Okay, so I'm a bit skeptic with this story but I've REALLY enjoyed writing it. The constant hand cramps that I have on a daily basis (since this was hand written then typed) is proof of that. 6 chapters, probably around 100 pages o far…this is a great success for me! ^^; *has never written more than a 3 chapter story*

But, anyways, I digress. Obviously, even though it's AU (Alternate Universe, for those who don't know), it loosely follows the Assassin's Creed plotline. ^^; I decided not to go into great detail with the 8 targets 'cause then the story would get too long and I'd abandon it. ^^;

Anyways, it's rated M for a reason people. That means yummy Yaoi, boyXboy, slash, whatever you want to call it.

Oh…and did I mention that I have a soft spot for Kadar and his adorable innocence?? w

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed © Ubisoft

Chapter 1

"You're just mad because you know I'm right," came an arrogant voice in the quite halls of the community college.

"Right? HA! That's something to laugh about." the second voice sounded bitter and scornful, but it was beginning to sound forced.

"C'mon, Mal. Don't be like that," the first voice spoke again. It was still laced with arrogance but held a soothing undertone. "Let's just finish this up, Malik. Then we can go home."

"Why, Altaïr! I'm impressed. You're being productive," Malik replied. He lent against the wall and watched his friend continue to work.

Altaïr rolled his grey eyes in annoyance but continued with his work silently. He knew Malik was just trying to anger him again, and he wouldn't follow it. He also knew that Malik wasn't upset with him any more, but the man was so stubborn that he was trying to find ways to make himself angry again! He wasn't about to grant the brunette his wish since he was busy sweeping the floors of the college halls as punishment for getting into a fight on school grounds. Malik was there because he was the one Altaïr fought with, but of course he wasn't going to pull his own weight. He supposed he deserved the work, since it was his fault, but it didn't mean that he enjoyed it.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Altaïr finished sweeping with little to no help from his friend. The two left the building, returning to the dorms where they lived.

~.~

Their dorm was more like a small, one story house. It was nice and it fit Altaïr, Malik, and Malik's brother Kadar easily. Unfortunately, no matter how nice their dorm house was, the unholy smell that lingered in it when they returned home was not something they enjoyed. A small amount of smoke clouded around the kitchen's ceiling, crawling with its gassy arms towards the door. There, by the stove, stood a blue eyed boy as he tried with all his might to save his food.

Altaïr pushed past the boy, Kadar, and examined the food on the stove. Sure enough, Kadar had managed to fail at cooking another dish. That time it was spaghetti sauce from a jar that Kadar burnt into a hard, black crisp.

"I'm sorry, Altaïr," Kadar apologized when the elder man turned to him.

"We told you not to cook for a reason, Kadar," Altaïr scolded, but not too harshly. If he had said anything to upset Kadar, or something that Malik deemed too harsh, Altaïr would be pinned to the floor and at the receiving a beating.

"What were you trying to make?" Malik asked.

"I wanted to make you spaghetti, but I messed even that up!" Kadar threw his hands into the air in frustration.

Malik sighed and made his way over to the stove, trying to squeeze past Altaïr and his brother in their small cooking space. He lifted the lid to the pot that was also on the stove and examined its contents. "The noodles are just fine! We'll just make more meat sauce," Malik decided.

"We're all out of meat," Altaïr called from where he stood by the fridge.

"What's fine. We'll just use the sauce."

Altaïr raised an eyebrow at him. "We're out of jars of sauce as well."

"Then we'll make it from scratch!"

"We don't have any tomato paste."

Malik was beginning to become frustrated. "Then we'll use ketchup!"

"Wha-? That's disgusting!"

"Then why don't you think of something, Altaïr!"

The two went on bickering and Kadar sat on the counter, watching. A knowing smile graced his features and his blue eyes sparkled with joy. Never was his brother so alive than when he argued with Altaïr. Kadar was beginning to understand why, even if his brother still had no idea.

~.~

Kadar and Malik sat on the couch, watching TV and talking amongst themselves. Altaïr watched them from around the corner, waiting for the right time to move. Then, shortly after, he snuck out as quiet as a mouse and shut the door silently behind him.

"Altaïr?" Malik called out after he heard the barely audible click of the door latch. After he was graced with silence as a reply, he shook his head as he turned back around to face the TV.

Kadar smiled brightly and tried to hide it with his hand, but Malik noticed. He shot his baby brother a questioning look. "What?' Malik asked.

"Nothing!" Kadar waved off the question as he choked back a laugh.

"Tell me." Malik demanded with narrowed eyes.

Knowing he had no choice and he'd have to explain eventually (because his brother was as stubborn as a mule and would never stop asking until he got an answer), so he caved. "Do you have some sixth sense that tells you whenever Altaïr is around?"

"Of course not! That's the most ridiculous thin I've ever heard! I heard the door shut, is all," Malik explained. He could feel his cheeks heat up slightly.

"Uh-huh," Kadar replied, unbelieving of his brother's explanation. "I never heard the door shut. Didn't know he actually left until you called out his name. I wonder why that is…" Kadar trailed off thoughtfully as he popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

Malik shot an embarrassed glare at his brother, before turning his attention back to the TV. Why do I always notice the things that Altaïr does? He asked himself as he sulked on the couch. Little did he know, his baby brother knew exactly why.

~.~

The deafening sound of metal clashing with metal rang though the still, humid, summer air of the empty warehouse. The shuffling of feet, followed by the sharp crack of broken bone followed next, the sounds echoing off the empty concrete walls. The body fell to the ground in a lifeless heap and the victor turned to his master expectantly.

"Very good. You're improving every day, Altaïr," the master spoke into the silence.

Altaïr bowed to the man. "Thank you, Mast Al Mualim."

The master, Al Mualim, was past the prime of his life. His face sagged in areas, wrinckles noticeable in others, and his stringy, long beard was grey from old age- or stress. His good eye, a dull grey-blue, shown with a fire of his younger days, while his blind eye, grey and empty, just followed around objects in the darkness.

"You are advancing in ranks. Soon, you will be a master assassin!" he grinned at the young, grey-eyed man who was kneeling before him.

"Yes, Master," he replied obediently.

Al Mualim walked over to his apprentice and placed two calloused hands on his broad shoulders. "Come," he said. "Go home and rest. Tomorrow night is you initiation, so you must be prepared."

Altaïr nodded and began to head home. He was a skilled fighter - one of the best among his master's men - and yet, even the best of the best still get injuries. He hoped Malik and Kadar had gone to bed already, but his luck was never that good. AS he always was, Malik was waiting at the door with a first aid kit in hand.

"Mal-" Altaïr began, but was cut off when Malik pulled him to the table in the kitchen.

Malik sat his friend down and began to examine his wounds. Only a few bruises and scrapes here and there, but most were bleeding. He watched his friend who harbored a harsh expression but touched him with such gentle and caring hands.

"It's not as bad as last time," Malik mumbled with sad eyes, "but you'll be sore for a few days."

Altaïr recalled the last injury. He had gotten slashed across his chest by a sword and Malik had to drag him to the hospital to get stitches. It wasn't too bad (of course Malik used the convenient pool of blood around him to say his injury was very serious), but it had really bother Malik to see his friend so badly injured. "Malik…" Altair call out softly. The brown eyed man ignored him and continued on with his rant.

"Really, it's amazing the dorm admin hasn't kicked us out yet! All the crap you get yourself into.."

"Malik," Altaïr said a bit more firmly.

"He must've made some sort of agreement with you. Keep the trouble away and you can stay? It would make sense-"

Malik was cut off as two strong arms wrapped around him and pulled his body foreword. Altaïr cradled Malik against his chest while mumbling words of apology. Malik returned the gesture only when he allowed himself to acknowledge how worried for his grey-eyed friend he really was.

"I'm sorry make you worry," Altaïr whispered as he gave Malik another squeeze.

Malik sighed and rested his forehead against Altaïr's shoulder. "Just try not to get hurt from no on, okay?" Malik pleaded.

He felt the younger man nod his head in agreement. "I promise that I'll try."

Malik pulled away and began to pack up the kit. "You should get some rest."

And Altaïr agreed with his worried friend. He was very tired. He stood up and began to head towards his room, but paused. "Are you coming?" he asked when he noticed Malik wasn't following.

"I will in a minute," Malik replied.

When he heard the door to Altaïr's room close, he collapsed in the chair and cradled his head in his hands. His heart clenched out of worry for his friend. How long would it be until Altaïr returned with another injury like his last? Bloodied and on the verge of bleeding out. How long before he didn't return at all? The memory of Altaïr's injuring poked thought to his subconscious, making him feel even worse…

Altaïr wouldn't tell him what happened no matter how much Malik had begged and pleaded. Eh found his friend collapsed in the kitchen, laying in a pool of his own blood. He remember how Altaïr's grey sweatshirt soaked up the red liquid, and how shallow his breathing was. He remembered how unfocused his friend's beautiful slate eyes looked as he stared off into space…

Malik stood up suddenly, snapping his mind back to reality. His hands shook with fear for his friend's life, and he had to stop and think about what Altaïr's death would do o him. He didn't know how he'd react, but he did know that his death would be just as devastating - maybe even more so - as the death of his parents so many years ago.

Malik sighed, his breath uneven, and headed to his room. He had to do something before it was too late…

~.~

"Are you ready for this mission? It will decide your future in life," Al Mualim warned.

"What what would happen if I were to fail?" Altaïr asked out of curiosity.

"If you fail, you life would not change. You would have no life. If you fail, that means you are dead."

"Then, this is suicide mission?" that fact slightly startled Altaïr.

"Of course. Only the best of the best are allowed among our ranks. But, do not worry, my son. I have total confidence in your abilities."

Altaïr nodded to his master. He was worried about what Malik would say when he would return home, so he was even more intent on not getting injured. He wasn't even going to consider dying. Not being able to return home to Malik and Kadar...that was just unacceptable. But, it had been weeks since his last meeting (though Al Mualim said it would only be a day) and this was his initiation mission. He had to put aside such feelings so he could concentrate on what really mattered: the mission.

"Am I to go alone?" he asked. That simple fact would affect his outcome greatly.

Al Mualim shook his head. "No, I'll be sending too novice informers with you. They joined recently and are close to your level in combat skills, so I thought they should take the initiation meeting with you. But, they are your backup, Altaïr. Do not abuse their presence there."

"Yes, master," Altaïr replied, obedient as always.

"Would you like to meet the now, or later?" the master asked.

"Later."

"Then go and prepare. Safety and Peace, Altaïr."

"And to you, as well, Master."

~.~

Altaïr had prepared as Al Mualim had instructed him to. He polished his hidden blade, cleaned his gun and checked to see how his supply on ammo was. He hated that thing. The exhilaration he got from stabbing his enemy, feeling their life drain out of them through the metal that ran along his arm, and feeling the flesh crumble beneath his superior strength…that was not something he got from aiming and firing a bullet. But, he understood that in his day and age, a gun was a necessary weapon. He knew that you were never to bring a sword to a gun fight.

Altaïr snapped on his weapons, zipped up his grey sweatshirt that was the novice assassin's uniform, and pulled the hood up so I covered his face in shadows.

It took his ten minutes for him to walk to the meeting place. When he got there, two men clad in brown sweatshirts - the color of a novice informer - looked over at him with hood covered faces. The small, dark warehouse had nothing but a dim lamp hanging from the ceiling, so he couldn't see their features.

"Were you debriefed on the mission?" Altaïr asked as he came to a stop before him.

The tallest man - taller than Altaïr by two inches - nodded and led him over to a table. "This is a two part mission. He first part is our initiation mission and we will be given command over the second part if we succeed.

"We're heading straight into Templar territory tonight. They have a very important item that Mast Al Mualim wants us to retrieve, so we are to go around and take out the night watchmen. The item is currently being shipped to our target building and will arrive in a matter of days. That's not enough time for the Templars to regroup and get new watchmen. And, even if they do, they'll be unskilled and nothing more than novices."

"Do you know what this item is? Or why it's so important?"

The shorter one shook their head. "No. The master would not give us, or anyone else, any information." Altaïr noted that the second novice was female.

"All we know is that it's an important part of Al Mualim's plans," the man explained. "but, we do know that it's so important that the simple task of taking out guards is a possible suicide mission."

Altaïr nodded, his mood grim.. It seemed as though he was getting himself into something that he may not be able to handle. Once again, he thought of Malik and he was forced to ignore the emotion for the sake of the mission's success. "Let's go."

OMG YAY~! I'm finally done~! Please critique and give your opinions!

Don't think of my feelings people! Be as harsh as possible! The guilt will make me improve~. w *has tried this tactic before and has succeeded*

Btw, sorry for any grammar issues. I didn't do a very thorough job of editing it because I was in a hurry to upload the chapter. That way, I could see everyone's reactions before I decided to continue.

And, sorry for the lack of yaoi in this chapter. Next chapter has some nice shonen-ai(kissy stuffs) for ya! ;D or maybe it's chapter 3...*can't remember. Can't keep track of the 6 chapters already written*