Sorry for the delay with this chapter! I'm down to the last two weeks of the semester so the university's throwing tons of work (mostly papers) at me and I haven't had much time for recreational writing. Things will be calming down soon enough though so hopefully updates will be less sporadic around then. :) Thank you once again for your patience, as well as your reviews, follows, and favorites!

Ignorance

A new Assassin - one that had been caught on Hickey's information from the underground - had been captured and brought to Abstergo's headquarters. I received the call on Sunday night, shortly after hanging up with Connor.

I was ecstatic, to say the very least. For the moment, our Animus units were occupied primarily by volunteers and the very wealthy; no actual Assassins had been placed under observation in several weeks, given the fact that the majority of the east coast division had been decimated several decades prior.

The entire Animus section of the building was abuzz when I arrived at work the following morning. Scientists and their assistants had all but abandoned their stations to get a look at our newest acquisition, and since everyone else seemed suddenly busy, it fell on me to calm the masses.

"Back to work, gentlemen," I told a group of men clamoring about the elevator exit. Our newest subject was up on the tenth floor - the private wing, where we questioned possible Assassins - and no doubt they were hoping to catch a glimpse of the young man or woman. "I know you have plenty of work to finish. Get to it."

They dispersed with respectful but hesitant nods. I boarded the elevator, swiped my identification card, and waited patiently as it brought me to the private wing.

A few more of my employees were hiding out in the corridor, talking amongst themselves in whispers. They scattered as I passed.

I wanted to shake my head, to appear more exasperated so they would get the point, but it was hard to be upset with them on a day like that one. I still remembered the years when I shadowed Reginald through the building, hopeful and excited each time we brought in a prominent Assassin for review. I was more experienced now, to be sure, but I could still recall being in their shoes.

Johnson was waiting for me outside what I presumed to be the new subject's room, given that it was swarmed by even more employees. Johnson himself was ushering them away with frantic waves of his hand, but they paid him little mind until I stepped forward and cleared my throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I said, stepping easily through the crowd, which parted like fish from a shark. "We are in the midst of a very important experiment, and none of you are needed here for the moment. You can be sure your supervisors will hear about your absences if you do not return to your positions immediately-"

I turned and most of them had cleared away. Johnson shot me a grateful smile.

"I didn't think they'd ever leave," he said.

"Today is exciting. I can hardly blame them."

"Indeed."

Johnson put a hand on my shoulder and we entered the room together. It was stark white, as the majority of the Abstergo building was, but from the windows we had a magnificent view of the city beyond, of the clear blue sky and its few scattered clouds. There were few creature comforts here; several chairs, a desk for the lead scientist. An Animus unit hummed in the center. It was empty for the moment, but I knew our subject would be there soon.

The lead scientist stood as I entered. "Mr. Kenway."

"Benjamin," I said, giving my colleague a polite incline of my head.

"The subject is on his way here. He just woke up a while ago," Church said, nodding absently to the adjacent bedroom. Each of the private Animus rooms had one; when I followed Church's gaze, I could see another man beyond the pane of observation glass, shaking his head blearily. Charles and another few scientists were with him.

"Tell me more about our guest. You were too rushed on the phone last night," I said.

"Of course." Church shuffled through a few of the files on his desk and brought them to me.

"His name is Jacob Zenger. He's been hiding out in New York for some time now - not sure how many years exactly. We only just became aware of his presence, thanks to Hickey."

"You're sure he's the Assassin we're looking for?"

"Not quite, sir," Johnson answered then. "He's affiliated the Assassins. With Achilles Davenport, to be precise. Thomas caught him leaving the neighborhood sometime ago."

"That is good enough for now, I suppose," I conceded, setting the files aside. They told me little more than Church and Johnson already had: the man was originally from Europe, and he had a wife and child back in the city. How long before they would raise the alarm? Or had Hickey already taken care of that?

I was about to ask Johnson this when Charles led Zenger from his room. The man was still dazed, the red hair of his moustache limp and frayed, but I could see a hard resolve in his eyes. His hands were clenched at his sides, and if looks could kill, we all would have been dead before any of us could raise a hand.

"Welcome, Mr. Zenger," Church said, bringing a clipboard to the Animus unit. His assistant hurried to bring it to life.

"Not much of a warm welcome," Zenger said, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his bald head. There was a red mark there, in the form of what I presumed must have been a baton, or some other sort of blunt object. I frowned. Church wasn't supposed to be using too much force with the subjects... I made a note to speak with him later, in private.

"It was rather difficult to give you a warm welcome when you were trying to fight us," Charles said then. His voice had taken on a certain darkness, one that I had not heard since his last interrogation with a supposed Assassin. I was loathe to admit it, but it chilled even me when he spoke. I could see that his tone had a similar effect on Zenger, who put up his best front, though the quirk of his lips betrayed him.

"What did you expect? You came bursting into my home out of nowhere-"

"Never mind that. Please, have a seat," Church said with a dismissive wave of his hand. The Animus had hummed to life then; its panels lit up with a soft blue glow, and the headpiece slid away to admit Zenger. The man stared at it dubiously.

"What in the world is that thing?" he asked, voice low.

"An Animus unit," I said. Zenger turned his gaze to me.

"Haytham Kenway," he said suddenly.

"You've heard of me, then."

"Few in my line of work haven't."

"I take it to mean that you're referring to the Assassins?"

"I work security at a high school. I'm sure your little file says that," he said, nodding to the papers I still had clutched in my hand. "A lot of the kids have your Abstergo things nowadays. It's a rare day when I don't hear the term being thrown around."

"Hm," I hummed thoughtfully. "My name isn't usually associated with the entertainment side of the business."

Zenger had nothing to say to that.

"Shall we begin?" Church suddenly asked, breaking the thick silence that had settled over us. "Mr. Zenger, if you please..."

Zenger stared at the Animus. "I'm not-"

"All you need to do is lie down. It's completely painless, I assure you," Charles said.

"I'm not getting on that thing."

Church breathed a quiet, dramatic sigh. "If you insist." He nodded to one of the bodyguards nearby.

He reacted immediately. The man grabbed onto Zenger's arm and steered him to the machine. It took Zenger a moment to process what was going on - he was still dazed after a good dose of sedatives, no doubt - but when he did, he struck out with his elbow and landed a neat blow on the bodyguard's abdomen. The man hissed, released his grip ever so slightly, and Zenger slipped away.

Church shuffled back, arms raised to defend himself as Zenger vaulted over the Animus and struck out toward him. Charles, fortunately, was not so cowardly; he punched Zenger once in the chin, again in the chest, and grabbed him forcefully as the man doubled over with a grunt of pain.

"Well done, Charles," I said, stepping forward. "Church, if you find that you cannot keep the subject under control-"

"It won't happen again, sir," Church said hastily.

Charles steered Zenger onto the machine while Church typed a few commands into the on-board computer. His fingers were shaking lightly. I couldn't help but scoff. What had Reginald seen in this man? I'd known Church for several decades then and I still found little merit in his presence. He was intelligent, to be sure, but he was a coward, and-

"We're ready to begin," Church said, breaking me from my line of thought.

"Very well. How far back are you going?"

"Not far at all. A few years - back to the point when he should have been meeting with Achilles, if the two knew each other."

Johnson raised an eyebrow. "We're not checking on his ancestor's memories?"

"That's not all the Animus is good for," Church said with a pretentious grin. "There's no need. For now we just need proof that Davenport is still meeting with Assassins. Recruiting them. We can learn more from there."

"Ah."

We gathered around the computer while Charles and the bodyguard strapped Zenger into place. The man was still struggling, but something about him seemed dull, muted, as though he was finally giving up.

"Let's see... This should do," Church said as he typed a date into the unit. The headpiece slid back over Zenger's face and blinked. Charles joined us as a series of images materialized on the screen.

A house filled with children, all clamoring for their haggard mother's attention.

A battlefield strewn with bodies.

A skyline blotted grey by smoke.

A city - I recognized it instantly as New York - materializing on the horizon, bright and welcoming.

A woman's gentle smile.

The laughter of a child.

Church growled an obscenity under his breath. "Damned thing. He's fighting it."

"We should take him back offline. Give him more of a chance to recover," Johnson suggested.

"There's no time. We-"

I remembered this. I remembered it all too clearly, and I knew instantly what Zenger was going through: a turmoil of emotion, a sort of sensory overload. I stepped away from the others.

"Mr. Zenger. Do you hear me?" I said over their voices. They stopped immediately.

"Mr. Zenger. I need for you to calm down. Breathe slowly. Can you do this for me?"

Zenger, of course, made no response, but I could see the flicker of his eyes moving behind closed lids.

"Breathe, Mr. Zenger. The Animus will not hurt you unless you allow it to. Calm yourself. Empty your mind..."

I could see the images on the computer screen slowing, becoming clearer.

"Excellent work, Mr. Zenger. Just keep breathing. Focus on that and nothing else. The rest will come naturally," I said, ignoring the curious gazes of my colleagues.

"Mr. Kenway," Charles breathed. I shook my head.

"Now is not the time to explain. Look," I said, pointing back to the screen.

The picture was nearly crystal clear. Zenger was in a mansion of some sort, one adorned in a classic style that I recognized vaguely as colonial. He was standing in the center of what appeared to be a living room, while Davenport was seated beside a magnificent fireplace.

Davenport did have good taste; I'd give him that.

Zenger was the first to speak. "I believe it would be best to take action soon," he was saying. "The Templars are not stupid. They'll put two and two together before long."

"I'm aware of that," Davenport said, lifting his tired hand to massage his temples. "Still..."

A door slammed shut. Davenport and Zenger looked up.

Someone else entered the room. He spoke, but I couldn't quite hear the words coming from his mouth.

"Achilles," the newcomer said. He stopped when he saw Zenger and gave him a polite nod. "Hello, Mr. Zenger."

Zenger straightened. "Hello, Connor. Back already?"

"We were let out early today."

Davenport motioned to the empty armchair beside him. "Have a seat, boy."

My entire body went cold. I could see Johnson looking urgently at me from the corner of my eye, but I made no move to respond. I feared that he might see the expression on my face, see my surprise, my fear.

Davenport, you bastard. Was he really putting Connor's - my son's - life on the line by trying to induct him into that damned Assassin brotherhood? Just what exactly was that fool thinking? Connor must have been a high school student at the time of this memory. No more than a teenager.

My chest tightened, and my breath caught in the back of my throat. I couldn't hear them speaking anymore.

But wait.

Connor was taking something from his backpack. A slip of paper. A report card of some sort? He was showing it to Davenport, who nodded approvingly.

Perhaps I was wrong. It was possible that they had kept my son in the dark all this time. That he wasn't a part of all of this. That-

"Who is that boy?" Church suddenly said, pointing to Connor.

"I'm not sure. I was not aware that Achilles took in strays," Charles said, eyes narrowed. I had half a mind to reach out and grab him, but I restrained myself with considerable effort.

"Something else to look into, I suppose," Church said.

"I doubt it's necessary."

Both men turned to stare at me. Johnson, on the other hand, was looking carefully away, at Zenger.

"What do you mean, sir?" Charles asked. "He might have heard something. We could-"

"Let him be for now. I highly doubt that Davenport would have said anything of consequence around a teenaged boy."

"He should be older now. An adult. What if they've trained him?"

I faltered then. "I still-"

"I think it would be worth looking into, don't you?" Church prodded. There was suspicion in his gaze, sharp and accusing.

"I will speak to Hickey about it," I conceded after a long moment of silence. "You will continue to work with Zenger."

"You're not staying? Don't you want to see what more they have to say?"

"I have matters to attend to," I told them, turning briskly on my heel before they could stop me.

If our plans still worked out, then Connor would be coming to stay with me that coming weekend. It would give me a chance to speak with him, to dig deeper into his relationship with Achilles Davenport without (hopefully) scaring him off.

It would also be a chance to save him if he was not as ignorant as I thought.