Warning, warning!

So yeah, you thought you'd get rid of me. No waaay. I've only found another beta after Suomenlinna gave up. Huh, I mean three new betas. One is Italian and his pen name on EFP is DESMONDMILES87. "D." for me, in brief. The other two are no one but MirrorAndImage! So yeah, just imagine, the twins could give Bowden the boot anytime, and D. is a grammar nazi, so I'm working again to make this all better!

Enjoy the story!

While we live according to race, colour or creed
While we rule by blind madness and pure greed
Our lives dictated by tradition, superstition, false religion
Through the eons, and on and on
Oh yes we'll keep on tryin'
We'll tread that fine line
Oh we'll keep on tryin'
Till the end of time

(Queen, Innuendo)

From: William M.

Subject: Merry Christmas

Sent: Dec. 25th, 2012 01:03

To: Beatrice P.

Hello, Trixie

I cannot keep my eyes open, but I thought I had to keep you informed.

Desmond woke up. He is okay… or he seems to be, at least. He regained consciousness half an hour ago, he asked some questions, but when I went to the kitchen to fetch him a bottle of water, he dozed off again. I can't say whether it's a good sign or not, even if the wounds that damned First Civilization contraption inflicted on him seem to be healed.

Jack locked himself up in his room. I think he's feeling better, too, but as long as Rebecca is away we can't run any tests on either of the two. Not for their mental health, at least.

Amber came back from the Temple after her reconnaissance mission. She told me she saw some Abstergo guards, but she put them on a fake trail using the Apple.

Try to get back here ASAP. Shaun told me that, in London, Matthaus and Ayden found something that could explain everything that happened four days ago, and anyway I won't be able to calm down until I know my son is doing well.

Oh, and for what it's worth… Merry Christmas.

William

Dec 30, 2012, somewhere in the United States

Christmas had come and gone, even if the Assassins didn't really celebrate.

New Year was drawing close, and after his father's kidnapping, after Juno's deception, Desmond Miles had resolved he should be happy to have another New Year's Day to celebrate.

They had gone again into hiding, in one of the many Assassin hideouts in the United States, and Shaun had joined them after Christmas, along with two more Assassins Desmond had glimpsed as they walked in the hallways. He had been told that the slightly fat one with dark hair and glasses was known as Matt, and the other lanky blond was Ayden, who couldn't crack a smile upon fear of death.

Their recent victory over the Templars had been a relief, but there was still a lot to be done to eradicate them once and for all, and Juno's threat was not something to be underestimated.

Desmond only hoped no one would lead him into battle again, not in the immediate future. After all, barely escaping from death – and only barely – was not a thing one did every day. Luckily, even though he realized there was a lot of people in the building, no one had asked him to leave the room, and only just that day his father had allowed him to leave the bed, and he had received no visits apart from him, and now, Shaun.

That room had started being too small for him. He had realized he was in what seemed a mansion, but he hadn't seen too much, apart from the four walls of that room, of which at least two were made of drywall sheets, the bathroom off the third wall, the old laptop computer on a small desk, and the window over it, which gave onto a toneless grove covered in snow.

An old friend, for a change, was a life line.

"What took you so long?" Desmond asked Shaun as he entered the room. "I thought you wouldn't have even left. Didn't you cut all ties with your family?"

"A friend in London found something," Shaun explained shrugging. "I thought you might find it interesting. Buried deep under the church of St. Peter ad Vincula, in the Tower of London, along with something – or better, someone else. I couldn't believe my eyes when I was given it."

Desmond couldn't help noticing the historian's tone of pride as he mentioned the location where the evidence had been found.

"What?" the former bartender asked, standing from the chair he had been sitting in. He felt somewhat dizzy, but if he kept sitting there like in a sickbed, he would go crazy.

"This," Shaun answered, taking out a makeshift book with a theatrical gesture.

"Ha, ha, very funny. That thing didn't come out of a vault, it came out of a laser printer."

"Did you really think I'd make you read the original? Then again, it was written in Italian, you wouldn't have understood a thing."

That's what you think… Desmond gritted his teeth, but he tried not to show it and keep a curious façade. Well, he didn't really need to pretend.

"Anyway, what else did you find?"

"You read it; you'll find out," Shaun told him tossing the book in his hands. "Just be happy you won't have to use the Animus for your great-great-great-too-many-times-grandma, because she wrote that."

"Great-great-great… too many what?" Desmond asked, puzzled. "Who are you talking about?"

"Listen, Ezio didn't disappear after finding Altair in Masyaf, did he? Especially because he still needed to sire."

Desmond blinked. "What does Ezio matter? I'm done with him. Bye. Bye. Addio."

"Strange, I thought you and he were getting along."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Listen, do you want to know why you're still here bugging me? Juno may have made her move. But someone had foreseen that. Someone countered her – and did it through them." Shaun said turning some pages. A portrait of two teenagers was one of the first pages. In the bottom right corner, a badly-scribbled signature, on which the letters A and F could be recognized, and a date, May 2, 1532.

Both the kids were dressed as assassins, though their hoods had been pulled back. One of them was visibly a girl, but Desmond could not tell which one was older as they were about the same height. The boy was sketched in dark armor that looked too large for him, while the girl was drawn in cleaner lines.

"The girl here is the author of all the written stuff," Shaun explained. "Maybe not a Nobel Prize for Literature, but hey, it's your family we're talking about."

"Yeah, but what else did you find in the vault? And who's A. F.?"

"Read," Shaun said, exiting the room.

Desmond dropped himself on the chair again and laid the book on his lap. The two kids grinned at him from the photocopy, their smiles made immortal by the unknown A. F.'s pencil.

He turned another page.

The following one was totally blank, except for a scribbled line. Maybe Shaun had wanted to make a copy of the original dedication, because it was definitely someone's handwriting, and definitely Italian.

A chiunque creda che questo mondo possa essere salvato.

He turned another page. This time, the line had been typed in English.

To whoever believes this world can be saved.

When I was a little girl, my parents kept telling me we live for other people.

We are born because a man and a woman decide they want us, we make them smile with our first laugh, our first word, our first steps. We are taught how to live, so we'll be able to do something in our lives. We play with other kids, and we entertain them just like they do with us. We help our parents more and more as we become adults and they grow old. And when we're grown up, we start working. Farmers grow food, blacksmiths make tools, masons build houses. It's a huge chain, if you notice it.

Blacksmiths make sure that masons and farmers can do their job, masons provide a roof under which farmers and blacksmiths can live, farmers produce food so everyone can live.

And I even simplified this! Reality is far more tangled!

Then, one day, a man meets a woman. They just feel good staying with each other, so they decide to be together forever. And this, reader, is called love. At a point, they love each other so much they decide to make another life. They raise a child together, makethemstand and makethemspeak. They stand along with their child, teachingthemwhat's right and what's wrong. They keep helpingthemin any way they can, raising their grandchildren if they still can.

If only this always happened.

There are people, in this huge, tangled chain, who believe their life is nothing but theirs. They take; they won't give. They're parasites.

Parasites lead to unrest. Unrest leads to war.

As long as there's war, there will be people who want peace.

There are people who want to force peace, and they're asbadas parasites.

And there are people who want to teach peace. People who fight for it. Who truly want it to last.

I'm one of them, like my brother, my father and my grandfather.

My name is Flavia Auditore, and I'm an Assassin.