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 43 – Architect
Desmond shifted and groaned as he opened his eyes. Everything felt fuzzy, not only his brain, but he could feel something pressing upon him, keeping his right shoulder immobile and a slight stiffened pain near his abdomen. It only took him a moment to remember why he felt like utter crap as he blinked his eyes several times to clear away the sleep and attempted to sit up. He noticed that he was in the main bedroom of the loft and used the headboard of the bed he was on to gain enough leverage to sit up, huffing out a breath as soon as he was done.
The blanket that had been covering him pooled down to his waist and gave him a very good look at the sheer amount of white and flesh colored bandages that covered him. His abdomen was wrapped up in several layers of gauze and Desmond reached over with his left hand to tentatively push against the part where the bandages were thickest. A sharp stabbing pain rewarded his efforts and he grimaced a little. Still wounded then, that was good.
He twisted his neck to try to look at his bandaged and immobile right shoulder, his right arm in a sling to further hold the shoulder in place. But his neck was not able to turn the full length and when he tried to turn further, his shoulder muscles pulled in protest. It wasn't as sharp of a pain as his abdomen wound, but it was enough for him to stop his efforts. The bone must have been popped back into his socket while the muscles around it healed, he supposed. The fact that it still hurt a little, but not too much meant that the swelling was going down, but also meant that if he wanted to be back in a good fighting condition, he would have to go easy on the shoulder.
But there was no time to go easy as he glanced outside at the large open windows, the curtains partially drawn, but enough for him to see that it was late in the afternoon and the sun was already setting. Dusky orange-red rays of the fall made for a beautiful backdrop against the bits and pieces of New York City he could see. He glanced down at the clock by the bedside and saw that a day had passed since he had all but passed out from his injuries.
Definitely no time to go easy, he thought as he slid out of the bed and awkwardly padded to the bathroom that was connected to the bedroom and grabbed a large bathrobe that was hanging on the door. It took him some effort to put it on, but when he did, he could immediately smell and sense the owner of the bathrobe, but pushed those memories away. Of course he was wearing Ezio's bathrobe; the only thing large enough to accommodate the bandages and sling on his shoulder without having to go through the effort of putting on a much slimmer hoodie or even a tee-shirt.
However, as soon as he pushed the memories away, he felt something alien making itself known in his mind and he grimaced again as he felt the source of it and glanced over to the other side of the bed's end table.
It lay there, sitting rather innocuously in its sheath, a well-worn leather piece, and for all intents and purposes looked like a costume blade that was prettied up. But Desmond knew better than that and his grimace morphed into a glare as he roughly shoved the alien presence away. He felt it adopt a hurt sense, but ruthlessly denied it a second chance to worm itself into his mind. Stay out! He shouted it down before he could feel the alien presence slink away, sulking. However, he did not let his guard down, the whisper warning of Arden's memories reinforcing the mental barriers and sent a wave of gratitude towards his ancestors for the help. He knew as well as they did, or perhaps he always knew due to the Animus' Bleeding, that Pieces of Eden were masters of deception.
The fact that it acted like so made him even angrier, but he managed to keep the anger down, knowing that it was what gave it more opportunities to try to influence him. Hell, he knew that somehow it was influencing him even more, but shook his head against it. Paranoia was something he could not afford, not after what he had done. It was the right decision, the only one, and he knew that; believed in it.
He resolutely ignored the Piece of Eden and headed downstairs, his first few steps wobbly, but pushed away his fatigue and tweaks of pain. Soft murmuring voices echoed from the kitchenette bar that lead out to the patio as made his way there. A quick glance towards the bathroom where Alan Rikkin was still locked up made him wonder if the man had already did what he knew he would do. He shook his head, he could not dwell on what Rikkin would do or not do, he had to believe that it was already done. If not, Bill would surely have taken care of it.
When Desmond entered, he saw that almost everyone was hovering over the small dining table, staring at several maps and photos. He nodded to Rebecca, Shaun, and his mother as they spotted him when he entered before padding over to them. Neither his father nor Ezio looked up at him, both frowning at the map, but Desmond did catch separate quick once-overs as he stood in between Rebecca and his mother.
"What do we have?" he asked, smoothly inserting himself into the discussion. The maps were of various floor plans of Abstergo headquarters and the photos were mostly aerial shots, the time-date stamp telling him that they were taken just today; most likely from one of the local stations' helicopters.
The only person missing from the group conversation was Altaїr, but Desmond spotted his ancestor sitting outside on the patio. He was staring out into the sunset skyline, not even bothering to contribute to the conversation, but he knew that Altaїr was listening in. There was a melancholic sense from the master assassin and he knew that his ancestor was most likely still mourning or in deep thought after what happened yesterday, perhaps even both.
"The easiest entry method is not through the helipad up on the roof, but rather through the front entrance, down on the ground floor," Bill crossed his arms as he frowned and stared at the maps and photos, "looks like Abstergo got wise and put up some sniper nests up there."
"I doubt the Templars will let everyday tourists past the second floor or even the mezzanine level," Ezio commented quietly before pulling out a map of the elevator shafts that had been hidden underneath the main floor plan map, "what of the sewers?"
"I am not crawling through the sewers! I heard there are alligators-"
"It's a lie," Desmond shrugged in response to Rebecca's protest, "but are the sewers a no go?"
"The sewers lead straight into the sub-basement flooring of Abstergo-" Ezio pointed out before Bill shook his head again.
"No, I've already said that there's a laser grid field there-"
"I can hack that-"
"That even I couldn't hack it during my time there," Bill continued, "So you couldn't do so-"
"Oh yeah?"
"Hey," Desmond glared at both Bill and Rebecca, "cool it. If it's a no-go, then it's a no-go." He had a feeling that the laser grid discussion had been hashed out many times before he had woken up and come down stairs judging by how tired his mother looked. She only got that look whenever she was trying to play peacemaker between himself and his father.
"I meant it this time as a distraction," Ezio also seemed a little annoyed by both Bill and Rebecca butting heads, "while the rest of us figure out another plan to head into the building."
"That is a good idea," Desmond nodded, the beginnings of a plan forming in his head.
"Good, then I'll volunteer for it-"
"No, I need you for something else," he cut Rebecca off and made to cross his arms, but when a sharp twinge of pain shot through his injured shoulder, aborted the attempt. He did not miss the slight looks of concern from all of the others, but resolutely ignored it. He was going to have to work through the pain, that was all there was to it.
"We were scouted today," Bill spoke into the silence and Desmond met his father's gaze, noting the seriousness in them. They did not have much time left…and it was something he knew would have likely happened after the destruction of the Apple of Eden.
"You think maybe a day or two?"
"At the most, a day," his father replied.
"Ah," Desmond did not say anything else as he stared at the maps, and photos, the idea growing a little in his head. His knowledge of New York City and its basic infrastructure coupled with the times and knowledge of emergency response team for certain boroughs and areas of the city were proving to be quite useful. He studied the maps a little longer; pulling out a couple of them that had been buried underneath before finally coming to his decision. It was risky, and definitely a long shot, but it was the only one he knew that the Templars would probably not be suspicious of.
"Okay," he muttered before chewing his lower lip, "okay…" He turned to Rebecca who had her laptop open, "Rebecca, can you bring up a timetable of Metro North times for tomorrow?"
"Metro North?" she started typing into a search function.
"Yeah, the local commuter rail," he pushed aside a couple of maps before glancing up at his father, "standard operations for a Templar sweep you think?" He could feel a distant memory of his father's knowledge regarding Templar scouting procedures in the back of his mind. It was a little surreal, but at this point Desmond knew that he needed help from all of his ancestors, surreal or not.
"Probably," his father gave no hint that he was essentially regulated to a backseat while Desmond took charge. Then again, he knew that Bill had volunteered and was most likely the only one who was able to guess the general overall plan, "they'll do another sweep tomorrow and we'll probably be compromised by then."
"Are we moving?" Shaun asked, having stayed silent since he arrived.
"Yes and no," Desmond took a deep breath and released it slowly, pushing the sudden sharp shooting pain in his ribs near his abdomen where he had been stabbed by Altaїr's hidden blade. "How are you at flying?"
Shaun blinked, "E-Excuse me? As in flying something or flying, flying? I mean, I'm not Leonardo with a flying machine- sorry Ezio-"
"No offense taken," Ezio smiled a little.
"I mean air sickness?"
"No," Shaun shrugged, "why?"
"Can I borrow your phone?"
"Huh? Don't you have one?"
"Old habits die hard," Desmond reached out to take the cell phone from Shaun's hand before flipping it open and dialing a series of numbers he had long memorized from his brief time in the city. He turned a little as he heard it ring several times before a gruff voice on the other end picked it up.
"Yeah?"
"It's me," Desmond fought to keep a slight grin off of his face at the familiar voice.
"Miles? That you? Holy shit…where the-"
"Remember that favor you owed me?"
"Oh, so this ain't a social call then? Figures. You drop off the face of the planet for the last three months and then you decide to call asking for that fucking favor-"
"Same spot if you don't mind," Desmond overrode the voice, "and we'll call it even after that."
"Yeah…fine," the voice sounded slightly distracted before Desmond heard the clear sigh of a woman over the phone and rolled his eyes.
"Lose the candy before you get there."
The only thing he heard before the click of the line disconnecting was a rough laugh and he snapped Shaun's phone close before handing it back to him. Before anyone could say a word, he asked Ezio, "Besides handguns, what else did you find?"
"At least one RPG, one or two basic hunting rifles, no FN P90s though," Ezio shrugged.
"Any chance you can trade those back tonight for at least an extra sniper rifle?"
"What type?"
"M…24, right?" he was not too sure of the make and model and glanced to his father in time to see the barest hint of surprise gracing his features.
"The Remington 700 military and police version. That was made in 1987 and wasn't mass produced until 1988," Bill had a curious expression on his face, but Desmond declined to confirm that he had plucked the make and model directly from his father's memories in his mind, well, actually from knowing that was what Alice Miles preferred. He dared not look to see what his mother thought about him and his sudden knowledge of sniper rifles.
"It will be hard, especially since it is military grade, but I will see what I can do," Ezio nodded and Desmond caught the hint of a purplish-yellow bruise on the underside of the Italian assassin's throat. It was right where he had attacked him in the fight yesterday and was mostly covered by the shirt collar he had buttoned up. He had no doubt that he, Altaїr, and Ezio were all injured to some degree and if he had his way, they would hold off this plan for a week or two, but there no time. They had to act now or never.
"I've got the times, where to?" Rebecca spoke up and turned her screen so that he could look at the timetables.
"New Haven, as local as possible. I think the first stop would either be Greenwich or Stamford after Harlem/125th Street," he said and she clicked her mouse several times to get him the exact search function. He peered down at the timetables given, his mind calculating.
"Tickets are-"
"Won't matter," he found a train that he liked and pointed to it, "it's the second train after the start of peak hours going to New Haven. We have this much time to get ready and move out of here."
"So what's the plan then?" Bill asked, crossing his arms across his chest.
"We hit them tomorrow night," Desmond returned his gaze over to the maps and, leaned forward a little, "here's what we need to do…"
If there was one thing that subways were good for, it was unintentionally stretching arm muscles; especially if one kept their feet loosely held on the ground and let the natural sway of the subway's momentum pull the body along. Stopping or even starting with an abruptness that was similar to jerking back and forth in a New York City cab was enough for Desmond to roll his injured right shoulder around. Granted, it hurt like hell and he wished he had taken a couple of more anti-inflammation pills along with a painkiller, he still could not deny the subway's effectiveness at stretching out unused muscles.
However, he could not keep the slight wince off of his face as gingerly rotated his shoulder as the subway slowed to a stop and opened its doors with a screeching hiss. Stepping off and onto the platform, he felt Shaun behind him, but the Englishman did not say a word whether in reaction to his pain or of their stop. Leonius had trained him well; Desmond smiled to himself as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sauntered towards the exit.
It had been a few hours since he had explained his plan to the others before leaving with Shaun in tow to meet up with his contact. He had seen his father almost protest against the action, still itching to be in control when a glare from Altaїr who had sat outside on the porch the whole time, stopped Bill. There was no doubt from any of the others who was the leader now and while Desmond still felt a little untested to be thrust into such a position, he knew that there was no other way. Not after what he had done.
"Hey Des," Shaun suddenly spoke up as they took the emergency exit gates, ignoring the annoyed look from the MTA guard as several other passengers who had exited also followed them, "why am I here?"
"Because I need you to recognize and remember who we're meeting with," Desmond replied, ascending the stairs and coming out into the slightly smelly, but cold air of Queens, New York.
"But I can't fly a helicopter!" the Englishman hissed quietly as not to attract any unwanted attention. But Desmond did not care if they attracted the wrong sort of attention, he wanted them to think that they were formulating the plan and wanted them to know what part of it was. It would certainly make things a lot harder for them in the long run, but he also knew based on his ancestors' experiences and from what he had inferred with his conversations with his living ancestors; this was the only way.
"Brad's the one who will be flying it," Desmond shook his head, "I just need you to do your part."
"I can't do a convincing American accent you know…"
"You're the only one besides Rebecca who's had any recent contact with the outside world, so at least you know how to act the part. And I need Rebecca for her part in the whole plan."
"Doesn't New York have like a no-fly zone? You know, where military jets will shoot you down-"
"They do, but not for news stations' traffic helicopters-"
"We're not going to be armed?"
"You will be," Desmond held up a hand to stall Shaun's next protest as they entered the alleyway where he was supposed to meet his contact. His senses were all on alert, feeling and searching out in the inky darkness of the alleyway. The rancid smell of garbage pervaded the area, but the light chilly breeze blew the smell away, though occasionally it returned as the wind blew the other way. If the winds picked up tomorrow then the helicopter would also be affected.
"That second sniper rifle-"
"Shh," Desmond grabbed Shaun's arm and shook it to silence him as he sensed someone else in the alleyway.
"I thought it be only you Miles," Desmond relaxed a little, but kept his finger on the trigger to release his hidden blade just in case as a figure stepped out of the shadows, dressed in a casual leather jacket and frayed jeans. The corner of his lip dipped up and down as he hung onto the remnants of a cigarette, tossing it out a second later and stubbing it with the heel of his sneaker. "Who's pretty boy Brit?"
"Someone who's going to be flying with you tomorrow," Desmond shrugged, extending his right hand out and shaking the other man's hand. "Good to see you Brad."
"Likewise," the older man nodded before a frown graced his features, "so what's this about flying? You said nothing about flying."
"Just routine traffic coverage, that's all. Then a pick up on one of the helipads in the buildings and you can drop us off in Secaucus if you want," he watched Brad carefully, but the man did not look that surprised, which was both good and bad in his opinion. Brad Nozzio was a helicopter pilot for one of the local TV stations in New York City, but also occasionally freelanced as a high-end guide for tourists who had a lot of money to burn.
He and Brad had met about a year after Desmond had arrived in the city and it was because the pilot had stumbled into his bar already drunk and looking to become even more shit-faced as the night wore on. Like any good bartender, he had refused service and wanted to call the cops to bring the man home to his apartment or even spend a night in jail, but he had been afraid that the Templars or even the Assassins would get word of him being in New York City. He had decided to let the man sleep away in the loft that he rented out with a couple of others in the area. The fallout from the morning was a bunch of apologies, bad assumptions of sexuality, and overall learning that the reason why Brad was so drunk. The pilot had just lost his young wife of two weeks in a horrific accident on the FDR to which he had reported from the air before realizing what had happened.
The days after that were one of recovery and Desmond attempting to help the newly wedded man come to terms with his loss as best as he could without a bottle. He had even locked Brad in the bar's janitor's closet for several hours during the hours he was working just to make sure that he would not even get close to a bottle. It was cruel, he supposed, but there had also been a hope in Desmond's mind that perhaps one day he would like to go flying in a helicopter, something he had only read about in books. And since he could not readily afford a plane ticket nor get on any plane without tripping several security measures at airports and the like, a short helicopter ride with a familiar friend was the only other option.
It took Brad several months to come to terms and after that, had thanked Desmond for his efforts and even gave his offer of a free ride whenever he wanted it. Desmond knew he would have taken the offer if it were not for the fact that Abstergo had found him and kidnapped him. Now, though…now, perhaps he would be able to get that ride after all.
"Shaun Hastings," Desmond pointed a thumb back at Shaun who hesitantly stepped forward and shook Brad's hand.
"Hi," the British man made neither a crack nor sarcastic remark, which surprised Desmond, but realized that he was probably assessing the situation like they all did with little to no information.
"So this isn't just a free ride then?"
"No," Desmond heaved a deep sigh, "it's actually a little different than that-"
"You know that offer was just for you, kid?"
"I know, I know, and I'm asking you for a lot, but I've got a confession to make-"
"Aww, you love me, right? Sweet kid, but I'm not gay-"
Desmond rolled his eyes, "Brad, listen, can you just cover the afternoon traffic tomorrow and take Shaun with you? Then wait for my signal and pick us up at Abstergo's helipad, all right?"
"Abstergo- What the…? Are you visiting them or something?"
"Something like that," Desmond grimaced.
"Kid, I don't have clearance to land there and it is definitely on part of the no-fly zone if you don't have the right clearance-"
"You'll get your clearance," Desmond frowned, "don't worry about it."
"You sure? Cuz last time the Templars-"
Desmond immediately froze, his head whipping around to stare at Brad who stopped talking as soon as he said the word 'Templars' and clapped his hands to his mouth. The audible snick of his hidden blade flicking out of its bracer broke through the night as he stared hard at the pilot.
"What did you say?" behind him, Desmond heard Shaun tense ready to either fight or flee quickly back into the subways. Neither of them carried any handguns, the risk of running into an NYPD officer or even gangs on the streets too great without drawing attention to themselves.
"Fuck," Brad's eyes were rooted down to where his blade was visible against the dim lights of the alleyway and streets. "Uh…listen, Desmond-"
"I never told you my name," Desmond could feel the tension of his ancestors pressing upon his mind, but refused to let it snap. Brad was a good man, and he deserved at least some sort of chance to explain himself.
"I was, uh, working for this guy named Andrew, all right? He, uh, he said that he was an assassin and wanted information regarding the Templars in the City. Okay? I mean, what the hell, Templars and an ancient conspiracy, whatever, I don't care about that. It was extra cash, enough so that I could propose and marry Leila, all right?"
Desmond did not relax his stance, but rather glared at Brad, letting him see the full golden-brown of his eyes, "Go on…"
"I mean, my job, traffic reporter and pilot, that kind of gives me access to some high rise stuff. Sometimes, Andrew would give me pictures of people and where to find them and I would give him what they had done at so and so time and what not. Sometimes, they're just sitting in their car or even on their cells just talking. One was even having a blow job done to him while he was driving on the FDR. All I know is that most of the people he had me look up were pretty powerful people. I mean, that's what the internet and wikipedia is for, right? Looking up people and shit and most of them were Abstergo related too! I think he's crazy and shit for that whole Templar thing related to Abstergo, who isn't these days after 9/11, but come on, two and two…" The pilot shook his head, "And now you're asking me to do a pick up off of Abstergo…"
"That doesn't explain how you know my name," Desmond narrowed his eyes as he stared at him.
"Err…I heard pretty-boy Brit here…?"
"Bullshit."
Brad sighed, shaking his head before gesturing to the blade, "Can you, um, at least, put away your switch knife? I mean…this isn't frequented by the police and stuff, but really…this neighborhood does have a history of violence and gang related attacks-"
Desmond released the catch on his blade and let it slide back up into its resting spot in his bracer, but gestured for Brad to continue.
"I only found out about you after I made a random comment in a message to Andrew through another one of his contacts Enzo. Just small talk, that's all. Lamenting about your disappearance from the bar three days straight. Some of your co-workers thought you had jet, just like you did in other jobs, so they didn't care, but I was going to offer you that ride, you know and introduce you to my new girlfriend…"
"And…?"
"Well, Enzo, he didn't exactly freak out, but more like become a lot more intense…you know, a lot like what you just did there. Super scary shit man, you really could give the guys I play poker with every Wednesday a run for their money-"
"Brad…"
"Anyway, he suddenly demanded everything that I knew about you and where you lived, even your habits. I told him that I wasn't your boyfriend or keeper and left it at that. I got a message a couple of days later from Andrew asking the same thing. Enzo, I don't trust that much, but Andrew, well, the man was good to his word every time I needed something and sometimes even when I didn't need things. So yeah, learned a little about you through that. Traffic reporters do get some j-school training you know. We're not just flying about unable to find a story and shit."
Brad quieted down a little as Desmond pursed his lips. He could feel the alien presence a quiet murmur in his mind, the Lance having been left at Ezio's garage-loft for the time being. The fact that it seemed like Brad had encountered Ezio meant that Ezio had been watching out for him while also doing his own mission in New York City. Also mentioning Altaїr, or at least his alternate name Andrew, and that Brad had given the master assassin all of the information about him corroborated what happened. It made sense that Altaїr had used the information given to him and had launched an attempt to either rescue or kill him while he had been in Abstergo's clutches in a different city. Otherwise, he supposed if he had been housed in New York, it would have been Ezio launching the rescue attempt.
Desmond sighed, rubbing his forehead and shaking his head, "Are you okay with doing a traffic report and then picking us up from Abstergo's helipad?"
"You believe me?"
"I trust you," Desmond knew that even if he did not there was no other choice. Besides, if it did not work out, and Brad did betray him, it was still part of the overall scheme of things he was working on.
The pilot licked his lips before nodding, "Yeah…yeah, I can do that. Just routine traffic report-"
"There will be a specific accident on the lower east side on the FDR, parallel to where Abstergo is," Desmond continued, "late afternoon. You and the others helicopters will probably be in the air to cover it. Shaun will be waiting in the lobby of your station and he must be with you."
"Okay…I can probably get him a visitor's pass or something. Overseas friend or something come to visit," Brad's eyes were staring at nothing in particular as he worked out the details internally.
"He'll be bringing some gear with him-"
"Don't tell me. Less I know, the better it'll be for my conscience," Brad held up a hand forestalling Desmond from saying anymore and he nodded.
"Backpacks allowed?" Shaun asked, still a little guarded, but otherwise seemed to be friendly towards Brad. Desmond figured it was probably because Shaun knew that he trusted the pilot and was not about to skewer him.
"Yeah, just…make sure it's not overtly bulky. People get suspicious these days if you pack so much," the pilot winced a little.
"Got it," Desmond caught the quick puzzling look Shaun shot him, wondering what kind of gear he was bringing.
"So…picking you up from the helipad?" the pilot asked.
"At least six others. One of them is a child," Desmond replied.
"Six? Okay…um, well, it's going to be a little tight," Brad looked a little nervous, but nodded his head, "I'll be able to do it. Secaucus, right?"
"If it's not too much trouble," he shrugged a little blasé in his reply.
"Okay…" the pilot rubbed his hands together, "okay…I can do this Miles. But…after this…"
"No more favors, I get it. And you'll probably not see me again," Desmond smiled a little sadly.
"Yeah…" the pilot didn't look too happy with that prospect, nor did he say anything else. He knew he was being asked a lot and Desmond knew that he was potentially risking the man's career if not life. But it had to be done and there was no other way. Because if there was, Desmond knew that he would not hesitate to take it.
Author's Notes:
Supreme Phoenix King brought up a point in a message to me: will I be including Connor's POV or memories in this story now that he's revealed to be AC3's protagonist? The short answer is no. The long answer is maybe. Connor essentially voids most of Arden's storyline (and family history), but I made her storyline vague enough so that Connor could theoretically be her distant ancestor, perhaps great-grandfather or something. If I do end up referencing Connor and the American War for Independence, then it'll be on the vague side and make no mention of his name. I still like Arden's POV after all…even though she's kind of dead in my story now.
Other little notes, more of slang words. J-school is a slang term used in my field of experience and means journalism-school. It's something that I didn't realize not many people outside my field would get until my beta reader pointed it out (and beta reader is not a j-school graduate). Metro North is one of the major commuter rails (besides the LIRR) out of New York City. FDR Drive (Franklin Delano Roosevelt) is one of the two major thoroughfares that encircle Manhattan Island (the other one being the West Side Highway) and runs on the east side of Manhattan next to the East Side River (the Hudson River is west side and both join right around where Staten Island is).
