A/N: This is a Watch_Dogs and Assassin's Creed crossover.
I have no idea what I'm doing.
A Bird in the Hand
Jordi Chen liked to think of himself as a jack of all trades kind of guy. In the simplest of forms, he was a supplier—a provider of ah, necessary provisions for clienteles with unique tastes and hobbies. From just his amazing way with words (his own opinion of course, but there were many hostages whom would have said the same, provided the right reinforcement) to his vast connections, Jordi was proud to admit that he was one notable fixer. After all, he had been hired by the Vigilante himself and really, not many other fixers could boast to have been contacted by the rising head honcho of Chicago himself.
And while jobs from the infamous Fox were not super interesting particularly, what was interesting was the quest that the man was on—hunting for answers surrounding the Merlaut that Jordi had to admit, piqued even his interests. His own web of connections and even people he had had his eye on had lit up like crazy the day of and after that job, and Jordi was itching to know why—even if the gray hat hacker had him babysitting Maurice Vega.
Annoying, sure—but money was money and Aiden was certainly providing a good show. Besides, Jordi appreciated a little company now and then. Provided, Maurice wasn't the best company as the guy had been screaming and blubbering for the past half hour, but he'd had worst.
It was much better than being stuck with ruddy contracts of boring people who either needed someone to disappear here, a bomb planted there, or strippers. (There had been a high demand of those.) It was a nice change in scenery, so to say. Not to say that Aiden didn't have him do boring jobs either, but at least the guy paid well.
'And money sings such a sweet, sweet tune.' Jordi grinned, flipping through the thick wad of bills (all new with non-sequential serial numbers—his favorite) that had been in the nondescript envelope by his current said employer. Oh yes, Aiden paid well.
His timer buzzed, the numbers blinking 4:00 pm and Jordi tucked the cash into the breast pocket of his shirt, grinning in anticipation of his next payout. He holstered his sniper rifle and from the window of the cheap motel room, scoped to his target.
Andrew Grant—narcotics ring smuggler and the competing rival to one of Jordi's clients (who, was actually losing horribly to.) According to his bio, Grant was a suspect of several unsolved murders, kidnappings, and involved in some other unsavory businesses. Honestly, Jordi was surprised that a hit wasn't ordered on him sooner. (Either that, or there were and the fixers who tried were horrible at their jobs.) There was a promise of a fat loadof money wired to his offshores account when the job was done, and Jordi was itching to see that cash flow.
If Jordi was to be perfectly honest, he didn't have any qualms with killing the man despite the money. (He would never vocally admit that though.) Moral wasn't Jordi's middle name, but he could admit that there was some satisfaction in taking someone down who deserved it.
Jordi's mouth thinned, reminded of the photos of dead kids from the victim list.
Right on the dot, Mr. Grant stood in front of the penthouse windows, viewing the city and oh so vulnerable in Jordi's sight.
Oh, he was going to enjoy this.
Well, he would have enjoyed it— if someone hadn't beaten him to the punch.
Jordi sat at one of the tables of Brewed Delight and sighed morosely, his face held up by one hand while the other held his phone with his bank account information—which showed 20k less of what it could have had.
And it was all because another fixer had gotten a contract on his mark.
The hit could have been called for any number of reasons considering Mr. Grant's long trek record of pissing people off, but Jordi hated being so close to a bounty only to lose it.
He had to admit though, whoever that fixer was…the guy had style.
And Jordi could appreciate style.
Grant had practically walked right into Jordi's crosshairs before there had been a streak of movement. A flash of white left Jordi jerking his scope around to find the cause but before he had been able to catch a face, his target was dead on the floor, his assailant sweeping a hand over Grant's face before the fixer had jumped off the roof and escaped rooftop to rooftop like someone out of a comic book.
It was a pity that he didn't know the other fixer's name. Jordi figured that he could benefit from having the guy as a connection. (After giving a firm talking to about stealing other people's marks, of course. There was etiquette to fixer-ism, after all!) He'd even tried to have an associate of his pull up ctOS traffic camera footage in hopes of getting an ID, but it seemed that whoever the fixer was, he also had the tech to spoof Blume's facial recognition software. It was different from the one that Aiden used; not as sophisticated as his number 1 paying client, but as good as.
'Guy must be new to town.' Jordi thought, taking a sip from his coffee. He knew almost every fixer in Chicago, and the ones that fit the unknown fixer's physical profile didn't have any penchant for killing and roof hopping like that.
Because killing with a blade? That was some old school shit. Very cool, Jordi settled, but most fixers used guns or poisons due to ease of access and efficiency. Not to mention, bullets were expendable and easy to hide. Knives weren't.
Either way, Jordi was more intrigued than annoyed.
There was a new player in town and Jordi had a feeling that he'd be seeing a lot of this mysterious new fixer. Besides, if the guy caught Jordi's attention, it probably wouldn't be long before he caught Aiden's.
And when that ever happened, Jordi would gladly even bring the popcorn.
"Jesus man. Jesus! I killed Eddie. I know I did!"
He was going to kill Jordi after this was done.
Aiden saw the flashing light of red and blue and quickly turned into an alleyway, ignoring the panicked cursing of his backseat driver. He drove carefully, eyes attentive to any nearby police car and making sure to use the other parked cars on the island as cover.
Aiden listened with one ear at his passenger's nervous chatter. There were more pressing matters at the moment, but the calmer his passenger was, the better. He had a whole police force to sneak past and he didn't need a hyperventilating fugitive on the side.
"I…I heard the sirens, and I just reacted. I-I thought he'd slow them down if I wounded him." From the rearview mirror, Aiden saw the man's arm clench around an old laptop sporadically. There was a patch of blood on the arm of his sweater. "I was aiming for his arm, man. I swear to God. O-One of us had to make it back, right? These people don't accept failure."
Why his passenger was explaining himself to him, Aiden didn't know, but he couldn't help the sliver of pity for the guy for what had happened and for what was going to him. Whoever the fugitive worked for, Aiden had a suspicion that they wouldn't be merciful.
The heavy thrum of a helicopter permeated the air and immediately, Aiden killed the engine.
"Stay quiet and keep your head down." Aiden murmured, and was pleased when his charge huddled in the back seat.
It wasn't long before the helicopter flew past, its searchlight passing harmlessly overhead. Aiden exhaled and counted till two before starting up the engine and accelerating to run over a portion of the chain link fence in front of them. The car's wheels scraped over the top of a dumpster, before it dropped down a half level to the ground and more importantly, out of the police controlled territory.
"Oh fuck man, they said you were good. You did it!" His passenger practically sagged in relief. Aiden allowed himself a small grin, but with the scarf covering the bottom half of his face, it was lost on his passenger.
The drive to the meet place wasn't an arduous trip, especially with the lack of police. However, that didn't stop the fugitive in the back from nearly vibrating in nervousness.
"Okay…we're here. We did it. There's some guys meeting us. Don't fuck it up, now…" Three figures stood, meeting the headlights when Aiden turned the car into the designated alley.
Aiden recognized one of them.
His passenger did too, eyes widening in fright. "What the fuck…that's Lucky Quinn."
Oh, Aiden was going to fucking murder Jordi.
'Dermot Lucky Quinn.' Aiden's gloved hands tightened around the steering wheel, his body tensing at the sight of the old man. Frail and aged as he was, the leader of the Chicago South Club was not to be trifled with. He'd seen Damien cowed by the old man before and despite how much his former mentor griped about the infamous billionaire, there had always been a strong wariness coloring his words.
Aiden didn't blame him. Something about Quinn made the hair on the back of Aiden's neck stand on end.
"Why's the Club boss meeting us?"
Aiden slid the car to a stop.
"He's not meeting us." He put the car into park, turning his head to regard his passenger. "He's meeting you."
Aiden had been at this game long enough to know what would go down and as such, kept his expression neutral as the man nervously approached Quinn. His eyes swept from Quinn to the rest of his company on his left and right side. He guessed that the bespectacled one in green was one of Quinn's hacker most likely, considering that the man was handed the laptop. He didn't look like a hitter that Quinn usually had close at hand.
Aiden glanced at the man in the white on the right and promptly frowned.
Something…felt off about that one.
Unlike Quinn and his hacker, this one didn't have that foul of an air. In fact, he looked small compared to them, huddled into his hoodie, head down and back stiff. He stood closer to the Club boss than his other companion did, and did not react outwardly at all during Quinn's chat with the fugitive. To anyone else, the man in white would have looked to be ignoring and disinterested in everyone altogether. Aiden, however, saw otherwise.
The man had very sharp, gold eyes— and he was watching everything. The man's gaze swept from Aiden to Quinn with a smooth incline of his head, observing quietly and calmly. He shifted a little when Aiden's former charge and Quinn walked a couple steps (the man in green following from behind with a hand grasping something in his pocket) and though the hoodie covered most of the man's face, Aiden could make out a pale scar sliced vertically down the other's lips.
There was movement from the man in green—a gun being drawn—and Aiden averted his gaze, knowing what was to happen. This was none of his business. However…
With his phone clasped between the steering and his hand, Aiden nudged his screen with his thumb and snapped a quick picture before sliding his phone down his sleeve in one quick and natural motion.
When Aiden glanced up again, he wasn't surprised to see Quinn stab the fugitive in the throat after his computer guy failed. What did surprise him though was the hooded man's appearance between the fugitive and Quinn, protecting the elderly man. The man in white's shoulder was against the fugitive's chest, palm flat against the other's stomach—which was suspiciously forming a growing patch of red.
Quinn's protector stepped back. The blade strapped to the man's wrist flashed in the headlights of the car when it was retracted underneath the sleeve of his hoodie.
Aiden could hear Quinn hum in approval.
'Definitely a hitter.' Aiden thought, watching the man in white step into Quinn's shadow.
Three shots rang out from Quinn's other man and Aiden turned his head, eyes firmly on the leather of the passenger seat as Quinn slowly approached his window.
His gun was right there. He could kill Quinn if he wanted to. His bodyguard wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
"You can tell your employer I'll call again." Quinn's hand felt like ice on his shoulder and Aiden's jaw locked. "If I ever need delivery."
Aiden nodded once, curtly.
And as Aiden backed out of the alleyway, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, the man with the scar on his lip kneel down over the dead fugitive, one hand sweeping his eyes closed as his lips parted in what Aiden could only assume as prayer.
Funny, he never would have guessed the guy to be a religious man.
His phone vibrated.
"Hey, how'd it go? You finish that job yet?"
Aiden's mouth curled. "You thought I'd be okay working for the fucking Club?"
He could almost hear Jordi sigh admonishingly. "A paycheck is a paycheck. You've got to start separating the morals from the moola. But, tell you what; I'll hook you up with my guy. He'll find you better driving gigs if you want."
Aiden grunted, stopping at the red light. "Yeah sure, I dunno if I'll take them…but give him my name." He could use some extra cash, to which Jordi cheerfully voiced. Aiden thought back to the alley and the man in white.
"Hey, Jordi."
"Hm?"
"I need you to look up someone."
"Oh? You got a name?"
"No name. A photo, actually. Sending it to you now."
"Someone caught your eye, huh? Let's have a looksee and—oh." There was a pause before Jordi's voice turned a touch lower. "Well I'll be damned. He's works for Quinn, huh?"
"You know him?"
"Seen him more like it—in passing, you could say." Jordi chuckled. "He's as elusive as you in the ctOS facial recognition system and I'll have to thank you for the first clear photo I've ever had the pleasure of getting my hands on."
Aiden rolled his eyes. "But can you get me a name?"
"Of course." Jordi answered easily. "Oh, and since you asked, Maurice is doing just fine in his new home."
Two days later, it turned out that he didn't need Jordi to get a name.
"Aiden?! Aiden, oh thank god!"
At the sound of his sister's panicked voice, Aiden's body went rigid and all thoughts of meeting with Jordi over a 'problem' went out the window.
"Nicky? What's wrong? Are you and Jacks—?!" Aiden's hands convulsed around his phone and he took off into a run towards a parked car, quickly disabling its alarm and planning a route straight to his sister. If something happened to her or Jackson…
"We're fine!" Nicky cut in. She sounded like she was this close to hyperventilating and Aiden forced himself to remain calm. "We're fine, Aiden. It's just—I-I need your help. How soon can you get here?"
"Stay in the house." He ran a red light, nearly sideswiping an incoming Volvo. "I'm on my way right now."
He kept Nicky on the line, soothing her as best as he could until he pulled up to her house. Aiden all but kicked the door down, preparing himself for the worst, but at the sight of Jackson and Nicky curled on the couch together and more importantly safe, Aiden released the breath he didn't realize that he had been holding.
"Aiden!" Nicky smiled weakly, letting her brother grasp her arms as he methodically checked her and Jackson over. "Thank god, you're here."
"Tell me everything. What happened?"
"You, what?"
"I hit him with my car." Nicky repeated, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She struggled to stay calm, gripping the mug of tea between her hands for support as Aiden sat before her, coffee in his own grasp. "I-I tried calling an ambulance, but he begged me not to. So, I moved him inside and called you."
"You shouldn't have moved him. He could have internal bleeding."
"I know that, but it was better than leaving him outside for the neighbors to spook." Nicky swallowed thickly, face pale in guilt over what she had done. "Do you think he'll be okay? I didn't—I don't know how hard I hit him."
"We'll have to wait and see." Aiden only replied, gaze going to the closed door of Nicky's bedroom. He had called Jordi and requested a medic—but considering that this was Jordi Aiden didn't quite think that whoever had walked through the door had the most cleanest of slates.
"He came to warn us, Aiden." Nicky finally murmured, quietly. "He said something about seeing people follow me home. I didn't believe him at first when he turned up but then a car pulled up and these men with guns—"
Aiden leaned forward and gripped her hand. I'm here.
"Someone must have been watching us." Nicky continued, her eyes going to Jackson listlessly playing on his tablet. "Because I've seen that car before and it's always been parked the next street over. When he showed up, it just suddenly came at us. He told us to run and—Aiden, he must have been in the military or something because he took them out." She grimaced. "Well, most of them, at least. Jackson and I made it as far as halfway out of the driveway before my tires were shot out and then—"
Aiden bit the inside of his cheek, hard.
Nicky let out a shuddering breath. "By the time I regained control of the car; I saw something move and panicked. And then…"
"And then you hit him with your car." Aiden filled in.
Nicky gave a strained sort of smile. "Not my brightest moment, I'll admit."
Nicky's door opened, and Aiden and Nicky immediately looked up as the doctor walked up to them, looking rather bored. "I've looked him over as requested. He'll be fine and dandy. He's merely suffering from a couple bruised ribs, a couple scratches, and a sprained wrist. Otherwise, he should be fine with bed rest and time."
"I've wired you your fee." Aiden murmured, low enough for Nicky not to hear. The good doctor smirked and dipped his head before taking his leave.
Aiden watched him go before following Nicky into her room.
Nicky's savior lay on the bed, still (thankfully) unconscious with bandages peeking out of his shirt. Hung over the chair nearby was a familiar white hoodie.
Aiden released a long, terse breath.
When Nicky had shown him the unconscious hooded figure, lying still and curled on her bed, he had hoped that it wouldn't be who he thought it would be. However, at seeing the scar over his lips, that hope was dashed because now he had a new set of problems.
Not only was his sister in danger by whoever had sent those men, but Nicky had also inadvertently become involved with Lucky Quinn—Aiden frowned deeply at the slumbering man—by association.
"I'm glad he's okay." Nicky said softly.
"Did he tell you his name?"
Nicky blinked and tried to remember. "I think…"
"Desmond."
Aiden and Nicky turned around at the quiet voice behind them.
"Jackson? Honey?" Nicky kneeled down onto one knee.
"He said his name was Desmond." Jackson said again quietly and Nicky smiled, reveling in the rare instances her son spoke.
"Did he give a last name, kiddo?" Aiden asked gently. Jackson's brows furrowed before he shook his head once.
Nicky frowned when that particular expression crossed her brother's face. "Aiden… I know that look on your face. You…know him?"
Aiden grimaced. She knew him far too well. "I've just seen him before—and Nicky? He's bad news. He runs with a bad crowd."
The younger Pearce didn't look convinced.
"He saved our lives, Aiden. Someone who came to warn me and buy time for Jackson and I to run can't be that bad." She waved her hand flippantly. "Besides, maybe him running with a bad crowd is just a phase." She gave him a look. "I certainly remember running after you when we were kids."
Aiden scoffed at that, shaking his head but grinning nonetheless.
"But really, Aiden. He saved us. That's got to count for something."
'Perhaps.' Aiden thought, 'But he possibly endangered you two even more by butting in like that.' Still, the hacker didn't disagree with her. If 'Desmond' hadn't been there, Aiden didn't want to think what could have happened.
Aiden was grateful, despite owing a debt to one of Quinn's men.
The vigilante sighed, leaning against the door frame in resignation.
Perfect.
"Are you sure his name is Desmond, Aiden?" Clara asked unsurely once she saw the only result that checked for both first name and matched the low quality image.
"I'm positive." Aiden said and shook the rain off his coat in the nearby coffee house once he was sure that he had lost Angelo Tucci's men.
"If what I'm seeing is real and this photo you took was taken a couple days ago, then your sister ran over a dead man with her car."
"She hit him not ran over." Aiden said irritably before what the Deadsec member said caught up with him. He handed the barista cash and accepted the warm drink. "What do you mean by dead man?"
"I mean that whoever saved your sister—this 'Desmond Miles'—is listed as deceased." Clara explained. "Desmond Miles: Born March 13th, 1987. Died December 21st, 2012."
"He looked pretty alive to me."
"I don't make the info, Aiden. I just find it." Over the rain, Aiden heard the Canadian make a confused noise.
"Something wrong?"
"Yes. His file is locked. Very professionally, too."
"But can you crack it?"
Clara hummed ambiguously. "I'll see what I can do."
Aiden murmured a quick, "Thanks" before he hung up and sighed deeply.
There was a dead man in his sister's house, he had zero information on said dead man other than a name and that he worked for Lucky fucking Quinn and due to unfortunate circumstances, he also had to go and get himself arrested to get into Chicago lock-up.
Today was just his day.
'Fan-fucking-tastic.'
A/N: I still don't even know what I'm doing. I'm eager as hell for that new DLC though and desperately hoping for any word on a possible New Game+ mode. I love two specific chapters of the campaign and if that was a thing, I'd be all over that. Please Ubisoft, please.
Thank you all for reading! Do tell me what you think!
nikaris