Just… breathe. This is fate girl, this is fate.

A coffee cup sat forgotten, steaming in a slowly becoming dormant state on the far left of the warmly lit vanity.

The record, a cheap dusty old thing, played the familiar song over and over, as it had been for the duration of the morning.

Painted red lips parted slightly as warm, liquid amber irises scanned over them, the pink of a tongue dipping along the soft surface of its cheek in thought.

You're born to do this… you're born to be a star…

Shaky fingertips smoothed over the silken feel of her dress, over the ridge of knees and up the effortless length of thigh.

Long, mascara thick eyelashes brushed against clear, porcelain skin as the breath continued to leave the woman's lungs in calculated measures.

You're beautiful and have a voice unlike any other starlet… A damned good voice at that… This is simply another opportunity. Except, this time, there aren't any second chances…

"Amelia Mae Rousseau," The young woman suddenly breathed, staring determinedly at her reflection in her hand-me-down vanity. "You are the greatest singer in the world."

She frowned at her constant habit of having to reassure herself. However, she supposed that she would rather be constantly telling herself that she was perfect then constantly saying she was worthless.

The girl beamed at herself, wriggling her tongue along her already clean teeth—cleaned exactly five times within the last hour, to be exact.

She eyed the three large suitcases stacked behind her through the mirror image, studying the way their tower sagged towards her small bed. A bed that, embarrassingly, she'd had since she was… well, she'd had that bed her entire life.

The entire morning had been spent packing.

Packing things that her father had yelled at her for being too 'useless'. Were her most precious items—dresses, shoes, coats, pearls, diamonds, more shoes, and her toiletries—useless? She certainly didn't think so.

"Emmy honey, are you done yet?"

Amelia's name had somehow over the years become Emmy. Although Emmy was only her… friendly name.

Amelia was her professional name. Emmy thought Amelia sounded professional. Truly and fully.

A name that someone might say, "Well God damn, that's the kind of name we're looking for in the music business!"

"Of course!" The girl called out as she leapt from her stool in a little bout of excitement.

Emmy Rousseau was a singer, an actress in some accounts, and an over all craver of attention.

She was born in South Carolina, but moved to New York with her parents after she had decided to become a singer.

How Emmy loved to sing… loved the rush of the lights and eyes all on her. She loved the sound of her voice echoing through a darkly lit room; how the silence overtook those who listened.

Of course, she had been singing her whole life. However, Emmy wasn't from a rich family who could simply buy her fame.

So the girl contented herself with singing at small events in her home of South Carolina, doing various shows at cafes and such.

Until one day, out of complete and utter fate, it happened…

Emmy could remember it clearly. She wore her favorite, sky blue dress—the one with the pretty lace and fake pearls sewn in at the breast. Her face was made up nicely with her mother's bright red lipstick and fancy mascara—something Emmy was only allowed to use for performances.

It was the day after her 19th birthday, and she was performing for her father's boss—Andrew Ryan.

Emmy didn't know much about the man at the time… Only that her father was apart of the company which helped escort certain kinds of metals and glasses to Mr. Ryan.

Her father never told her what Mr. Ryan was planning to do with all that supplies, she wasn't exactly sure that her father knew what he was supplying for either…

But supposedly Mr. Ryan was visiting her father and his colleagues for a business meeting. Something men often had. And Emmy was there simply to compliment the deal.

Emmy sang the entire night, capturing the undivided attention of Mr. Andrew Ryan, something Emmy saw as a very good thing.

Mr. Ryan was a very rich man… A man who could present the girl with opportunities that would otherwise be unavailable to a simple girl such as herself.

As that night wore on, after all the songs had been sung, Emmy finally met Andrew Ryan.

He was not necessarily an attractive man, but he was sleek and suave. He had a light hint of an accent; Emmy supposed he was originally from some European country. Which made him all the more interesting in her eyes.

He was polite, obviously well-mannered, and very smart. Emmy had been told he was a man of science. A man who had earned hundreds of thousands of dollars from his work.

Although, he was rather intense. He had strange views on society. Some Emmy agreed with to an extent, but some she thought the man took just a tiny step too far...

But all she could think about was how good it would be for her family to get into this man's good graces. How many doors would open for her career if she was a known friend to Andrew Ryan…

After that night Andrew Ryan attended every single one of Emmy's performances around South Carolina. He had taken a liking to either her voice or her looks. Either way Emmy was thankful.

Eventually Andrew Ryan expressed his faith in Emmy, saying that she could make it a very far way in the business. That business being singing of course.

He had then moved Emmy and her parents to New York to an apartment. It was a rather grand apartment as well. Nicer then anything Emmy had ever seen in her life.

She spent her days with Andrew Ryan and her nights performing in big band clubs.

She was popular among the local parts of New York, but she hadn't caught the eye of any real producers…

Emmy remembered the irritation in Mr. Ryan's eyes… She thought that maybe he was upset that he'd invested in her. Into something that didn't make it…

But then one night Mr. Ryan had a private dinner with Emmy. It was a long night of discussing things of lame importance.

Emmy knew he was beating around the bush—perhaps leading up to something bigger.

And she was right.

She could remember his exact words to her as he held her hands in his.

"I want you to succeed Amelia... I want you to make your own living and become what you want to be… But, you cannot do so here… in this place…"

"In New York?"

He looked at Emmy… for a long time. She could see that strange look in his eye. The look he got when he spoke of his views of atheism and freedom.

"...I chose the impossible Amelia. I chose... Rapture, a city where the artist such as yourself would not fear the censor or be constrained by the weak minded... Rapture can become your city as well my dear, if you wish it."

Emmy remembered looking at him like he was crazy…

She had, at the time, never heard of a place called 'rapture'. She wasn't even sure it was a place.

"Rapture, Mr. Ryan?"

"Yes my dear… Rapture…"

"Emmy! Taxi's here!"

The girl felt the reality of the moment crash into her.

The fact that she was moving to Rapture… She was beginning her life on her own.

This was hers. This choice, this new place, this voice… it was all hers.

Even though she had to keep the exact whereabouts of Rapture secret from her parents –a condition that concerned Emmy—she figured it was a special privilege… To be one of the people that knew Rapture as a home…

To live in Utopia…

The door to the girl's room opened unannounced, her father lumbering in past her. He coughed pointedly at the heavy smell of perfume that permanently resided in the room, picking up all three of the large suitcases with a grumble.

Her father was the type of macho, man's man that wanted a macho son to do… whatever men do to bond.

But he only had one child, and that child was Emmy.

He loved his daughter, he truly did. But he didn't love that his boss was taking his only child away to Iceland...

He looked at his daughter's sweet smile as she gazed at him. He'd always cared for his child, but he never thought giving her up would be so... difficult.

"Stay safe, alright?" Was all he could manage.

Emmy looked at her father for a moment before the emotion of the moment overtook her; she strode quickly over to him and leaned up, pressing a soft, loving kiss to the man's weathered temple.

He gave a deep harrumph and cleared his throat, causing the girl to hold back a small chuckle at his lack of comfort in such affectionate dealings.

As Emmy watched her father carry her bags Emmy slung her purse over her shoulder, smiling to herself as she slipped her stocking foot into her new heels that Mr. Ryan had bought for her.

They were black suede and they went magnificently with her new blue dress and black fur coat.

Mr. Ryan liked to spend money on her… To her delight.

"Sugar…"

Emmy looked at her mother through the reflection of her vanity as she adjusted the hat on her head, draping the black netting correctly over her perfectly made hair.

"Are you sure you can go alone…? I mean, you're not just moving to Manhattan or Brooklyn. You're going… to Iceland."

Emmy sighed after inserting her earrings, looking at her mother before turning to face her.

Her mother was once a very beautiful woman, with the bluest eyes Emmy had ever seen. But she let herself go to raise her daughter. A rightful choice made by most mothers.

"Mama, I can do this… I need to do this… For myself, you know?" Emmy sighed, looking into her mother's eyes as she held her weathered hands in her gloved ones. "I'm born to sing. And Mr. Ryan said I'll become a star in Iceland."

Mrs. Rousseau looked at her only child before her, all grown up.

Short, light chocolate hair curled to perfection as it hung neatly at her shoulders, big, beautiful red lips, wide and innocent amber eyes framed with those dark lashes…

She had her father's coloring and her facial structure, something Emmy's mother always loved so dearly. She'd certainly grown from a small child, when those big brown eyes were innocent weapons... Now they're skilled weapons.

Time flies she supposed...

The older woman wasn't sure if her daughter was ready… She really wasn't.

But who was she to tell her daughter not to live her life? Not to go make mistakes and live in new places…

It's what she lacked in her life as a young girl and she promised herself that she'd never let that kind of life befall her daughter…

"Well…" The woman breathed, studying her daughter one more moment before pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We'll miss you…"

"Alright… Get off me."

Muddy brown eyes studied the man below her, his sweat slicked chest still heaving as he leaned his head back against the pillows.

"Leon… Are you serious? I'm not finished." The girl's thick, Brooklyn accent breathed as the man reached over to the bedside lamp. He flicked it on as he glanced at the naked woman on top of him, studying her red, sweaty face and mussed hair with disinterest.

"Well I'm finished, and I want your ass off of me. Got it?"

The woman gaped at the man as he shrugged at her, taking a cigarette and lighting it casually before leaning back against of the headboard of his bed.

"You're such a dick Leon!" The woman snapped, pushing his shoulder against the wood roughly before wrapping the musky smelling sheet around her and jumping off the bed.

Leon watched the girl scurrying about the room, gathering up her clothes that were forgotten in passion not 1 hour ago.

"I'd expect this kinda shit from Jerry, but I thought you were nicer then this! Guess not." The girl fussed, throwing the sheet at the smug bastard on the bed as she slipped her panties back on. "You let those looks get to your head you know that?"

"I know that." Leon smiled, watching the girl he paid for as she looked for her purse. "Throw me a cigarette would you?"

The girl looked at him in disbelief, studying the current cigarette in the man's mouth before narrowing her eyes.

She quickly reached for the pack of cigarettes on the dresser to her right, throwing the pack at the man roughly in a huff. "Hey! I didn't mean literally! Jesus…-"

"Yeah! Jesus Leon!" The girl snapped, pulling her dress over her head furiously. "You treat me like crap! All I do is give you what you want, and you're still a bastard…"

The man's dark brown eyes studied the woman as she sighed, leaning against the dresser as the record player sounded in the background.

"Daddy… Daddy won't you please come home?"

Her eyes met his as she slumped; seemingly exhausted as her pale brown eyes displayed an air of defeat. "I really do love you Leon… I dunno why, suppose I'm into men who treat me like shit."

Leon looked away from her eyes, dreading her long confessions of her love as he sighed pointedly, a thick swirl of smoke curling from his lips.

She quickly got back on the bed, crawling towards him as he looked away from her deliberately and stared hard at the record player in the corner of the room.

He felt her soft lips on his jaw, tracing along its curve until she reached his chin. "Leon… Please…? Just talk to me baby. I'm sorry I yelled at you…"

The man sighed, feeling the slightest sympathy for the broad. She had her eye on him from the moment Ryan set up the red light district in Rapture…

He happened to hire her after a long night working. He smelled like fish and he was dirty, but she still fucked him.

Somewhere along the time they did this she began to 'love' him. But Leon certainly didn't love her. He didn't love anyone.

He loved an easy life and money. And that was that.

"Georgia… You should go."

The woman leaned back, her knees on either side of the man's hips as she stared at him. He stared back, his gaze hard as his cigarette smoked into its demise in the ash tray.

She didn't say another word, she simply got off the man's bed, grabbed her purse and her shoes, and shut the door quietly behind her.

Leon Calloway had lived in Rapture for 2 years now. He got a job working at Fontaine Fisheries, and occasionally helping out with various repairs around the place.

He was from New Jersey. He had lived with his god forsaken mother.

His father died when Leon was 13. He had been involved in some loan shark issues and it ended ugly.

Leon was now 26, his first two years in Rapture not much different then his life back in his shitty neighborhood in Jersey.

He wasn't one of those fancy artists or scientists who were too busy full of their own shit that they couldn't do anything but spout crap about their work all God damn day.

Leon worked, just like he had in Jersey. Because the worker class in Rapture wasn't different then anywhere else in the world.

Course, he got a home and girls. He got paid and didn't have his mother breathing down his fuckin' neck. But now he had that girl, Georgia, constantly bitching about how mean he was.

He wasn't mean, he just didn't like her.

The man extinguished his cigarette in his ashtray before getting up. He walked naked over to the bathroom in his small joke of an apartment.

He liked Rapture he supposed.

Along with the money coming in with the Fishery business, he also helped Fontaine with some smuggling of goods.

The good, snobby pricks of Rapture began wanting more then just the shit they call home grown food.

Since Ryan won't let people leave Rapture to get what they want, people have to do it all secret like.

Leon understood that. He sure did.

Course, there was also that thing with that… Weird Tenenbaum broad.

One day some guy who had crippled hands during the war got bitten by this freaky looking slug. Apparently it healed his hands to perfect condition.

That scientist gal got interested and decided to take the 'ADAM' from the slug with Fontaine's sponsoring.

Leon didn't know much about ADAM, he'd never used it. It weirded him out; disfigured most of the fellas down in the fishery too. It was supposed to improve… whatever, your strength and health, as it had done with that one guy.

Leon didn't buy into it though. 'Specially since Tenenbaum was buying into it.

The man looked at himself in the mirror, studying his sex hair in a dull kind of satisfaction.

He ran his hands under the water from the faucet as he studied his reflection: His deep black hair, dark chocolate eyes, prominent, masculine features that his father had.

Georgia was right of course… he let his looks turn him overly arrogant. But he supposed he got that from his father's side of the genes…

Leon stretched his neck as he shook the water from his hands, reaching for his work uniform and slipping it on quickly.

Today they'd be shipping in some new comers to Rapture… Probably some more snotty rich assholes who'd either ditch their kids at the Little Sister Orphanage or spend their days attending parties and babbling about their stupid artwork, either that or their latest discovery.

"Shit…" Leon sighed at the thought, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Please, daddy

Even the clock keeps tickin'

Daddy won't you please come home?

Daddy do you have to roam so very long?

There's lots of other new sheiks who would like to be sheikin'

Haven't slipped yet, but I'm liable to weaken

Daddy, daddy, won't you please come home?"

Okay, I'll explain...

I hate leaving you guys with nothing to read! xD

Also, I posted this chapter to test the waters and such.

But this is in no way the final draft. Meaning I might take it down after I get feedback and such.

OR I may leave it up and just continue posting chapters! We'll see.

As for this chapter... It's just okay for me dawg.

When I first wrote it I was satisified and not satisfied at the same time.

It's hard transitioning between stories, I hope you understand. And when I first wrote this I was in the middle of my Red Dead.

But for those of you who agree (It's just okay for you dawg) then let me just say ahead of time, this story get's a lot better.

And more interesting. This intro was kinda blah de blah for me. But whatever. xD

But anyway, I posted this up for feedback, so old and new readers alike, please leave reviews or send me a message critiquing or praising this chapter. :D

On a sidenote: I bought both Assassin's Creed 1 & 2. I'm still only on the first one but I really like it so far. It's a nice slate for tons of ideas. AND, in fact, I have two ideas for stories already. But, before I even start writing either of those, I need to beat both games and study more about the plot. But I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm brainstorming as we speak! For... three stories at a time...

Brain: fried but entertained greatly and on constant plot bunny crack.

I LOOOVVVEEE you guys. YAY, I love posting.