I really should be mentioning more that I don't own Aiden, Default, or the Watch Dogs universe, but I always assumed that was a given. I do own Wick though, although I'm sure he doesn't like that.

Anyway, I'm having fun with this story and I hope everyone reading is enjoying it as well. R&R please! I know I stress that but I'd love to know how it's going.

~Spirit

Aiden Pearce stands staring down the mess of straw and cloth around him. They used to be shaped like people, but years of brutal stabs and messy sewing left the things more like strange aliens than dummy people. They are positioned strategically placed across the abandoned steel yard within the masses of broken down, coppery metals and long-forgotten machinery.

The young woman next to him holds a bronze pocket watch, a small smile on her lips. Her other hand plays with a thin, needle-like knife that spins around her pale fingers. She asks, "Are you ready?"

The response she receives is a silent nod. With that she looks down at her watch, snapping the button down, "Go."

Aiden is off before the words even escape her mouth, having already heard the clock ticking. The woman watches three objects shoot from his coat. She never has truly gotten used to the sudden retraction of the blade; as quick and precise as the death it brought. Hastily, she follows after the man as he jumps effortlessly onto a rusty boxcar. She watches the arch of brazen swords fly close to the Fox, darting off toward their targets as if they were always meant to go there. She spies several swords from earlier wrench free from their dummies, returning to replace the ones lost.

The path Aiden lead was a merciless dance, and the woman was sure he never notices it. There was quiet, terrifying grace to it that never ceased to amaze her. She only needed to add music and his performance would be complete. But, no, Aiden likes the silence.

She continues following Aiden from the ground as he climbs up a pile of shrapnel. Four of his blades stab into a nearby shed already riddled with holes. The Fox catapults from the pile, a single sword still by his side. He lands on the flat of the blade, swiftly traversing his platforms and off again, plucking the final blade from the air and stabbing it into the poor dummy, shredding it right in half.

The woman clicks the watch off, jogging to his position, "I don't understand why you keep doing this. You do it perfectly every time," She says, tossing him the watch.

Aiden looks down at the time, "It is a better way to blow off steam than murdering civilians, isn't it?" He tosses the device back at her, "And I was half-a-second late." He walks past her, his swords slowly pulling back toward him.

The woman shakes her head, hurrying after him, a scowl replacing her smile, "Aiden."

"Clara." Aiden mimics her tone, his back and arch of swords facing her.

"You take things too seriously. You need to lighten up…" She ducks under another sword going back to her friend, "Ever since that kid you' ve been more of a brood than usual, and that's concerning."

"Why do you think it's the kid?" His tone was clearly defensive, too defensive.

Clara reaches out, yanking Aiden around toward her, "There was something about him, something you're not telling me."

His swords suddenly vanish into their handles, pattering onto the ground. The man puts his hands in his pockets, looking at her seriously. He speaks blatantly, "Fine. His aura was…off."

"Off?"

"Off as in like mine."

Clara stares, trying to process this. Aura is just how psychics measured power, or if they even have their gift at all, considering most hide their eyes. She remembers meeting Aiden after months of anonymity. His aura, his energy was like nothing she every felt before. She could only describe it as if it were a raging rainstorm, nothing but unbridled, relentless strength. To think of someone that matched his level of power seems unprecedented.

"Are you sure? I didn't sense anything from him," She says.

"Neither did I at first, I thought he was just some poor fool that got pulled into something he shouldn't. But…" He trails off, picking back up almost as quick, "It's packed away, I don't think he even knows that he has what he does."

Clara notices something about Aiden's eyes. Past the vibrant green that always held back. She ignores it, sticking to the subject, "Do you think he's in danger?"

"Yes. I do," Aiden raises a hand, his sword handles flying over at his command, replacing themselves within his jacket and he says gravely, "I will not be the only one that notices."

"So what are you going to do? He probably has parents, you know. And who knows where he went…"

"I can find him."

"Aiden!"

"I can find him," He repeats, pivoting back toward the bunker where they both stayed. Clara curses in her usual French, heading after him.

~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~

It is just after dawn, the air was crisp and windy out on the island. Chicago is at least twenty degrees warmer in its inner alleys, where heat poured from every bit of metal. Aiden waits for the bridge connecting the place to the rest of the still-sleepy city. His eyes are closed as he listened to the grinding gears and sloshing water.

He must live somewhere in the Loop, either that or Mad Mile. He dressed like he was pretty well off… He thinks, stepping on the metal of the bridge as it locks into place. Clara was relentless on asking about Aiden's plan. Frankly, he'd rather she asked about that then his intentions the night before by carrying the kid all the way to one of his hideouts.

Whoever the kid was could have woken up at any point and mostly likely not take his state lightly. It was a stupid plan and completely unlike Aiden, and Clara knew that. He was able to save himself with the mention of the kid's aura, which he wasn't lying about in the first place. Despite this, there was something about the young man that captivated him. The Fox racked his mind trying to think of why. The way he looked back at him, he casted such an innocence. Aiden barely knows what the word means anymore. And the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes how little of his attraction is parental based. He is attracted to the stranger, but he convinces himself that he longed for the kid's innocence more than anything.

Aiden stops just before a fence, quickly putting in a couple contacts. It was fascinating how little people paid attention in the city that they couldn't tell the difference between the Fox and a regular citizen. He could not hide his eyes very well, it took powerful contacts that he hates to wear.

It is far too early for any sort of crowd, however a few persons lingered about. One woman in a brown and gold trimmed corset trots by Aiden, smirking as she eyes him. Aiden nods toward her but reacts in no other way.

He wanders about the city, enjoying the peacefulness before the city finally wakes up. There is noise, bells and whistles, gears and the sounds of violin enhanced with electronic beat within a café. Despite the conversion to steam power, there was still hints of the old world within the city. Music was one of the few things still effected by the past. Aiden sometimes wishes he could listen a bit more, but there were more important things to deal with.

The man travels towards the richer parts of town. He is banking on the fact that he could sense the kid's aura, it was obvious enough. It couldn't be that hard.

Almost forty minutes of wandering about the apartments leads him to a large set of apartments called Greenhill. They were high class, very high class.

Aiden could feel a force pulling him toward the area. He steps through the gate, speaking to himself, "So you're somewhere around here...just where?"

He goes past the woman at the desk who eyes him with an air of suspicion. Aiden ignores it, heading toward the stairs. The walls are littered with paintings and copper lamps that set a warm glow. Hearing voices he moves down the hall, looking at his watch: 7:55am.

He stops in front of a certain door, voices spilled from it, muffled but sounding rather angry. The aura seems to be coming from the room as well.

"What is going on in there then…?" He imagines that whoever was in there was most likely concerned. The man did leave the kid in the middle of a strange part of town with an injured ankle. He touches the wood of the door, closing his eyes, the voices becoming clearer, vibrating in his mind.

~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~

He spent the whole night in that club…the people cheered him on as he passed the time giving them the best damn music he could muster from his imagination. At around 4am he finally realizes his situation. He remembers setting the headset and mask on the sleeping DJ and hobbling as fast as he could out of the club. It took all of one block until a patrol car found him. Needless to say, his parents were not happy.

Now, Jay sits on the large, velvet chair in his new home's apartment. He barely took up half of the large piece of furniture. His ankle was re-bandaged and his clothes changed. His hair lost all messiness, his mother almost had to pin him down to brush it, like he was a toddler. There was a scent within his hair that escaped, something that smelled like rainwater and gasoline.

He cannot keep the sullen, bitter feeling off his face as he looks across the coffee table at his parents.

His mother's head was in her hands, rubbing her temples. His father, on the other hand, looks right back at him. He is a burly man with trimmed black hair similar to Jay's. He stood in his same, authoritarian stance, staring down at his son with intimidation that Jay never, ever fell for.

The man was completely opposite from Jay, even in physical features. At least his mother is somewhat sympathetic to his plight. If it were his father in the carriage he would not have let him go out.

"I'll ask again," His father says slowly, holding back his frustration very poorly, "Who helped you? Who bandaged your ankle?"

"And I'll say again," Jay says with a scowl, "I. Don't. Know."

Jay thinks he should be tired, but he isn't. He's wide awake. His father has been interrogating him about the night's events for two hours. If there was anyone Jay could lie to the easiest, it would be his father. He hates him, loathes his ideals, his constant idea that he could actually scare him. He reveled in his father's irritation, he thinks it's fucking hilarious.

He had explained the situation on how he got shot very truthfully. However, there was no way in Hell that he will tell him about the Fox. His father is probably the president of prejudice against psychics, and he had connections. If he knew the Fox helped him, it will not be good.

"So you're saying you just woke up in the apartment? No one around?"

"I've said that for the past two hours," Jay crosses his arms, leaning back against the seat, "I passed out getting shot, I woke up and I was in the apartment."

"You didn't think to ask the employees who brought you there?"

"No, I didn't. I was more concerned about getting out of there."

"You certainly weren't concerned about getting home."

Jay stares, slowly leaning over, elbows on his knees, "I didn't want to go home."

His mother looks up, "Where did your contacts go?" she gasps, "Did the police see your eyes?"

"They didn't see anything," His father speaks, it is his usual implication that he paid the cops off. It would be embarrassing if someone like him had a child being what he is. It makes him want to run out into the street shouting about it, holding up a sign showing who his father is.

"Why can't you just accept who I am? I shouldn't be here! I should be out on my own! I'm not a little kid anymore—"

"You haven't proven that, Jay. You are still a child, and there is absolutely no way you will be going anywhere outside this house—"

"What?" Jay stands, wobbling slightly, catching himself on the chair. He don't know where his mother put the metal rod the Fox had given him, but he didn't care. He felt boiling anger burning in his chest, "You can't keep me here!"

His father steps forward, his muscles tense, "I can't?"

Instinctively, Jay steps back. His father, never once hit him. No matter how angry he was. However, he stood about read to choke him out. At that moment, Jay suddenly realizes his size, fear creeping up on him. He pushes it back, holding a steely glare.

His mother moves between them, "Please, both of you…you are both angry. We all need to calm ourselves down. Peter," She turns to Jay's father, "What happened to him was beyond his control—"

"What are you talking about? Yes getting dumped on the other side of town is granted but if he was smart he would have come back here, not go parading around Chicago with a broken ankle like a scared mouse!"

Jay's eyes flare up, "Stop calling me that!" he shouts, the lights above flickering, but he is too livid to notice, "You know what I was doing? I was at a club. I was there all fucking night having some fucking fun for once in my life! I even made a friend there! Now you expect me to sit here like a prisoner because you are too scared to admit to your business that you have a freak for a son?"

His mother screams as china and small bits of furniture fly across the room, "Peter!" she shouts.

Peter goes forward, grabbing Jay's arms. Jay curses, barely processing what he says to him before wiggling out of his grasp, stumbling across the room and through the pristine kitchen. The pain in his ankle is nonexistent. Glass and chairs slam into one another, he hurtles over a fallen couple of boxes for moving, crashing through the open door into the hallway.

And slams right into the Fox.

He gasps, staring up at him, "Y…you're…"

The man nods, his eyes were paler than before. He must be wearing contacts…

Jay tries to focus on what is happened, "What are you doing here—"

"Jay!" His father roars from the house, he could hear him making his way to the door.

He suddenly feels himself yanked closer to the man. His coat smelt like the fresh air, clear and crisp. He feels warm breath close to his ear, a familiar voice speaking soft, "I know what you are, Jay. I'll be back."

At that moment, everything Jay felt, smelt, heard…vanishes as if it never appeared. Jay feels a sudden, crashing wave of despair.

His father steps up behind him, putting an arm around him and lifting him off his feet. Jay screams another line of curses, kicking out, he never realizes that tears are escaping his eyes.

I know who you are, Jay. I'll be back.

"Calm down before someone calls the fucking cops!" His father shouts, but Jay was barely listening.

When he's released he sees he is in a bedroom. It is his. He hears a slam and then a small click. With slow, drawn out breathes, he looks back at the closed door, pulling himself up.

I know who you are, Jay. I'll be back.

Jay backs up, collapses on the bed, the reality of the situation exploding like fireworks in him. He lies back, staring at the ceiling, racking hands through his hair, ripping at it, reaching toward what the Fox…Aiden…had given him before.

"He knows who I am," Jay speaks in a whisper, slowly dropping his arms from his hair, "He'll be back."