Words from Hack:

Heres [Part 3] enjoy yaaaaaallll

LMAO Desmond is being a mouthy lil shiz-nit.
Malik has had enough.

Malik still had that smirk on his face, knowing that Desmond's reaction was out of slight fear. Grabbing a fistful of said inmate's shirt, Malik dragged Desmond forward and let go of the clothing to drape his arm around Desmond's waist.

Desmond felt like panicking.

He didn't know what to do in this situation. Malik Al-Sayf was the last person he wanted to meet in this prison. He felt dumb for following La Volpe, however what else could he have done?

The Fox cleared his throat. Malik leveled him with a steady gaze.

"Don't move Desmond."

Malik let go of Desmond to reach behind himself, slipping out a brown package that fit neatly in the vet's hand. Desmond watched as the thief's eyes lit up with excitement. Malik tossed it into the air. La Volpe leaped gracefully to catch it and scurried off, disappearing to wherever it was that he resided.

"If he jumps that high I wonder why he hasn't either escaped or attempted to," a voice from one of Malik's entourage, Arno Dorian, stated plainly.

Shaun huffed, "He isn't stupid, you know."

"We know that from his name," Connor sighed, as he propped his head up with a hand.

"That's just a literal translation," the Brit grumbled. Desmond deemed him the grouch of the lot.

"Everyone this is Desmond. He'll be with us for now on." Malik had his arm around Desmond's waist again and brought him to the table.

The group stared at him. It was unnerving and the former bartender didn't like it. Their eyes seemed to dissect him. What made it worse was that he was in direct body contact with Malik Al-Sayf. Of all the people he could have ended up with it had to be him!?

Desmond smelled what was on the Syrian out of impulse. The scent wasn't bad, almost comforting…

"Uh…hi?" He had no idea what to do. Maybe a simple greeting would suffice?

Edward stood and put out a hand.

Desmond eyed it.

"Go on lad, give me a shake. I won't bite!"

He shook the hand awkwardly. Edward sat down next to Connor...

Lucy came out with another woman; a black security guard who also had no-nonsense air about her. "Alright men! Time to go back inside! Lunchtime! Everybody get those lazy asses moving!"

Al-Sayf moved ahead of the group, the others followed him. Desmond couldn't help thinking of them as a pack of…not wolves, really, but maybe lions.

As they passed by the security women, Lucy gave him a knowing smile and a wink. The other woman waved at Connor. The man's face darkened in a subtle blush and he gave a half wave back.

Ezio and Rebecca sniggered.

Edward answered Desmond's questioning look at the security, knowing what he was going to ask.

"That's Aveline De Grand'pre. My lad here seems to fancy her."

Connor muttered, "Do not. Just a friend."

"She doesn't look like a lady friend; your amore is more like it," Ezio said with a knowing grin. Connor ignored the Auditore.

Malik led the pack into the cafeteria. Leonardo automatically went to scout a table with Ezio. The place was becoming noisy with the general chatter of the inmates as they filled into the large facility. The rest of the group followed the one-armed war vet to the food line. Desmond assumed Malik would be first for most things, until the man took a step back to let Rebecca out of the line with her tray to go up to the front where the food was.

Desmond let out a sound of curiosity and worry.

Glancing at the man from the corner of his eye, Malik said, "Everyone lets her go first. It's a rule."

"Oh…why?"

Turning his head partially so he could see better, Al-Sayf found the expression of on Desmond's face endearing. It seemed Miles was eager to learn how the hierarchy of prison worked. 'Very different from Altair indeed,' he surmised.

For some reason a strange feeling of satisfaction warmed the inmate, especially since the former bartender was sticking to him like he did La Volpe.

"For starters, she may seem calm; however if you're a glutton for punishment, Rebecca goes from that—"his eyes flickered in her direction. The said female was a ball of super perky energy, talkative and bouncy as she filled tray with food. "—to a murderously insane woman that knows several ways to electrocute you without getting caught. She's also an expert with anything sharp and pointy."

Desmond blanched. Malik's explanation meant that she was too dangerous to be in an all women prison. Who knows what she could do to him if he did something foolish?

'Good ,' thought Malik. 'Let him be afraid. Fear is good; it'll help him survive.' The war vet's gut, however, said otherwise. It dreaded the anxiety in Miles' hazel eyes.

Malik sighed heavily when he heard a particular group of inmates approach the line.

"I heard there's fresh meat in here! What do you think Robert?"

The Syrian would have known that voice anywhere.

"I'm not sure, but I do see your personal enemy over there." Robert De Sable responded with a sneer. The inmate was tall with broad shoulders and chest. A scar was visible on his bald head as well. Most people likened him to main character of the Hit Man game.

"Auditore…" the other man hissed the name.

Inwardly Al-Sayf grumbled in disgust. Césare Borgia, an inmate he detested with every fiber of his being.

The man harassed Malik's group whenever he had the chance. Césare also wanted to be at the top of the food chain; and was willing to do anything to get the war vet out of his way. He never fought on his own, often hiding behind his followers, acting as leader of the Borgia gang. Césare was –in Malik's opinion– a coward and a cheat.

Desmond grimaced when he received his food; it looked like something died in it. The colour seemed to be off and smelled odd. When he got to the end to receive his water he murmured a "Thank you." to the inmate who poured his water, before turning to leave.

However a hand stopped him from walking way, grabbing his wrist. Alarmed and trying not to show it he locked eyes with a food-server.

"I haven't seen your pretty face around here…" The man was fat, with slightly meaty hands.

"Y-yeah…uh, I kind of have to be somewhere—"he tried to tug his hand away from the inmate but the grip around his wrist tightened painfully.

"Where you trying to run to, hmm? I can show you a real good time."

"No, thanks…I'm not into that sort of…thing."

"Are you calling me ugly or something?"

"Not really; No offense, man!"

"I think you're scared, don't worry, I'll take good care of you—" the fat man was interrupted by a snarl.

Malik couldn't stop himself from growling, as his shadow fell across the man who was leaning over to counter hold Desmond in place.

"Leave him alone, Rodrigo." The war vet's glare was hotter than his desert homeland, grey eyes freezing Rodrigo on the spot.

The whole cafeteria fell silent, conversations suddenly halting. Heads turned to look at the oncoming confrontation. Nobody dared breathe too loud; nobody moved. You could hear a pin drop. A room empty of any and all noise, a large void without sound.

"M-Malik!" Rodrigo stuttered.

"Let him go." Al-Sayf's voice was darker than black.

The hand only loosened marginally, going for subtle defiance.

The one-armed man wasn't having any of it. His patience was thin when it came to the Borgia.

"That is an order. Or else—"A sliver of glass seemed to appear out of nowhere with Malik's sleight of hand skill, pulled from the confines of his clothes. He stabbed the hand resting on the counter, instantly causing the other hand on Desmond's wrist to let go.

Miles stumbled backward. Rodrigo gave a cry of pain and blubbered, "S-stop! Let me go!" He was trying to yank his hand away but Malik dug the glass in deeper. The large inmate got the hint and stopped moving.

"How dare you touch what is not yours?" The Syrian bared his teeth slightly.

Rodrigo tried to explain himself, "I-I'm sorry Malik! I didn't know!"

"You're lying…" The glass dug into the stabbed hand deeper, the Borgia man whimpered in pain. "Do it again, and there will be Hell to pay."

Another man approached Malik directly, a sneer on his face. He was the one De Sable had spoken to. The inmate was just about the same height as Malik, but the build of his body was neither broad nor slender, a perfect balance in the middle. The man was of Spaniard heritage; his hair was cut short in a manly style of a bob. He also had the start of a thin beard with a mustache and goatee.

Malik let go of the glass sliver, stepping out of the line as his crew approached behind him. The war vet pushed Desmond into the middle of the group, like a ring of elephants protecting their offspring with tusks out.

Ezio growled, "You again, what do you want bastardo?"

Césare Borgia, the leader of one of the prison's factions, made a point of ignoring Ezio to speak to Malik.

"Look what we have here…fresh meet indeed."

"Move on Borgia." Malik stated.

Césare shrugged, "For the moment. That one's so fresh he's practically raw; and I've never cared much for cherry juice."

Malik glared, curling his lip into a snarl.

"Teach him a few tricks Al-Sayf—,'' Césare smirked "—although he looks like he could toss a nice 'Césare salad'!" the inmate laughed cruelly.

Edward rotated to the front, "Leave the lad be, we don't want trouble do we?"

Robert was by Césare's side, another member of the Borgia sidled up to him as well.

"Lucrezia!" Ezio snarled angrily. He recognized that traitor; Lucrezia was once Leonardo's friend until he tried to recruit him to the Borgia. Lucrezia was slim and feminine in appearance with long hair nearly the same blonde shade as Leonardo's but paler.

Lucrezia frowned, and then spoke to Césare, "We need to go, security is getting antsy, and those two women are making rounds today so let's not risk it."

Césare huffed, rolling his eyes in a Holier-than-Thou manner, "Let them come, we're just having a conversation."

Desmond clenched his hands around his food tray, just a conversation? Like Hell! Didn't he get a say at all in this? He felt like he was a prized animal being fought over by strangers. It quite frankly pissed Desmond off. He as a person hated authority, especially if it involved talking about him as if he wasn't there. Desmond had had enough of that from his father.

The former bartender was riled up and made the error of opening his mouth, "I'm not a damn object to be bought off like a fucking exotic animal…" he said frostily, narrowing his hazel eyes in a pointed gaze at the back of Malik's head and Césare's face.

Césare looked mildly astonished, slightly offended, and excited. The apparent bite in Desmond's voice was enragement. Maybe he wasn't easy prey after all?

Lucrezia sneered this time, "This one is feisty, amazing the little bird can speak for himself!"

Robert De Sable licked his lips, eyeing the inmate after his spontaneous outburst in a not so subtle way.

Malik huffed, shoulders stiffening. Desmond's defiance could get them all in trouble! The war vet turned a heated scowl on Desmond, who surprisingly was glaring back with an equal intensity. However, unlike Malik whose glare scorched, Desmond's glare was freezing.

Malik burned while Desmond pierced with ice.

Césare seemed to consider his subordinates words. Robert was staring at Desmond intently.

"I look forward to getting to know you." De Sable smirked; he knew Malik would beat the shit out of him first before he could touch a single hair on Desmond's head. Robert loved challenges and Desmond was no different. He was going to love breaking this little bird.

Miles' face frowned at the meaning of Robert's words.

"Indeed, we'd love a new toy." Césare grinned. The inmate was about to say something else, when he was interrupted by Lucy heading towards them with hand on her holster.

"Break it up boys! You're holding everyone up!"

Aveline was with her as well, "You heard her, move on!"

Lucrezia rolled his eyes; he nudged Césare who sighed in annoyance. Robert snorted, walking away towards a corner of the cafeteria were some tables were adjacent to the exit. Lucrezia hurried after De Sable.

Césare gave a Cheshire grin to Leonardo, "It's not too late to join the right group amico." The grin dropped into a glower when Ezio wrapped his arms possessively around Leonardo.

Leonardo, always the polite one, declined.

"Grazie for the invitation, however I wouldn't be of much use. Mi dispiace." Leo gave him a radiant smile.

Césare spit at Ezio's feet, storming off to catch up with the rest of his group. Auditore merely smirked as he turned to face their friends.

Desmond had forgotten the tray of food he held, his knuckles were white as he gripped it. The man quivered; he was boiling inside with anger. Desmond bit back a smart-ass comment when Malik turned back to him with an unhappy expression.

"What the Hell were you thinking?" the war vet asked flatly, "Are you trying to kill yourself? Because I will gladly hand you over to them if you have a death wish!"

Desmond's tongue slipped, "Why don't you just leave me the Hell alone? I can take care of myself; I'm not some helpless pet!"

Malik motioned for everyone to follow Leonardo to their designated table; he took Desmond by the wrist. Then before he could tug the man to sit with everyone, Miles wrenched his hand from his grasp. Desmond gave his tray to Rebecca who dug into it with a happy grunt.

"Sit." Malik commanded.

"No."

Al-Sayf's entourage turned to stare at Desmond; no one had ever resisted Malik like that before. Desmond's refusal challenged the war vet. Anyone at the prison with common sense knew the one-armed man didn't tolerate disobedience.

"Desmond, sit down."

"No."

Miles' rebellion was getting him in trouble.

"I said sit down. You've already caused enough problems." Malik's voice hardened, he did not need this right now!

Apparently Desmond was determined to disobey anything he said.

"And I said no! You're not my father, you're not my boss, and you're a stranger to me! All you are is some guy my cousin told me to stay away from! Now I see why, so if you'll kindly fuck off, I'm going back to my cell."

The war vet was silent as Desmond stormed off; quietly getting up he told his crew to make sure no one followed him.

Miles only made it to the empty hall outside the cafeteria before he was grabbed by the scruff of his neck. The former bartender yelped in surprise. Looking up, all the prepared insults and indignant anger faded out when Desmond saw Malik's face.

"You're coming with me." The tone Al-Sayf used was calm, no other emotion. He'd had enough of Desmond's insolence; this was Malik's turf, his domain. Miles would learn to respect him or be thrown to the mutts.

The inmate began to drag the younger to the cells. Desmond struggled half-heartedly; he went still when the war vet grunted in irritation and tightened his hold enough to be slightly painful.

Miles gulped, 'This isn't good. Not good at all. I just had to be a bold and open my mouth! Malik is probably going to kill me now. Or worse.' Desmond thought while he shuddered.

It was several minutes before Desmond was pushed forward to be in front of Malik instead of by his side. The inmate stumbled. Oh he was in for it now. Wait this wasn't even his own cell! The Syrian felt fear spike through him when the war vet behind him pushed the door open.

"Inside," Malik said, shoving Desmond into his cell. He pulled the cell door shut with his hand, the loose cloth of his empty, long, and pinned-up sleeve swinging slightly in time with the jarring 'clang' of the door crashing shut. The veteran inmate moved passed a wide-eyed Desmond to make himself comfortable on the lower of the cell's bunks. On the other side of the cell, Desmond was staring at the now-closed cell door as though it was taunting him by trapping the two inmates together.

Malik leaned back to rest his back against the wall of the cell. Malik looked at the younger man who stood there trying to decide if he should be angry at Malik or panicked that he was in a small room with Malik. The one-armed war vet stared at Desmond for a moment.

Desmond Miles was Malik's little brother's best friend and former roommate. Kadar would be horrified to know the danger that Desmond was in from some of the worst of the prison's inmates. Kadar, whom Malik purposely kept from knowing about the constant battling for control; the way that the various factions in the prison made life a mirror of the warzones that Malik had fought in; the corrupt guards and equally corrupt prison officials.

Instead, Malik had focused on what Kadar had told him about the life his little brother led; a life that was pure and good in comparison to Malik's.

Kadar had written to Malik of many things and his best friend, Desmond Miles, had been in many of his letters. Malik had heard many things about Desmond; enough to make him wish he could meet the person his brother called friend. To get to know him and learn if he would become friends with Malik as well. The person that Kadar had described had many traits not often found in the prison…high among them being a strong sense of loyalty. Loyalty was also a trait of Kadar's and Malik knew that his brother would be waiting for his friend's return.

Desmond was one of those pure things in Kadar's life and now he was in danger of becoming tainted by the other inmates. They would break this little bird—body and spirit both—and send back to his brother a shell of the man Kadar called friend.

Malik wouldn't allow that to happen. 'Not for Desmond's sake,' he told himself, 'but for Kadar's.'

He just had to find a way to get Desmond to agree to Malik doing what needed to be done to protect the novice. Simply telling the younger inmate that he would protect Desmond would make Malik look weak, putting them both at risk. There must appear to be a reason the other inmates would believe in, and he didn't have faith in Miles' acting skills. Finally he spoke, breaking the silence between them.

"I am making an offer," Malik said. "I can have you transferred to residing in this cell, with me. Or, you can take your chances with the other inmates deciding they want fresh meat for themselves." His grey eyes were steady as they met Desmond's gaze.

"What are you saying?" Desmond said, angrily eyeing the man that lounged on the bunk on the other side the cell. While Desmond was as far away from the other inmate as he could get, practically pressing himself against the wall to do so, somehow it didn't seem nearly far enough.

Malik looked at the younger man coolly. "You understand exactly what I am offering," he said. "I am offering you my protection…and I think that you need it. Or did that little confrontation in the cafeteria not demonstrate that well enough to you? The guards will do nothing to protect you; you have nothing to offer them."

"In fact, if you aren't careful many of the guards will deliver you to the highest bidder…right to their cell. My price is a reasonable one and I am willing to let you pay it in the only coin you have."

Desmond swallowed. "You want me to do things for you…"

"I am telling you that we are men…with the needs of men. We currently live with only the company of men. Allowances are often made for such things," Malik said evenly. "I am offering to give you my protection if you meet these needs for me. I will not force you; however, I would not make such assurances of the others. De Sable is especially known for being ruthless when he is determined to possess something. Césare simply wants whatever I have shown an interest in. I have no doubt that he would be willing to let De Sable enjoy you first and then take you under his wing like a wounded bird when you were too broken to entertain De Sable further."

"Why me? I mean, I don't…I've had a girlfriend before but I've—we never—I've never dated a guy, much less…" Desmond's voice trailed off as he saw the steady look that the older inmate was giving him.

"They all know you are just a little bird—a fledgling—for all that La Volpe tried to tell you show yourself as more. For some—such as De Sable—it is part of the appeal."

"But I don't really know how to—"

The man on the bunk across the cell cut Desmond off with a wave of his one arm. "You are a man," he said. "I am a man. I assume that you know which touches and actions will bring you pleasure? They are likely to bring me pleasure as well, and I am patient enough to give you time to learn how to perform such acts with me."

He gave the younger inmate a look that suggested Malik thought Desmond was deliberately being naive. "I can be very patient, novice; which is why I am giving you until lights out tomorrow to decide. The guards will see you back to your cell soon and will keep you safe until tomorrow night…but no longer than that. Not without a decision."

Malik rolled his shoulders, shifting his weight forward to ease rising from the bunk. He walked closer to where Desmond stood against the wall, the younger man looking as though he wanted to find a way to meld with the cement bricks behind his back.

'Novice at so many things,' Malik mused as he regarded the young man that Kadar had called 'friend', 'hiding his panic is only one of them.'

Malik rested his hand against the wall just above and behind Desmond's head and leaned forward, his weight resting on the arm that now bracketed the little bird between Malik and the wall.

"Make your choice, habibi," the older inmate said. "I will wait to hear it."

At the sound of the unfamiliar word, the man bristled up at Malik; glaring at the one-armed inmate with angry hazel eyes.

"I'm not your whore, yet," he snapped. "You don't get to call me one—even if it is in a different language."

There was a twist of lips on the older man's face that could possibly pass as a bitter smile. "No," Malik agreed, his voice flat. "You are not my habibi, not yet. I will not refer to you again as such until you ask me to." He leaned closer to Desmond to say in a low voice near Desmond's ear, "But I look forward to the day you plead for me to do so."

Malik straightened and pulled away from the man in front of him, the man that now had a slightly confused frown on his face. Taking a step towards the door, Malik pushed the barred cell door open with his one hand and turned, letting Desmond see the light like heat from banked coals in Malik's eyes.

"Go," he told the younger man roughly. "Go, and think about what your decision will be. The guard will take you to your cell."

Desmond looked at the now-open cell door in shock. "I thought the door was locked…" he said.

Malik let out a low laugh at that. "Why would I need to lock it, novice?" he asked. "I have just proven that I can keep you here without resorting to such tactics." He released his hold on the door to shove Desmond's shoulder. "Go. It will be lights out soon."

Indeed there was a guard waiting for Desmond. A black man that was bald, with piercing dark eyes and seemingly permanent frowns. The security man also had three black lines each under his eyes going downward and stopping at his cheekbones. The ID tag on his uniform revealed his name to be Adewale, most inmates called him 'Ade'.

Adewale gestured to follow with a grumble. Obviously a man of few words. Desmond was about to follow the guard, he stopped short when a question hit his mind.

"Quick question before I go." Desmond turned slightly to face the war vet.

"Yes?" Malik raised a brow.

"About the confrontation—Um, Césare seemed to be target Ezio after the Robert and that other guy left….What for?"

Al-Sayf sighed, "The answer will have to wait for later. It may not be my place to tell you. Now go to your cell novice."

Desmond rolled his eyes at the name as he left with Adewale. A door was heard being opened and closed. Keys jangled. Adewale had locked it.

Miles had a big choice to make; hopefully he would make the right one. If the former bartender didn't…well it'd be on Desmond for not finding safety in the offer.

[End of Part 3]

will Des hole up or make the right choice?

LoLoL

Des being derpy