Author's Note: This document has been in my Google Drive for over a year now with no idea how to continue it. I recently uploaded it to my Tumblr, but I thought it would be good to drop it here. I really don't have a direction of where to take this story, but if you guys have ideas, then by all means, do so. Make this a reader active story. I hope you guys enjoy what I have so far.

Chapter I: The Awakening

Why did he feel so at ease?

Juno did say that he wouldn't feel anything when he touched the pedestal, but he didn't really believe her. After all, she had been lying and using him for as long as he had known about the First Civ, never telling him her true intentions. All the precursors had in fact.

Maybe he shouldn't blame everything on Juno, although he had every right to. It was the Templars fault . . . and the Assassins. If the Assassins and Templars had somehow gotten past their differences and decided to work together for the sake of saving the world from the threat of the solar flare, maybe they wouldn't have had to rely on going into that temple and blindly leaning on the support of Those Who Came Before, not knowing the outcome. Even though he wanted to think they would put aside their own ambitions, Desmond knew peace with the Templars would be so difficult to obtain that it would be downright impossible. His father had told him that much, even though both sides were to have said to have cooperated with each other in certain situations. Haytham and Connor were a perfect example of that.

Desmond couldn't comprehend where he was or even why he still had a subconscious. He thought he would at least be granted that much appreciation from whatever high being there was out there to have his existence extinguished and his so called "soul" terminated. At least he didn't have to deal with the bleeding effect - as far as he was concerned. He sort of liked this odd feeling of peace that had washed over him. It was sleeping, but you still thought as though you were wide awake. He didn't have a body, but he didn't care. His thoughts weren't scattered around, but contained in what he decided to call a bubble; a personal space if you will. He felt contempt in knowing that he didn't have to face what Juno had planned for the world. Doing his part to protect humanity and its home was completed, which meant that he was allowed to feel selfish. Whatever Juno had planned would have to be thwarted by some other "Chosen One" that got to die a martyr later or even perhaps live in the world they saved if they were lucky. Desmond didn't care, he was just glad that his part in everything was over.

Right?

He was doubting himself, and his doubts were confirmed when he started to choke. How was that possible? He was dead, he shouldn't have been able to feel anything, but here the pain was, like an noose around his neck, tightening with every passing . . . whatever amount of time that existed in the place he was in. Desmond tried to reach for the invisible choker, but forgot he had no hands or arms and instantly regretted not having a body. Even without the limbs being seen, he felt searing hands close around where his forearms and legs should have been. Hot and burning, they pressed into what would have been his skin, pulling him up as if he were drifting in water. Desmond thought he saw what appeared to be a bright light, and he was being dragged toward it.

"My God, he's waking up!" a distant voice said. It sounded familiar, but he wasn't sure from where.

"Someone get William, quick!"

My father? Is he here?

Desmond felt his eyes squint against the blinding light, reducing its glare, but not by much. He lifted his arm to shield his eyes from the brightness. Wait, I have arms? Just a second ago he didn't have a body, and all of a sudden, he had his old arms back. The same intricate tattoos in the same places; just as they had been when he died.

"Desmond."

Wait, Dad?

He tried using his voice, but it didn't work for some reason. This was all becoming too much; Desmond's senses felt like they were in overdrive. His chest heaved as he took deep breaths, finding it difficult to take in air. He closed his eyes an attempt to block out everything. Perhaps he was dreaming that he was in some sort of mirage or Paradise.

"Desmond, can you hear us?" It's that voice again . . . why does it ring a bell?

Desmond groaned, seeing if he could get a response from the people around him.

"His blood pressure is off the charts," someone said urgently. "He shouldn't be awake yet."

"Then give him another dose," the other snapped. "Ms Crane, can you see about getting him into the Animus?" He tried identifying the voice, and recognized it had a very. . .foreign lit to it. Wait, did that sound like . . .?

"Come on, kid. Pull through; don't give up on us now!" Another familiar voice. It sounded British, but it wasn't anywhere close to Shaun's accent. What the hell was going on here?

The erratic beeping of monitors rang out around the space. "His heart rate is climbing. One-twenty, one-thirty . . ."

"I said to give him another dose! Stabilize him, I don't care what it takes."

Desmond tried using his voice again, this time a sound came out, although the noises didn't come out as words.

"Don't worry," a soothing voice reassured him. That one sounded like Rebecca. "We'll get you going again, Desmond."

He attempted for a third time, and finally was able to produce coherent words. "What's going on?"

"Don't worry, son." Desmond moved his arm away from his face, and the silhouette of William Miles entered his line of vision.

At the sight of his father, Desmond felt and heard his heart beat slow down. "Dad?"

"I think we've got it. Heart rate returning to normal."

"Who else is here?" Desmond asked.

"All in due time son," William said. "But for now, you need to rest."

The owner of the strange accent gently pushed his father aside. "He'll be fine, William. Let Ms. Crane handle it from here."

The lights dimmed overhead, and the last thing Desmond remembered seeing was a face so strikingly similar to his own looking down at him.

Desmond woke up to a voice calling out to him. The groggy feeling of sleep clung to his body, the functions of his limbs and brain slowly turning on. His ears heard the sound of his name, and it compelled him to ignore his mental fatigue.

"Desmond, you have to get up now. This facility is under attack."

That made the blood in his body pump faster. Well, that and the explosion that shook the ground with so much force that it threw him off the table he was lying on and onto the cold tiled floor.

"You need to get up. This facility has been compromised. Abstergo agents are here, they're trying to take you again."

Abstergo?

As he tried to get to his feet, Desmond felt a heavy pounding on the side of his head. "God, what a hangover . . . "

"If only it were that," the voice said over the intercom.

Desmond finally managed to stabilize himself by leaning against the table he had just been on. His eyes surveyed the area and realized he was in a sterile white experiment lab. Were they. . .dissecting me?

"Desmond, you need to hurry!" The voice said urgently. "There is a door on your left towards the back. Use it to get out and run as fast as you can. Whatever you do, you cannot look back." The last four words were heavily emphasized.

"Alright already," Desmond said. He made his way to the door took and deep breath. His hand touched the cool metal of the handle before he turned it and burst through the threshold and sprinted down the long hallway.

Desmond was impressed with how well his body was responding since only being awake from whatever the hell just happened to him. His arms pumped by his sides as his shoes slapped against the white tile floor. The building continued to shake as explosions went off in every direction. Desmond forced himself not to look back as heat started to creep up behind him, the feeling of it pushing him to run faster and faster.

The voice that had been talking to him guided him through the chaos. Whenever it said go right, he turned right; whenever left, he went left. If it said to hide behind a desk, that's exactly what he would do.

"There are about five Abstergo guards on their way to your floor. Wait for them to leave the stair exit, and make a break down the stairs."

Desmond did as the voice said and crouched down behind an overturned desk not far from the exit. He could still feel the ground tremble as explosions continued to shake the building violently. The heavy pounding of boots against the floor was heard not too soon before the door was wrenched open, guards pouring onto the floor. He heard one of them barking orders to the rest and they all split off in different directions.

Probably looking for me, Desmond gathered.

"There's six in total on that floor, but only one in the room with you. Try taking him by surprise before the others come back and make your escape."

God, they sound like a video game tutorial. . .

"I suggest you hurry," the voice urged as if reading his thoughts. "They'll be back any moment now."

"Alright," Desmond bit out.

He peered over the desk, and sure enough, there was an Abstergo guard right near the exit. He was carefully surveying the area with his back turned to the desk, and Desmond took this opportunity to move. Creeping up behind the man, Desmond stood tall and brought both his hands to either side of the man's face before twisting sharply to the right. With a sickening crack, the guard fell to the ground in a heap, letting Desmond make a break for it the exit and running down the metal stairs as fast as he could.

The earpiece in Desmond's ear crackled, and a new voice took over. "Desmond, can you hear me?" A kinder, more feminine voice seemed to have replaced the more gruff, and sarcastic one that had been getting on his nerves.

"Yeah," he answered, jumping over the railing to reach the next flight of stairs. "What do I do now?"

"You were just on the top floor, and are now getting close to the eighteenth." They paused and then continued in a hurried tone. "You have Abstergo guards coming up from the sixteenth floor. Get off on the seventeenth and make a right once you get out the door."

Just as the woman said, Desmond could hear the sound of heavy footfalls coming up the stairs quickly. He reached the third floor landing just in time to see the head of one of the guards as they came up from the other side. Desmond rammed the door open and took the right as instructed, the shouts of Abstergo's guards not far behind him.

It was another long hallway, this one carpeted and somewhat narrow. His head was ducked down as he heard the click of a gun and the loud gunshot, a bullet lodged in the wall just beside him.

"Hey guys," Desmond called out, hoping that whoever was listening would answer him. "I could use some directions here."

"What are we, Google Maps?" A familiar voice asked slightly irritated.

"Shaun?" Desmond couldn't help but smile despite the situation he was in.

"Yes, now wipe that grin off your face. Or have you forgotten where you are?"

Another gunshot, this time the bullet grazing his arm.

Desmond hissed and clutched his shoulder. "Just tell me what to do!"

"Right, about that. . .you're not going to like this much." Shaun explained to Desmond his next steps.

"You want me to jump out the window," he muttered. "I haven't been alive long, and I'm already getting myself killed here."

"Left, mate! Turn left!"

Desmond only sighed and made the turn like he was told to. The large window that Shaun had described gave a wonderful daytime view of a city overlooking a bay. Right outside the window was nothing but open air, and more than a two hundred foot drop into the water below.

"Are you sure about this, Shaun?" He asked once more. "That height ain't looking too pretty."

"Don't ask questions! Just jump when I say!"

There was no more room for debate as the guards began to catch up to him. Desmond looked back at the window and started to run for it at top speed. The cutting of glass against his skin didn't sting as much as he was expecting, but the free falling sensation he was experiencing at that moment was a big distraction for a large amount of the pain. He felt himself tumbling through the air, no sense of direction apparent to him as he shut his eyes and waited for the concrete like impact that he was certain he was going to feel as he plummeted down towards the water.