Hey all!
No– I didn't forget about you :P
Have a very Merry Christmas, and take this 3000+ word chapter as my present :D
Stay lovely, and enjoy!
juno57
PS! Super huge shout out to whoever will be my 72nd follower!
Templar power!
lol
...And as usual, I don't own :D
The stark emptiness of a once great hall surrounded the group with the pain of neglect and years gone by. The faded wallpaper's stripes long since lost its luster lay drab against the walls. The mirrors, whose gilded borders of flying curves and cyclic formation, were coated in several inches of dust. A brief swipe of a hand across the glass allowed a very isolated view into the aged splendor of the ancient devices.
Unsettling emotions coursed through Desmond as he approached the Animus. The peculiar and unsettling mixture of anxiety and comfort, seemed to build with each step he took, yet he remained unable to look away from it. The snaking cords that lay flat in their winding patterns on the floor seemed to increase the stress and in a strange way, he had always felt that his actions in the Animus were his own: his own private sanctuary from the chaos that unfolded around him. Despite Shaun, Rebecca, and Lucy's presence, he had typically been left to his own devices, only being disturbed by the occasional soft inquiry of his fatigue or hunger. Now that the array of spectators stood expectantly behind him, the whole experience seemed wrong; exposed.
"Alright Desmond, I'm just gonna start with some diagnostics– Baby's been out of service for a while sin–" the comment died in her throat with an uncomfortable glance at her shoes.
He placed a hand on her shoulder for a moment, "Hey– don't sweat it" She nodded her head once, "Just ah… make sure everything's running fine." He smirked at her.
Seating herself in front of her computer screens, her fingers tapped impatiently, waiting for the system to boot.
"So… are– what exactly happens now?"
He shrugged, "I have no idea to be honest. I just… Connor just touched the POE, and then Juno took him into the –"
"Yeah, but I'm damn sure we don't want her to find us. This won't–"
He shook his head, "Hephaestus just said that this Piece is different. There's no way she'll find me as long I have it with me."
William grimaced, "Let's hope he's right."
"That still doesn't answer how we're bloody getting into the Nexus."
"Yeah, I don't think 72 is going to work this time."
Desmond snickered, "Yeah– I think your right 'Becca." He shifted in his seated position, rolling his shoulders back while shrugging into the upholstery. "Maybe… maybe Eagle Vision?" With nothing else to offer than a shrug, the other Assassins urged him to try– nothing came to mind other than trial and error.
The cold metal felt heavier than it had before as Desmond clasped it between his fingers. Eyes closed, he sighed heavily and allowed the cool glow of his Eagle Vision to encompass his senses.
"Son–" his voice wavered in uncertainty, "do you feel that?"
Desmond nodded; the Hammer had suddenly started shuddering despite the firm grip that held it. "Something's happened– I can see… it's like when Juno talked to…to…"
"Desmond? Desmond?!" Eveline called out, moving from her seat next to Rebecca to shake his arm gently.
"He's okay– " Rebecca stated before reclining into her chair, "His vitals are all green– nothing like what we've seen before."
Reading the screen over her shoulder William nodded, "His heart rate's a little higher than it should be– but from now on he's on his own. "
Eveline nodded, "Of course– I… I guess it's just been a while since I've dealt with this kind of thing." The chair squeaked slightly as she sat back down, casually taking in the numbers trailing across the screens.
The Hammer continued its pulsing, and Shaun pulled Desmond's sweater sleeve up to check for the pattern of light beneath it.
"I really am curious as to what this is… has anyone ever seen anything close to this sort of thing? I don't recall myself..."
William shook his head, "Not to my knowledge." Crossing his legs he sank further into a worn sofa. "I'm certain it has something to do with the bleeding effect– or something in his DNA that might have been altered from his exposure with the Apple."
Leaning against one of the walls, Petrov lifted his head to take in the scene, "So… now we wait?"
Rebecca nodded, "Yup– might want to grab something to eat, we're gonna be a while."
Desolate empty streets of an abandoned metropolis greeted Desmond as he opened his eyes. The surrounding streets lay completely devoid of people, garbage, or any other sign of human life. An empty shell of a city was all that remained. Desmond walked forward, unsure of anything in this strange new environment. Half expecting to see some vision of Juno around every corner, he traversed across the broken asphalt with caution.
What happened here? Is this… these… is this supposed to be New York? Some of the buildings– what's left of them anyway… seem familiar…
He was left alone to explore for a length of time, gaping at the ruin of the city that was once his home. As he ventured further, the rubble became harder to traverse, in some places, he was forced to turn back from either gaping sinkholes or the large walls of concrete from a collapsed building. Hours passed, or so they appeared to pass, and eventually Desmond grew tired, sitting in frustration against an ironically intact phone booth. Examining the Hammer in his hand, he sighed in vexation at its cyclic pulsing and, true to its creator's temperament, lack of answers or aid.
Is it really that fucking hard to give me a damn clue? Honestly– sometimes I wonder if these guys actually intent to help us.
Juno's sadistic last words flashed through his mind and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He released his hold on the Hammer, and as soon as his fingers relinquished their grip, a searing flash of pain ripped up his arm.
"Shit–!" Rebecca whipped upright from her half slumber, immediately brought to consciousness when her screen started blinking angrily at her. A loud ping emanated from the speakers and she searched through his vitals for the cause.
"What the hell's going on?!" William swiftly paced over, his brow knit together in surprise.
"I have no idea– his vitals are fine by the calculations–"
"Fine? They could hear your bloody alarms ringing in England!"
"Yes Rebecca, please could you turn those off until we've–"
"Jeeze, Bill, I'm on it." She scrambled over the keys exhaling shortly in frustration.
"Look at his arm– the colour… it's turned red." Eveline pointed.
Shaun raised an eyebrow, "Well that doesn't bode well."
William pulled a chair next to Rebecca's, "You said his vitals are fine? Are you completely sure?"
"Shit William– I don't know what to say –" William grimaced at her comment, folding his arms across his chest, "I'm no doctor, I'm only going off of my readings. We know jack about that thing, so who knows how it could be interfering with the Animus or my equipment."
"Isn't there anything we can do?" Eveline asked, "His temperature is pretty high– what's your reading?"
" 'Says it's 98.8 degrees."
She frowned, "I think we should double check– he feels pretty w–"
Rebecca stood from her chair, " I think I know what I'm talking about– I don't need you telling me what to do!"
"H…Hey uh– let's keep it down yeah? I think we're all just a little… this isn't going to help Desmond. Eveline, why don't you see if you can find a thermometer, and Rebecca, I'll –"
"Hey– it… it stopped blinking–" Rebecca leaned over to inspect his arm, "Okay, that's really weird."
William stood again, "We'll need to keep a closer watch on him– Rebecca, see if you can run an internal diagnostic on your systems– Eveline and Shaun, see if you can't find some more standard monitoring systems… at the very least, a thermometer."
"Would that be rectal or oral?" Shaun quipped. The Assassins stared openly at him, "Riiight… definitely not anal…"
Desmond winced as the pain quickly ripped up his arm, beginning to approach his centre.
Shit– what the AAhhhhh!
His body started trembling and he struggled to keep himself propped against the phone booth. Out of desperation, his fingers twitched to search for the Hammer, and as quickly as it had begun, the stabs of pain dissipated. Panting, he slumped in his seated position, taking a few precious moments to recover.
…W….wh… what th…the hell was that?!
His fingers firmly gripped around the Hammer, its weight somehow reassuring in his trembling fingers. Rising to stand, he rolled his shoulders, surprised at the lack of residual pain. Sighing heavily, he began to make his way through an empty alley, turning sideways to an awkward shuffle halfway through, on account of the severe tilt in one of the buildings. The rough stucco of one building bit into his chest, the other pressed deep into his shoulder blades, and with a grimace, he was forced to turn back.
Teeth clenched, jaw set tight he blindly ran in search of a sign, a hint; any fraction of help that might be found. However, his search appeared to be in vain. No matter where he looked, no matter how many one-way streets he walked down, he was as much in the dark as he ever had been.
He backed out of the alley, fists clenched, "WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO FIND?!"
His shoulders slumped, Get a grip on yourself– there's got to be something here that's relevant. He ran his hand down his face, Of course it would be too easy to just walk down a street, and expect to find a nice blueprint– or maybe a powerpoint.
After making his way around the same block yet again, he approached the ever- present telephone booth, ready to slump against it once more in defeat. As the soft echo of his footsteps resonated, he felt a mild tingle in his arm, and, fearing the sharp pains would return, he stopped. After a moment, they seemed to subside, and he pushed forward again. Once more, the twinges returned, and, although puzzled, he did continue forward, slowly pacing up to the booth.
Turning to investigate, his attention focused on the phone booth itself. Despite the chaos and utter devastation to the world around him, this tiny local had somehow survived, intact.
A phone booth– seems reminiscent of a movie…
He walked in a circle around the booth, before stepping inside to complete his sweep. A thin white line appeared over a piece of paper pasted onto the interior. Curiosity provoked a closer inspection, and true to his suspicion, there lay a message, typed in simple black font.
It is a rough road that leads to the heights of greatness. 1
He stood back for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth over the text several times to digest the meaning.
Am I supposed to take this literally? Or is this some more misdirection…
He pursed his lips in consternation.
Everything I've seen so far has been destroyed or buried under rubble…
I've spent long enough in here without finding anything close to a hint.
The rapid tattoo of fleet footsteps against the dusty asphalt and the grunt that slipped through Desmond's lips as he launched towards the torn awning of a pub was the only noise in the dry air. Despite his earlier reservations, the Hammer lay tucked snugly into his backpack, secure for the climb ahead. Strong, seasoned muscles pulled and lifted as he made his way vertically. The destructive force that had ripped the city to shreds had, in its wake, left quite a decent amount of handholds, and feasible building angles. The reflective surface of the building he was climbing had been coated in a thick layer of grime, and barely retained any luster. Halfway up his ascent, his fingers nearly slipped from the their grip as a familiarly striking symbol could be faintly detected under the dirty windows. The sharp angle of the Assassin's compass was clearly distinguishable beneath the dirt– quickly Desmond used his free hand to rub a streak of the dust off, peering into the window. His heart nearly stopped when his eyes traced the sharp, repetitive forms of a Templar Cross inside the Assassin's compass.
THE FUCK?!
This… can't be right– what the hell is that supposed to mean anyway?
With a slight shudder, he continued in his path, trying to put the sight behind him, chalked up to lack of sleep, and Shaun's ceaseless conspiracy theories.
His lungs began to ache, and his shoulders burned from the constant demand to be pushed higher, faster. His eyes began to squint closed as he saw the same blasphemous symbol embossed into a banner from the building's upper floors. The glass had been removed from the floor above him, yet when he attempted to grasp onto the steel frame, the same burn instantly flashed up through his hands towards his shoulders. Gasping, he lost his footing, scrambling to find purchase, but bracing himself for the fall, should he not find it. He managed to slow his fall by snagging his sweater on a metal fragment, and heaved himself through a broken window in the process. He paused for a moment, hands gripping into the broken tile floor of the office building. His eyes searched his surroundings, looking for an exit leading back outside, or– better yet– an elevator shaft he could use.
You've got to be kidding me...
The interior of the office appeared to be decorated by some sort of twisted architect. The desks were placed to resembled the general shape of a V– oddly enough the empty space in the center of this arrangement had a perfectly intact Templar cross, tiled in red ceramic.
No no no no.
He spotted the elevator doors, and hurried over to them, trying to ignore the cold dread forming in his stomach. Wrenching the cold, battered steel apart, he jumped inside, hurriedly pulling himself up the thick cluster of cables.
The endless skyline of an abandoned city greeted Desmond as he opened the elevator doors. Skyscrapers ran on into the horizon, some laying in ruins, collapsed against another for support. Others still remained upright, black skeletons of steel and concrete against the fiery sky. Turning in a complete rotation, he took in the sights around him and sighed in frustration at the repeated symbols strangely transposed into the city's architecture. Looking down to the roof of the building, he groaned, taking in the Templar cross beneath his feet, nestled in the apex of the Assassin's compass.
Did all of this destruction happen because we attempted a truce?
The rubble around him seemed deafening to his senses.
Or maybe... because we didn't…
He sighed, trying and failing, to put those thoughts out of his head. Instead, he turned his attention to his next steps, taking the Hammer out of his backpack in case it should choose this time to offer assistance.
Now where?
He paced towards the edge of the building; the Hammer in his hand pulsed quickly, its light rapidly increasing.
Off? I'm supposed to… do the same physics apply in … wherever – whatever–here is…
The tips of his sneakers hung off the edge as he debate the depths.
In the distance, a woman's wail seemed to suddenly crescendo out of the ruins. Desmond balked, stopping in confusion.
Did I do that? Am I not supposed to jump?
Am I supposed to save… her– whoever it is? Can she help me?
He strained to look for the source of the sound, eyes blinking to Eagle Vision, yet yielding no aid. The pitch of the voice shifted, and a cold chill of its familiarity seemed to nestle in his bones.
Fuck no.
He stepped back slightly as he felt the building beneath him tremble. Whipping his head around to the surrounding towers, their erratic sways confirming his realization.
What the hell am I supposed to do?! Jump? And then what– splatter on the ground?
He backed up a few more steps.
Staying put doesn't appear to be any better of an option– this building looks like it has about thirty more seconds on its shelf life.
His feet rested in the centre of the Templar cross as the building trembled under him.
"His heart rate's up again– shit– by a lot! How did I not…" Rebecca scrambled to check on the monitoring system.
"And it's reliable this time?"
"I ran three diagnostics, Bill, what more do you want?"
He held his hands up defensively, "I was only clarifying."
"His temperature's fine– and his arm is… well… I suppose the blue light is considered normal now?" Eveline questioned.
Shaun shrugged.
"How much longer is this going to take?"
"Sorry to keep you up Petrol–"
"It's Petrov, Rebecca. And you do not have to deal with a ten hour time difference, after three nights in the field with no rest." He growled.
"I have no idea what to expect– I don't think there's anything we have that can monitor him as far as… progress goes. These sort of things aren't the same as the usual memories. There aren't any… well…"
"Checkpoints?" Rebecca offered.
William nodded, "I suppose that's the most accurate definition, although a bit unsophisticated."
Rebecca grimaced, "His heart rate isn't decreasing."
"If anything, it appears to be– increasing." added Shaun from over her shoulder.
"I have nothing I can say to that– we can only hope that whatever's going on in there, that he figures it out soon."
"Before it kills him." Eveline added softly.
Rebecca rolled her eyes.
Desmond stood in the centre of the roof, knees firm despite the chaos unfurling around him. Her wails still reverberated through the empty city, growing more furious and shrill with each new cry. Eyes open, and stance ready, he awaited whatever the approaching cries and violent tremors would bring.
He felt the concrete shifting, felt the rubble give way, and the steel skeleton bend and shear under the pressure. And yet he still remained firm in his decision, Hammer pulsing wildly in his right hand, his tattoo of light flashing in time with it. The pace of his heart reached a fever pitch when he saw the edge of the roof slipping away, it clawed in towards where he stood, the crumble of destruction hurriedly approaching his feet.
Yet he remained still.
The fissures had reached the edges of the Assassin symbol, the darker edges breaking off rapidly, dropping down to the gaping hole in the street below. The buildings around him were unable to escape the same pull, many of them already in the final throes of their collapse.
And yet, amidst the chaos, he remained.
The creaking screams of metal bending and breaking, the wails of Juno, and the earth's trembling seemed to come to a halt simultaneously. Desmond hardly dared to breathe. The empty city truly lay in ruins at this point, the tall remnants of skyscrapers completely reduced to rubble, leaving an unobstructed view of the horizon from his vantage point. In the distance, he could make out the now familiar, albeit still disturbing, sight of the blended symbol.
Alright– I can take a hint.
He smirked.
Oh. There it is. That hint I've been waiting for. Practically hit me over the head with it…
His vision slowly faded with a white haze, and felt the familiar tugging in the back of his mind, akin to the same sensation of the Animus' ejection sequence. His eyes slowly closed as he relaxed into it, letting out a held breath as he woke back into December 31st 2012.
A/N: Did you get the "movie reference"? :P Lemme know if you did– more internets up for grabs!
As usual– let me know how I'm doing, and if you like what you're seeing/want to see :D
See you on the next chapter!
1 Lucius Annaeus Seneca