New York: 1963, Civil Rights Movement
it was a stormy, cloudy night for New York. All the citizens of the fair city however had treated it like a normal afternoon. They weren't worried about a thing, how naive they were.
In a building, as big as a skyscraper, held the masked demons of the city. The Templars. Their leader, Derrick Stark, high on his throne like table, at his desk, sitting in a devilish manner. His elbows on the table and his fingers tangled together, with his head facing down. He was in true distress, a clear signs to one of his lessers, to keep the conversation to a minimum, as well as the negative thought.
"Sir..." a Templar spoke, peering his head out from the cracked door, the voice of terror in his voice. "I have intel with new uprising..."
"Well, on with it." Derrick stated, lifting his head to face his pawn. There was no answer from the Templar, until he saw his leader get up and slam his fist into the table. "Spit it out, then!"
"There is an assassin among them!" he squealed out, flinching at his boss and backing away a bit. "How many we aren't sure, but...we may need to remain vigilant. God only knows what he could possibly do..."
He only heard a chuckle from the Templar leader, watching him get up and look out the window, raising his hand, signaling the soldier to come closer. "Tell me, what do you see?"
The lesser hesitated to ask, looking back and forth at Derrick and the view of the city.
"I see a city, on the brink of destruction." Stark stated, wrapping his arm around the soldier's shoulder, shaking him lightly and grinning. "And we, are her salvation. It is up to us to save this world, but we need to keep going."
"But the Assass-" he was halted by a finger to the lip.
"Sh sh shh..." Derrick began. "The Assassin is nothing to us. They are flies. A joke..." he pushed the soldier away, walking back to his desk. "Keep searching for it. A kill anyone in your way."
"Y-yes sir.." he ran to the door, pulling and opening it, stammering out.
Derrick turned his chair, looking out the window to the city view, enraged by this newfound information. "You really want to play this game, assassin? Very well..."
There, the hooded man stood, staring down the Templar leader, calmly. Two more hooded men had walked to him, observing.
"Shall we strike now?" one spoke, turning his head to the one in front.
"No, not yet." the first, seemingly British Assassin replied, looking at his allies. "What would be the point in ending the game so early?"
