An: In my mind, I kept telling myself not to do this...but I couldn't help it. I'm so obsessed with Assassin's Creed, have been forEVER, and it seems that ever since I met Rosa in the second game I kept picturing Brennan as a high stakes thief, and Booth as a hardcore assassin. I was hesitant to update this, but at this point I don't care anymore. I love AU stories, I love Assassin's Creed, I love Bones, and I love this dynamic.

So therefore, I offer you this. XD

There will be a few references to characters from the actual game, and real places in Italy where the came takes place. The only person so far is La Volpe, who will show up in the next chapter. He is from the game (so disclaimer to that, I own nothing) and he is an assassin who is the head of the thieves. That's it so far.

Twit Shit: twitter(dot)com(slash)alexosaurus

The smell of blood was heavy in his nose as he shouldered his way into his bedroom; his hands being held away from him as to not stain the walls his uncle had built so passionately years ago. His eyes closed against his dizziness, and he shook his head as he moved towards the basin at the end of the room, and instantly let his hands sink . The water around his wrists stained red, and he jerked back as if he had been burned. He clasped his hands at the side of the basin, and took in a shaky breath; looking down into his reflection and remembering exactly how he got here.

He never understood why he had to be born into his family, or why he was taught how to use a knife only days after he had learned how to write his name. His father was a very harsh man, and he shaped his son into a killer at the young age of six. And that's all he's ever been since...a killer.

Or at least...some days he felt like that.

Most days he felt proud of what he was. Even his father's wrath and lose interpretation of their creed couldn't stop him from feeling obligated to earn the uniform that he wore in his back. The burn on his ring finger was permanent, and every single day that burn ached; reminding him of exactly what he stood for.

He stood for justice. He stood against oppression. He fought for the common man...even if he had to take a few...many lives along the line.

He could have blamed it on the traitorous people of his past...he could have blamed his bloodlust on that bastard who lied to his face, and hung every person he had ever cared for. He could have blamed his bloodlust on them...and at first, they were to blame, but in the past years he has grown. The sight of his dead family, hanging from their nooses was still raw, even with five more years under his belt, but now he fought for a much higher purpose. In an attempt at going after the people who took away his family, he realized that he was going to come face to face with the people who had done the same to millions of other families. Every day he looked at himself and realized he wasn't fighting just for himself, but he was fighting for everyone else who had lost someone they loved to the hands of power hungry men.

That pure thought was the light at the end of the tunnel, and it was that pure thought that dispelled the fact that he could still smell the metallic scent of blood.

He jumped when he heard a knocking at his door; his eyes flashing to the window out-looking his uncle's villa, before he heard the gentle sigh on the other side of the door.

"Seeley," he heard; his name bringing him further from his reverie. "It's time."

"Yes Uncle," he replied automatically, gripping the basin under him with a vice. He was due in Venice the next day; called to the big city for his quick killing, and silent steps. The ride would be long, and his uncle, Giovanni, had advised that he leave the second the sun set. Such time had come, and he sucked in a breath as he watched the sky color to match the water holding his reflection.

"I will have a horse waiting for you outside of the villa, son," Giovanni said; aware of the turmoil that was plaguing his nephew. "Remember Seeley, you kill for the good of man. You will see your impact in time. Until then...keep your eyes closed against your surroundings...and focus only on your mission."

"Yes Uncle," Seeley whispered again, standing up straight, and reaching over for his brace. The metal slid easily over his wrist, and he sucked in a sigh of relief when he tilted his hand back, and felt the easy slide of his hidden blade against his pulse. His fingers traced the gorgeous inscriptions on the blade, and in a silent prayer; he brought the blade close to his heart, and cradled it, before it slid back into its home. It was because of that blade that he was alive today, and for every day that he awoke to see the sun, he thanked his blade, and whatever God was looking out for him. His life had never been ideal, but it was honorable, and in truth he was gifted.

As he slipped from his window, and started into a run, he marveled in his athleticism. He felt the wind underneath him as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop; his lungs burning, but refusing to stop working. His body worked hard to carry him with great speed, and he puffed his breath out softly as his endurance helped to keep his energy from dropping down considerably. He was fast, he was strong, he was quick, and most of all he was quiet.

The soft crunch of his boots against the dirt barely alerted his uncle as he landed near the gates leading from the villa. The large stone structure arced over his head, and he stepped forward slowly to accept the midnight black horse that was extended towards him. In one quick movement he was mounted in the saddle, and he turned towards his uncle; keeping his facial expression neutral under the shadow his hood provided.

"God speed Seeley," Giovanni whispered; reaching up and locking his hand with his nephew. "May the wings of angels bring you swiftly, and safely to Venezia."

"Angels have nothing to do with it Uncle," he whispered; his voice deep and dark, like the shadows falling over the Italian country side. Giovanni shrugged, and shook his head against the worry that was bubbling his chest; moving one of his thin fingers over the burn on his nephew's finger.

"Remember this Seeley. Live by this."

"I know no other way of life," he answered simply, pulling his hand back and turning his horse towards the road leading towards the mountains. He looked over his shoulder, and nodded to his uncle, before the horse under him rose in excitement and burst into a full blown gallop. The feeling of the wind slicing through his white uniform brought clarity to his mind, and he focused solely on the road before him.

After all...he WAS a Booth...he had shoes to fill, and evil men to kill.

But, you couldn't expect much more out of an assassin.