January 16th 2008

To say today was cold would be a complete understatement. It was freezing, a simple breath out was enough to hurt your damn lips. At least that's how it felt to Altaïr. He was neither use to nor prepared for this weather, no one had really. They were stranded, trapped on the state of New York yet the once bright and cheery lights no longer brought feeling of excitement, only memories of what once was. The exhausted man sat himself on the supposed raised wall of the building to the ceiling, the hard concrete cement provided no comfort what so ever to his ass. His half lidded golden eyes searched over what seemed like every roof top, searching for those damn beast- hunter he believed they were called, they were an abominations to say the least, their pinkish- purple skins and long fangs were nightmare fuel to everyone, including himself, the man everyone claimed had no fears- well not that they knew of course- what so ever. Turns out they were more wrong. Never in his life had he meant such a horrible monster, it made the hairs on the back of his neck that he hadn't even realized where there rise to record heights.

A sudden vibration broke the rambling of his mind and which a quick reach of his hands, he was holding it. He tapped gently on the screen and a message was reveled to him.

'Get back inside – Malik'. He felt his face no longer held the trademark scowl it once had, but, a soft smile. Malik probably was getting his underwear in a knot. His eyes drifted to the top of the phone where the time changed to 5:23 pm. He had been all alone on the rooftop for about an hour, lost in his maze of thoughts. Altaïr swung his legs back on to the safety of the building rooftops and hopped down from his seating arrangement, with one last glance back at the city- noting how an eruption of gunfire was heard from far away- and walked towards the cool rusted metal door. His right hand moved and grasped the handle, and pulled the door knob, kicked the rock that was holding the door open back to the inside of the building. Jogging down the stairs, he made it back into the empty apartment room that they now occupied. Ever since the infection spread like wildfire, people attempted to leave. Of course no one really made it, due to the military on the bridges and out on the water, watching everyone's move, and paroling the very streets where the civilians walked. To see it now infested with the military was no surprise, just helped anyone realize how danger could be right around the corner. In the act of reflecting on his thoughts he had stopped right in front of the door to their very large room where he, Malik and Kadar lived. Suddenly the door swung open, leaving barely anytime for Altaïr to step away from the door in order to not get hit. A quick look up and the face was easily recognized as Malik, a frown donned on his face. His lack hair uncut and messy as if toying with it was suddenly his new hobby.

"About time you made it." his rough voice echoed throughout the lonely hallway, yet they barely paid any attention to how it seemed to never end. Malik moved out of the way after he had spoken and let a cold Syrian into the apartment. The other moved in front of said man, showing no act of kindness, and sat down next to his brother, Kadar. His shockingly blue eyes were locked on the tv screen before them, his hair also a mess, a haircut being needed as well and with the look being completed with an oversized sweater and baggy pants, he looked like a regular teenager, except the hilarious part was, he wasn't. He was 21, but was often confused for still being in middle school- high school if he was lucky.

'The outbreak with the strange occurrence has managed to claim the lives of 16 people today, and 3 claimed missing. It is unsure whether the missing are dead or alive, but we can only hope that they will be found. Safe. This is Jessic-' and with a low audible click the remote, the voice was gone leaving only silence. Malik's and Kadar's eyes hardened, anger and disgust were pulsing through their bodies. Sparing only a glance at them, Altaïr walked back into the silence of his room, and the click of the door closing reassured it. The breath that he had caged in without remembering doing so, was released. Hoodie gone, and pants off, Altaïr found himself relaxing on the bed, wearing just his black boxers. His eyes seemed to search the ceilings, that seemed to be cracking with every year and observing the nails poking out from the ceiling, staring at it as if it had all the answers in the world and in the moment that the eyes closed of the man, he could only wish that everything would be that easy, to be that close in your reach.

The eagle circled around him as he crouched on the wooden platform, that even most people would not even think about standing on it, especially with in so high in the air. He was not most men though, and he never would be. His job of being an assassin separated him from people such as the ones that roamed around, to shop to shop. No, that wasn't the life made for him, nor would it ever be. He tore his eyes away from the people from below and surveyed the area, the building, the structures. Just with a sweep of his eyes felt one with the area, every crevice that could be seen, he would use. Every route was lead to another. To him there was no stopping, no dead ends. Pushing up from the platform, he stands, his 6 foot tall structure ignored by the world. He steps closer to the edge and moves his hand out to his side. His eyes slide shut for a moment and enjoy the fresh breeze that brushes his face, the breeze that gives him some relief from the heat. The man's chest rises, his heart beating...once...twice...three times and with the swift opening of his eyes he jumps, plummeting to the grounds below.

Altaïr wakes before he hits the ground, his heart beating fast, and his hand clutching his chest strong enough to make his knuckles white. Eyes darting back in forth, scanning the area, he realizes he is indeed safe. There is no danger in the room. It was all a dream. No, a nightmare. Dreams were ones that were good, filled with things of desire, certainly not falling to your death. Although, for reasons unknown to himself, he felt as though, maybe, just maybe he wasn't falling to his death. Maybe he was going to live. Perhaps he just had faith in the world and with more thinking that his tired mind can handle, he realizes the man in the dream, had looked exactly like him, to his bright golden colored eyes, to his muscular build, even with the finger gone on his left hand. The dream was simply dismissed, in his mind. It was just another strange dream. Altaïr ignored the things his mind was telling him, such as if it wasn't what he thought at all, but something more.

To Be Continued...