This story has been nagging at my brain since I finally bought AC 1 and 2. So please read and review. I'll no doubt have a brainwave and put another up, but I love reviews (hint hint)

I'm coughing up blood. Before I could justify it. But this is something more. It's not the light colouration of the glance of tooth on my tongue. That spat aside after catching a punch to my cheek and jaw. It had me bent over and hacking into my hands, I could feel the coagulated lumps in my mouth. It tastes like lead all the time. But things are blurry, I forget what I'm doing, find myself speaking out loud, to someone not present. I force myself into routine, but I seem to lose myself in the middle of an action. I 'wake' as if my body has gone on autopilot. I find myself scanning the rooves around me, I don't even know what I look for. I get tired too quickly, trying to push through it just makes me wheeze. Wheezing turns into coughing, coughing turns to a life and death struggle to gain a single gasp of air. It could be anything, a slight infection, but it could be worse, tuberculosis, emphysema.

*They have that now right?*

The figure was sitting on the bench, their head in their hands, fingers even clutching at their hair. Originally it had been shared, but the mannerisms and the soft mutterings had frightened the other users away. In a flash they had gathered their feet, they were still for nearly a heartbeat before they had disappeared into the crowd. The bench was reclaimed and the figure was just a memory.

I saw him. I think it was him. I hope it was him. Not a phantom out the corner of my eye? No I saw it. A flicker of white, the flap of a dove's wing. But no, there was a figure there. It seemed nearly nonchalant. Nearly, but I had seen the foolish placement of the chest, barely hidden from view under the bench in the roof top garden. I pushed up slightly on my legs to watch. He must have known it was there too. He had appeared and moved straight for it. But I knew something he didn't. The guard had taken to this roof top, for below gave a costless view into the courtesans corner. He was gone as quickly as the pigeons fluttered away in fear. The guard had guts and leapt after, hands dancing in indecision, sword or bow, arrow or blade. It took no thinking, I got to my feet and took the few running steps to the edge and kept my feet as I landed. He had done the hard work, the chest was unlocked if not open. I took everything inside and shoved the handfuls into my clothing before I darted away; hand snatching the stale bread left out for the birds. This I stuffed into my mouth.

Shaking fingers counted the coins, hidden away in a nearly awkward arrangement of angled roofs. It was good, it was enough. Every so often the covered face lifted, checking, looking for any observer. Their jaw moved, chewing savagely at hard bread. Crumbs exploded as teeth worried and tore at the edge of the small loaf. But there was happiness in those eyes, food was welcome. Anything. Even that left behind for birds. But the rough crumbs, recklessly inhaled had them coughing. Their back arched, twisted as they fought to expel whatever caused such pain. Flecks of blood on the corner of the hastily grabbed cloak. But a particularly harsh cough had a larger globule land. Shocked eyes looked at the telltale sign that whatever it was, was getting worse. Their eyes watered, the trails lighter as they slid down the frozen face.

I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. Even closing my eyes to think, hoping for my mind to conjure up an image of something. Of safety. But there is nothing there but blank, I can't remember a thing. The only thing I do know, is that even though the armourer looked at me more than askance, the balance of that knife was beautiful, with my hand and mind behind it I was no longer a victim or prey. I was higher on the food chain. But only if I could stop coughing up pieces of my lungs. I still had a fair amount of money left, the clothing I had I had stolen, hung out to dry, but taken to be dyed to the tailor. My unkempt appearance had nearly got me thrown from the stall, but the flash of my coins had the man more than willing to help. I was never going to be one of the courtesans, their out there beauty wasn't my style, I liked the darker shadows, the roofs especially. But every time I rested against a wall to catch my mostly uncatchable breath I remembered that figure, clad in white and I keep thinking that I should know him, or I should…something. The haze that comes when I can't catch my breath seems to cloud harsher around my mind, sometimes I stumble over my own feet.

A few older women looked at the figure, seeing their own children in the poor stature, but none offered aide, especially when the stairs to the canal seemed to surprise them. A stumble turned into a trip, pure chance saved the figure from a cold dowsing. They heaved in breath, fingers not ceasing from their death hold on the cement wall. It's mouth twitched, whispers only audible to themselves past those bitten sore lips.

I just want someone to save me. But even as I thinkthese words, said those words, I know that I had to save myself. I was alone here.

*I can do this. I have done this.*

Clambering to my feet and convincing my hands to release without severe cramp was hard. The laughter that was slow to die at my pathetic stumble had only started to abate, but that didn't annoy as much as my poor balance and that part of the cloak I had ripped free. More rust brown now than green. I needed it again as I moved off, my rasping breath had drawn more blood from my glass splintered throat. But the next few seconds would have me forgetting anything else.

The yells from the guards had everyone turning, the taint of blood in the air was something that only a few seemed to notice and place. It was bright red, arterial, some of it had splattered uncontrollably on the running figure's robes, some seemed to well from under the robes. The figure spun, it too had recognised that scent. It seemed to further more action. At the quick movement, the cloak fell down, but the almost angrily tied back hair did not cross those now narrowed pale green eyes. Instead they racked across the vision in front of them. The scrunched up hankerchief was dropped and instead the knife was held there underhand, hidden by a seeming accidental fold of fabric. There were three of the faster, lightly armed guards right on the tail of the man. And he was heading for a narrow building with no way out or up. The figure seemed not to move, but appeared in the short gap between the sprinting figure and the blowing guards. The cloak swirled up as if caught in a breeze, it caught everyone's attention, including the guards. Beneath the suddenly billowing material the knife moved like it could sever the air itself. The figure was dancing. For the first there was no defence, he had expected nothing, all attention on the running suspect. But now the straining neck was no longer taut and his exhalation was coloured in red. The second ran into the already dead body of the first. The knife thundered in and out of his stomach and chest. Puncturing the stomach and both lungs. The last knew something was up and his sword was leading his charge. The figure seemed to watch the sword in disinterest, it was patted away like a lazy fly, and the knife was inside his guard and then inside his neck. The cloak fell, covering the three bodies and as it settled the first scream sounded. The figure spun away, not following the already gone shadow. This time with utter purpose guiding footsteps. The balance was perfect and muscles and movements that seemed effortless saw the figure up and over their heads and gone. The ragged and bloodstained cloak now the shroud of the three men.

My throat hurt. My lungs hurt. But despite that, despite the fact that I had killed three men, I felt nothing but thanks that the man had managed to flee. I felt some sorrow at the ending of those lives, but it seemed worth it. And I didn't know why. I looked at the blade in my hand. It seemed to have a life beat of its own, almost sentient. It winked at me, but I knew that it was the sun hitting the still wet blood. I knew I had done it before and could do it again. I looked to the sky and saw the circling eagle. It called as if lonely, calling for something below maybe only it could see. I sighed and slid the knife back into the cloth belt around my waist. I knew I couldn't stay here, I had to go further. But it didn't worry me, and I found my mind hoping that the blood that had welled from beneath his clothes was not from a deathly wound. I did not question why it would worry me.

Yes I saw that.

Good, because I thought I was going insane.

That is another point totally.

Whatever man. The point is I didn't use eagle vision. But that…person, just saved my guts. And not to mention killed three guards in like the blink of an eye.

Perhaps it was a thief. One of Antonio's, Niccolo's?

We'll go over the footage we have and see if there is something else. Okay Desmond. Okay?

Yeah.