A/N: I'm back with the second chapter, yay? I meant to update sooner, but I went to a medieval fair further in the south, and had no access to Internet. Had loads of fun, though ;)



Chapter 2

Malfunctions

I felt hot.

It was not the vague awareness of the sensation that I was used to in the Animus. This warmth was the kind that crawled beneath my sweater, coated my skin with a thin film of perspiration and made my head pound painfully. In fact, my head felt like it had been run over by a dozen of frenzied elephants. Blood throbbed in my ears, filling them with a quiet buzzing sound. Suddenly I was very aware of each limb I possessed, and my senses felt heightened, which was probably some withdrawal effect caused by the Animus.

To my disappointment, I could still hear the bells, only more quietly. Must've been a glitch, I thought slightly groggily, recalling the chaos in the Animus that felt like it had happened just a minute ago. Do I dare to open my eyes?

Very carefully I cracked my eyelids open, and immediately regretted it as my retinas were assaulted by blinding sunlight that induced another pang of pain behind my eyes. It was like emerging from a dark room to outdoors. I raised my left hand to shield myself from the light and blinked blearily. My back protested and I let out a small groan as I rolled over to my right side and came face to face with a cat.

A cat?

Not caring the slightest of the severe creaking of my joints I was on my feet before I had the chance to regret it for the sake of my poor head. The offended cat mewed, lifted its tail and zipped out of the narrow alley where it had found me.

"Mother of God", I mumbled hoarsely as my gaze followed the cat until it disappeared into a crowd. I resisted the urge to gape like an idiot as my surroundings became very clear to me.

This was not the Animus.

Awe and curiosity taking the best of me I took a couple of wobbly steps to the mouth of the small alley. I pinched myself through the sleeve of my white Abstergo sweater. I felt it. I pinched harder. It hurt. It hurt for real.

This definitely was not the Animus.

I took in the narrow streets, the peculariarly dressed people that time to time gave me an odd look when they passed by, the waving and yelling merchants, the buzz of voices talking over each other, the tan buildings and the heat that was radiating off each wall around me. And above everything, a clear azure sky where midday sun bore down on the bustling city.

A perfect copy of the Jerusalem I had seen just moments before my collapsing.

I lifted my left hand and placed it on the building's wall next to me, relishing the fact that now I actually could control my own movements – I no longer felt like a puppet. The texture of the wall was rough and warm to touch. It wasn't rough in the way I'd known it to be so during the times I'd watched him scale those very walls in the Animus. I withdrew my hand and noticed my fingertips were covered in dust. I brought my hand under my nose. It smelled like dust, too.

Everything was all too real to be a glitch.

Then what was it?

The alternative was a theory that was strangely exhilarating, but also so utterly preposterous that I couldn't quite accept it myself. My mind racing I looked down at my hands, turning my palms upwards. They were the same familiar hands I recognized as mine, only smeared with sand-colored dust from lying on the ground.

This is really happening.

I let my hands drop and absently brushed them against my dark gray jeans, allowing myself a good look around the packed street. I almost jumped at the realization that a few men and women were watching me from the shade of a merchant's stand with their brows furrowed, obviously suspecting that I was a complete lunatic.

Flashing them a little smile I forced myself to step out into the flow of people, at the same time tugging my hood up. Maybe for now if was for the best that no one saw my face. By loitering around alleys and looking like I just escaped from an insane asylum I was sure to drag attention to myself.

The spectrum of scents and colors of everything was dizzying. It was clear I had ended up in some kind of a market district – the street was full of merchants selling various types of cooked and uncooked food, meat and fruit. Women in long robes gathered to bargain for fabrics and cloths. Their chatter blended into the toll of the bells that no one really seemed to mind or register in any way. I constantly had to will my muscles to relax and my ears not to pay attention. Otherwise the headache would only get worse. In my mind I thanked Abstergo for granting my sweater a hood – it took the edge off of the heat and the blinding sunlight. Cold comfort, but at least it was something.

The main street went straight into one direction, and I couldn't see the other end with all the people blocking my view. After a short while of painfully slowly crawling forward with the crowd I figured I shold stop and ask some questions if I were to ever get out of this... unique situation of mine.

As my target I chose a man who sat in the middle of a mountain of baskets further down the street – a basket weaver. He appeared to have no customers at all, which was probably the main reason for the blank, bored look on his face. I waded through the crowd, gently pushing the people from my way and ignoring the curious looks I received because of it.

Seeing my shadow falling over his wares he lifted his chin, a smile tugging at his mouth that was missing a few teeth. "Uh", I began, suddenly at loss of words. I cleared my throat and leaned closer to him. "Excuse me, but could you tell me what city this is?"

Once I got the words out of my mouth, I realized that the man might actually not understand English. At least judging by the frown he wore on his bronze colored face he was perplexed by my question. "You're in Jerusalem", he then said, and I found his words completely comprehendable, except for the slight lisp caused by his missing teeth. Had he even used English? At first I only managed to stare at the merchant in surprise. Then I understood he expected me to say something when I registered the unease in his expression.

Jerusalem. I'd been right after all. I wasn't sure just yet if that was a good thing.

Again I cleared my parched throat. "And... what year is it?"

He appeared to understand me this time as well. "1191 AD", he replied, his expression changing from confusion to irritation. "Are you going to buy something?"

My head felt empty.

The constant cacophony of the city's sounds subsided into a vague distant noise in my ears. In some level of consciousness I knew I should have been asking essential questions like "how did this happen?", "is this just another memory?" and "how am I going to get back?". Even "am I dead?". But somehow all the questions were too vast for my human brain to process.

Lucy hadn't wanted to let me into the Animus at all. It'll be okay, she'd said. What could have gone wrong?

It took me a moment to realize I was staring again. I bowed my head, taken aback. "No", I replied numbly after a pregnant pause. "Thank you."

The basket weaver huffed and waved his hand dismissively at me, apparently deciding I wasn't worth more of his time if I wasn't going to make him any richer. Wordlessly I turned, shrinking back into the mass of people, not particularly caring where I might end up.

Or, at least that was what I would have done, if just then a white blur of something hadn't rammed into me. Hard.

My headache flared. The surrounding world came back to me in a flurry of colors, sounds and chaos – women screaming, wood and clay breaking, men shouting and the alarm bells tolling. Earth and sky switched places and intense pain erupted from my left arm that I unwisely chose to use to cushion my fall. I rolled onto my back, hitting my head on the paved ground and hearing something heavy fall down next to me with a quiet grunt.

An unintentional groan escaped my lips as I attempted to clamber onto my feet as quickly as possible. Everything was spinning. My hand flew to my head – my hood had fallen down in the collision. I brought my fingers down in front of my eyes, finding them covered in blood.

The white something on the edge of my swimming vision stood up, legs spread firmly and arms braced for attack, ready to sprint. So familiar...

I focused my gaze on him. Beneath the shadow of his hood I saw his stare was trained on me as well.

Two alert eyes watching me silently.

I'd never seen his face. Still, the resemblance was there. And as unlikely it seemed... the white attire was unmistakeable. I opened my mouth, my tongue wrapping clumsily around the name as I uttered it aloud.

"Altaïr?"

His whole frame tensed.

"ASSASSIN!"

My head turned so fast that it caused another wave of dizziness wash over me. The crowd had parted, revealing six armored men in the far end of the street.

I stood rooted on the spot, unwanted flashbacks of my hours in the Animus flickering through my memory. Guards on the left, guards on the right – blade out, stab the neck, run, run-

Their armor or the fearsome sabres that glinted deadly cold in the sun were not the things that caused my heart to jump into my throat. It was the aura of danger around them that was only reflected on their faces that were contorted into sneers of anger and cruelty. I saw their eyes darting between me and the assassin next to me, their swords rising into ready positions.

Fear is one of the most natural of human reactions. I realized these men could kill me, and would do so gladly. That was probably the decisive fact that prompted my next action.

I turned and ran.

Angry shouts trailed me as I bolted down the street with speed I didn't think I was even capable of. The horrified citizens stayed out of my way, which was very fortunate, because I doubted I could as easily walk away from another head-on collision with someone.

Despite my debilitating fear, the adrenaline rushing in my veins and my heart threatening to hammer a hole through my ribcage kept me going even when one of the guards yelled again.

"Assassins! Don't let them get away!"

No, I'm not – no – not anymore-

Warm air beat my burning face as I flew through the narrow sreets. I didn't dare to stop and look if anyone was following me, I just kept running. My breath came in short, laborious gasps as I sprinted, took a sharp turn to the left and then to the right. The maze of streets and alleys seemed neverending, every tan wall looked the same.

It was one thing to safely lay in the Animus and watch Altaïr do his job. Actually being in the middle of it all was another.

One more turn. I couldn't even hear the alarm anymore – only the throbbing of my own blood. I thought that if I didn't stop soon to catch my breath, my lungs would explode.

There.

I blindly ducked into a tiny little alley sandwiched between two tall buildings that provided not only protection from curious eyes but also soothing shade. I had no idea if anyone had seen me and if they would come looking for me here, but at the moment I was more concerned about drawing some oxygen into my lungs. My feet felt like lead and I half collapsed against the building's wall, my chest heaving and my head aching horribly from all the blows I'd received, exhaustion and dehydration.

Not long after I'd made it into the alley I heard heavy running footsteps that passed my hiding spot uncomfortably closely. Trying to control my erratic breathing, I strained my ears as the steps faltered and almost stopped.

"Keep going, find him! He can't run for long!" Then they proceeded, moving further until I could no longer hear them.

I released a relieved breath and leaned my back against the wall, finally allowing my muscles to relax. I gently touched my temple, feeling the warm and sticky blood that had seeped from the wound in my scalp. My hand suffered from serious adrenaline withdrawal as I wiped sweat off my brow.

"Jesus, Doc", I rasped to myself. "I'm not cut out for this kind of thing."

I didn't think Doctor Vidic could hear me. I didn't know if the Animus was operating at all. Something had gone terribly wrong – but me being here was proof of the fact that the Animus had something to do with what had happened. If they could fix it, they could bring me back.

I just hoped they'd manage to do it before something else happened.

Almost exactly at the second I'd finished the thought, something at the edge of my vision caught my attention. A shape moving against the clear blue sky, almost right above me.

My heart skipped a beat.

Speak of the devil.

My eyes darted to the other end of the alley, calculating my chances. If I could make it into the open... Don't kill me.

As if reading my mind, before I could finish planning my glorious escape, the figure leaped.

That's fast, I realized dumbstruck as he landed softly and pounced forward with cat-like grace. Of course I'd known it, but seeing it this way was different. Almost inhuman. No wonder he had no trouble losing the guards.

I had only managed to slightly raise my hands palms upward to indicate my intentions were peaceful when I was forcefully thrown backwards into the wall. Dust rained on me. The weight of his right hand slammed down onto my left arm, pinning it to the wall as well.

Oh yes, how silly of me. Hit first, then interrogate. I should've known by now. I hissed at the stabbing pain that again went through the arm. It didn't feel like it was broken, so I must have sprained it when I fell. I was going to be bruised all over before the end of the day – if I lived long enough to see it.

I'd done enough "tagging along" to expect the metallic sound of the hidden blade extending, but the feeling of the little piece of metal pressing on my bare neck still made my insides turn to ice. I knew the Creed forbade him from killing innocents, but there was no telling how "innocent" he'd eventually deem me.

"I'm a friend, Altaïr", I slipped quickly, my voice hoarse but admirably calm considering how much more pressure the assassin added on his blade when the name left my lips. "I mean you no harm." Metal poked against my Adam's apple at every word. Don't kill me.

His left hand that was missing the ring finger was hovering near my jaw, perfectly still. He was so close that I could hear him breathing heavily through his nose. A sweatdrop glistened on his brow, beneath which a pair of two dark brown eyes nailed me with a vigilant glare.

His mouth was a tight line under the long straight nose. It was more than just minor resemblance. Even the scar is there. It was almost like looking into a mirror.

And though shrouded in the shadow of his white hood, judging by what I saw of his expression as he scanned my features, he'd noticed the same.

He is real.

The jaw beneath the rough five o'clock shadow clenched.

"Explain", Altaïr said.