that when they came to harvest, they could do so virtually unopposed."

"I see," he whispered. "So Desmond knew exactly what Shepard is—was talking about."

"Yes."

Arthur stared at the ground, frowning deeply.

"Do you understand now, what makes you so important?"

He looked up at her and nodded solemnly. "If I access more of Desmond's memories, I could find the key to defeating the Reapers."

"Yes, or at least a way to even the odds somehow." Rada stared at him for a moment. "Are you with us?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Chances are, we'll all go extinct if I'm not, so do I really have a choice?"

She smirked. "Not so much, no."

Arthur shrugged. "Count me in."

"Then let's get started." Rada smiled widely and stood, then strode back to the terminal as he mounted himself on the Animus.

...

As the weeks flew by and days began blending together, Arthur found himself reeling at the sheer amount of information he was being forced to process in such a short amount of time. He learned about Desmond's sacrifice, how the solar weapon was defeated and the released Precursor AI purged from existence. He learned about the Templars and Assassins, the never-ending struggle that carried well into the 21st century. Most importantly, he learned about the Pieces of Eden, First Civilization technology built to subjugate and control the human race.

"Once upon a time," Rada was saying, "there was something of a First-Civ arms race between the Assassins and Templars, where we each made a mad scramble for every Piece of Eden we could get our hands on." She tabbed through a terminal, Arthur standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. "And then we found the Prothean data archive on Mars." A 3D image of researchers poring over ancient obelisks came up. "And all that suddenly became irrelevant."

Arthur frowned deeply. "But the fight continued. Control and free will. Templars and Assassins. The premise may have changed, but not the goals."

"Only too true," she muttered.

"Then...where are the Templars now? They're obviously not Abstergo, since that company was exposed and toppled in the 21st century."

"No," she replied, "and now they're no longer in control. For once, we finally have them on the run."

His dark brown brows furrowed. "How? Who are they?"

Rada looked over at him, then back to the terminal as she began typing. "Once upon a time, about a quarter century ago, they didn't have a name. They were scattered, broken, dispersed among the innumerable stars. But now they go by..."

Arthur's eyes widened as an image popped up, a black hexagonal diamond flanked by two gold arcs.

"Cerberus," he finished for her.

Rada looked over at him. "You're familiar with this symbol?"

He nodded gravely. "I saw it...on the computer of the man I killed." His eyes narrowed and turned to her slowly. "Wait a minute. You knew, didn't you?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Knew what?"

He backed away from her and pointed an accusing finger. "You said—you said you'd been watching my family for a long time, that you'd been waiting. You knew the Templars were responsible for what happened to Teresa, didn't you?"

Her guilty sigh was all the answer he needed.

Arthur gaped at her incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because, Arthur," she droned in annoyance, "can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't have gone off half-cocked, untrained, and tried to take out your sister's killer?"

"I—no...but exactly how long do you expect me to wait? It's been three weeks since you stole me away, and I still haven't even started training."

Rada smirked and arched an eyebrow, then snatched a scalpel off her desk and threw it straight at his head. With a quiet yelp, Arthur's eyes slammed shut, and a loud clap filled the room. It took him a few seconds to realize something cold and hard was touching his palms. When he managed to pry his eyes open, his jaw dropped, and he stared at the scalpel caught between his palms. Slowly, he drew them apart, the fingers of his right hand closing around the instrument as he held it just in front of his face, absently noting that Rada had stood and approached him.

When she closed to three feet, with a smug air and a smirk, he offered her the knife, and she took it calmly, pocketing it.

"An untrained man would've been skewered on that blade."

Arthur stared at his hands. "So why the hell wasn't I?"

She snorted gently and walked back to her terminal. "The Bleeding Effect, an unforeseen byproduct of the Animus, at least when it was first created."

He blinked several times, gaping at her. "Okay, I'm no genius Animus techie like you, but an effect subtitled by the word 'bleeding' doesn't exactly inspire confidence."

Rada huffed with a dismissive wave. "Relax, hotshot. The Bleeding Effect isn't harmful—well, not anymore. It's a byproduct of the Animus process, of the unlocking of your genetic memories. What Desmond experienced, you now remember, in vivid and physical detail."

His eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute...you're saying—"

"The more of his memories you experience, the more of him imprints onto you, and the more of his skills you pick up." She shot him a mad scientist's smile. "We'll have you trained and combat-ready in less than a month."

Arthur's head shook as he let out a slow breath. "Okay...okay, something I don't get. You keep saying 'we,' but I have yet to meet any more of you."

Rada shrugged, looking back to her terminal. "Oh, they're around, doing this and that. The Templars may be on the run, but that doesn't mean we're back to full strength either. The fact is, we only reduced their numbers by sacrificing a great many of our own...and fifteen years later, we're still not back to full strength."

Arthur's blue eyes narrowed. "Wait...fifteen years?"

The scientist frowned and looked down.

Realization dawned on him. "Jesus," he breathed, pacing as a hand rubbed his forehead. "My parents—they were..."

Rada nodded stiffly. "They were the ones leading the charge. The...war to end all wars." She laughed bitterly. "They didn't want to have to raise their children in the Assassin lifestyle, so they put everything they had behind one final campaign. Didn't quite work out like they planned, but we take care of our own. I...made sure of it."

"Then why did you let Teresa die?"

The older woman paled and sighed. "That...was never supposed to happen." Her violet eyes flashed. "But then neither you nor your sister were supposed to discover our secret war, either. Your safety was contingent upon that fact."

"But you were waiting for one of us to find out, so you could bring us back in."

Her lips pursed and arms crossed.

"Why not bring her in?"

Rada looked away, staring off into the distance. "I had an agent watching you two, making sure you stayed out of trouble, didn't get too close. I don't know if he turned, got complacent, or was just plain stupid, but he lost track of Teresa at a critical time...and she got into something she shouldn't have. By the time I found out about her...inquiries, it was too late. She was marked for death, and one of the Templars got to her before I could even dispatch someone to protect her."

"What about the agent?"

Her expression darkened. "He vanished after the fact. No reports, no body, not even a travel record. It was like he dropped straight off the face of the galaxy." She leaned forward in her seat. "After Teresa...he didn't really seem important, but you were, so I looked into your whereabouts personally. Tried to find you. I didn't succeed until I arrived at a financial building in the Presidium, and by the time I spotted you, you were being loaded into the back of a C-Sec skycar."

Arthur frowned deeply.

"Arthur...I swear, if I'd found you before you found Varo, I would've joined you. Helped you to eliminate him, the right way, cleanly."

"But that wouldn't have been the end of it, would it?"

Her head shook slowly. "The man who killed your sister was a Templar, not just one of their lackeys, and he's still out there." She stood and approached the twenty-one-year-old. "If you want to find him, I can help you." The scalpel was retrieved and offered to Arthur. "But in return, you need to help me."

He stared at it for a moment before looking back up at her.

"Can I count on you?"

Arthur's jaw set as he snatched up the blade without looking. "What's next?"

...

1 month later

Citadel Security HQ

4 months after the Battle of the Citadel

"Have a good night, Larsen."

The flanged voice filled the dark, nearly empty space outside the C-Sec lockup as one of the last policemen filed out for the graveyard patrol. Doing one last check of the doors, the turian desk sergeant gave a long-suffering sigh and sat down to fill out paperwork, completely oblivious to a shadow that moved in his peripheral vision, and not because the light source shifted angles. A small click sounded from behind him, and a gasp came from his throat as his eyes widened and he froze in place, a sharp point jutting just under the material of his uniform, right above a weak point in his spine.

"Stay calm, officer," said a rough, deepened voice. "I have no intention of hurting you."

The turian gulped roughly, hand slowly reaching for the backup piece on his upper thigh. "What do you want?"

"Access to the holding cells. There's a man here that I need to speak to."

"Then come back during visiting hours," the cop countered as he slowly opened his concealed holster. "I'm not letting you in." His taloned fingers brushed the inside of his holster—with no contact with any sort of metal.

The cold muzzle of a small pistol was pressed to the side of his head as the blade on his back dug in just enough to draw blood. "I won't ask again." A moment's pause, and the assailant let out a sigh. "Look. I know you're just doing your job, but so am I. The man you're holding, he has powerful friends in high places, and he's very valuable to them. They will kill to get him out of your custody, understand? I'm trying to prevent that."

"By doing what? Talking to him?"

Another pause. "Something like that."

The turian snorted. "And what assurances do I have that you won't just kill him? It's obvious you two aren't friends."

"If I'm not mistaken, all the holding cells have cameras. You can watch us from there."

"That still won't give me enough time to stop you if you try anything."

"No. It won't."

The cop's mandibles twitched, but he nodded slowly and tapped a key on his terminal. "You got five minutes."

"Good man."

A click sounded from behind him, and the point's presence vanished, as did his gun.

"In case you were thinking of calling for backup, I inserted a worm into your systems. It's blocking all outside communication, both over the waves and hardlines. It'll self-delete after five minutes."

"Then you better get going." The turian took a few more breaths before slowly turning around. All that greeted him was an empty booth, the only entrance locked from the inside. "How did—?"

He blinked rapidly, then shook his head and turned to the camera feeds, tabbing over to each one until he spotted the intruder, a gray-hooded man whose face was covered in shadow and clothes were reinforced with ablative armor around the joints. The hooded man stopped in front of one cell, and the Turian checked the prisoner log, identifying its tenant as one George Vane, arrested for insurance fraud, racketeering, and tax evasion. The intruder stood and cocked his head to one side, then activated his omni-tool and powered down the cell's containment field.

The desk sergeant tabbed over to the cell's internal feed and activated the microphone.

"Oh Lord...it's one of you." The fear in Vane's voice was palpable. "An Assassin."

"Don't snivel, Vane," came the rough reply. "It doesn't suit you. And besides, I'm not here to kill you. Not today." He crouched by the man's bed, face away from the camera. "Today, you get to serve a higher purpose than lining your pockets with the riches of the poor."

"W-What do you want?"

"Information. Two years ago, a man made a deal with you to buy off an entire section of the Citadel; city officials, cops, you name it. He wanted a district in his pocket. I want to know why, and I want to know where I can find him."

"But—you're crazy. The deal's already done, has been for two years. He's untouchable now."

"Maybe to the law—but not to me."

Vane gulped hard. "Charles Erstein...the man you're looking for is Charles Erstein, and he frequents Chora's Den, not out of patronage, but management. It's in—"

"Zakera Ward," he interrupted. "I know the place. What kind of security will he have?"

"I don't know! I handled the money, not the muscle. Ask his security chief, or better yet, walk through the front door. You're sure to find out then."

The hooded man snorted and stood. "Cute. But how do I know you won't warn him I'm coming?"

Vane shook visibly. "I-I wouldn't...I can't. I'm in here."

"You Templars always find a way," he replied. "I need assurances, something that holds weight."

The turian glanced at the virus clock, with only sixty seconds left.

"I—I—"

The same click from earlier sounded over the mic, an eight-inch blade proceeding from the infiltrator's left wrist.

"Please!"

The blade rose and fell—leaving a long diagonal mark in the wall, stopping just before his neck.

The hooded man strode toward the door, retracting his blade with a click. "Deal with the Templars again, and I'm coming back for you."

"Y-Yes, sir."

The Assassin stopped in the doorway, turning his head to look back at the prisoner as the clock hit zero. "Keep your nose clean, and you might have a future when you get out of here. A real future."

The convict stared at him blankly.

"I don't make a point of letting good resources go to waste, Vane. Do good, and you'll be rewarded. Do bad, and...well...you get the idea."

He gulped and nodded.

"You've got a second chance here. You won't get a third."

And with that, he marched out the door, powering the containment field back on as he made for the exit. Dumbstruck, it took the desk sergeant a few seconds to hit the silent alarm, calling for every available officer to book it to HQ. Reaching over to his left hip, he drew his service weapon and ran toward the cell block just in time to see a shadow slip out a side door. The door slammed shut behind him, locking solidly, the same worm from earlier in the controls and blocking his credentials.

Activating an application on his omni-tool, the cop overloaded the terminal and forced the door open, sprinting after the fleeing intruder. He finally caught up to him on a catwalk overlooking the Presidium lake.

"Freeze!" he yelled, his weapon trained on the Assassin's back.

The target stopped in his tracks, right in front of a destroyed railing, only empty air between him and a long drop.

"Drop your weapons and put your hands on your head!"

He lifted his hands and slowly turned to face the cop. "You know...I lied to you."

The turian's golden eyes narrowed. "Oh? When?"

"Two months ago. You said you never wanted to see me again. I said you wouldn't. I lied."

The cop's eyes widened, and his gun lowered for a fraction of a second. "Miles?"

"Before, what I did, the man I killed...there was a reason he had to die. I just didn't know it until afterward. The Citadel, the whole galaxy is in danger from people like him, and without people like me to stop them...our freedom and our entire way of life will end."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't expect you to understand, Sergeant Varus. At least, not yet. But you will, and I hope to God that when you do, we'll find ourselves on the same side."

"You're a killer," he stated flatly. "I'm a cop. That's not a likely alliance."

"Maybe not, but then, neither were humans and turians, or turians and krogan. We all saw how that panned out. Those 'unlikely alliances' saved the galaxy." Varus saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Here's hoping for a few more." He took a step backward. "Goodbye, Sergeant. I'll be in touch."

Varus' eyes widened as he stretched his arms out to his sides and stepped off the edge. "Miles, no!" He sprinted for the falling human, leaning over a section of intact railing and just managing to spot the Assassin land atop a hovering skycar in a crouch.

Miles sent him a salute before pulling himself inside and taking off.

...

20 minutes later

Chora's Den, Zakera Ward

"I'm sorry sir, the club is closed for—"

A choked gasp came from the guard's throat as a fine trickle of blood spilled from a thin hole in his lower chest, the flow turning into a small gush as a blood vessel near his kidney bled out. The guard collapsed to the ground as a gray-hooded figure marched past his body and through the doors of the unpopulated nightclub. Two guards stood by a far door, unaware of his presence since he kept the bar blocking their sight line. An empty bottle was picked up and thrown to his far left, shattering against a wall and drawing their attention as he sprinted right.

Arcing around the room, his footsteps were only detected when he closed to less than ten feet, and by then it was too late. Closing the last few steps, a scalpel entered his right hand as his left stretched outward, a blade shooting from his wrist with a quiet click. The gurgling of spilled blood echoed in the quietly humming room as the right guard bled from a slit in his throat, the other uselessly clutching his chest, heart pierced. The Assassin stepped into the hallway behind them as their bodies hit the floor with a muffled thump, the scalpel returning to its slot on his belt.

Another three stood sentry in the hallway beyond, blue eyes narrowing as an inch-thick pellet entered the Assassin's hand. The ball sailed toward the trio, hitting the center man with a resounding pop as smoke filled the hall. Their weapons activated and turned in his direction, a few scattered shots firing randomly, none coming anywhere close to his position. The hissing of fabric against tile heralded the Assassin's slide toward his targets, a hidden blade piercing the thigh of one before he yanked it free, using the backward momentum to spin his body as it slid to a stop, a trip-kick knocking another to the ground.

The scalpel flew into the last man's neck before he could pull off a shot, and the hidden blade made a reappearance as it was thrust into the second man's chest. Yanking it free, the Assassin kept walking toward the back of the club and the administrative office there, bending down to retrieve his thrown blade. His left hand's omni-tool implant flared as an overload program was prepared and uploaded to the door controls of the locked office. Another pellet entered his right hand as his left hovered over the "open" function. The moment his left index applied pressure to the controls, his right dropped the pellet and his body lunged forward into a diving roll.

Smoke filled the entryway and five feet of the room beyond as gunfire rang out from a half-dozen firearms. The telltale hiss of overtaxed weapons discharging heat buildup filled the air as Arthur let out a long breath, a thin lane of smoke displaced by his exhale.

And then he moved.

Arthur's gray blur sunk his hidden blade into the thigh of one, piercing his femoral artery even as it was yanked free with his side roll toward another target. A pistol-whip was ducked and countered with a rising uppercut, the stunned guard pulled between Arthur and incoming fire as the Assassin's left hand grabbed the now-dead guard's gun from limp fingers and pumped shots in the attacker's direction. He went down with a triple-tap to the chest and a loud grunt, the human shield used as a springboard to lunge for the fourth guard with a flying cross to the right of his jaw.

A countering knee was deflected and used to throw the attacker off-balance and into the line of fire. The last guard was more careful, waiting for a clean shot as Arthur engaged guard four hand-to-hand. A series of jabs were deflected and countered with a left hook and an arm-bar that was broken with a side-kick to Arthur's lower torso. Stumbling back a step, the Assassin snapped his head away from a knife-swing and planted a left jab on the guard's jaw, grabbing his knife-hand on the way back and pulling him forward into a right knee.

Coughing hard, the fourth guard tried to move out of his comrade's line of sight, but was stopped with a shin kick to his midsection, followed by a left hook to his jaw that spun him around. A thrust-kick to the ass sent him stumbling into his partner, throwing his aim off and sending his shot into the far wall. A scalpel pierced the gun hand of the fifth guard as the target made for the emergency exit. Arthur lunged for him but found himself falling forward when an impact slammed into his left shoulder hard.

Grunting as he hit the ground, Arthur barrel-rolled away from two more shots, rolling into a backward handspring that sent him onto the far side of a three-legged table, which tipped over upon his landing. The metal tabletop stopped the next three bullets to streak toward him, and he kicked it toward his attackers while using the momentum to roll toward the door. He was out before any more bullets could tag him, his omni-tool slamming into the controls and locking them in as he sprinted after Erstein.

The fleeing Templar made a mad dash for his skycar, but a discreet push of an omni-tool control sent a mini-charge he planted on its engine assembly exploding. The fried propulsion system sparked and sputtered just as Erstein reached it, a stream of hissed curses flying from his throat as he whirled around, a Karpov Mark IX pistol in his right hand as Arthur's eyes went wide. The young Assassin dove for cover as five shots were discharged in his direction, most hitting the wall he was hiding behind.

After ten more bullets were expended, Erstein paused, silence filling the alley as they considered their next moves. Evidently, Erstein's move was to laugh and monologue.

"Almost three thousand years we've been at this, and even in the 22nd century, you Assassins are still relying on puny knives to get the job done." He spat. "Pathetic."

"I could say the same for you," Arthur countered, "but for different reasons." He reached down to his belt, taking stock of remaining supplies. "To me, guns are a crutch, a cop-out for those who lack the skill to take out an enemy up close and personal."

Erstein's head cocked. "Oh yeah?" He put two shots into the crumbling wall. "How's that workin' out for ya?"

Arthur winced. "I'll admit, some days are better than others." His hidden blade popped out with a click, and he angled it carefully, preparing to move. "And some days..."

The light falling onto the silvery blade reflected into Erstein's eyes, and the Templar yelped as he threw his empty hand in front of his face, gun firing blindly as Arthur rolled from cover. Two more shots rang out, splitting the still night air. A muffled thump as a body hit the ground. Several heavy breaths as Arthur slowly lowered Varus' backup piece, striding toward Erstein's body and kicking his pistol away.

"Some days you have to fight handicapped," he finished. "And in those cases...a crutch is acceptable."

Erstein coughed up bloody saliva as he pressed a hand to his chest and Arthur crouched over his body. His hidden blade snapped from his sleeve, his right hand holding the Templar's left shoulder.

"Charles Erstein, I hope you find peace in the next life, because this one's going to be anything but peaceful...no matter which side you're on."

The blade pierced Erstein's spine with a quiet snikt, ending his life instantaneously as Arthur leaned over his corpse, bowing his head solemnly.

"Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine." A human, lithe, hooded, and clothed in dark red, stepped from the shadows, arms tucked behind her back. "The wisdom of our creed is revealed through these words."

A hooded Asari stood flanking the red-clad woman. "Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember—"

"Nothing is true," Arthur answered quietly, still bowed over.

Another figure, top-heavy and hooded, joined the other two in a triangle around Arthur, his flanged voice filling the alley. "Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember—"

"Everything is permitted," Arthur finished.

The three standing around him spoke as one. "We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins."

Rada stepped forward, the shadows cast by her red hood doing nothing to hide the proud glint in her eyes as she took Arthur's left hand, lifting him to his feet as the other two each grabbed a shoulder.

"By taking the fight to our enemy," she said firmly, "you have proven both loyalty and willingness to follow the creed, even to death."

Her right hand pulled his left glove off as her left turned his hand palm-down. Her right omni-tool flared, a flash-fabricated needle appearing in her fingers as she pressed it into his left ring finger. Arthur hissed quietly as pain lanced through the appendage, but quickly worked past it as invisible ink was injected into his finger, the process lasting only a few seconds. Rada's injector disappeared, replaced by an ultraviolet light streaming from her omni-tool. Four pairs of eyes looked with approval on the lightly glowing symbol of the Assassins beneath the surface of his skin.

Rada's smile was visible even in the deep shadows cast by her hood, especially as she looked up at the taller man with pride in her expression and voice. "You are one of us now, Arthur." She clasped his left hand with hers, her right hand covering the back of his. "Welcome to the Brotherhood."

The other two flexed their grips on his shoulders.

"Welcome to the Brotherhood."

AN: Hello all. Been workin' past a nasty bit of writer's block lately, trying to continue with my Flash crossover, but it just hasn't been workin' out. So, I decided to try something a little different. Mass Effect and Assassin's Creed. Weird combination, I know, but I kinda like it, especially with all the parallels between Cerberus and the Templars, the primary one being their obsession with ultimate control.

I hope you liked this little side shot. I may or may not add more to this fic. I don't know. In my opinion, this is a pretty solid standalone piece, but if I get enough interested viewers, I might continue Arthur's story. I might rate this as mature in the future, since if I decide to keep going with this, I'll have to, primarily for language and severe violence. In case any of you are wondering, no, I do not write smut. Really just not my thing. I could, but I don't. Inasmuch as possible, I try and keep my stories relatively clean, but with the Mass Effect universe...eh, that gets a bit difficult.

At any rate, feel free to review and show your love for this fic if you so desire. Like I said, this was just some random idea that popped into my head recently, so it may not be my best work, but hey, practice makes perfect.

Oya, vode.

- CDrake

P.S.: If extended, this story will share universes with another crossover I may or may not develop alongside this one, focusing on a completely different character that will probably make a few cameos.