SO HOW ABOUT THAT ENDING EH.

Ubisoft, you seriously need to hire some new story developers or something. First Lucy, then Sixteen, now this? I might just march over to Montreal and start a riot myself if ACIV doesn't explain any of this.

Anyway, the reason I'm so worked up about this is because of the way they ended it. Everything led up to this huge climax, and then bam. "Desmond, touch the orb." "Desmond, don't touch the orb." "Stfu I do what I want." And that was it. No epic conclusion, no drawn-out speech (which I would have loved tbh), nothing. Quite possibly worse than Mass Effect's.

However, as we all know, Ubisoft does what Ubisoft wants, and I suppose there'll be further explanation like there was for Lucy. But Desmond, I knew you for three years, since I first watched my brother decided to pick up ACII and I decided to watch. I've been with you through the Bleeding Effect, nearly being killed by Abstergo several times, watching Lucy die in front of you, and having Sixteen sacrifice himself so you could go on. It's been a good three years, and it's a pity it all had to end like this.

Requiescat in pace Desmond.

So I decided I hated this ending so much that I needed to rewrite it. And this happened. Enjoy!

"Come with us! We'll find another way!"

Desmond stared into the desperate eyes of his father, feeling his heart break. There was no other way.

"There isn't time..." he heard himself say. The world needed to be saved. And he was the only one who could do it. It was a terrible thing Juno was making him do, but some knowledge of the seven billion lives he was saving made it seem okay.

"Son," William pleaded.

"You know it's true... It's already started; I need to do this now. So go..."

William's face changed from desperation to panic, and he opened his mouth to protest.

"Go!" Desmond urged. If they didn't get out now, whatever Juno was planning for him would affect them too. Nor did he think his father could bear to watch him die.

"No! You're my son, and I'll be damned if I leave you here for dead," William shouted. "You're not a pawn any more. It's time I moved my pieces in the right direction." He turned to Juno. "My DNA... Is it enough to activate this orb?"

Desmond's eyes widened.

Juno nodded. "It is sufficient."

"You are not doing what I think you're about to do!" Desmond shoved his father backwards, toward the exit. "Get the fuck out of here!"

William recovered from the push quickly. He grabbed his son's shoulders and spun him so they'd switched positions; now the older man was on the side of the gods.

It was William's turn to shove; he pushed his son into the two other Assassins. "Get him out of here. Now!"

Shaun quickly took hold of Desmond's left arm. "Goodbye, Bill."

Desmond watched in horror as his father turned and began to walk towards the orb.

"No!" he roared, and ripped his arm out of Shaun's grasp. Before he could do anything, though, the air behind his father shimmered and sparked, and a figure appeared.

"Clay?" Shaun asked in surprise.

Indeed, it looked to be a holographic image of Sixteen. He held up his hands, warding Desmond back.

"Fuck this," Desmond growled. He barrelled forward, expecting Sixteen to be transparent like Juno was.

He was wrong; Sixteen had braced himself, and he caught Desmond quite easily so the bartender bounced off and hit the ground on his ass.

"Hell if you think that's going to stop me!" Desmond noticed his father still hadn't touched the orb yet, and was going to keep trying until he had. Before he could get up, though, another person appeared beside Sixteen.

Desmond's eyes widened when he realized she was wearing jeans and a leather jacket.

"Hello, Lucy." Rebecca beamed beside him. "I've missed you."

Lucy nodded and smiled, then turned her blue eyes to Desmond. She, too, held her hands up, but he was more inclined to agree with her rather than Sixteen.

"Fascinating..." Shaun muttered, inspecting the two figures. "The Temple must have some kind of resurrection device to remember the genetic makeup of the deceased... But how did it know that you two are friends to us? And how come" —he took the fabric of Sixteen's coat between his fingers— "I can touch you?

"You can't speak, though?" And without waiting for an answer, he went on. "Juno and Minerva can, but they go through us like x-rays. You can't speak, but you can feel!"

Clay smiled a little and rolled his eyes playfully, as if to say,Y ou always did talk too much, but realized the glare he was receiving from Lucy and it fell.

Sixteen took a step forward, ushering the three Assassins toward the exit. Shaun, in deep thought and brow still furrowed, obliged.

Desmond didn't fight anymore; in all honestly, he'd been hoping from the beginning William would get the idea that the two men had the same DNA. He didn't want to die.

Before leaving, he called to his father. "Goodbye, dad. I love you."

Either William hadn't heard his son or he was to absorbed with what he was about to do; he didn't turn around. But Desmond knew he felt the same.

The three Assassins turned toward the exit and began to run, the ghosts following close behind. Tears blurred Desmond's vision; he'd just been reunited with his father only to have him ripped away after a couple short months.

Half of him wanted to go back, but half desperately wanted to live—it was this half that stopped him from turning around right then and there and sprinting back to help his father. But it was the other half that forced him to at least look back.

This was a mistake. Between Sixteen and Lucy, he caught a glimpse of a bright white light, then it faded and his father slumped to the ground. Shit, shit, shit.

Lucy noticed him looking and moved herself so she was blocking the view, shaking her head sadly. Desmond faced the front again, nearly stumbling over a rock. He ran on blindly until they reached the exit.

Sixteen and Lucy stopped here, their bodies already losing opacity.

Sixteen pointed to himself, shook his head, then gestured to the Temple. We can't leave.

Rebecca quickly hugged Lucy goodbye. "I'll miss you."

Shaun stepped forward and shook Sixteen's hand. "It's... been good to see you again," he said slowly.

The two ghosts were fading fast and Desmond realized he needed to tell Lucy something he'd wanted to say for weeks.

"Lucy!" he cried. "Wait!"

She turned her eyes toward him; curiosity lit her gaze. Seeing her again only reminded Desmond of the terrible things he had done. All the words he wanted to say tangled together in his throat. He managed two:

"I'm sorry."

Lucy smiled sadly, then touched a hand to her chest. With the other she held up two fingers. Me too.

Then she and Sixteen were gone and the three Assassins were alone at the Temple entrance. Desmond felt himself rooted to the ground; he didn't want to leave. This was where Lucy and Sixteen and his father were.

When they'd first come here, they'd had such high hopes. This was where they were going to save the world; all it did was bring his crashing down.

"Desmond..." Rebecca's hand on his shoulder woke him. "We need to go," she said softly. Shaun was already a few feet ahead, and had stopped to wait.

There was a tremor under their feet.

"Well that's not good," Desmond muttered. He turned his back on the Temple - a bittersweet feeling - and stepped into the sunlight.

Instantly, he knew something was wrong; everything was far too bright and hot. For late December in New York, it felt to be eighty degrees.

"Oh no," Shaun said, utter hopelessness in his voice. He stood on the edge of the hill overlooking the forest.

Dread in his heart, Desmond joined him. And there it was: a huge crack in the earth, so deep that red light lined the walls.

"They lied," he croaked. "My dad wasn't enough to save us..."

Rebecca had come up next to them, breathing a soft, "Oh.

"It's okay," she said, sounding like she was struggling to stay calm. "We can get in the van and—"

"What van?" Desmond asked, pointing to where it had been. Now there was only a chasm. He turned to her. "And even if we did have it? What then? We just outrun the fucking Sun?" Before he knew it, he was yelling in her face. "Because I would very much like to know your 'brilliant' survival plan!"

Shaun was there; he put a hand on Desmond's chest to push him away. "It's not her fault," he reminded the American. "It's Juno's."

Desmond sighed, then nodded. "I know."

"But she did say we'd survive, yeah? If we'd stayed in the Temple?" Shaun turned towards the cave's entrance. "We can go back in."

"Hey, you're right!" Rebecca was already on her way. "Come on!"

The other two began to run; Demond had no choice but to follow. But his pace slowed quickly once he realized what was in front of him.

The door had already sealed itself; the NO HOPE graffiti was mockingly ironic.

"Any chance you've got that Apple, Desmond?" Shaun asked quietly, staring at the door.

"I was too excited once we found the key. I must've left it in—" He stopped short once he remembered exactly where he'd left it.

"...The van," Shaun finished for him.

"The van," Desmond confirmed heavily.

"Hey, watch where you're going!"

"You watch where you're going! I'm sorry that glasses aren't exactly adapted to running around in the bloody forest—"

"Will both of you quit it?" Desmond turned his head, feeling like an over-exhausted parent.

The three Assassins were walking as far away as they could from the chasm. Once they'd realized the Temple door wasn't opening, there were two options: Stay there and die, or keep moving and try to find some other shelter.

"Why couldn't we walk on the road?" Shaun complained. "We're definitely going in circles here."

"Because," Desmond said through gritted teeth. "We'd be much better targets in the open."

"Better targets for what, eh? Templars? I'm pretty sure they're too busy dealing with this than to worry about you. Or giant balls of fire raining from the sky? Or—?"

"I don't know," Desmond spat over his shoulder. "It just feels safer in the trees."

"Oh, sure," Shaun muttered, "because you've been running around as a bloody Native for the past two months—"

"Shaun!" Rebecca interrupted. "Leave him alone, okay?" She gave Desmond a sympathetic look, and he nodded his thanks.

He pointed. "That tree is higher than the rest. I can climb it and see what's happening."

"Go on then, Pocahontas..."

"Shaun!"

Up Desmond went, praying nothing was going wrong as he climbed. When he got to the thinnest branch that could support his weight, he took a deep breath, then looked north, the direction they had been walking in.

Oh no.

"Well?" Shaun demanded when Desmond reached the ground. "What's going on?"

"We have a problem," Desmond breathed.

"What kind of problem?"

"A big one."

"Oh, come on, Desmond!" Rebecca interjected impatiently. "Out with it!"

"There's fire... Everywhere. Coming from that way and that way," Desmond said dully, pointing to the north and east. "It's travelling uphill... There's no way we can outrun it."

The other Assassins just stared. Finally, Shaun asked, "Are you sure? I can't smell anything..."

"That's because the wind is blowing towards the fire. If it changes direction—"

As if on cue, the wind did just that, bringing thick black smoke and an awful smell with it.

"You notice how we haven't seen any animals since we started out? That's because they all clued in much faster than we did, and got the hell out of here."

"So what do we do?" Shaun asked softly.

"There's nothing to do," Desmond told him.

"You're saying we just sit here and wait to burn to death?" Rebecca burst out. "Fuck that! I'm getting out of here. If either of you want to join me, you're more than welcome." And with that, she took off, in the opposite direction of the flames.

"You going?" Desmond asked, as calmly as if they were discussing the weather.

"Nah." Shaun sat down heavily against the tree. "I'm tired of running."

Desmond had never felt so proud of Shaun. "You know what? Me too." And he sat down next to him.

While they had been talking, a roaring noise was steadily growing in the background; the noise of intense heat and hundreds of years worth of foliage burning into nothing.

"Hey, I've still got my blade," Desmond said after a few seconds. "If you want, I could..." He let the words hang in the air, but their meaning was clear.

"Really?" Shaun had his elbows on his knees. "You would?"

"Well, yeah, I guess it's a lot better than being stuck in a fire..."

Hope flared in Shaun's eyes, the first hope Desmond had seen in a long time. Pity it was only because there was a less painful death being presented. Why couldn't it have been something better? Why couldn't it have been because he, Desmond, saved the world? But, being the selfish bastard he was, he let his father die and he had nothing to show for it.

Shaun shuffled forward on his knees, tilting his head back to expose his neck. "Do it now. Before I have time to think about it."

"Shaun..." Desmond couldn't stand to see him like this: a once-proud man, practically begging to be slaughtered.

"What?" the historian asked, eyes already closed.

Desmond wanted to say so many things, but the words just wouldn't arrange themselves in his head. Instead he settled on a quote he'd learned while at Abstergo, one he was sure Shaun would know. He hoped it would say enough for him.

"'Death is the wish of some, the relief of many,'" Desmond began quietly.

"And the relief of all," Shaun whispered fiercely, jaw clenched. In that moment, Desmond let his blade loose, went to his knees, and shoved it into Shaun's throat.

He fell instantly, choking on the blood that pooled as soon as the blade pulled back out of his neck. Scarlet bursts pumped from his exposed artery. Once, twice, thrice, then the bursts faded just as his heart did. He shuddered once, then all the air went out of his lungs and he fell still.

"Requiescat in pace," Desmond whispered, reaching over to close Shaun's eyes.

He leaned back on his haunches, looking at but not really seeing the blood on his arm, hand, and blade, which he still hasn't sheathed.

A noise alerted him; the smoke was like a fog now, but he could see, hear, and feel a faint orange glow through the cloud. The fire was almost upon him.

It must have been moving extremely fast; when he'd climbed the tree, the fire was no more than a bundle of smoke in the distance, at least a mile away. Now, with all the fuel available, it had caught up to him.

"My turn," Desmond muttered, bringing the blade to his neck. He let it hover there, not sure he could actually stab himself. Wouldn't it hurt?

Well of course it would fucking hurt. But burning alive would most definitely be the more painful option of the two.

"'Let the dead bury their dead; they will come out in droves. Take the spade from my hand and fill in the holes I've made,'" Desmond quoted with one last look at Shaun's blooded body.

Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he thrust the blade deep into his exposed windpipe.

Pain exploded from the site, and he collapsed backwards against the tree's trunk. He pulled the blade out, bringing his lifespan down from minutes to seconds.

Desmond now felt the intense heat of the fire, and turned his eyes to the left; it was at the trees at the end of the clearing and closing fast. He breathed raggedly, literally feeling the air escape through the hole in his neck. Blood flowed down his shirt front.

The fire faded from view as he grew weaker, but he still felt the pain as tongues of flame began to touch his body.

That was all, though. Desmond was gone.