Boot camp had been hell, but it had also been heaven. As Desmond followed the drill sergeant to the forbidding looking office at the end of the hall, he mused on this. Now that it was over, he was going to be shipped overseas and employed as a Marine—with a capital "M." All the exhaustion and hunger had helped stave off Ezio and Altair, forcing to them to retreat when even the best anti-psych drugs had failed. After "saving the world," he had gone home with Shaun, who was his anchor and had been during the underground escapades, and tried valiantly to court him.

That had ended in disaster. Shaun had "blown a gasket" in his face, telling him he wasn't interested and never had been, and that the only reason he had let him use his body while they were in Monteriggioni was because they couldn't afford to lose him to the crazies. He would go back home to the Americas, but he wasn't stupid: he had nowhere to go. Desmond had smiled and retreated, calling the Order and telling them to pull some strings to get him into boot camp to get him out of their hair. Still, he had pulled through in boot camp, and the final part of graduation would be that afternoon. He was excited.

The sergeant opened the door for him. "In here, private."

"Sir, yes, sir."

He stepped through to be met with Robert Cross, the General of the United States Marine Corp. He gave a smart salute and stood at attention, nervous as fuck.

"At ease, private."

He clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for the shit to hit the ceiling fan as the General flipped through his file.

"Seems you've had a tougher time than most here, private."

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Survived the infection, took off your own ring finger without thought, killed without remorse—multiple personalities you used to regularly interact with? One even assaulted…"

He replied with a "Yes, sir," as the man started laughing.

"I never did like that man. Hallucinations? Night terrors? You must have had someone pull some strings for you."

"Yes, sir." He could feel anxiety knot in his stomach.

"And despite all that, you've still turned out to be one of the most promising privates put through. Color me impressed. Have a seat, private. That's what we're here to discuss."

This was not how he thought the General would act. Of course, there had been rumors he had softened up a bit after nearly dying in that horrid infection some six years ago. The man still looked damn good. Desmond sat nervously, thankful that the general at least gave him something good to look at. He was weathered by the years, scarred and covered in wrinkles with a white stripe through his hair. He had taken on Alex Mercer in the infection and survived a deathblow from Mercer's replica. There were rumors he was a god, but Desmond simply wondered if, perhaps, he had a Piece of Eden that hadn't been destroyed when the world was saved. He watched the other men leave, and he squirmed.

"Don't look so nervous, private."

"S-Sir?"

For fuck's sake, he was (almost—almost!) a Marine now, and he was squirming like a little boy in the principal's office.

"I wanted to welcome you to the Blackwatch team Wisemen."

"W-what!" On a quick, second note, he added a, "S-sir?"

The general laughed. "That's right, private. You'll be coming with me to Manhattan, and we'll be tracking down Zeus to ask for his alliance."

There was no denying the Wisemen team was the cream of the crop. Despite how much the Marines hated Blackwatch, the Wisemen team was legendary among the ranks, and all the Marines who were one and the same with their job wanted to be in the Wisemen team—lead by General Cross himself. To think that he was being offered such a position so early in his career was incredible. He wasn't that good.

"I'm particularly interested in how you managed to always pick out the right target and always know exactly where to go."

Desmond blinked. Right: the Eagle Vision—he would just have to speak the truth. He almost felt bad for cheating and using the Vision, but it had "saved his life" (and his buddies' lives) several times. If the General would believe him, that was. He inhaled deeply and told him all about the Eagle Vision, answering all of the General's questions as he pressed, and the more he talked, the more at ease he became until General Cross nodded and leaned back, his fingertips pressed together and a serious look on his face. Desmond fidgeted again and settled in the chair. Perhaps he had said too much. Finally, the General nodded, and he almost sighed in relief as the man dug out a file from the desk and pushed it toward him.

"Read this, and if you have any questions, you report directly to me. When you are done with it, return it to this room, whether or not I'm here. If I'm not, I will have a man to collect it from you. We leave this afternoon."

"And graduation, sir?"

"I'll see you then with your uniform, Desmond."

He startled, surprised by the use of his first name, but stood and saluted, clutching the file close. As he opened the door, he heard General Cross tell him to stop, and he did, saluting.

"All the formalities aren't needed as long as you're in the Wisemen team. We're much more relaxed with each other than the Marines are."

He nodded, adding a "Yes, sir," and a salute, then leaving, slightly unsure as to what to think with General Cross. This certainly wasn't how he expected his graduation night to be. He sat on his bunk and opened the file, looking over everything he was given (when the sergeants saw the file, they left him alone). While the others graduating were out celebrating with their families, he was holed up in the barracks. He had to admit that he was slightly jealous of the others, but he had never had any family. Lucy was too upset for being stabbed, Rebecca was too busy with everything else, and Shaun, well, Shaun had crushed him. He flipped through the file, amazed by what the Wisemen team really was, and he almost laughed at the fact they were no better than Templars—kill whatever stood in the way, so long as their mission was accomplished. And to make it even worse, the assassin-allied president was the one who hired them.

He read well into the afternoon, checking the clock every now and then. When it was time for the finale of graduation, he rose and paced out, giving it one more look-over as he walked back toward the office. He gave it to the man at the door with a salute, then headed out for the end of graduation.

When it was all said and done, Desmond felt proud, despite the fact that there was no family here to see him. He wouldn't have invited his parents if he even knew how to reach them, and the heads of the Order were busy with, well, running the Order. He blinked when a hand wrapped around his shoulders.

"Congratulations, private. I heard you're a part of our team, now."

He looked at the man, who was dressed in a black battle uniform with a tactical vest and combat webbing. He took the package that was pushed into his arms.

"Who are you?"

"Name's Matthew Grier, but you can call me Matt. I'm one of the surviving Wisemen."

He blinked, still not entirely sure what was happening. He hadn't been expecting anyone except maybe General Cross when he was ready to leave.

"I hope you're not this slow out on the battlefield—"

"Cut the boy some slack, Matthew. I've kept an eye on him. He's got no family. Probably wasn't expecting someone like you."

He twisted to see General Cross walking toward him, and he snapped to attention.

"Fucking Marines, man. We're gonna have to break you of these stupid habits, right, sir?"

General Cross laughed. "We will in due time. I think it'll sink in once he realizes just how much power he's got."

Desmond was bewildered, and stumbled when Matt dragged him along. "Let's get you in our uniform, and we'll head off to Manhattan. We've heard about your 'special abilities,' and you'd better damn well believe you're gonna be put to work. We're finally back on the glory path, sir!"

He looked to see the General behind him, shaking his head. "Sometimes I think I let you men get away with too much."

"It's in our creed, sir! Come on, Des—mind if I call you Des? Course not. Anyway, Des, let's get you in uniform and to Manhattan so we can swear you in!"

He was helped into uniform as they buckled all the belts and things in place, and Desmond felt proud of himself—let the Order chuck him to the side now. As they were lifted off in the chopper, disappearing before anyone could find them, Matt reclined in the seat.

"So, tell me about yourself, Des. We heard you used to work for some shady organization the president is affiliated with."

"After I was done, they kinda didn't care about me anymore. I mean, I finished what they wanted, so they don't give a shit about what I do."

"Good, because the president is a real stuffy ass about morality and shit, and we don't have any of that."

"Really?"

"Whatever has to happen to get our mission done, happens. The only ones we watch out for is our team, and even then we'll burn our own to get it done. We're above even the men above the military."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's pretty damn nice."

The rest of the ride was filled with idle chatter, and Desmond found himself growing comfortable with the man as they flew. Being around General Cross still set him on edge, especially when he started flipping through some sort of book that looked as if it were some sort of manual, but he tried not to let it show.

It wasn't until he was standing in a hall of black uniforms and demonic masks that he realized just what he was getting himself into. He felt slightly intimidated by all the black, covered faces around him. Nevertheless, this was his path, and he was mad the Order had just decided to cast him to the wayside, as if he weren't worth his weight, as if he hadn't done anything. He repeated the creed of the Blackwatch, one hand on the case with his weapon in it, engraved with the Blackwatch symbol, as the officer said it line by line.

"When I hunt, I will kill."

He could feel the excitement of the others around, even though he couldn't see their faces. There was no backing out now. He could feel a tingle of utter glee at the base of his spine, and he knew this was the right choice. Ezio had gotten his chance for revenge, and this would be his.

"No one is safe."

And break the first of the three tenets. He could feel Ezio and Altair stir at the renouncement of the Creed, and that giddy feeling was spreading. He was excited—he was free.

"Nothing is sacred."

And nothing is true. He could've sworn he heard several giggles.

"I am the Blackwatch."

The silence was thick and tense. As he reflected briefly upon the creed—his creed—he realized it wasn't a solemn silence. It was an excited silence, crackling with the allure of a foreigner being accepted into this bloody brotherhood. He felt a small shiver of complete freedom run up his spine, and the pleased murmur from the crowd did not go unnoticed.

"I am the last line of defense."

He knew he couldn't back out now, urged by his own desire to shove the Order back for tossing him to the side. The excitement was growing—if the ripple of chatter and the feeling of desire for blood increasing was anything to go by. Finally, he was himself. The Blackwatch would be his freedom, his family, his all.

"I will burn my own to hold the red line; it is the last line to ever hold."

And break the last two tenets of the Creed. There was a soft murmur of approval as he was allowed to take the gun case. He stood at attention as General Cross stepped forward, another member beside him with a knife on a pillow. He set the case down and returned the salute from General Cross.

"Private Desmond Miles," he said, his commanding voice ringing in the packed military base hall.

There was a small buzz of excitement.

"At ease, soldier."

He clasped his hands behind his back, waiting and ready for whatever they would force him to undergo. He could feel the empty spot on his hand, where his ring finger had been lopped off during the worst of his bleeding.

"Are you ready to leave behind your training and previous titles to join the highest and most vicious of orders?"

He straightened slightly, feeling the crack of excitement as they waited for his answer.

"Sir, yes, sir."

There was a small murmur of pleasure from the crowd.

"Are you ready to become one with the Wisemen and fight alongside them until Death takes you?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Are you willing to murder innocents to achieve your objective? Will you slaughter men, women, and children to ensure the general ignorance of our people?"

He could hear Ezio scream at him not to accept and Altair hiss that this went against everything he was taught, and Desmond could feel the mass's energy as he said above the din in his head, "Sir, I was willing the moment I accepted your invitation."

Ezio was screeching, and Altair was snarling viciously, but he focused his attention on General Cross, who was watching for any sign of hesitation. Looking pleased when he saw none, General Cross nodded once.

"Are you willing to accept command of the entire Blackwatch company? Will you accept that the Wisemen team is above all others, and you will sacrifice them to complete our assigned tasks or be sacrificed?"

"I have been born and raised to complete my objectives in a commanding role. If I or another of my kind must die, it will happen, so long as I complete the assigned task."

"Are you ready to leave behind your beliefs, and make the Blackwatch creed your religion with me as your commanding deity?"

"I have been ready to accept this since I joined the Marine Corp. There would be no higher honor."

He could hear Ezio and Altair screaming and yelling, trying valiantly to overtake him and get him out of there. He was getting a vindictive pleasure and an overwhelming feeling of acceptance. This was where he belonged. The Order could shove it, just as they had shoved him. He was prepared to betray the Creed and the Order for his new life, and he would do so without thought. This was his life, just as he had decided before Abstergo had captured him, and he would follow this feeling—this feeling of achievement and excitement, the desire of blood and the primal, destructive aura of the men. If Ezio could extract revenge, this would be his.

He watched as General pulled off his gloves and pressed the blade deep into his left hand. A blood pact—that seemed easy enough. He cut his own hand without preamble, and Ezio was warning him not to do that—that that was permanent, and he grabbed the offered hand with a firm grip, shaking once, twice, three times and feeling the blood mix between their palms as he met General Cross's gaze, the smirk on his face an encouraging sign for him. As they let go, Desmond clasped his hands behind his back, Ezio and Altair suddenly quiet as General Cross gestured.

"Desmond Miles, turn to face your family."

He did as he was ordered, feeling his blood well and drip onto the floor of the hall.

"Blackwatch—Wisemen—you have heard his answers. Will you accept him as your flesh and blood, and take from him what you need?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

He inhaled deeply, feeling the aura shift into something more animalistic, the dripping of his blood and Cross's ringing through the hall loud and clear.

"Will you witness when called upon and help him grow among our ranks?"

His eyes grew wide with unadulterated excitement and bloodlust—not so different from Altair's when the gaping throat of an enemy would spill its precious contents into the hungry desert soil. He watched as they crowded forward, eager to reach the foreigner and indoctrinate him into them, to become one of them in mind, body, and spirit. This was the Order to which he belonged—this was going to be the culmination of all his skills learned in the Animus, hours spent going crazy without Shaun to tether him, and pain inflicted upon him for nothing.

He was pulled into the mob and into a different room, masks being shed and the entire night passing in a blur of bartending and meeting the others. Voices drifted in and out, all trying to impress upon the foreigner and learn about the new man, and Desmond had never felt so alive as that night.

He woke the next morning in his bunk, significantly better than any other bed he had slept in, his hand bandaged and the bugles waking the other Marines at the base. He rose, slipping out of bed and still reveling in the welcome from last night. He picked up the helmet, looking at it closely and smiling, satisfied with his decision. He grabbed the gun (an M4 Carbine) walked out of the room as he looked closely at the headgear, and he looked when he heard someone come up behind him. He saluted when he realized it was General Cross, and relaxed when he waved at him dismissively, strolling alongside him.

"I figured you'd be up, Miles."

"Still not used to this schedule, sir."

"Why don't you come have breakfast with me."

"Yes, sir."

They paced silently to the mess hall, the Marines giving them dirty looks as they sat at a table with their food.

"How late do the others often sleep in till, sir?"

"Another hour or so." General Cross looked at him as they dug in. "All we can do is patrol and interrogate until we find Mercer."

Desmond pursed his lips.

"But, with your talents, hopefully it'll go faster, now."

"Are you sure, sir? I can't see through buildings, General."

"I know, but you can see through disguises."

He couldn't argue with that. They ate in relative silence, watching as the Wisemen came stumbling in an hour later, eating quickly and heading outside. He followed the General outside to a small plot of grass where the other six Wisemen were sitting. He sat, flicking on the Eagle Vision out of curiosity and looking at all the blue figures walking around. He had never seen so many in one place.

He noticed, walking in and among the dozens of men, a gold figure, flicking through the blue, and he tilted his head. The man would push a little closer, then back off a bit when he realized Desmond was staring at him. It probably didn't help he didn't have his helmet on yet. But then again, neither did the others.

"Sir, I think newbie's spotted something with that special ability you told us about."

Desmond didn't register the comment, blinking as he watched the figure start to walk off.

"What do you see, Miles?"

Desmond blinked. "Him." He pointed to the figure retreating. "He's… not blue. He's gold. There's something wrong with him."

He rose when the figure caught him pointing. Cross made a single gesture, and the team took off running. Desmond joined in, curious as to who the hell that figure was, thinking maybe it was Alex, and he easily took the lead, his years of running and parkouring making it easier for him to keep up. Eventually, it was just him and the figure, the others having fallen behind when the soldier made a sharp turn, and Desmond thought he had disappeared as he looked, flicking on the Eagle Vision only to him gone. Cross came behind him, looking around as Desmond peeking into the streets and looked both ways, hoping for a glimpse of gold.

The other Wisemen came trotting up behind, laughing and joking as they put on their helmets. One of them pulled Desmond's over his head, and he jumped as the helmet came down. He heard Cross laugh.

"I told you, men, this is going to get easier and easier now that he's on our team. All right, you know the drill—anything suspicious, stop and interrogate. I'll introduce newbie here to our interrogation methods, if needed, and we'll start rotating him out with the teams."

He watched Cross jerk his head to follow him, and he followed closely. As the teams dispersed, there was an uneasy feeling in the back of his head as if he were being watched. He looked up, flicking on his Eagle Vision again, and through the lenses, he could see a small ball of gold watching him, and, without warning, he turned and fired, laughing when the bullet struck his target. He could see the golden figure running off, and he took off with a grunt, listening to the people panic as he chased after it, Cross running close behind.

"Where is he, Miles?"

"On the roof tops! Heading toward Central Park!"

He could hear the radio crackle behind him as he looked back up to the sky, watching that gold form leap as General Cross requested backup. He shoved people out of the way lining up to aim as Alex prepared to jump into the park. He fired a short burst, and he heard Cross a second later, striking Alex as he went to recover from the gunfire. He fired shortly after the second one hit, and soon enough, the gold figure was falling into the Park.

Desmond raced after him, leaping over hill and dale to catch him, but the man was on his feet and sped up even more. Eventually, Cross grabbed his shoulder.

"Leave it to the Strike Team, kid. We'll never catch him once he picks up his feet and moves."

Desmond looked at him, then back toward the gold figure being attacked by the helicopters.

"You've all ready made more progress than we have since 2009."

Desmond shook his head. "Yeah, but, I guess it was more like I was attacking him. That's not gonna make him want to join."

"He won't join unless we can best him."

He looked toward Cross when he wrapped an arm around his shoulder, choosing a much more leisurely stroll through the park.

"But that will take forever," Desmond murmured.

"Don't worry, Miles. We've got plenty of time. It's the—"

"Chase that makes it all exciting. Yeah," Desmond said, smiling as he took the helmet off briefly. "I know. I know that well."

They walked around the city without much success after that, and Desmond was pacing furiously back at the base. There had to be a way to lure the man out.

"If you think too hard, you'll burst a vessel. May as well relax. We aren't getting anywhere in this case as long as we're stuck on base," Jarrod McCutchan said, leaning back with his cards in his hands. "I miss the days of the Infection."

They were playing poker or something as they waited for morning. There had to be something he was overlooking—something he was missing—something from the Infection, which he had lived through. He remembered the military bases, hiding out in the basements of buildings, skirting from place to place, seeing the fight in Times Square, returning back to his home after the hive had gone.

His home.

Next to a hospital morgue.

Where he had seen Alex enter.

"That's it," he murmured. "The morgue."

"What are you mumbling about?"

He turned, wondering briefly why he still had his mask on, and gestured. "When the Infection was here, all those years ago, I lived next to a hospital morgue."

"Okay? Look, newb, we've tried that several times all ready, but we couldn't find anyone we could get to spill," another of the six said. General Cross was staring out the window.

"There's information in that morgue. Someone who Alex trusts enough to return to night after night. I saw it. We could find Dana using that information, barter her life to talk to Alex, and—"

"It won't help. He'll crush us like every other time."

He was silent for a moment, then his lips curled upward. "Not if only one of us knows where she is, and he stays with her in an undisclosed location of the kidnapper's choice."

"What are you talking about?" Matt said, throwing his hand down. "Straight flush."

"Think about it: I've had plenty of practice with shit like this, and if I kidnapped her, took her to some place I know about, someplace where he couldn't reach me, and I radioed in to you, and you let Alex know that you could set her free, but I had her holed up somewhere you didn't know, he wouldn't be able to touch us until you talked to him."

"There's just one problem with that, Miles," General Cross said, turning to give him a serious look.

"Yeah, sir?"

"We don't know where Dana is."

"The girl is a fucking wraith. She seems to disappear every time we get close. We think she's got allies," Trevor Raymond, another of the six Wisemen, hissed.

"Allies?"

"Yeah. Sneaky ones, too. They never seem to appear. We think we caught one a while back—"

"But the fucker refused to break, calling us Templars and bastards, and—"

"Templars?" Desmond nearly shouted. This was a game he could play.

"Y-yeah?"

He laughed bitterly. "Fuck it all, this is going to be easy. Where's the nearest pay phone?"

"What?"

"Dude, I used to be a part of the order you're talking about. I have their numbers memorized. I was supposed to call them, but my phone got lost, and they've probably gotten someone else." He smirked. "Wait until I tell them I'm in the Wisemen. I can get Dana's number, address, blood type, and favorite color from them."

"Are you certain?"

"They think I'm still loyal, sir. Perhaps a little crazy, but loyal, since I 'have no family' outside of them."

He watched General Cross smirk. "Perhaps you are just the right tool to get this done."

Desmond shifted his weight as he checked around for anyone again, and pushed in the coins for the pay phone. He punched in the number, shifting anxiously, again. When he heard someone pick up, and silence on the other end, he spoke.

"Hello? It's Desmond Miles calling. I lost the phone you gave me after it was taken at the beginning of boot camp, and I still haven't received it back, because I left before they could give it to me since I didn't have family there."

"Why haven't you attempted to contact us earlier?"

"I graduated from boot camp just two days ago. I haven't had any time between initiation and learning the ropes of the Blackwatch Wisemen team."

"How were you chosen for Blackwatch? We've been keeping an eye on them before that. Why were you accepted?"

"I don't know, sirs, but I think it has to do with all the training I had before, and the Eagle Vision. General Cross was impressed with the fact that I always knew where to go and what my target was, which I used the Eagle Vision to know, and my strength and capacity to kill without thought sealed the deal."

There was silence for a moment, and Desmond shifted anxiously, looking around again and finding General Cross waiting a few meters away, just in case things went to hell. Eventually, a different voice came back over, and he realized he was on speaker.

"All right, we'll accept that."

"I need an assassin contact I can meet when we go out. The Wisemen are really bored with their current mission, and they go barhopping and patrolling the city, or goof off, interacting with someone wouldn't be out of the ordinary. I heard there's someone named Dana Mercer around here, and they think she's an assassin... is she? Could I get her address and number?"

"Yes, she's a new addition to the Order. Do you have something to write on?"

He pulled a pen from his jacket and scribbled all over his hand briefly. "Yeah, fire away."

He took down the address and number and nodded once. "Thanks, sirs."

"We'll contact Dana and tell her you're coming."

"If you don't mind, sirs, give me a few more days to solidify my relationship with the Wisemen. Maybe two or three days."

"We'll tell her to expect you."

"And, uh, one more thing…"

"Yes?"

"Tell her to keep Alex away. He might eat me before I could talk to her. He doesn't like Blackwatch… at all."

There was silence, then a small murmur of agreement. "All right. Good bye."

"Good night!"

He hung up and breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the phone. He heard General Cross pace over. "How'd it go, Miles?"

He smiled wearily, holding up his hand. "I got it, sir."

General Cross gripped his wrist, then smirked as he looked over the writing. "Good job, Miles. We're finally on the road to victory."

He chuckled. "Thanks, sir, but I have one more request."

"And that is?"

"I need a submarine to hold Dana in. One to store food for several days, and maybe even to travel along the coast."

General Cross wrapped an arm around his shoulders, guiding him back toward base. "We can do that easy."

"Great, sir. Thanks."

"Things have gotten easier with you around."

"So you've said, sir."

They both chuckled and fell silent as they walked back toward base, the military men and the city buzzing around him.

"Where were you born, Miles?"

"Why, sir?"

"All it said was that you were born on a Farm."

"Oh… I was born somewhere in Arizona, I think. I ran away at sixteen, so I don't really remember much."

"Arizona?" General Cross sounded surprised, turning to look at him. "I gotta kid down there somewhere."

"No way." Desmond scoffed. "You have kids? I thought you had your work, and that was it."

General Cross nodded and made a gesture with the flip of his hand. "Some sort of sperm donation thing. The president wanted my genes passed along and said I was a prime example of what they wanted in those people. Never questioned it."

Desmond raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Some couple he was watching couldn't have children. I was leaping ranks back then. I figure the kid's gotta be at least twenty-seven."

"I probably knew him. They kept kids together, what few there were."

"You are twenty-seven, aren't you?"

"Yup."

"Was it really a farm in Arizona?"

"More or less, sir. It wasn't so much as a crop and animal farm, but a human farm for the order I used to work for."

"Elaborate."

He told him the entire story, from running away to rejoining, and by the time he was done, they were back at base.

"I thought you could request information about that, sir," he ended with.

"I've done everything I could think of, but the president refused to give it to me. Makes sense, if it's a part of the order you described."

Desmond nodded once.

"Do you remember any of the kids down there?"

He thought about it while General Cross called in for a submarine. After the General hung up, Desmond frowned.

"Sorry sir, I don't. At least, not any who looked like you."

"Damn," General Cross hissed. "It would've been fun to know who my kid was."

"Sorry, sir," he said as he shook his head.

General Cross shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I'll look into it more while this operation is going on. Off to bed, Miles. It's past your bedtime."

Desmond snorted as he rose. "Whatever you say, General."

The man chuckled. "I'll see you bright and early for breakfast."

"Sir, yes, sir!" he said with a sharp salute, and grinned like an idiot as he walked out.

He thought that maybe he could handle this new life with a family like the Blackwatch. As he lay down and closed his eyes, he could almost see Ezio's frowning face, and he couldn't help but smile.

Two days later, a submarine came cruising into the base, and Desmond was nearly giddy with excitement. The other Wisemen laughed, telling him he should've been there during the real Infection, when they weren't stuck doing menial jobs, and were earning their pay and loving the hell out of it. Desmond wondered just what it was like for the Blackwatch during that time, if it really was as crazy as they told him, and if it really was as crazy as they said. He didn't understand it fully, but they had compared it to "a human hunting ground" and a "feast for the eyes." He wondered if he'd get there eventually. Ezio vehemently denied that that would happen, and that he was better—leagues above—all the other Wisemen, but Altair was a bit more cynical and a little bit more excited. Figures the bloodthirsty ancestor would approve.

Cross came strolling to them, looking like a cat who got the cream, as they gathered outside on a small splotch of grass for that day. They were all excited, and all were waiting for the operation to get under way.


Continue? I mean: I can't post it on the [P] kinkmeme... it's, like, dead. *sobs and mourns* And I haven't heard a response on the king meme...