Theme: Office comedy, Drama, Action-Adventure, Family/Friendship, Educational (?), Crossover (both the games, novels, and comic series of the fandom) and just plain humor.

First person narration. Mostly Connor Kenway's POV (Point of view), but it may change as the story goes.

Warning: Rated M for weird parodies, discussion of politics, cursing of sorts, violence and gore, racial slurs, implied shipping, occasional innuendos, writing errors, slight OOC-ness. Oh, and for this chapter, spoilers. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Disclaimer: Most of the characters are canon and belong to Ubisoft. I merely borrowed them for this fic.

Notice: Alright, about half of this chapter will be Achilles's long explanation about Abstergo Industries, the Templars and why the Assassins are trying to stop them (And maybe a spoiler alert is more than needed here) So if you want, you can skip to the part where Radun leaves the warehouse. (I mean, it's an Assassin's Creed AU. I'm sure by now, you guys all know about the Templars, Assassins, First Civilization, etc. ) But then again, the info was bent abit to fit the fanfic, so if you'd still like to read (and watch me TRY to sound like I'm typing up Achilles' point of view), then I ain't stopping you. O u O

Just find this marking: "*****" This indicates the beginning and end of the history-lesson part of the chapter, so you can choose to either read it straight or skim to the rest of the story.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3

The Warehouse, Outside Boston City Limit

Achilles' POV

Danohue.

Did I hear it right?

I was wondering why, aside from the fact that the boy had saved me, was I so compelled to shine light on his confusion. And was even intrigued by the nature of his actions. He had saved a mysterious man he had never known before out of an 'impulse'. Surprisingly, even, that he was unharmed from the ordeal, even when the shooter had a silencer attached to his gun. And his insistence to acquire knowledge. He was not only familiar with Abstergo Industries, but even so far as to asset that he didn't ignore the conspiracies surrounding the name. Took it into account, even.

Lastly, was his appearance. For the first few hours, I didn't get a good look at him. The pain of my injury and the need to escape from the scene had prevented me from concentrating on those. Until now. A young man who had just arrived into adulthood, his features were a mix of intimidation, hardy and, judging from his real name, Ratonhnhaké:ton, native. The freckles on his upper face gave support to another element.

His way of speech was direct and fluent. Not that street talk crap most young people his age would slur out. Even when he cursed, it sounded grammatically inclined. It was, to say, clear and intermediate English.

And familiar, for there was only one other person I knew who had such a speech pattern.

But now was not the time to indulge on old allies. I had to answer to Radun's questions, especially now that I know who he was. More so that I know, even.

"Very well. I'm satisfied with your answer." My look more serious than before, I proceeded with the monologue. "The business titan has been searching for decades to further strengthen its influence and power. But their search was far deeper than the company, and more ongoing than even we know of. It's good that you're in a...comfortable position." A comment on the boy's strange manner of sitting, then I called out to the door Faulkner entered. "Robert! You might want to bring some refreshments! It's gonna be a long night!"

When I turned back to Radun, he looked puzzled by my suggestion, so I cleared it out. "The information I am about to bestow upon you will be misunderstood if I don't start from the beginning, so sharpen your ears now." A nod from him signalled me to continue. "When I said 'more on-going', I meant that it has been going on millenia after millenia, from the very beginning of history." I paused before looking at him with questioning eyes. "Are you familiar with the Knights Templar?"

The way his eyebrows raised meant it rang a bell. "Yes. My history class at the campus had a segment on that. They were even part of an encrypting discussion by one of our professors." Although he tried to sound matter-of-factly, I could sense the doubt in his tone. "Are they significant to your cause?"

I snorted. So sure did he sound. "Not just significant. They are the whole reason of our struggles. The Knights Templar." My expression was collective, like I was recalling an old page I read in a book. "History depicts them as a noble but disputed organization during the Crusades Era in the Holy land. People can't make up their mind if they were misunderstood saints or wolves wearing sheep's clothing or scavengers looking for treasure to hoard, what with all the different ideas people have about them. But this bit is certain: the French king at the time found an excuse to have them terminated and the Order was completely disbanded, which started conspiracies like the Friday the 13th myth, connections to the Freemasons and hidden bounty in the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem." Another pause before I asked, "Is all that I had said been taught in your classes?"

His right hand was placed similarly to that of The Thinking Man, deep in thought before answering. "More or less, yes. All that was taught to us. Though, I think one professor kept rolling her eyes the entire discussion." His last comment earned him wide eyes from me, but I quickly recovered before he even noticed.

"She should. Because after this, you'll most likely throw away every "fact" you heard from those discussions and never take part in them ever again." The bashful look he gave me was gratifying. I didn't have to say that he knew that this was going to be the eye opener of the century.

"In reality, the Templars were only using their identity as a Christian organization to hide their true intentions. While everyone thought they sought to secure the Holy Land for the Pope, they were actually searching. Searching for artifacts, but not Holy artifacts with promises of giving advantage to the Crusaders and spreading religious unity. They were artifacts far too complex for mundane thinking to comprehend. Artifacts that were made to give the wielder immense power and control over all of humanity. For you see, boy, the Order sought peace, but through control. They claim of a realization: that humanity can only achieve true unity if all were equal. If all were given their purposes and followed a set of rules whole-heartedly and without question. And to do that, they must take away from humanity the one thing that makes us what we are."

I stopped to take in his body langauge. If before, I told him to be comfy, he was anything but. Eyes fixated, mouth curved into a straight line, posture enduring, holding onto the chair to channel his anticipation as he waited for me to tell him more. And I beseeched him. "Our freedom."

His stare went down, absorbing. I gave him time while I thought to myself on how to go further with the discussion. Finally, he looked back up and said, "They...wanted to make us slaves?" The last word was spoken with disgust, but knowing the history of his people, I couldn't blame him for it.

Just then, Faulkner came out of the other door, carrying a thermostat, a bottle of water, some styrofoam cups and a foldable stool. As he settled himself, he propped up the stool and placed two of the cups on it. As he poured each up, I bobbed my head to the boy, hoping that my old friend would catch on and he did. Lifting one of the cups before offering it to Radun, who with a hurried 'Thank you.' took it an started to blow at the steam. Faulkner then handed me the bottle and hurried of, murmuring something about "pain killers".

I opened the bottle and put the opening to my mouth, taking small sips before talking again. "Not really slaves. More like...mindless, moving toys, so to speak." It was hard trying not to snort after seeing his reaction, but I was being serious here. "So, even after the public disban of the Order, it secretly carries on, trying to take back power from behind the scenes. And along the centuries, there have been recorded "incidents" and "catastrophes" that most never even think to connect with the Templars and our clash with them." I continued to name a good many: the Renaissance, the Inquisition, the Eastern empires, the Era of Exploration, countless revolutions and assassinations from both sides and even up to the Cold War. As well as all the subliminal messages and theories from the time passed. But finally, we got to the part where I would answer his questions specifically.

"And with the coming of the twentieth century came the emerging of the company that I have been atetmpting to sabotage for years. For the company, dear boy, was formed as a frontal cover for the Order. The largest pharmaceutical company to date, with every household in America having at least three products made by Abstergo. And you may have already figured this out, but it's been heavily involved with the international market and diplomacy. They do more than make antidepressants." One last gulp and I twisted the cap back on, saving the water to swallow the pain killers Robert would get later.

"Just recently, I have uncovered that their "video games" and "humanitarian medical research" are just a sample of their most in-depth innovation. Around the near end of the 80s, they have gone further with their genetic technologies, to the point of extracting information... memories even ... from a person's DNA." Halting the talk, I cleared my throat. "While we're on the subject matter, are you really willing to know all this? You're not going to fess up to anyone, will you?" From the situation, I doubt he would. That didn't limit my paranoia, though.

Radun's answer was well-thought out, if not with a hint of sarcasm. "I don't think I need to tell the police that I had helped a conspirator who may or may not be part of an underground resistant force and escaped the scene of the crime with me driving his motorcycle, smudging the gears with my fingerprints."

Did I say sarcasm? I meant burning. Like the words had burned themselves into the conversation.

At least he was more than aware of the situation, sad as it is. I continued. "Very well. If you know what you're getting yourself into. Where were we...Oh, yes." My right hand went to the metal clasp on my arm brace, indicating it to the boy. The young man stared at it as I raised it to the light. "Do you know what this symbol represents?"

He eyed the clasp with curiosity and, hopefully, recollection. If he was who he said he was, then something will click. For now, his looks hardened as he stared down at my arm brace. "I...feel like I've seen it before... Somewhere. A long time ago..." Slowly were the words from, obvious that he still didn't remember it fully. But I trusted that he will.

It suddenly dawned on me that meeting this boy was too good a coincidence. It was a risk, but perhaps he will find interest in our cause.

And so I enlightened him more. "Me and Faulkner are just one of the many people who have dedicated most of our years battling this ongoing threat to humanity's treasure of free will. Conflicts between our kind and the Templars have lasted for as long as history can recall itself. Conflicts that, as long as there are people willing to fight for their freedom yet others will still try to demolish it, are endless." My tone was duty-bound, though I couldn't ignore the tired feeling I got after saying that. All those years... "Sadly, unlike out enemies, we grew little over the recent decade. In fact, those of us in the Americas are more scattered than they used to be a ten or 20 years ago. But we won't stop. Especially not with this new information I have on Abstergo."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Robert act similarly to my words, arms crossed and head bowed. We both saw the tragedy. Saw many of our brothers and sisters jeopardized and hunted down. Saw how the Brotherhood diminished into small bands. But before I could further go down nightmare lane, Radun spoke out again. "There's a rumor around the district that I work at about people leaking mind-numbing information from the company's research branch. Something about escaped patients being driven mad."

The fact that he had that knowledge quickened my pulse. it was close to the truth that I had uncovered. So close, in fact, that there was no way this boy had "just heard it" from rumors. But I tried to look more intrigued than troubled. "You probably never thought that those rumors could actually be... what was that?"

Suddenly becoming alert, I scanned the room. A strange noise made itself known all of a sudden. Faulkner had sensed it as well and we were straining out ears. Was it just me...

Or did I hear music?

"Oh! Right." I heard the young Native say. Turning back to him, my sudden halt to attention became surprise. He was standing up now, trying to fish out something from his jeans' pockets until his hand returned with a red cellphone. Triumph washing over his face, he clicked the phone into activation, but cursing slightly while muttering the time. 1:25, I heard him say, then he pressed whatever button would activate the call, cancelling the music I had now realized was an instrumental, and put it up his ear.

"Hello? Hey, umm...yeah, I got the ticket... No, no. The bus I was on suddenly broke down." Him lying about his location was quick thinking, if you ask me. "Calm down, Stephane! Look, I'm sorry for making you worry...Alright, alright! Just stop slurring. Yes, I can tell that those were slurs... Okay, I know you were worried." A tired expression was let out on his face as whoever was on the other line keep talking, him making hurried replies. "I'm just waiting for another bus. Okay. I'll call you when I get on it. I'll see you later. Bye." And with that, he finally ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. Then, with a futile expression, he turned back to us.

"So...was that your roommate?", half-jokingly I inquired. Looks like I couldn't give the boy the complete explanation to this mess I had unconsciously dragged him into. Sighing, I started digging into the pockets of my own coat.

"Umm...yes. I told him to wait up on me. I didn't think he would actually do that, but..." Not even bothering to finish his sentence, Radun adjusted his own hood, before he looked at me with exhausted eye. And, as if apologizing, he said, "I have to go, but I also have no idea where we are at the moment. It was too dark to remember any landmarks for me to use as directions, so I think I'm going to need a ride." He left off that part for it to sink in, but it immediately did and i found Robert and myself looking at each other questioningly.

"You go. Drop him off where he needs to be." I finally said, sounding definite.

After a few blinks, Robert's confused came off and he rebuked, "I'm grateful for the kid bringing you back here, but no way am I going to leave an injured old man all alone in a warehouse."

"'Old man'?" I snorted back. "Look who's talking? No, you have to take to him home."

And before he could try to get out of that argument, I added, "If anyone finds those dead guards, most likely they'll find witnesses and if he—", I indicated to the almost ignored Radun. "—goes back near the station, they just might suspect him. And I think you know where that would lead to, yes?"

Hoping that it didn't sound as brutal to them both as it might have been, I waited for my friend to reply. As he reluctantly nodded, we both faced the boy again. He was awaiting a say in the matter.

Faulkner made to tell him first. "Alright, kid. I'll take you home. But we're taking a very quick route to wherever it is you live at. Now wait here." That said, he went over to the cups and thermostat and tidied everything up before moving away from the chairs. I heard him call out, "I'll send in one of the boys to keep an eye on you, Bloodhound!" before disappearing from view.

I and Radun were left to regard each other. It had been an interesting meeting for both of us. The silent exchange of looks was very unnerving, more perhaps because we had gotten to know our own shared issue with only a few hours of knowing each other than anything else. Inhaling slowly, I broke the silence once again.

"I'm sorry if whatever information I've shared with you may also get you into harm's way. But I believe it isn't legit for you to not know what you got yourself into, saving my life." It must have sound sarcastic at some point, but I really felt guilty about him getting involved with my mission. I was just ashamed that I didn't do his curiosity justice and he had to leave, still questioning the events.

But the boy's reply was surprisingly firm. "Please don't apologize. It was my impulsiveness that dragged me into your endeavour. But I don't regret saving your hide out there." And then his eyes, for the first time since we had met, stared directly at mine. Then, half-heartedly, he chided, "At least some light has been shed on my inquiry, no matter how many unanswered questions are still left." Then, to my surprise, he did a quick bow at me before raising up, his mouth curved into the smallest form of a smile. "You just get better, Mister Davenport."

For a few seconds, I didn't know how to react to that. Then, whatever light-headed feeling I got from it sank in and I smiled back at his altruism, shaking my head in amused doubt.

Just like her, I thought. After all these years. And the boy was living proof of her mark.

The object I took out of my coat was a card. Beckoning him to come closer, I handed it to him when he came near. While he read the card, I spoke again. "I assume that you are indirectly my responsibility now. If anything happens around your campus or neighborhood, don't hesitate to call. And perhaps we can discuss further about Abstergo. Maybe share more gossip about the company."

After tracing his sight around the card a few times, he pocketed it and looked like he was about to say something when a honk echoed through the warehouse. We both turned to look at the door and there was Faulkner, putting my motorbike into gear, waiting for the boy.

I noticed the boy stiffen slightly, looking at Robert and back to me. The look I returned to him was, for my part, authorizing but comforting. "Go,", I assured him. "Wouldn't want to worry your friend now."

His posture was more conflicted on whether to leave or not, but before he went off, he faced me and, right arm stretched out with some hesitation, offered me his hand. "It was nice of you to take your time with me. Thank you as well."

Now it was my turn to be unsure, but only temporarily. I chuckled softly before extending my own arm and shook his hand in mine. When he let go, Radun gave off one last look of indecisiveness before turning around to head off outside.

There he went. Back to his...oh wait. I almost forgot.

"By the way, boy—I mean, Radun!" I quickly shouted out to him. "What's the name of that nifty piece I heard from your phone?"

From where I was sitting, it looked like he was about to straddle onto the back seat of the motorbike. He may have heard me because the last thing I heard him say was "One Thousand Dreams by Feint!" before the roar of the bike erupted and they rode of.

'One Thousand Dreams', hmm? Maybe, will all the new gadgetry society offered these days, I would look into that.

Attucks National University, 45 minutes later

Radun's POV

Never had I been so happy than at that moment to have felt the dew-covered lawn under my shoes. Almost an hour ago, Robert Faulkner had driven me out of the compound, leaving Achilles there to - hopefully - wait for any attending help to arrive while we were on our way. But unlike my own careful but steady driving, the aged man had ignored the speed limit while choosing questionable by shorter routes, remarkably avoiding most, if not all, confrontations with traffic police. And all the while, I clung onto his body like a wet cat to a scratch post. (Funny, because the word "scratch" was involved in my name...)

Somehow, through some leaked thought from my latching, I had asked Faulkner to slow down when we had passed a gas station. Thinking a tank refill was actually in order, he slowed the bike down and eased into the self-service aisle. As we both got off, I asked about getting something from the nearby store, but he commanded that I was to stay here and refill the tank, probably paranoid that I might bail and warn the nearest authority figure of what I had learned.

But with the current situation in general, that was unlikely. I insisted that he go into the store for me then and, while he begrudgingly murmured about my "yellow-bellied death grip on his sides", stomped towards the glass doors and entered the store.

When the tank was full and we had paid for both the gas and the item he had purchased for me, we were off again, only this time I wasn't as clingy and praying to the spirits for dear mercy as earlier. Eventually, the road became more familiar and the scenery of my campus came to view. And now, I was off the bike and relished the slippery feel of the wet grass under my soles. I turned to Faulkner to voice out both gratitude and an apology, but he held a hand up to stop me.

"Look", he spoke, bemused. "I have to be off again. And quick. If you should know anything about my and Achilles' enemies, it's that they have eyes and ears everywhere. I can't idle for long, so farewell for now." When he finished, I didn't argue further, but merely nodded my understanding. Perhaps that was enough of a 'thank you' for him, because before he thrashed the side bar, I saw a smile under his the visor of the helmet. Then he drove away, him and the bike diminishing from my view.

Finally. Home. I took a deep and long breath, repeated the process to get the previous happenings out of my system for even a smidge. Then I tore my gaze away from the road and turned around to face the four-story dormitory building. It still had a few windows lit up, indicating that sleep was not an option for some of the other occupiers. As I eyed the entrance, I saw that the main hall of the first floor was lit brightly. Good. that meant the guards were still awake.

Perhaps it was the anticipation of some decent rest, but my feet started for the entrance immediately, shoes probably muddy from crossing over lawn but I could care less for it. Soon, I was near the entrance when I heard some ramblings from the hall. French ramblings.

Before I knew it, a familiar figure stopped arguing with one of the guards and spotted me. For a moment, I didn't know what his face was expressing, but as he paced towards me, I could clearly see it. Was it worry? Relief? Anger?

Unforgivingly, it was a mix of all three.

After I had hung up on him, Stephane left confused, then eventually anxious and worrisome, about my current location. More than an hour later, because I still wasn't home, he grew impatient and called me while I was still at the warehouse (I didn't tell him about that and just said, again, that the bus I was boarding had a malfunction.) But his uneasiness grew and he decided to wait at the guard's station, pacing about. When the guards had tried to calm him down, he heatedly declined their offers and eventually, grew so impatient and aggravated that he started his well-known slurring montage.

So when he finally saw me approach the building, he didn't hesitate to fast-walk towards me. But from the relief that first washed over him, my roommate snapped and started lashing at me with angry but concerned barking. He cursed me for cutting him off, the fact that he was worried guilty and sick pointed out, especially when I answered his next call so vaguely and left him at a cliffhanger. And a few instances, he had tried to lash his worries at me physically, punching at my arms when I wasn't able to dodge the blows. But I let him pour his fury at me. I more than deserved it.

While ignoring the weirdly humored tease the guards had given us about how we were like a wife beating up a husband who was caught coming home late, me and the Frenchman made our way back to our dorm room. (Stephane continued his cursing once more for a few seconds.) When we finally got in and closed the door behind us, he immediately slumped onto the chair near the desk, arms crossed and hard look still on me. "Well?" He curtly began. "Aren't you going to tell me why you took so long?" Although he was obviously angry with me, I noticed the slight hint of relief that, yes, I was finally home.

A soft, uneasy sounds emitted out of me, feeling the guilt and burden from causing him such disarray. I still used the bus maintenance excuse, but I suppose his still skeptic expression was to be expected. the bruise he had mentioned was indeed on his left eye, a cotton ball soaked with some Betadine taped near it to treat the swelling skin.

Then I suddenly remembered my backpack. I slid it off my back and arms before unzipping it, digging into the bag until I felt with my fingers what I was looking for. I took it out, then tossed it over to Stephane.

He caught the pack with both hands before eyeing it. Beef jerky. Just like he had ask, courtesy of Mister Faulkner earlier at the gas station. The hard expression lessened, but they didn't completely soften as he turned his gaze back to me, mouth twisted into half frown curve, brows inverted while he looked at me judgementally, then he nodded.

"Hmph. I had thought that you forgot about the jerky. Fair enough." Nonchalantly, he waved the pack at me before opening it, pulling out the first strip of dried beef, twirling the strip with his finger before taking a generous bite from it.

Relief washing over me this time, I dropped my bag onto the desk next to Stephane, then proceeded towards the bunker bed. Merely thrashing off my sneakers and stripping away the hoodie, I was left in my socks, shirt and jeans. Too tired to even bother with the jeans, though, I lazily made my way up the top bunk and just flopped onto the mattress.

Through a mouth full of jerky, I heard Chapheau grumble at me. "Don't think this means you're off the hook." The tone was less angry now, so I merely muttered my acknowledgement of his statement. Before sleep could completely wash over me, I took out the card Achilles had given me before I left the warehouse.

A decently printed card, it had a sleek, black, white and red design on it, the symbol he had seen on the bike, the arm brace on Achilles' left arm, and from somewhere in his past, was placed in gradient rendition on the right side. The information written went like this:

Safe-keeping the human evolution.

Hiding in plain sight.

Through the path of truth.

We are Assassins.

1-207-3336

The new information would be realized in the morning. I did a quick prayer to the spirits before mumbling a "good night" to a still munching away Stephane and, then pocketed the card once more and allowed myself slumber.

END OF CHAPTER 3

Author's note: So... how many of you skipped the history lessons and how many actually bothered to read it? /SHOT

And, as promised, mixed POVs! Didn't I tell you guys? XDD I hope I had captured Achilles' personality in this chapter.

Okay, so some of you have probably figured out that Achilles knows about a certain Iroquois woman. Well, it's actually based off an interactive conversation in the game with Achilles and a bit of hinting from the game-to-book rendition "Forsaken". No other hinting from me about that, now.

And now for the info written on Achilles' card. Swear to God, tried to come up with a decent card to finally show that poof! they're ASSASSINS. And with some words based on the actual creed. But hopefully, I can make that work for the later chapters. As for the ringtone, I think it maybe have been too early for Feint to have made that song, but let's just go with it, ok?

And...phones! Pay attention to the usage of phones in this story, by the way. Not really necessary, but just try, I guess. :P

Update of next chapter: February 13-16. Again, unsure, but now that I actually finished this before the last deadline, maybe I can finally get my pace better in writing.

Also, would anyone like to become a Beta Reader for me? Even if I'm used to the English language, I still make TONS of mistakes while writing, but I don't always remember to correct them. So, um...anynone wanna accept the offer? Please?

Reviews and suggestions are welcome! Bye, all!

~Itchy