It was not a good day to be Jacob Frye. It had started off brilliantly, successfully bringing down a Templar leader in Southwark. Henry Green had been delighted to hear that another Templar had been brought down, and Jacob had decided to celebrate by taking a few select Rooks, and picking a fight with a group of Blighters. That… may not have been the best idea. Running through the streets of London, as best he could anyway with a knife in his leg, trying to get away from the Blighter pricks that had put the knife there in the first place, was proving difficult.
The sound of bullets was deafening, especially as one zipped past his ear. A horse neighed loudly, and for one second, Jacob hoped the horse hadn't been injured. Another bullet slicing past him, he ducked down an alleyway.
A dead-end alleyway.
"We've got 'im boys!" shouted a particularly big brute of a man. Thick-muscled, and thick headed too. "I won't be able to hold out much longer" Jacob thought, searching for some miracle exit to the alleyway.
"They went down there!" Jacob could just about make out the sound of running, and could see the familiar green and yellow, despite the colours seeming to appear as if through water. Miles and miles of water. Jacob shook his head, trying to clear his vision. "Ol' Starrick will reward us greatly for yer head" grinned one of the men, flipping a knife around in his hand. All the men seemed sickeningly happy that they had finally cornered Jacob Frye. "Just like the Blighters to gang up on a wounded man" thought Jacob. All he had to do was hold them off for just a little while longer. Which would be easy, if they didn't make a move. Like a pack of wolves, the Blighters started to surround Jacob, each toying with their weapons, as if desperate to be the first to spill his blood. Jacob dropped into a defensive stance, a half-crouch, the best he could do with a blade in his leg. The man with the knife narrowed his eyes – Jacob's defensive move had made everything a lot more serious. Through the gap that was closing ever so slowly in front of him, Jacob could just make out blurred green shapes battling against larger, red shapes. Weighing up his options, the man with the knife lunged. Dodging the knife, Jacob went to break the man's arm, while whirling around to sink his hidden blade into the neck of the brute. It would have been a perfect move. If his leg had not chosen that exact moment to give out on him.
"He's down, boys! Get 'im!" Closing his eyes, Jacob prepared himself for the sweet kiss of steel against his skin. Instead he was greeted by a loud pop, and an even louder squeal. Opening his eyes, Jacob could make out a lone figure, standing in the circle of Blighters, one of whom was holding his arm at a particularly strange angle. One of the Blighters lashed out at the figure from behind. "Behind you" Jacob gasped pathetically, causing none of them to even turn their heads in his direction. The Blighters had forgotten about him entirely. This stranger had broken the arm of their favourite brute. In their minds, this hooded figure needed to pay.
But this was proving difficult for them. As the man lunged at the stranger from behind, the figure ducked down, flowing underneath the blade of the blighter's knife with a grace Jacob had not seen before. The figure grabbed the top of the man's arm, and swung behind him. Keeping hold of the arm, the stranger dug his knee into the man's back while pushing forward, creating another loud popping and squeal, before kicking the man into the brute with significant force. They both crumpled into the wall, and did not move again. "Two down, three more to go" thought Jacob, entranced by the impressive display. He had not seen fighting quite like it. The flowing movements began to merge into one another, as the figure continued to fight the Blighters. The scene in front of him suddenly plunged into complete darkness, and the sounds of men screaming became a rushing sound deep in his ears.
"Are you okay? Hello? Sir? Are you okay? Can you hear me? Oh, please don't be dead, please don't be dead…" The rushing sound died, and became a voice. A very panicked voice. Feeling a pressure on his injured leg, he darted upright, wary of another attack. His eyes began to swim again, and his head burst. Crying out in pain, he sank back to the floor, and closed his eyes again. "Oh thank God you're alive! Please, if you're going to sit up, do it slowly. I really would rather you didn't pass out again." Jacob opened his eyes again, slowly. The sky was darker than he remembered. And it was colder too. Much colder. Remembering the words of his rescuer, Jacob sat up, slowly, and looked at his leg. The figure was crouched over it, tying something around the blade to keep it in place. "I need to get you somewhere clean, and safe, before we try to remove this blade." The figure muttered. "Do you think you can walk?" Nodding, Jacob allowed the figure to help him up, and support him. The figure began to help him walk towards the entrance of the alleyway.
"Mr Frye, Sir, Mr Frye! What 'appened?" Ah, his Rooks had finally arrived. Limping, he pushed himself away from the figure, and towards the few Rooks that had survived the encounter. "I think my men have got this from here. Thanks for jumping in back there, although I definitely had it all under control." The figure shook its head, but helped him towards the Rooks. Gently lifting his arm and placing it around the shoulder of one of the Rooks, the figure cocked his head, studying him for a second, before nodding and turning away. The Rooks began to lead him to a carriage, and as he climbed into it, he looked back towards the alleyway, and the figure. The figure had melted into the building behind. A person more in touch with his senses would have noticed small disturbances in the shadows of the roof, marking out the path of the figure over the rooftops. Jacob, however, saw nothing but empty shadows.
As the carriage began to move, Jacob thought back to the fight he had seen before passing out. Anything to take his mind off the constant pain shooting up his leg every time the carriage bumped over the cobbles. Jacob thought of the figure, and how he had fought. Jacob's sister was just like him, brutal and unforgiving, and although he had never seen Henry Green fight, the man was an Assassin. Killing was second nature to all of them. But although Jacob had seen a hidden blade, the figure had not used it. And when he had awakened, the men had disappeared, as if they had been too scared to stay, which all pointed to one thing: The figure had not taken the life of any of the Blighters. It was strange. The way the figure moved, the way he dressed, the hidden blade. It had all pointed to an Assassin. The deep hood hiding the face, the dark, heavy clothes designed to become shadows at a moment's notice. The confident, flowing grace when he had fought the Blighters. Confusion was slowly replaced by tiredness, as the soft rocking of the carriage lulled him into a fitful, pained sleep.