Desmond's POV:

My head was pounding; it felt like it would split open. I groaned and reached up with my right hand to rub my temples. My body was slow and sluggish, like I had just woken up from a long nap, or I had just gotten out of the Animus. I assumed the former, as I felt like I was laying on some cushions, guessing that it was just my bed in "my" room. I assumed that I had just went to bed after another session in that machine, and that Doctor Vidic would be coming for me any minute.

I sat upright, still without opening my eyes, pushed my hood down, and stretched my arms into the air, yawning hugely. I spread my fingers wide as I stretched, freezing when I heard a quiet shunk.

My eyes snapped open, and my eyes were assaulted with orange light. I blinked several times, allowing my eyes to focus. I realized with a jolt that I was in the Jerusalem Assassin Bureau, and that I had been resting on the cushions in the corner of the small, covered courtyard opposite the fountain. My eyes drifted upwards to find the vine-entangled wooden lattice. I looked at my arms above me to see that on my left hand I was wearing a gauntlet with an extended hidden blade.

Am I still in the Animus? I wondered, And all of Altaïr's actions so far have just matched mine? I suppose that would explain my pounding headache.

I looked down at my body to see that I was indeed wearing my ancestor's robes. I poked at them experimentally to see if I could, and I realized that this seemed much to vivid to be in the Animus. Everything seemed so much more acute than it usually did, from the chatter of the voices of the people of Jerusalem outside, the smell of dust and sandalwood incense, the rustling of paper from within the Bureau, even the texture of the sand pressed against my hand. It all seemed so much more... real.

I frowned. Is this a dream?

I reached my left hand out in front of me, stretching my fingers wide once more, allowing the hidden blade to slide out again. My ring finger was still there, confirming what I already suspected; that I was me, and not in fact Altaïr.

So that rules out the Animus. Does that mean I'm dreaming?

I pulled my right hand out from behind me and pressed the tip of the hidden blade to it, although not hard enough to do any actual damage. I drew the blade away and it slid back into it's sheath beneath the gauntlet as I stared at the small bead of blood that was forming where I had pressed the blade, and the trickle as it ran down my palm.

"Fuck." I muttered out loud.

I couldn't recall getting hurt before in a dream, so that ruled out that theory. Which means... Where the fuck am I? Is this some sort of test from Abstergo?

From the other room, I could hear someone speak in what I guessed was Arabic, because I could only pick up a few words such as Altaïr's name, "Masyaf," and "lazy."

I froze and cursed under my breath as I scrambled to my feet. Malik.

Sure enough, just as I had stood up, the one-armed Rafiq pushed his way into the covered courtyard, his face already in that irritated expression he saved just for Altaïr, his mouth open for some reprimand or another, when he spotted me. Malik froze, his eyes widening.

Like a flash, the man attacked me. He knocked me against the wall and pressed a short knife that he had evidentially hidden beneath his robes against my throat. He glared me right in the eye, a murderous gleam in his, as he shouted at me furiously in Arabic.

"I- I don't understand you!" I stammered. I had no idea what was going on anymore. The appearance of Malik threw any ideas I might of had of what was going on out of the window.

The Rafiq watched me carefully for a moment before he spoke again in accented English, "Who are you!? How did you find this place!? Why are you wearing Altaïr's robes?"

I blinked in surprise. "You know English?"

"Answer my questions or pay the price." Malik hissed, "Do not underestimate me."

"My name is Desmond Miles." I said quickly, "And I'm, um, a friend of Altaïr's."

"Liar." Malik growled, pressing his knife into my throat, its blade now digging into my flesh, "That bastard has no friends."

"I- I know!" I said wildly, "Well, I just thought it sounded more reasonable than the truth."

"Try me."

"I'm Altaïr's decedent." I said slowly, watching for Malik's reaction.

The Rafiq's eyes flashed confusion for a moment, but his glare did not waver in the slightest. His eyes narrowed as he held my gaze.

"I-I know it sounds crazy," I began. "But it's the truth. I- I'm- Last time I checked it was 2012."

"2012?" Malik repeated doubtfully.

"Yes!"

I went off, explaining everything to him, from growing up on the Farm, to getting kidnapped by Abstergo, all the way to "the present," with Abstergo forcing me to go through Altaïr's memories. Maybe it was the knife against my throat that made my brain short-circuit so that I couldn't think of a reasonable lie fast enough. Maybe it was the fact that I never thought I would be in this situation, trying to explain something that I don't know anything about, because a man in a white lab coat wouldn't explain anything to me, to an angry one-armed man from the twelfth century. Maybe it was the fact that lying to Malik would be fatal, and maybe it was the fact that I was a terrible liar.

So, yes, I told him the truth. Or at least the abridged version of it.

"I know everything that's happened from when Altaïr killed that old man in Solomon's Temple to, um, now." I babbled.

Malik subconsciously pressed his blade harder into my throat at the mention of Solomon's Temple, a thin cut appearing with small beads of blood, but there was a gleam in his eyes that I did not quite understand. His fingers flexed on the blade, and he moved it about a centimeter above my skin so that it wasn't digging into my flesh any more, at least.

"I know what's going to happen in the future!" I went on, knowing that there was probably going to be consequences for this, like there always are in movies that involve time travel, "You are living in the middle of the third of nine crusades! Uh, in the thirteen hundreds a disease will kill most of the population of Europe! In the fourteen hundreds two more continents are discovered, and-"

"Enough!" Malik snarled. To my surprise, he stepped back and sheathed his blade. I stared at him, not knowing what he was going to do.

Malik studied me, his one hand running through his hair as he said, "What your saying is crazy. It's impossible-"

"I know-" I interrupted.

"But you seem to be telling the truth." Malik went on, "At the very least you seem to believe what you are saying."

"You- you believe me?" I blurted.

Malik fixed me with a cold stare. "Yes," he said eventually. "I could tell if you were lying. And what you're saying has a ring of truth to it, even if it does sound impossible." He paused and shuffled his feet in what could almost be in an embarrassed way, "Besides, you knew that the innocent Altaïr killed was an old man. I didn't tell anyone anything about the innocent, and Altaïr isn't much of one for detail.

I released a breath I didn't realize I was holding and looked down at my feet. I slumped against the wall, allowing my body to relax now that I knew the Rafiq wasn't going to immediately kill me.

"I will allow you to stay in my Bureau until you can figure out how to fix your... Problem." Malik continued, pausing momentarily to search for the right word.

My head jerked up, and I looked at the man in surprise. "What? Really?"

"Don't get too comfortable. I am allowing you to stay here temporarily, do you understand?" Malik said, a note of warning in his voice as I nodded vigorously, "However, you must stay out of my way, and you are to be hidden when any other assassins come here."

"Got it." I mumbled.

Malik gave me a curious look, not quite understanding what I "got," before adding, "And you can't wear those robes. Those are the robes of a Master Assassin, which you are clearly not. To wear those robes, you need to earn them."

I glanced down at Altaïr's robes and then back at Malik. "Well, what do you expect me to wear? It's not like I actually had time to pack before-"

"I may have something in the back." Malik sniffed disdainfully, as if my presence was one of the worst things that could have happened to him, "Follow me."