Hey guys! Here is my newest bored-in-the-middle-of-class story, Hidden. Hope you like it.
My name is Desmond Miles. I'm about twenty-two, give or take a few weeks. The days seem to blur by when you're in hiding. Hiding from enemies, hiding from families… entire secret orders that have existed and found their targets for hundreds of years.
I guess the fact that I've been hiding for so long is impressive in and of itself.
I'm actually rather proud of how I did it. Most people, when they're hiding, they think that they need to disappear into the dregs of society, that that'll be the only way to stay away from a hunter's eye. As an Assassin, I know that that is actually one of the easiest places to find you; it's the first place your pursuers would look. So you hide in the middle of society: as the Creed would say, "Hide in Plain Sight." I'm working at a bar; not the best bar in town, but not the worst. The liquor is worth the price, at the very least, and the customers are loyal.
One of my regulars walks in, sits down. We talk for a few minutes; he tells me how his business is doing, and asks me polite questions that I answer generically. Before too long, more people start to pour in; men, women, fathers, and their just-turned-twenty-one sons. The place is jumping, and people laugh, flirt, and forget their troubles in the atmosphere. A smile crosses my lips, and a few women take note. I imagine that I come across as less-than-friendly when they first see me, but if just about anyone hears me talk, they realize I'm a nice enough guy.
A couple of bikers walk in, and greet me enthusiastically when they learn of my interest in motorcycles. We are in the middle of a long conversation on the finer points of riding when a couple of troublemakers walk in; you know, those guys with the twenty different ear piercings, lip piercings, nose, eyebrow, just about anything you can pierce, wearing t-shirts with a familiar red cross. Most people would assume that it was just them trying to be gangsters, and I'm one of the few who know that they're not far off.
They walk up to the bar, glaring at everyone they see, trying to figure out which one was the Assassin hidden in their midst. To anyone else, they would just think they were trying to be intimidating. My heart is pounding in my chest, but I calm down, remembering that if they're searching the crowd, they probably don't know it's me. "What'll it be, gentlemen?" I ask, and a slight smile tugs at the lips of the bikers as I say it. They turn their squinty gaze at me, and gruffly ask for some Buds. I take out the glasses, and pour the drink from the tap, slapping them down and waiting for the cash. They stare at me for a moment, before they grunt, pay for the drinks, and walk away, sitting down at one of the tables.
The bikers and I re-engage in conversation, but I keep an ear out, listening for the two Templars to say anything that may require me to relocate. As I go to pour a drink, I manage to make my cell phone (which I only got to prevent questions) vibrate without anyone noticing, and tell them that I have to take this, managing to politely step away, and walk closer to the Templars. As I pretend to be talking, I listen in on their conversation.
"Come on Dave, you really think there's an Assassin in this area?" one of them, the shorter of the two, asks, taking a drink. Dave, shrugs, and also downs a few gulps, saying, "Look, Jack, all I know is that this town used to be a secret hiding place for Assassins about fifty years ago, and since one of their bases was discovered, the higher-ups think that they may try coming here." Jack scoffs, guzzling down the last of his drink. "If they come back here, then their reputation as geniuses is pretty far off. Hey, barkeep, can I get another over here?" he shouts, waving his glass at me. Dave shoots his down, waving his as well.
I pretend to hang up, and take their glasses, walking back to the bar. I make it look like the tap has run out, so I turn around, pretending to use one of the taps behind the bar. In actuality, I'm slipping in pure 100% alcohol, a concentration that'll kill them within twenty minutes. To make sure they don't recognize the difference, I slip in a little drug I learned how to make at the Farm, making it taste like ordinary beer. Give them this, they'll be drunk off their ass inside of five minutes, trying to pick a fight and tearing the place up, giving me reason to throw them out. Fifteen minutes later, they're dead in a gutter. Autopsy will show alcohol poisoning, and no one will ever suspect.
I give them the drinks, and they sit down at the counter itself this time, downing them quickly. I resume talking with the bikers, hearing them steadily get louder as they got drunker. Right in the middle of a conversation comparing different models of Harleys, one of the two Templars, Jack, grabs me by the back of the sweater, turning me around to face him. "Hey!" he yells in my face, his eyes red and beady. "I'm talking to you! Think you can ignore me?" He goes to punch me in the face, and I break his grip, grab his wrist, and twist, sending him slamming down onto the worn countertop. Dave roars in anger, and lashes out, grabbing my collar and pulling me over the counter, throwing me onto a table. The table breaks, and I roll off, managing to stand before they're on me. I hear the bikers yelling, and one of them subdues Dave, managing to toss him out.
Jack pulls a knife, and everyone moves away, trying to help without getting stabbed. I dodge a hasty slash, and manage a quick glance at the clock. I have about five minutes before the alcohol will kill him. The glance cost me, and before I could dodge fully, he lashes out, managing to catch the corner of my lips. The skin breaks in a long cut that manages to cut almost clear to my teeth, and I hiss in pain, lashing out. I catch him with a palm to the throat, and he drops the knife, grasping his neck as he gags, unable to draw in breath. He falls down to his knees, and slumps over, unconscious, but breathing. I grab a clean rag, and press it to my wound, slumped over the counter. Another of the bikers throws this guy out into the parking lot as a woman calls the police and an ambulance.
In thirty minutes, they arrive, and start taking down information. The cops find the two men slumped against the walls, dead. They take down information from the witnesses, and everyone comes up with the desired conclusion. A medic takes a look at my lips, and she tells me that it'll heal, but I'll be left with a scar. I thank her, and go back to work, intent on keeping hidden.
There you are! Hope you enjoyed. Now that you've Read, please Review. Zeratide, out.