Chapter 12

Today as I was going to pick up Chinese food at an awesome place down the street from my house (Ching Hwa, Catie and Tori-don't you guys love that place?), there were red flares set on the road, (Hwy 164, Tori and Catie) closing off two lanes. Ahead of me, there had been a serious accident and it looked like (judging from the policecars, fire truck, and ambulances) someone had been killed. As Assassin's Creed fans, we, and I mean all of us, joke about death a lot, tending to describe various ways in which pathetic rooftop and heavily armed guards met their ends. Though they are only computer generated, I now realize, and reflect upon now as I write this, that death isn't quite as funny when you drive past it.

Thank you to platinumblind, Nameless Daydreamer, ClumsyAssassin21, RavenStark, Zuckaiy, CreativeChica39, and Kudomeya for reviewing. Enjoy the chapter.

Song: Run For Your Life, The Beatles

"You better run for your life

if you can, little girl,

hide your head in the sand, little girl."

I gasped, but quickly muffled it, trying to act cool and ignore the steel eyes glinting at me from my doorway. The sweat on my skin, previously from the heat, turned to ice. My voice was lost in a torrent of unbridled terror. I opened my mouth to yell for Ezio, but nothing seemed to be coming out. The couch he lay on was only a few feet from the doorway, but his back was to me, and it was only a matter of seconds before he turned around. My eyes settled on the back of the Assassin's head, silently willing him to turn around. His unevenly cut hair was falling out of his ponytail, I noticed; perhaps my senses were on red alert from the fear of seeing possibly the most evil man alive casually standing in my doorway. Complete with labcoat and white coffee mug.

"Anna?" Ezio's voice cut curiously through the still air. Music to my ears. My vocal chords jump-started, as if all they needed was a little push. I was about to reply, when suddenly my brain fired off blaring alarms. Vidic was still on my doorstep, still waiting for me to greet him, still obviously waiting for me to say something. I couldn't say Ezio's real name. What's a good Italian name . . . I thought of the first one that popped into my head.

"Ugo, dear, why don't you come over here. We have an unexpected guest." I said to Ezio, trying to make my tone light. For now, at least. I would set Ezio on Vidic if my last breath was the order to kill him. Not that I ordered Ezio around; he just kinda did whatever I asked him to. Fold laundry, wash Gladston, you name it.

Ezio twisted around on the couch to look at me, a mixture of confusion and slight pleasure on his face. I pleaded with my eyes, begging him to go along with it and not say anything. He understood, and stood up to join me at the doorway. Wincing at whatever ideas Ezio was going to get from our little play, I put an arm around Ezio, trying not to be too stiff and unconvincing. Thankfully, he caught on and draped an arm across my shoulders. For a moment, the shadow of a smile ghosted across his face but was quickly swallowed by an unreadable mask.

"Yes, my dear?" I could tell he was forcing the Italian from his words, or he would have said mia cara instead of the English version. "Who is it?"

I smiled. Hopefully this little act would throw Vidic off, but I had no idea why he would want me.

I took a deep breath. "This is Dr. Vidic, hon. He's an . . . acquaintance."

The evil doctor sent me a cold smile. "No need for theatrics, Ms. Johnson," Damn. Nothing gets past this guy. "I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us. I would suggest doing so cooperatively, or I will be subjected to using force." He turned briskly and began walking back outside, when he called back at the last second, "No need to bring anything with you."

One would think he meant clothes or luggage, but I read between the lines all too well. Authors have that little skill. There was no way I was leaving Ezio behind. In fact, there was no way I was even going with this psychopath.

Stalking outside, I marched up to Vidic, screaming at him as I went. "Hey! Bastard Templar!" Well, that got his attention. He turned to face me, a slightly surprised expression on his face. There was no chance for him to completely register anything, though, as I walked right up to him and punched him in the nose. A splash of scarlet streaked across his face, and I felt the bone in his nose break. I quickly drew my hand back, my knuckles searing. Rubbing my sore fingers, I heard Ezio jog up next to me and felt a warm hand on my shoulder, hurriedly manuevering me away from the son-of-a-douche that I had just punched.

The rest was a blur. I heard an angry yell, and Ezio's warm, comforting hands were replaced by pairs of strong, unyielding fists, and I kicked and struggled agaist the cold hands. I heard Vidic's voice say something above the racket of yells and punches, somehwere aong the way realizing that Ezio was fighting off the Abstergo guards as well as me. How sweet, he was fighting for my honor. Vidic screamed again, and I caught a glimpse of him, a demonic look in his eyes, blood flowing down his face, and someone struck `e on the back of the head, directly on the crown. Black flooded the edges of my vision, and the last thing I heard was Ezio, and the sound of a blade cutting through the air.

[...]

A headache woke me, a metaphorical knife cutting into my temple. Rubbing my temples with my thumb and middle finger, I sat up and instantly regretted it. The headache increased tenfold, and a small lance of pain hit the back of my head. I fell back into the soft, white sheets and closed my eyes, trying to remember what happened. I remembered Warren Vidic coming to my house . . . I remembered playing Ezio's girlfriend/wife, and punching Vidic in the face, and getting into a fight, and then . . . nothing.

Looking around, I tried to take in the bedroom from where I was laying. A large white closet, filled to the brim with white T-shirts and black pants. A small door off to the right lead to a tiled room, probably a bathroom. Another on the left was closed, a small flashing white rectangle on the wall next to the door. I furrowed my brow, and my head hurt again. I thought vaguely that I had seen this room before. I stared at the ceiling, half expecting to find red painting there. Or blood, as the case may be. This was the same room Subject 16 had stayed in, the same Desmond had been held captive in. It was June, and if my fangirly-ness was correct, and more than a week hadn't passed since I was unconcious, then . . . Desmond was due to arrive in Abstergo any day.

I felt the timelines hit me like a slap to the face. Ezio from 1476, Desmond and Vidic from 2012. . . everything was getting so weird. A strange butterflying feeling lit in my stomach at the thought of meeting Desmond. He was always one of my favorite characters, aside from Leonardo, Malik, Shaun, Rebecca, Altair . . . yeah, everyone. A stab of panic hit me as my thoughts drifted to Ezio. What if he hadn't gotten out alive? What if Vidic and all his Templars killed him? What if, what if, what if . . . I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. This was no time for that kind of thinking. I needed to stay calm, stay collected. Rubbing my temples again, I threw my blankets off me and started toward the door which I already knew was locked. A second later, after my brain stopped having a stupid attack, I realized that my My Chemical Romance shirt and black sweatpants had disappeared and in their places a knee-length black skirt and collared white blouse. For a moment the spontaneous clothing change reminded me painfully of my nightmare a week ago, and I inwardly shuddered. Pushing the thought away, I tried the door. Locked.

I used the bathroom and, not trusting the privacy of the shower, used the immaculately white sink to splash cold water on my face. When I glanced up at the crystal clean mirror on the wall, I winced at the sight of dark red, dried blood on the back of my neck. Nice. Abstergo could change my clothes, but they didn't give a flying monkey about the dried blood on my head. If I could give a wedgie to the next agent of Abstergo that I saw, I would wihout hesitation.

I returned to the bedroom. Just as I did so, the metal door slid open, and a slender blond woman wearing the same uniform as me walked in, carrying a small tray with a plain white bagel and a far too small cup of black coffee. A thimble's worth of sugar and tablespoon of thick cream sat off to the side. The blond straightened up, and I felt my mouth drop at the sight of the recognizeable, crisp figure.

"Lucy?" I gaped. She looked confused for a split second, which instantly turned to suspicion.

"Do I know you?" She asked sharply. I held up my hands in a surrender.

"No, but. . . I know you. Listen, Lucy," I asked. "Just listen to me for a second. I can't tell you everything because it isn't possible. But Ezio Auditore da Firenze appeared in my house about a week ago. Do you know who he is? I suppose not . . . You don't know Desmond, either, do you? He should be here any day now. Ezio is one of his ancestors. Desmond is your Subject 17. And I know where your allegiances truly lie, Lucy. And please trust me when I say that I am on the same side, but I'm not much use to you. And I would never say anything about it. I just want to know why I'm here, and what you want from me,"

Lucy studied me for a long moment. "I can't trust you," she said at length. "But I don't think you're lying to me. I guess we will find out later." She gestured at the food. "Eat." She commanded simply. I smiled slightly, and thought that this could be TRUST I'm building, here!

After Lucy left, I slammed the coffee down black and ate the bagel dry. Pulling my skirt down further, since it was sorta hiking up my legs (which is why I despise skirts), I followed her out into the large room I had studied so obsessively while playing Assassin's Creed, the original. And in the dead center of the room sat the one thing that had started it all, that had dug through Desmond's memories like a hobo digs through trash cans.

The Animus.

The metal thing blinked menacingly at me, in all of it's shiny, spine-misshaping glory. Nothing like the red comfortable-ness that is the Animus 2.0 that Rebecca fashioned. Nobody was hooked up to the Animus at the moment, most likely because Sixteen had already died-taken his own life-whatever-and they haven't found Desmond yet. But Lucy wasn't the only person there. Vidic stood behind his desk, facing away from me and looking out that window that was flooded with so much blinding sunlight that you could never see more than the tops of a few buildings. Another white coffee mug was in his hand; seriously, did he go anywhere without one of those? As Lucy and I entered the Animus room, the doctor turned to inspect us.

"Ah," He said lightly, as if me punching him in the face had never happened. "Ms. Johnson. I assume you're rested up for today's activities. We have much to accomplish and so very little time to accomplish it in." He walked down the steps to the Animus and toward us. He shoes clacked obnoxiously on the hard metal floor, and if they were any louder I swear someone in Asia could hear him strutting around like some sixty-year-old chicken.

I scowled at the man. "What do you want from me, Vidic?"

An icy smile spread across Vidic's face, and he said the words that made my heart feel like it was going to slow to a halt. "Get in the Animus, Ms. Johnson."