CHAPTER 1 - PROLOGUE
October 19th, 2109, 12:14 AM
Esmeralda lay back on the scratchy, worn cotton padding of the Animus. This thing was outdated. Very outdated. It's a miracle the piece of junk could even start, but that's Esmeralda for you, always finding a way. It wasn't too hard, actually. Abstergo-Yutani was always making improvements to the Animus software, but even over a hundred years, their core programming remained similar enough that Esmeralda was able to apply their modern Animus tech to this antique. If it ain't broke, she supposed.
She fidgeted and squirmed, trying to find a comfortable way to lie down. The machine creaked under her, raising the fear that the Animus could actually break under her meager weight. Well, that's something I'll have to worry about later, she resolved, having finally gotten comfortable. She lay her head back in the machine's crescent-shaped head harness. Then she reached over to her right and typed in a few commands on her HoloTablet.
A sultry female monotone began to speak inside her brain:
Avatar Program initiate in Three. Two. One. Initiate Avatar Program.
Esmeralda's surroundings went black. And then everything was bright. And she could feel nothing but the accelerated pace of her own heartbeat.
The blinding light seemed to come from all sides, as if she were standing inside a sun. She held her hands up to shield her eyes, but even her own hands were blotted by its intensity. I'm gonna go blind if I stay in here any longer, she thought. I have to cancel the program. But before she could verbally make the command, her thoughts were interrupted by the deep, seductive voice of an Italian man.
"Going so soon, figlia mia?" the voice came from directly ahead, some ten meters away. The brightness of the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by what appeared to be floating mirrors and tiles, and lines of code streaking across space with wild abandon. All of this was background, of course, to the resplendent presence that stood before her. Donning robes of immaculate white and burning crimson, sporting a mature goatee, and a glare that could melt the hearts of all who met his eye, the man approached her and tenderly grasped her hand in his palm. He graced her skin with a gentle kiss, and politely bowed.
"Our correspondence has only just begun," he finished.
"You're not real," Esmeralda said, after an uncomfortable pause.
"Of course not. If I were, do you think I would live in a place as rivoltante as this?"
"So the Avatar Program was successful?"
"I am a recreation of your ancestor," the man responded, in a mechanical voice devoid of accent. "A compilation of knowledge, experiences, and abilities based on the memories explored by your great-great grandfather, Desmond Miles."
Esmeralda's stomach turned at the sound of his name.
"If we're gonna get along, you're gonna have to stop mentioning him." Esmeralda demanded.
"That is going to be difficile,"the man responded, back to his normal voice, "seeing as he is the point around which everything pivots. Has pivoted. Will pivot. Whatever goal you seek, whatever the Brotherhood aspires to accomplish, it all will surely come back to Desmond Miles."
"The Brotherhood doesn't seek anything," Esmeralda spat back. "The Brotherhood doesn't exist anymore. They haven't for about a hundred years."
"And yet, figlia mia," Ezio Auditore da Firenze smirked, "here you are."
October 19th, 2109, 12:19 AM
Esmeralda's trial run with the Animus' Avatar Program had proven successful. She was now certain that even with her hundred-year-old model of the Animus, she would be able to not only revisit the memories of her ancestors, but use those memories to compile a digital projection of that ancestor with which she could verbally and physically interact. She was satisfied. Very satisfied.
"Deconstruct projection." Esmeralda called out into space. Before her, Ezio bowed.
"Arrivederci," and he waved goodbye as his image scattered into millions of tiny fragments, which then themselves scattered, floating around in a large cloud of data blocks, waiting to be reconstructed into something else.
"Construct projection: Desmond Miles."
The scattered fragments of data swarmed, crashing into one another, building together until it finally formed a skinny, tan-skinned, short-haired man wearing a white sweatshirt and a permanent expression of fear. No, not fear. Apology.
Esmeralda didn't accept.
Instead, she attacked him, repeatedly punching the avatar of Desmond Miles across his face, until the program began to animate blood dripping from his mouth.
August 29th, 2012, 11:47 AM
Fatimah awoke to the endearing sound of light snoring beside her. She rolled over, looking at the sculpted, gorgeous face of the man she'd gone home with the night before. Strong cheekbones, thin nose, even the scar on the right side of his lip was cute. She reached over and started caressing his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Calm and slow. So peaceful. She watched him lovingly as he roused to wakefulness, his brown eyes peeling open and meandering around the room before landing on her. They then closed again, and his scarred lip curled into a smile.
"That's a little creepy, you know, watching people while they sleep," Desmond Miles said softly.
Fatimah's grin only grew wider. "It's also rude to snore, but that doesn't seem to stop you," she shot back.
"No one's ever complained before," Desmond said, sitting up. He put his strong, calloused hand on Fatimah's bare stomach and slowly rubbed it. She found the roughness of his hand soothing. "You hungry?"
"No," she responded while yawning, "just chilly."
"Then put some clothes on," Desmond smiled.
"And deprive you of the show? Fat chance," she responded. Desmond laughed and dove back down on top of her, kissing her neck and tickling her sides. She laughed and wrestled him off, managing to subdue him and climb on top with ease. Her smooth calves tickled against his hairy thighs, her soft hands fondling his strong chest. He exhaled softly, and she smiled. In one motion, she raised herself up and then slowly brought herself down, merging her body with his. She brought down her lips to his, and they kissed as their bodies moved as one. He tugged at her hair and she clawed at his chest. He flipped her over onto her back, tenderly biting her neck. She tightened her grip on his back, holding on as the ecstasy pulsated throughout her entire body, overcoming her.
The sunlight peeked in from behind the crimson curtains, and yet they were still creatures of the night.
August 29th, 2012, 12:36 PM
Desmond had left for the store without cuddling. Fatimah thought that was rather rude of him, but she did not protest. It gave her time to think. She put on her panties and shirt, and lumbered over to the kitchen. Her legs were still weak. She opened the fridge and found a very scant variety of options drink-wise. She understood that he was a bartender, but drinking beer at 12:30 in the afternoon on an empty stomach was not a very attractive thought. Eventually she decided on a glass of tap water. She ran the tap into her glass and took a drink.
Still tasted like metal pipes, but it was a lot better than the barely-clean shit they drank at the Farm.
Desmond would be drinking it again very soon.
