CHAPTER 2: The Few

One arm goes over my right shoulder, and my left hand fits on her left side conveniently. The dark haired girl hangs motionless with my support. Her eyes still closed, dried blood covering her upper lip. I drag her out the door and through the low lighting of the alley. A single car is parked on the street. An older ford truck, silver chipped paint job. I drag the mysterious girl over to the withered truck. Her brown eyes barley visible now as she squints her eyes with what little strength she has left. I pull on the passenger side door, locked.

I place one hand behind my back searching for my lock pick when like a sudden burst, blue and red lights begin to flash to my left.

"PUT YOUR HANDS UP!" The officer booms through the loud speaker.

I put both hands up, palms facing the blinding lights. The sound of two cars doors shutting is the only sign of movement around. One officer grabs a hold of the unconscious woman, while the other keeps his gun pointed to my head. I can feel an aggravated rage growing. The officer shoving the barrel of a Glock 19 handgun in my face barks for me to turn around. I comply. The officer begins to frisk my torso quickly with a sense of caution. As he reaches my belt I know something has to happen. The officer's fingers graze the grip of my M1911. I bring my raised elbow down hard on the officers neck, stunning his vision for a fraction of a second. Just enough time to turn 180 degrees and bring my right knee up hard into his hair covered face. As he flies back from the impact, his fu man chu mustache is splattered with the blood gushing from his nose. The other officer turns dropping the girl and reaching for his pistol. I follow suit with my left hand, and grab the flailing officer in front of me with the other. Now we are at a stale mate. The end of my suppressor is flush with the chubby face of the bleeding officer while the other drips sweat from his own pudgy cheek.

"This will be very simple. My friend is unconscious. You put down the gun. I walk away with the girl. You come back for your things when you don't see us anymore." I negotiate with a superior tone

"Alright lets just calm down here." The officer says as he lowers his gun to the ground.

"Back away from the girl."

The officer's mouth open, breathing heavily from the stress, begins to slowly creep backwards. I drop the officer, his heap of a body smacks the ground and bends in an unnatural way. Still with the gun in hand I walk forward and kick the officers gun into the street about ten yards away. I bend down and grab the girl by her robes, and pull her up to me. The tension in the air is thick, and almost overwhelming. I holster my pistol and begin to drag the motionless body towards the truck again.

"Aziz….?" The whimper in the girls voice is heartbreaking.

My eyes focus on the officer who is now all the way behind the squad car. With my right elbow I shatter the passenger window to the truck, and open the door from the inside. The officer with a caterpillar curled around his lip groans in agony. The girls light frame is easily placed in the passenger seat. I turn her legs in to avoid any more injuries to her. Eyes still focused on each other. The Mexican standoff feel is almost theatrical. I move around the vehicle slowly and pick the drivers side lock. The door swing open and I jump in. My head turned away but my eyes are still shooting into the core of the officer through the rearview mirror. I slip my lock pick into the ignition and fumble around a bit before truck will turn over. Finally the engine roars, and I slam the gas pedal down hard. Tires squeal and the truck flies down the abandoned road. The light still shinning bright behind us. I pull onto a ramp and meet with a highway with little traffic. Now it's a race against time to get home and help this mysterious woman. She leans to the left and falls motionless into the middle seat. The insignia of the Assassin Order now showing on the side of her neck. I sit somewhat startled. I always knew the numbers remaining in the order were slim, and I never expected to find another assassin here. I pass a few small cars and hang a right into a suburb of the city. Buildings slowly become trees, and the city lights begin to fade. Only the light of the moon illuminates these roads.

A large mansion like structure on a distant hill holds a special kind of dignity to it. But as the door flies open, and dust rolls of the walls the dignity quickly disappears. Over a burnout fire place hangs a portrait of a man, gray hair, chiseled jaw, strong neck. That man is William Miles. Beside him is a boy, young, same jaw, but a slimmer figure. That boy is Desmond Miles. I light a nearby candle and walk towards the staircase. The woman begins to awaken, but not yet enough to move.

"Who are you?" She asks in a fear stricken voice

"Call me Aaron." I replied.

I lay her down in the first bedroom I can find. The floors are so untouched that they too have a thick film of dust over them. Once she is tucked in properly, I make a trek down the steps. As I reach for the railing I feel a sharp pain shooting through my arm. My robes have a hole through the bicep. I peel back the clothes in a pain-filled jerk. Dried blood surrounds a hole the size of a 9mm bullet. I roll my eyes in an annoyed fashion. But the pain is more than what I let myself see. I reach the kitchen and shed the robes and shirt off of my torso. I feel the back of my arm to find a second hole, also rimmed with dried blood.

"Thank God." I think to myself

I pull on a drawer in the middle of the island. The drawer comes our a little then catches. The island slowly shifts to the left and a stone staircase is now visible. I make my way down the staircase, candle still in hand. The cobwebs litter the narrow walls all the way down. A light switch at the end of the staircase once flipped illuminates an arsenal of computers, firearms, names, files, and much more. In the center of the room is the insignia of the creed tiled into the floor.