Hey readers. This is my first fan fiction story that I'm posting, but I hope everyone enjoys it. Anything to say about it? PM me with any questions or comments.
Follow the story of Aaron Masterson, cousin to Desmond Miles, as he starts to fight the Templars in New York City, and form his own brotherhood. This is a MODERN DAY story
Chapter 1: A New Beginning
The city lights illuminate the rooftops around me. My hood drapes over my eyes slightly blocking my vision. The cold night air forces the hairs to stiffen on my neck. the blank face of the sky reflects my expression as I stare at the abyssal gap before me. I lean forward and push-off hard with my right foot, springing towards the raised ledge of the rooftop. My right foot lands on the raised part of the rooftop ledge, and I push-off hard. My body fully extended as i soar through the air to the rooftop a few feet shorter than the previous one. As my body flies through the nipping winter air of New York City, I can only think of one thing.
"Who am I?"
Because I am not Aaron Masterson. I feel as though there are many more people living inside me. I feel like Altair lbn-La'Ahad, I am Ezio Auditore da Firenze, I can feel Edward, and Connor Kenway in my mind.
I roll my body forward and my back makes contact with the garbage filled dumpster below. The dumpster rattles by my weight. The noise echoes through the poorly lit alley.
A mans startled voice rings out from under a single light illuminating a door way, about half way down the alley. His feet press against snow causing it to make a noise with each step. The footsteps get closer, and a shadow moves on the wall in front of me. The mans footsteps slow down. I can feel his nerves getting the better of him. Another light flickers on. This one comes front the barrel of the shadow that resembles a sub-machine gun. I quietly position myself properly. The light spins around the corner and blinds me momentarily but my hand flies instinctively towards it. My right hand makes contact with the barrel shoving it to the left, while my left hand immediately flings towards the young mans neck. The spring loaded blade jolts from the gap in-between my wrist and sleeve, then enters the boys adam's apple and protrudes through the other side. The blade severs the spinal cord, cutting off the nerves to his finger….that holds the trigger. The boy is slung into the dumpster, and his MP5 fully automatic sub-machine gun, kicked under the dumpster sloppily.
The snow falls slowly as I approach the brightly lit doorway. I push back the side of my robes, and pull out my favorite weapon. A silenced 45. caliber M1911 pistol. One bullet puts out the light, and hides me in the shadows from any possible cameras. I turn and pull on the door knob….locked. On one knee I reach behind my robes to the back of my belt and pull out my lock pick. Simply enough, and with a little pressure the lock pops, and opens. The door slowly creeks open and I slip inside, making sure i am not seen.
The warehouse seems empty, but voices can be heard bouncing off the walls. Only a few rows of lights are on for a few men who remain in the building. I sprint forward and begin to clamber my way up a near by tower of shelving, full of wooden crates, and cardboard boxes. I make it to the top unseen. My shoulders begin to ache as I crouch on the top of the shelving. More voices. Creeping along the top shelf allows for maximum view, and minimum exposure. I lay down and crawl to the edge of the shelf. Three men stand around a table with one of the large wooden boxes on it. The top already opened and is leaning against the table. Guns scatter the box, M9 pistols, various sub-machine guns, and assault rifles. The men are all marked with a red, iron cross tattoo on the top of their right hand.
"Now that we've got the shipment taken care of, it is time to get to the more important business." A tall, bulky, bald man says as he clicks the loaded clip into an assault rifle. Another man uses a dolly to wheel another wooden box to the men, but this one remains upright. The man who spoke earlier walks to the back of the box. He raises his foot and kicks hard, snapping the boards, and pushing the blood covered victim out of the nailed down lid.
A woman covered in blood lays beaten on the concrete floor in front of the men. Two of the trio laugh hysterically as the woman cringes after the impact. Her white robes spattered with what looks like her own blood. My hand automatically shoots to my hip, grabbing the grip of my M1911.
"This little assassin SLUT decided to snoop around Angel's house last night. And he wants us to take care of her."
The dark-haired woman's assassins crest is tattooed on the side of her neck.
I stand up and leap forward grabbing hold of one of the over head rafters and crouch with my hands between my feet, holding on to the lip of the rafter.
"Now….." The larger of the three grunts as her pulls the woman up to his face by the front of her under shirt. "Where is the assassins safe house?"
The woman opens her eyes just enough to recognize the face of the man. Then spits blood into it face. The man grunts with rage and spins around slamming her into the open crate in the table.
I reach behind me for the rope dart which is slung over my back like a bandolier.
"Getting real sick of your shit!" The brute yells out as he cocks the bolt back on his G36C assault rifle. I pull my right arm back, dart in hand. My arm goes forward like throwing a baseball as a kid. The dart flies and pierces the goliath's right shoulder. I pull hard with both hands. The unexpected force spins the beast around. Simultaneously I reach for my now holstered pistol. One shot into his left elbow causes him to drop the rifle. The other two raise their weapons and begin to fire into the shadows around me. Another round pierces his right knee immobilizing him. I dive forward and grab onto another rafter. Now swinging through the space of the warehouse, the scattered gunfire focuses on my location. I drop towards one of the men. His pistol fire becomes more and more inaccurate as I get closer. Like the robes that cover me, his fear consumes him. With one swift motion the hidden blade on my left wrist enters the mans chest. I watch his eyes as the pupils dilate, and the life begins to leave him. The other man reacts faster than expected. His barrel now pointed at me as I try to leap away. The man's face turns blank as he falls to the side. The gun in his hands smack the ground and bounces like a coin. The woman is now sitting up on the table. Her arm fully extended and a knife sheath on her ankle is showing, and empty. The woman pants hard for a moment, then falls forward in a fainting motion. I dash forward in enough time to catch her before she comes off the table completely.
