Sorry, I know I had only begun the story, but I saw too many plot holes for it to continue. Instead, I decided to alter the beginning to fix future problems. This is my first FanFiction, but I love Connor like you would not believe, and needed to express my eternal love. I now have a thing for Native Americans, despite the fact I live in Australia and have never met one. But I may dream, and here it goes, the real first chapter of Assassin's Creed Oracle.

Chapter One: Uncertain Future

Relentlessly, grips firm and unyielding, they dragged her from her cell, despite her desperate cries. She felt as if they were so silent, the rooms so empty, that she could hear each tear that fell from her raw cheek, and continued to stream down her face.

"Please," she begged weakly, trying and failing to stand, "please."

Cold and emotionless as stone, they ignore her pleas, as the pulled her down a corridor as long as eternity, and near as black as death. Every few moments, bright, industrial lights would illuminate certain parts of the hall, reminding her that despite the dust, and the dampness, people were down here, for some ungodly reason. The far-spaced lighting hurt her eyes, as it was a minute or two of walking between each, and in that time, her eyes had once more adjusted to the dark. Her guards appeared to care not in the slightest. As the minutes dragged on, fear turned to terror, and despite her fading strength, she began to stir against their grips, sensing something dreadful ahead. Like death was waiting in the shadows just past the lights.

"No," she hears herself say, a strange authority in her tone, "stop."

It seemed they almost faltered, for a moment so slight it was almost non-existent, but they did. Perhaps they had been programed to follow any voice with authority, or they may have just mistaken her for another.

"Stop," she said again, "I command you to stop at once."

Quick as lightning, a hand, gloved in leather, struck her across the face so she was reeling, fighting to remember which way was up. They continued on. Without saying a word.

Finally, after a length of time too long but simultaneously short, they stopped, and turned to face the wall. She stared, the worn stone just as same as the walls she had passed before. She opened her mouth to speak, but there was a click, a hiss, and then a section of the wall fell in, and slid to one side. She was too speechless to say what was blatantly obvious. A secret door. Once she'd recovered from the shock of the strange opening, her eyes focused on a single beam of light in the middle of a room that she had no clue of where its boundaries lay. Silent as ghosts, the men led her forward, towards that light, and the metal chair within it, and dumped her like she were not at all human. And then, they turned, and left her in silence. Hours could've ticked by, as she curled herself into a ball on that cold, hard chair, her paper gown rustling as she did. Her hair, tangled and filthy, fell into her eyes, so she began the slow process of detangling the mess.

"Good evening, Miss Wren." She froze, heart leaping into her throat, and choking her. A man, dressed in a tailored suit with a white lab overcoat, and a trimmed beard stepped from the darkness that surrounded them. He smiled, pleasantly, and on first instinct, she wanted to like him. But she didn't. The corner of his lips was too pinched, his eyes to razor sharp to be anyone of a kind disposition. No, her parents had spent an age teaching her about people's faces, how little things could mean the world of difference. This man wanted something.

"Hello," she croaked, and slid her feet back down, until they were flat on the ground. Worried that her shaking fingers would give away her terror, she slid them beneath her. She noticed how his eyes flicker over every little move she'd made.

"Are you being treated alright?"

"I'm cold."

She added a subtle shudder to her shoulders, which wasn't all forced; it was damp and cold in that room.

"I'm so sorry," he sighed, sliding his glasses down so as to pinch the bridge of his nose, "I'm trying to help you. They should never have treated you like this."

Lie. His chin continually wanted to be uptilted; he was used to power, he was the leader.

"Please," she whispered, a tear slipping loose, "I want to go home."

"You will," he assured, "we just need to test a few things. Is that alright?"

She nodded, despite the warning bells peeling in her head so loudly that it hurt.

"Good. How old are you Wren?"

"20," she replied, "when can I see my uncle?"

"Soon," he soothed, "he is waiting for you, as well as your parents. We've just to finish a few things."

"Do you promise?"

He blinked, in surprise, despite him trying to play it off as an allergy or something by rubbing his eye.

"Of course, my dear, on my honour."

"Liar."

He froze, raising those knife like eyes to hers. He was surprised, or seemed it, and shook his head.

"I do not lie. I promised."

"Promises mean nothing to you. You crossed your fingers. My parents abandoned me. My uncle is dead, and you killed him."

Finally, he drops the act, and smiles.

"Indirectly, yes," he replied, "but I gave the order for their deaths."

She relaxed then, far more comfortable with the beast revealed than it trying to hide its horrors beneath sheep's clothing.

"What do you want?"

He smiles like the Cheshire cat, his teeth too white and too straight, his skin too smooth and perfect.

"I want to know why it is you were kept so hidden from us. Why you were stolen away from the Order by your uncle. What was it about you?"

"You could ask him yourself, when I kill you."

His smile deepens into a grin with too much teeth, like he's a lion ready to feast on her flesh.

"There will be no killing. You see, we've suspected for some time what it is about you. Marvellous really. Such a unique ability that could ultimately turn the tide of this war in our favour."

"I will never tell you a thing."

"You are not here for us, dear," he chuckled, rising and straightening his perfect outfit, "but for our forefathers."

Foreboding, thick and dark as tar, began to trickle into her heart, her veins. Time seemed to slow. So cryptic, his words, and yet a deep part of her felt as if she knew what it was exactly he was telling her. As if she had seen it before, in a dream, and forgotten.

"Come."

Like shadows, the two escorts appeared, and hefted her from her seat, and she remained weightless between them as shock overtook her. A string of industrial lighting began to flicker to life, illuminating a raised metal walkway that led to an elevated glass box.

"No."

She remembered, of a memory, or dream, or both when she was suffocating in glass, spinning and twisting and floating and staying completely and utterly still all at once.

"No."

There was hysteria in her voice, pure, wild and terrified. Her feet began to kick, flailing at her captors.

"NO!"

More lights turned on, and revealed a room of white coated people; standing or sitting, all intently focused on screens, and that horrible glass cell. She became a beast of teeth and nails, and she struck like a hell cat at anything she could, drawing blood from a bite on one captors arm.

"No, no, NO!"

Like a piece of trash, she was thrown inside, and landed painfully on her arm. With a whir, the near invisible door closed, and she was left lying in that beautifully terrible cube. She shook, rising and then near collapsing from the shudders that wracked her body. She should have fought, should have remembered all the training that had been beaten into her throughout her whole existence. Glass, she was surrounded by it, and when he mind began to function beyond that animalistic need to survive, did she realise it. Glass could break. She walked, slowly, to one edge, and touched the surface. It felt real, and exactly as she remembered glass felt, cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. She tapped, and listened to it. Just as she remembered. She struck, closed fist and with her whole upper body thrown into it, and the singing of trembling glass filled her ears. She tried again, and again, until it seemed her head would explode from the sheer power behind that noise, but it did not crack, nor splinter. She swore, loudly, in words her Uncle had told her never to use, and screamed. Frustration, dark and suffocating, began to fill that glass prison, until she collapsed on the floor and wept.

She did not remember falling asleep, nor did she remember the pedestal in the centre of the prison, a strange humming enumerating from its core. Trepidation filled her, and her heart lurched from a steady pace into a thundering gallop that drowned out all but that insistent hum. She had always had a good sense of danger, and right now, it was worse than any she had ever had before, even when her home had burnt down, and she was close to death at the hand of other Templars. Now this contraption from Abstergo industries was driving madness into her brain, until she was screeching in utter terror, and beating at the glass walls until her knuckles bled. The sound grew louder, and changed from a hum to a ringing that was like nails on a chalkboard, and worse still. She curled in on herself, pressing bloody fists to her ears to keep out the noise, and screaming herself hoarse in a desperate attempt to drown it out. It reached a fever pitch, and the pedestal began to throb with light. Blinded, she turned away, throwing her hands in front of her face to protect it from the sudden heat.

"Help!" she screamed, but her voice was torn away by that unnatural power that ebbed and flowed, and grew ever larger.

"Stop!"

She could see, then, everyone outside, and their gazes all focused on her, the way she was thrown against the glass. She was going to die, she was so sure. And no one would care. A strange object rose from inside that single stand, and though she couldn't see it through the light, images of the Apple, and other artefacts were burned into the back of her eyelids. A precursor item, then. She wondered what power it could possibly have. It glowed like a newly formed star, and burned like it too; her skin began to redden like it would had she been under the summer sun for hours. This was it. Her final thoughts where on the chance that where ever her soul ended next, would she have the chance to meet her mother once more. And if so, would everything be explained. She had barely started a final prayer, before a jolt of pure energy pulsed through her, and she was thrown into a vision.