For Jesse
January, 1777.
Connor walked the busy streets of Boston, a light snowfall gracefully around him. He eased past the merchants and the men walking their dogs as he made his way to his old friend, Lee's house. He marched up the steps onto the porch and pounded on the door. He waited almost a minute, then started pounding again, this time without stopping.
"SHUT UP! I'M COMIN', I'M COMIN'!" Yelled the voice of a drunken General Lee from inside the house. Connor stopped knocking and waited. He heard Lee stumble, hit the door, stand up, un latch the door, and finally pull the door open. "You're drunk, General." Connor said as he walked past Lee into the house. Lee closed the door behind Connor with some difficulty, then turned to face him. Connor stood in the middle of the house. Lee stumbled up to him, and yanked Connor's hood off. His black hair flowed out and rest upon his shoulders.
"You know I hate when you wear that fuckin' hood!" Lee yelled, straightening up and stretching. He walked into his cabinet and pulled out a new bottle of whiskey, opened it, and took a swig.
"Want a drink?" He slurred. Connor glared at him, and said "And YOU know I hate it when you're drunk when I get here." He walked up to Lee, who was busy chugging the whiskey, and grabbed the bottle. He went to the window opened it, poured the whiskey out into the snow, set the bottle on a nearby table, and closed the window.
"What do you want, boy?" Lee slurred. Connor reached into his pouch and pulled out a letter. "You wanted to talk to me about a new target?" Connor said with a sarcastic hint in his voice. He smacked the letter into Lee's chest, and Lee took it and read it. Connor crossed his arms.
"This is the letter I gave that courier to give to you…" He said, squinting at it. A flare of anger rose in Connor and he smacked Lee. Lee blinked and took another look at the letter, crumpled it, and tossed it into his fireplace, where it burst into flames. "Right, your target. British general, due to be making a guarded migration to a camp at midnight tonight. Plans on taking moving through the Frontier. High value target. Kill him however you want, I don't care. Just kill him." Lee turned, went to his arm chair, and sat down, closing his eyes. "Just kill him." He repeated.
But Connor was already gone.
He moved through the tree's with a swift smoothness, like a monkey in the wild. Midnight was nearing, and he had to move fast. That wasn't a problem. He jumped from tree to tree, swinging from branches over larger gaps. Eventually, he began to worry. What if Lee was too drunk to remember his actual target? What if there wasn't anybody out here? He sat in a tree and pondered on this. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a light. A combination of torches. He activated his 6th Sense and looked closer. Sure enough, it was his target. The man on the horse glowed gold, the rest of the Lobster backs glowed red. He stood up, gracefully fell from the tree, pulled out his tomahawk, and charged.
Taking them completely by surprise, as a good assassin should, he locked bayonet and tomahawk with one Red Coat while pulling his knife and deflecting another, then stabbed him in the back. He brought the tomahawk down and kneed the man in the face, took the musket, slashed the tomahawk into the mans neck, let him drop, then fired the musket at another Red Coat. He pulled his dual Flintlock pistols, firing one into another Red Coat, and missing the other shot. The Redcoat charged. Connor dropped the pistols, snatched up his knife and threw at the charging Red Coat, hitting him in the forehead. He looked around quickly, searching for the general. He and his horse resided behind a tree, trying to make their way out of the forest. Connor charged and jumped off a ledge, flexing his arm. He landed on the horse and thrust his hidden blade into the man's neck, and tossed his body off the horse. The man let out some gruesome coughing sounds, then finally died. Connor trotted back to the scene of the fight, recovered his weapons, then road off, heading back to Boston.
The wolves ate fantastically that night.