Assassin's Creed: Apotheosis
By: Shadow Chaser
Disclaimer:
Assassin's Creed belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft. I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans. I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).
Story:
Chapter 12 – Assassin
Enzo was not kidding when he said it was the only bar in the area when Desmond arrived. The buildings surrounding the small bar were completely hollowed out or in various states of disrepair. Even the bar itself looked like it was in complete disrepair, the only sign that it was still inhabited was a couple of drunken people wandering out of the door, stumbling across the pot holes and broken sidewalks before heading in the vague direction of where they were supposed to be going.
Desmond hunched his shoulders and pulled the hood of his hoodie further down his head before entering the bar. Hazy smoke assaulted his vision and for a moment, he found himself back in the familiar place of tending to the bar, making small talk with some of the customers while ordering others to leave already because they had one too many drinks.
A wistful smile appeared on his face before he killed it and found an empty seat in the smoke-filled bar. Cracked leather seats lined the booths and more than one table had a few gouging holes of varying sizes. Some were probably made by cigarette butts; others looked like they had been shot through with bullets. He noticed several college-aged kids scattered about and was a bit surprised to see them patron such a dingy looking place, but then again, if this was the only bar in the area, there wasn't much of a choice.
The clearing of a throat in front of him made Desmond turn back to see the bartender staring expectantly at him. "Whatever's on tap please," he asked, throwing a couple of bills and coins to cover the glass he had just ordered. He was of the school that no matter where he was, always try the local alcohol instead of ordering a favorite or regular drink. One it made the locals like you a little more, and two, it helped peg you as a local instead of an out-of-towner.
The bartender took the coin and filled a relatively clean looking glass with the local brew before handing it to him. Desmond took a swig and was mildly surprised to see that it was quite good, though a bit on the nutty-anise side; it wasn't as bad as some of the other beers he was able to sample from time to time when he was bartending. Some of those he had sampled he would have liked to call near-frozen-gnat's-urine or an equivalent thereof.
He set his glass down and looked up at the local fuzzy broadcast of the college football game between Colorado and Ohio State, a non-conference game. He had expected a college powerhouse like Ohio State to easily defeat Colorado, but it looked like the scrappy team was holding its own, or at least barely holding its own. It was only the third quarter but Colorado was ahead by one field goal. A couple of other games were on, like the Rockies losing to the Padres, again. He hoped that it was not another twenty-two inning game like the one that kept many of his patrons in his establishment several years ago until three in the morning. However, it looked like it was yesterday's game, so he supposed that maybe it did not go to three in the morning.
He shifted in his seat, pretending to take in the college game and instead, let his senses observe the rest of the bar. He could feel the whispers of his ancestors, all of them fine tuning his abilities, enabling him to pick up the sharpest sounds, clinking of glasses, the laughter of some conversation... The tinkling of bells from the front door told him that several more patrons entered the bar, some of the making their way towards empty booths, others sat at the bar and ordered their drinks.
This was definitely a college hang-out, but also for locals to enjoy the brew and he noticed a few college-aged guys eyeing a group of girls who were shuttling back and forth between the bar and their booth. A couple of the girls had hair dark enough to pass as Sharon Avelline, but he couldn't be sure from his vantage point. Still, Sharon could have not arrived yet and he was jumping to conclusions.
One of the girls in the booth abruptly laughed before throwing him a covert wink. He turned his head slightly, feigning not even seeing the wink, but out of the corner of his eyes saw two of the dark haired girls turning in their seats to look at him. He immediately saw that Sharon was part of the small group of girls. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, it was only a simple courier mission; get the information she had, return to Enzo's car and head back to the base. Simple as that; so why did he feel the whispers of danger from all of his combined ancestors' senses?
His gun was still securely hidden in the back of his pants, the full clip reassuringly digging into his upper thigh. Grabbing his drink, he hopped off of the bar stool and headed over to the table of college girls plastering a smile on his face. As a bartender, there was the unspoken rule of not flirting with the customers while he serviced them, though once or twice, some of those customers were waiting for him outside after his shift was done. He wasn't rusty, but decided to take a few pages out of Ezio's own womanizing manual to bolster his confidence so he didn't sound like a complete idiot.
Luckily, he noticed that Sharon was wearing a Colorado University sweatshirt with the school's logo and sports team on it. "Enjoying the game?" he gestured absently with his beer towards the TV showing the game as he stopped in front of them.
One of them giggled while the other just batted her eyes at him. Sharon however, blushed and nodded mutely, shy.
"You're a quiet one, aren't you?" he focused on Sharon, "and here I thought all Colorado fans would be ecstatic that they're holding their own against Ohio State."
"It's not really great," Sharon finally mumbled her reply, "they're going to lose."
"You really want to say that Miss I-Am-A-Huge-Fan-of-the-Quarterback?" her friend across the booth teased her before smiling up at him, trying to entice him to talk with her instead of Sharon. "Sharon's got a huge crush on him, don't you?"
The dark haired girl blushed even further before attempting to hide under her sweatshirt. "I'm Jessica, and that's Danielle," her friend introduced themselves, "and you are…"
"Desmond," he sipped his beer, "recent graduate student." It was only September which meant that school had only started up again for colleges. "Transferred from New York University."
"I would figure a city-boy like you would want to enjoy the city! Not this trash of a place," Jessica gestured to the area.
"Found my own little piece of Eden here," those were the codewords he had been instructed to say when he had found Sharon Avelline, "and you'll never guess what it is."
The blush had not faded from Sharon's face, but he noticed how minutely she had started when he spoke the code words. However, proving to him that she was no amateur in passing along information she did not look at him or even make any motion that she had heard him.
"Oh, and what's that? Me?" Jessica obviously had too much to drink before bursting out in laughter along with Danielle. Even Sharon grinned a little.
"The slopes," he continued, unfazed, "the skiing. Grew up hitting the slopes out in Vermont and New Hampshire. Kinda wanted to see what's on this side of the country."
"They are really nice," Sharon flicked a shy look at him, but one that also conveyed the seriousness of their meeting.
"Oh Sharon," Danielle rolled her eyes as Jessica was still too busy laughing at her little joke. She turned to him and shook her head, "Listen, I know that you're probably more interested in little miss wallflower over here, but she's got her heart set on Quarterback of the Year on that screen. Hey look Shar, camera's got a good zoom on him!"
Desmond turned and saw that indeed the camera was focused on the handsome quarterback who had taken the bench and was talking to several of his teammates as the game faded to commercial. He turned back to the girls and shrugged. "Well, then, it was nice to meet you." He smiled at them before heading back to the bar and sat down again, startled when a small shot glass was placed in front of him. Picking the glass up, full of clear liquid, he sniffed it and couldn't quite smell anything.
"Vodka, the good kind," the bartender shook his head, "very brave and bold of you to try to talk to those harpies. They've been man-eating since they were freshmen, though little Sharon's got somewhat of a good heart. I guess it's a way for the other two to protect her from any unwanted advances."
"Er, thanks," he downed the shot in one gulp and was surprised at how smooth the vodka was going down his throat. However, he felt the alcohol hit his head almost immediately afterwards and blinked a bit, trying to orient himself. That was definitely strong stuff.
"I figured you'd be new," the bartender smiled, "graduate student?"
"Yeah, transferred from New York University," he gave his cover story again, "partially not my fault, but hey, who's gonna complain?"
"Well, you need anything, just let me know," the bartender nodded before heading over to help another patron. Desmond glanced back towards the booth of girls all whom were still laughing at his departure before glancing up at the TV that showed the game. Now how was he supposed to get Sharon's information?
His answer came a short while later after the game was finished and Desmond had ordered another pint of the local brew and was half way finished with it. The girls had vacated their booth after the game was finished, having arrived at the bar for the sole purpose of letting Sharon watch the game and their exit was just as noisy. He watched them out of the corner of his eye as they made their way towards the entrance, Jessica, the drunkest of all, bumping into others with mumbled apologies from both Danielle and Sharon. Suddenly Sharon bumped into him, nearly making him spill his beer over his own hoodie before he felt her deft fingers slip something into his pockets.
She then helped her friend out of the door while tossing a few coins onto the edge of the bar for the bartender to collect. The door shut behind her and Desmond along with several others shook their heads before turning back to what they were doing. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small note that said [IN BACK – 5 MIN]. Crumpling the note and shoving it deep into his pants pocket, Desmond took another small swig of his beer before dumping a few more coins onto the bar. "Hey thanks man and keep the change," he called out to the bartender who nodded and waved him goodbye as he joined several others in exiting the bar.
He blended in with them as they exited before slipping away to head to the back of the building that housed the bar. Tugging his hood into place, he hunched his shoulders and pretended that he was just a local trying to find his way home before spotting Sharon standing half in the shadows, looking warily left and right.
"Enzo usually meets me," she started quietly, "is he all right?"
"Yeah, yeah," he looked at her, "I was sent because you had information?"
"Are you sure he's all right?" she looked at him worriedly and the uneasy feeling that his ancestors had been pressuring upon him grew.
"You can trust me, you know," he gently held her shoulders.
"I know," she looked at him, her smile almost a grimace, "you look like both of them, did you know that? That's why I trust you."
"Like…."
Tears formed at the corners of her eyes before she wiped them away hastily and she shook her head, "I can't do this anymore."
"Do what? Spy for the Assassins? Spy on Abstergo?"
"If you see Enzo, tell him that I'm moving my family away from here. I need to get out of here…before…" she took a deep breath, "before its too late and they find me."
"Wait, wait," Desmond shook her unable to understand what she was saying, "find you? Are you in trouble? What's happening?"
Sharon suddenly shoved something into his hands, a small thumb drive along with a key, "This is what she's looking for, but don't give it to her. Please…"
"Who…Dr. Patrice?"
"And I wasn't supposed to know this, but please…Desmond, right? You're name's Desmond…"
"Y-Yeah," he stared at her, confused, "Desmond Miles."
"You have to stop him. Stop Enzo, stop Andrew," she shook her head, "It'll be my fault if they both die!"
"What?"
"They're walking into a trap!"
Desmond's head reeled from what he had learned from Sharon Avelline as he made his way back to where Enzo had parked his Alfa Romeo. The girl had immediately left after giving her warning, running away from him down the alleyway. He wanted to run after her, to demand that she tell him what the hell was going on, but somehow, he knew that it would not solve anything, that her problems were the least of his own. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his left hand fingering both the key and thumb drive nestled within.
He had a feeling that Sharon meant that he should not give Dr. Patrice the thumb drive, but why would she say that? Was it something that could compromise Dr. Patrice, compromise herself, compromise the Assassins? Or was it the complete opposite, that giving Dr. Patrice the information could compromise Abstergo? But how would not giving the information to the head of the Assassins compromise Abstergo?
He turned a corner and opened his mouth to greet Enzo when he stopped. The businessman was not in the car. "Enzo?" he called out, wondering if the man had gotten out to perhaps take a walk around or something. Sharon's warning echoed in his head, to stop Enzo. He reached the car and peered over into the driver's seat, and with his trained eyes and senses, saw that there wasn't any sign of a struggle. So Enzo had left the car willingly. Looking around the car itself, there weren't any sign of another footprint save for his own. However, there were a few boot prints that led away from the car…
He followed the print, noting that it led to a sheer vertical wall. Looking up he felt a small groan emerge from his lips. He should have expected Enzo to be able to free climb. But why would he free climb and more importantly where would he free climb to? Turning back, he headed to the car and stared at the pretty Alfa for a little bit, the early morning hours of the night oblivious to him.
He could sit here and wait, but Sharon's warning had stirred something within him and he could feel his ancestors responding to her warning. He knew that something terrible was supposed to happen, and a part of him felt that he needed to stop it, but what was he supposed to do? He only had his handgun… And where would he go?
Trust your instincts…
Desmond mentally tried to batter away the disembodied voice that had to be one of his ancestors, but it pressed upon him the same words again and he folded his arms and inwardly glared. He didn't need the Bleeding Effect to tell him that he was already slipping. Footprints were only good up to a certain point he knew that for a fact. Running over rooftops and broken pieces of what was once houses could only go so far to make footprints blend in with the surroundings so…
He grinned as he glanced at the footprints and concentrated just so- his vision suddenly muted into greys and the footprints that belonged to Enzo flared in bright yellow. His eyes tracked the foot prints up the wall and saw it combined with smaller sized yellow dots that were probably the man's hands grabbing onto the ledge to pull himself up. Desmond suddenly winced as he felt a small headache erupt in between the eyebrows and released the Eagle Vision, turning his vision back to normal.
He rubbed his forehead to try to alleviate the pressure before looking around at the Alfa again. He had the ability to follow Enzo to wherever he went, and maybe heed Sharon's warning to stop him. Stop him from dying? Stop him from doing something terrible, he did not know, but he instinctively knew that he needed something else other than a handgun…maybe a little extra firepower?
Desmond opened the door and popped the trunk of the Alfa, surprised that he was able to considering that the keys were no where in sight. Closing the door, he was mildly surprised to see the car automatically lock its doors before heading to the back of the car.
"Holy…shit," he whispered as he stared at what was displayed in the trunk. He knew that by the size of the car, an Alfa Romeo didn't really have too much trunk space, but what was in it was something else. It was the equivalent of a small armory. Knives, daggers, even a couple of shuriken hung from their places along with several half-sized swords, and a rather wicked looking scimitar. On the right were several guns all varying sizes and cases of bullets, also of varying sizes. He noticed several armor piercing rounds, regular bullets, even occasional pellets and flares.
However, displayed in the middle of the trunk's hood was an eerily familiar looking set of robes, assassin robes. Parts of it were stained brown with what had to be dried blood, but it was still recognizable. It was folded meticulously, with the belt and a heavily stylized 'A' draped across it, but the hood was displayed in a dominant fashion and Desmond reached out with a tentative hand, his fingers touching the outline of the hood that ended at a beak's point. He hadn't really paid attention to the robes he had worn in the Animus, but as he stared at them, he could feel the sense of familiarity with them robes. He had worn them…once before. He knew where each of those frayed and tattered edges came from. His mother had re-sewn those with the utmost care, happy to help her son even in her advance age. Even she had done it a few times during the times when he could not return to Monteriggioni. The injuries he had sustained fighting the Borgias and their allies-
The barking of a dog nearby startled Desmond out of his thoughts as he shook his head and stumbled back a few steps, shaken by what had just happened. Taking several deep breaths, he released it and stared at the assassin robes once more, suppressing a shiver that traveled all the way up his spine. He had almost lost himself there, he could feel it. If that dog…Desmond refused to let the thought continue and instead rummaged around the trunk some more.
His hands brushed a black bag before he intuitively picked it up and closed the trunk, placing it on top of the trunk. It wasn't even elaborately decorated, but as he unzipped it Desmond's eyes widened slightly. He was not familiar with advance weaponry, especially ones the United States Armed Forces used, but even he could appreciate that the simplistic beauty of a disassembled sniper rifle. This explained how Enzo was proficient in using a sniper rifle, though he suspected that there was little training involved at shooting someone at point blank range with such a powerful gun.
A silencer was already on the muzzle of the rifle and checking the magazine, he found that it was loaded with a few extra clips hidden in the bag. The modern day equivalent of a thrown dagger or crossbow bolt if one needed to kill someone at a distance. Zipping the bag back up, he looped the main strap over his shoulder and cinched it tightly before glancing up at the wall that Enzo had scaled. He could do this, he knew he could… Time to put those skills of yours to work, Desmond, he told himself as he ran towards the wall and scaled it almost effortlessly, a sharp grin on his face.
As he scaled to the top, he let the Eagle Vision consume him to outline the rest of Enzo's path and followed it, leaping from rooftop to broken rooftop with practiced ease. He could feel an unbridled giddy joy within him as he found himself actually doing what he had been doing in the Animus. Staring at the yellow-tinted footprints, he knew when to leap when to roll to the ground to avoid obstacles in his path. The weight of the sniper rifle pack on his back felt like the comforting weight of Altaїr's short sword and the handgun still jammed into the back of his pants was like having Arden's trusty companion, always ready at a moment's notice. The handgun's clip felt like one of Ezio's hidden daggers, always an extra weapon up his sleeve if need be and Desmond could feel the firmness of the vambrace on his left hand, the hidden blade nestled in its sheath, ready to be activated to make his kill.
This was what it meant to be an Assassin.
He followed Enzo's path until he reached the edge of a broken rooftop and crouched there, the brush of a warning to stop making him halt in his tracks. He glanced down to see that the businessman's path had gone to ground level and tracked all the way into a building of sorts. Oddly, he could see the yellow-hued footprints inside the building and let his Eagle Vision fade away, ignoring the headache that suddenly roared between his eyes.
He pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds before opening them again and felt the headache recede into a more moderate fashion. Looking over to where he had seen Enzo's footprints, he saw that the first few floors of the broken building were covered in shattered glass windows and such. The floors above the third, however, were reflective though some were broken. Briefly delving into his Eagle Vision, he tried to track Enzo's footprints, but nothing appeared and he released the Vision once more.
His senses warned him that he didn't want to be on the ground so he sought out another vantage point. Looking around, he found a building close to the one that Enzo had disappeared into and made his way there, wary and alert for anything that may be hostile. He didn't know what part of Denver he was in, but it was definitely very decrepit and if possible, worst than the area the bar was in. If he had anything to say about it, he could have sworn that this area was near Denver International Airport and was probably on the outer edge of what the Piece of Eden was able to somewhat protect. He didn't know how he knew that, but he had the sense that this was true.
Dropping gently to the ground level, he looked around, before heading over to the building's door. Turning the knob, he found that it was locked and frowned. Why would a building like this, in such a state of disrepair would be locked? He craned his neck up and wondered if he could just climb to the roof, but something whispered to him that it was not a good idea to be so exposed to the elements or worst, hostile forces. Bashing in the door would make it obvious to anyone who passed by the area that someone was occupying the building.
"The key!" he whispered to himself as he remembered that Sharon had given him a key. Pulling it out of his pocket, he examined it for a second under the dim moonlight before inserting it and to his surprise, the door clicked open and he stepped in, closing it behind him. Did Sharon know? And if so, how did she know?
He stuffed the key back into his pocket and headed up the stairs, avoiding the debris and pieces of wood and stone that littered the stairs. He needed to show that no one was here and kicking the debris was not the way to do it. Following his instincts, he climbed up several flights of the stairs until he felt that the tenth floor of what was formerly an apartment complex was a good place to stop climbing.
Entering one of the rooms without a door, he headed over the windows and saw that he was placed across the building that Enzo had gone into. Nodding once in satisfaction, Desmond dropped the sniper bag and unzipped it, only to realize that he had no idea how to put together a sniper rifle, much less shoot one. He only had handgun training two days ago! Grabbing two pieces, he stared at them for a second before putting one down and grabbed another piece before suddenly placing them together, tightening the knobs and small screws by hand.
He knew how to do this…no, he did not know, but she knew. She was the best of all of them, he remembered in a vague and hazy sense; she was the best with guns, an expert marksman who made almost all of her kills from a distance, never bloodying herself. White Bishop was her nickname amongst those in the European Assassin Order, for her chaste background and her Master, and the fact that she never got her robes dirty. He could feel her influence in his hands as he put the sniper rifle together with a fast, but meticulous care. Once the last piece was installed and the cartridge snapped into place, Desmond blinked his eyes, feeling a part of him return to his own being as he stared at the completed rifle in his hand.
"Err…thanks," he muttered absently to his ancestors as he settled the gun by the window, making sure that the crook of his shoulder was firmly placed by the butt of the gun before looking through the scope.
As he settled himself, he immersed himself in his Eagle Vision again and looked for any distinctive hues of yellow before- there it was! Desmond's vision returned to normal as he searched out the vague area that his Eagle Vision had pointed him too and through the sniper scope, saw Enzo staring at someone else. Moving his scope a little to the right, he could not quite make out who the businessman was talking to, but it seemed like nothing was amiss.
The person was definitely male, and wore a long dark overcoat. The hood of his coat was pulled over his head, making him unable to see his face, but the coat was unbuttoned revealing ordinary looking clothes. However, just as he was about to move the scope back to Enzo, he saw the man cross his arms, exposing a set of distinctive looking vambraces on them. He imagined the one on the man's left to have a hidden blade in it like his own. What was startling however and made Desmond's breath stutter a little were not only the vambraces that he recognized as almost like his own, but the fact that the man's ring finger was missing.
He could still feel the distinctive shock and sharp pain as his finger had been cut away, in service to the Creed. It was a sign of devotion his Master Al Mualim had said when he had been given the rank of Novice to start his Assassin training. But why would-
Desmond suddenly bit his lip hard, pulling himself away from Altaїr's memories as he felt his grip on reality waver. He couldn't falter now! Not when…not when… Readjusting his grip on the rifle, he focused his scope on the mysterious hooded man again talking with Enzo before tracking the scope elsewhere. He couldn't let the fact that this man had a ring finger missing mean anything significant to him. For all he knew that some modern day Assassins had cut their own ring fingers to show their devotion to the Creed. But that vambrace design…he remembered it like it was his own, it was designed to have a ring finger missing, so that the finger that was supposedly threaded to the heart would be replaced with cold steel that spoke of the Creed that was deep in the heart.
If he had to hazard a guess, perhaps this was the man that Sharon had named as Andrew. As soon as that thought solidified, he felt something within him confirm it, something that he could not quite identify. Perhaps it was one of his ancestors, maybe one closer to his own time instead of ones like Ezio or Arden.
Desmond switched to his Eagle Vision once more as he felt the need to track the scope elsewhere and abruptly stopped as he saw a few indistinct red hues. He frowned as he watched the hues that were in a building further away from him, but still across from the glass business building that Enzo and the mysterious contact were in. Several more hues of red were on the ground, making a definite beeline towards the glass building. Letting his eyes readjust to the normal night, he peered through his scope and indeed saw several masked men, all carrying guns climbing to the rooftop of the building. They were barely distinct through the dim moonlight, but Desmond knew what their purpose was.
They were here to kill Enzo and Andrew.
Author's Notes:
Things…get interesting to say the least. One major revelation soon to be revealed next chapter! Anyone want to hazard a guess – I will reply to guesses. Another note, I am watching The Borgias, mostly for the lulz because of playing AC2 and ACB, but also because my inner historian likes it (though they have twisted several things already, but alas it is television). Thanks for all of the reviews, alerts, and favorites! You make me a very happy author! See you next chapter!
