*In celebration of Assassin's Creed Odyssey being announced at E3, I've decided to take a stab at writing an Assassin's Creed fanfic
Part 1 – First Day
Life takes the craziest turns, one day our hero was sitting in a holding cell, and the next day he was on a helicopter heading towards his future school.
Five years prior…
The flurry of screaming and punching, his stepfather was always such an asshole.
His mother had a broken arm from when he attacked her last week, their 2-month-old Belgian Malinois named Remus had been thrown against the wall and in pain, and his little brothers were cowering in their rooms.
His stepfather was a bald, chubby man with a short temper and a very large drinking habit.
He wasn't going to take it anymore, he hated how he treated him, the dog he got for his birthday, his mother, and his brothers.
The nearest thing he could find was a baseball bat, he walked up to his stepfather who turned around as he heart the bat tapping on the floor only to have the bat hit him right across the jaw.
"Damn Bruce," he sat as he tried reached up to his jaw, "I didn't know you…" before he could say another word, Bruce broke his leg in one swing, causing him to scream in agony.
What happened next was a complete mystery to Bruce, all he remembers was bringing the bat down as hard as he could on several parts of his stepfather's body in a blind rage.
When he came down from the rage, he was breathing heavily, and kneeling over his stepfather.
The bat was one foot away in two pieces, split about one fourth down the length of the top.
His hands were covered in blood, slowly dripping blood onto his stepfather's motionless body.
Bruce stood up, took a few steps away from the body, and dropped to the floor in front of the bat.
Present…
Bruce sat there, staring at his hands, when Remus nudged his hands, "Hey boy," he said as he stroked his dog across the forehead.
"That dog of yours sure is loyal," Bruce's only true 'father figure' who he knew as Thatcher said as he walked over to sit in front of Bruce, "All these years, and he still hasn't left your side."
Bruce had no idea if Thatcher was his real name or not, but all he knew was that from his gruff voice and shorty, stylized messy hair he was probably from somewhere out west, and from the marks on his hands it could very possibly mean he might have been trained as a mechanic or an engineer.
"Yea," Bruce said, "Unlike certain people, he's loyal to the end."
"I wouldn't worry about that," Thatcher said, "You've done well."
"What's the school like," Bruce asked.
"Competitive," Thatcher said, "Everyone's in constant competition. Trying to be top dog. Right now the top dog at the academy is undefeated."
"What concentration," Bruce asked.
"Wetworks," Thatcher said, "Far from your concentration."
"I hope to live up to everything you've invested in me," Bruce said.
"You will," Thatcher said before looking out the window, "We're flying over the school right now."
Bruce looked out the window, the school was in the middle of a large wooded area and was roughly 2000 acres, the ivy-covered gym would be perfect for any professional football team, if that was what it was for.
Right next to the gym about twenty young men and women wearing JROTC camo boots, pants, and white shirts.
"When was the school formed," Bruce asked.
"Just shortly before the Second World War," Thatcher said, "With the rise of Fascism in Europe, the Japanese Empire's expansion into Asia, and the rise of Abstergo Industries told us that we needed to find a way to train more members. A tradition began during the War in which members of the order, such as myself would recruit others to join the order. Said recruits would need to try and find something unique that their recruits could use as an advantage."
"You mean that Remus is my edge over the other students," Bruce asked.
"That and the fact that you have something many recruits don't have," Thatcher said.
"What," Bruce asked.
"You'll see," Thatcher said as the helicopter came in for a landing, "We're here."
Bruce walked over to the door with Thatcher, and Remus followed him, as soon as the door opened, and the roar of the helicopter blades filled the cabin, the three of them jumped out the chopper, and began walking towards the front of the school.
Flashback, five years prior…
Bruce was charged with Juvenile Delinquency, and sent to a juvenile correctional clinic, he spent two months sitting through constant classes about how his actions, while noble were far outside the bounds of the law.
One day he was simply sitting in his room, throwing the ball the guards let him carry against the wall, the cheap orange jumpsuit they gave everyone in the clinic was scratchy, the socks they allowed him to wear in his room were not insulating at all so it was very cold.
The guards that walked down the hall didn't treat him the same as any of the others being as he killed someone while defending his family and the others either tried to kill someone, committed a robbery, or arson.
The jingling of their keys was annoying as he heard it every evening while they were walking through the halls.
He wasn't surprised when he heard one of them walking down the walkway to his cell, but what he was surprised by was when the guard stopping to unlock the cell, "Get up," he said, "You have a visitor."
Bruce stood up, and followed the guard to the mess hall where an Caucasian-Asian male about forty years of age with short, brown hair and brown eyes.
Bruce sat in front of him, and the man in front of him spoke, "Hello, Bruce."
"Do I know you, sir," Bruce asked.
"No," he said, "But I knew your father."
"I never knew him," Bruce said.
"Let's just say we worked together quite a lot," he said as he held out his hand, "My name is Thatcher by the way."
"Pleasure," Bruce said as he shook his hand.
"I heard about how you ended up in here," Thatcher said, "You risked all this to stand up for your mother and brothers."
"He was on track to kill my mom, me and my brothers," Bruce said, "If I hadn't have stopped him, mom would probably be dead."
"You have the drive to stand up for others," Thatcher said, "Your father had the same kind of drive which is what made him what he was."
"Which was what," Bruce asked.
"An assassin," Thatcher said as he reached into his neck, and pulled out a small amulet that was made of solid silver, and formed into an unusual shape, "A member of an ancient order that has existed since before the founding of the Roman Empire."
"This is crazy," Bruce said, "How do I know what you're saying is true?"
"Because I'm about to get you out of here," Thatcher said as he tapped three times on the table, first with his index finger, then his middle finger, and finally his ring finger which had a mysterious burn scar on it.
Heavily cloaked men and women emerged from trashcans and walls, and knocked the guards out cold.
"Good shit," Bruce said as he sprung up and fell backwards against another table's bench, "Who are you people?"
"We are the Brotherhood," Thatcher said, "We are assassins, just as your father was."
"What does this have to do with me," Bruce asked.
"I owe your father my life," Thatcher said as he walked up to Bruce, and sat next to him, "I promised him when he died that I'd look out for your family. Now's my chance to repay him."
"By doing what," Bruce asked.
"I can clear your record," Thatcher said, "Make you a free man."
"What do I have to do in return," Bruce asked.
"I can train you to be the man your father once was," Thatcher said, "You will learn how to shoot, move, and fight like one of us. You will be completely free."
"What's the catch," Bruce asked.
"The catch," Thatcher asked, "The catch is that you're untrained right now. So you will spend the next few years off the grid training your hardest. If you want that dog of yours can come with you. But aside from hand-written notes you can send to your mother, you will have almost zero human contact, except for myself."
"Is that it," Bruce asked.
"You'll get some information on the outside world," Thatcher said, "But I'm only going to make this offer once. So what's your answer?"
"When do we leave," Bruce asked.
Flashback ends…
As they walked into the school Bruce was instantly surprised by the décor, a two-story solid white marble lobby that looked like it should be in the entrance to a millionaire's mansion where a man dressed in a double-breasted gray business suit with the seal of the Assassin Order pinned to his lapel was there to greet them.
"Hello, Thatcher," he said as he shared a forearm-lock with Thatcher.
"Headmaster Delatorre," Thatcher said.
As Delatorre released Thatcher's arm, he walked up to Bruce, and stood firmly in front of him, his 6'2" height made him eye-level with Bruce, "Is this him," he asked.
"Yes, Headmaster," Thatcher said, "This is Bruce Greenwood, Vincent's son."
"It is good to finally meet you Bruce," Delatorre said as he held out his hand which Bruce shook, "One thing you have to learn is that we don't shake here," he then grabbed Bruce's forearm, "We do this."
"Apologizes, Headmaster," Bruce said.
"Don't apologize for such a trivial matter," Delatorre said, "You're here for one purpose, and right now I suggest we get started," as Bruce and Thatcher followed Delatorre, Remus started panting as they climbed the stairs to the next floor, "Belgian Malinois?"
"Yes, Headmaster," Bruce said, "Remus has been my companion for the past five years."
"He's your attack dog," Delatorre asked.
"I've imprinted him on many things," Bruce said, "Explosives, narcotics, weapons, and everything else I could in these previous five years."
"So Remus is your utility dog then," Delatorre asked.
"You could say that," Bruce said.
"Indeed," Delatorre said, "Have you selected your concentration?"
"Yes," Bruce said, "Your curriculum is very diverse. I was very tempted by the Weapon's Master concentration, but it was the Protective Services concentration that I decided to partake in."
"Have you decided to take Weapon's Master as your minor," Delatorre asked.
"Yes," Bruce said, "And Wetworks. I figure it would go hand-in-hand with my Protective Services concentration."
"In order to prevent assassinations you have to think like a major assassin," Delatorre asked.
"Yes, sir," Bruce said.
"You've taught this one well, Thatcher," Delatorre said.
"The statue was always there sir," Thatcher said, "I just cleared away the rough pieces."
Bruce knew this saying well, one of his favorite moves was the third Rambo movie, it was one of Richard Crenna's sayings to Rambo when he went to recruit him in Thailand.
"Now we get onto serious business," Delatorre said as he opened the door to a small medical wing, "We need to check on one thing before we continue with your initiation."
One of the nurses ushered Bruce over to one of the stations, "You must be Thatcher's newest secret weapon," she said.
"Bruce," he said, "Secret weapon?"
"That's what Thatcher has called you," she said as she prepared a needle, and drew some blood from Bruce's ring finger, "That should be enough to establish a DNA trace."
"DNA trace," Bruce asked as she bandaged his finger, "For what?"
"For your lineage," the nurse said as she put the blood onto a medical slide, and placed it into what appeared to be a miniature microwave oven connected to a printer, "It's standard procedure for new recruits."
"Why is that," Bruce asked.
"You're about to see," the nurse said as the small machine buzzed and then dinged, the printer then came to live, and pushed out a small piece of paper that had various names of what Bruce guessed was his ancestors' ethnicities, "Let's see, early Egyptian, French, Native American, English…" she then tapped on one of the DNA strands on the piece of paper, "Bingo."
Delatorre walked up to the nurse who pointed at one of the strands, "Perfect," he said as he walked over, and put a hand on Bruce's shoulder, "It's time."
"Time for what," Bruce asked.
"To visit the past," Delatorre said, "Trust me, you're love this."
What do you think…