And on the day Andrew Jackson began his presidency, so too began my new task as an Assassin. I was eager to begin the errands Matthew had bestowed upon me then, as after all – I had just become part of the Brotherhood and already the Mentor himself was handing me my assignments. No doubt, I thought back then, whatever I had to do was going to be important. But looking back, remembering what happened beginning with the Presidency of Andrew Jackson and Matthew's role in them, I should've had second thoughts about everything. I should've paid more attention.

I should've done something. But we were too preoccupied with riding into the future at full-speed that we cared not to check what would happen as a result.

But it's too late now. All I can do now is to prepare my son and the next generation for the future, and pray that he does not make the same mistakes that we did.


Helena, Norfolk, Late March 1829

After giving her his orders, Matthew had sent her from Alexandria to Norfolk in the roughest, most reckless haphazard speedy coach she had ridden in. Helena insisted that she could've ridden by herself on a single horse, but Matthew had insisted even harder. On her first day of arrival, she had avoided her task, to let herself get acquainted with the city. There was a difference between the cities up North and the cities here… she supposed that differences in things such as economy or terrain were responsible. When night fell, she found herself a hotel room and wrote letters to her father, Daniel, and Matthew, to let them know how things were for her.

Early this morning, she had sealed her letters in envelopes and shipped them to their respective destinations. Then she climbed to the highest point of the neighborhood she could find, surveyed the vicinity, and from there flew like an eagle to meet her contact. Gulls squawked, the smell of salt water hung in the air.

"Hello. Mr. Carver, is it?" She asked him. He whirled around in surprise.

"Um, yes. Albert Carver." He did not shake the hand she offered him. "I did not hear you come up."

"Well, then that's a good sign. I hope that the same can be said of our enemies."

"Not much of a family resemblance to him. Hard to believe that you are also a Kenway…" He said, almost suspicious.

"Well, I suppose that different mothers and a twenty-year gap between births will do that." She sighed. "Can we get onto the important stuff?"

"I suppose that Matthew told you what your mission is?" He asked her.

"Yes. I am to investigate a Templar by the name of Rab MacLeod. He is the suspected ringleader of an underground slave trafficking ring, kidnapping freedmen and forcing them back into a life of oppression. Matthew wishes for me to find him and eliminate him as well as his trafficking ring – freeing any slaves I might come across in the process."

"It is not just freedmen that he enslaves. His group has also infiltrated plantations and small slave-owning farms across the Southern states, stealing slaves from underneath their owner's noses to sell at ludicrous prices in the black market." Albert expanded as he and Helena walked. "Eliminating him is all part of Matthew's plan. To weaken both the Templar presence in these regions and battle the detested system of slavery that has dominated these regions ever since the colonial days."

"I'm not sure how killing one man will make that big a difference." Helena told him. "Even if we liberate all his slaves and destroy his ring, slavery will continue to exist as it always has. Nothing much will have changed."

"Hmph. And to think Matthew warned me that you were naïve. But to Matthew, every dead Templar and freed slave counts. I suppose that goal of his, to create a truly free America, will be the main focus of his period as mentor."

"Do you have any leads on this Templar MacLeod?"

"We have no idea where the man himself could be… but we have managed to track a man allegedly high up in his organization. He's holed up in an abandoned brewery near the port, not too far from where we are currently. If we interrogate him, we just might be able to get another clue to MacLeod's location."

"Then let's go pay him a visit, why don't we?"

"Have you ever killed anyone?" He asked while they ran.

"Um… no. But I've knocked them out…"

"Goddamn it, it looks like I really am babysitting a damn novice who hasn't even stained her first feather!" He cursed under his breath.

"Hey!" To his dismay, he realized that she had heard.


Connor, Davenport, 1829

"Here, Mr. Kenway. Fixed you a spot of tea." Daniel handed Connor a steaming cup after he helped Connor into his seat in front of the fireplace.

"This was not necessary, Daniel." Connor told him in a subtle joking manner. "I could've very well fixed this cup myself. I am not Matthew, I don't burn water when I try to boil it… besides, a boy like you about to reach the prime of his life should be in town building friendships. Perhaps even try to eye an attractive girl… get to know her."

"Think of it as small thanks, Master." Daniel bowed his head. "In exchange for the training and lodging that you have given me. I know it isn't much, but I do what I think I can to pay off my debts to you. Besides, you already know that I have no need to find an attractive girl… my search for that is over."

"We should talk about your infatuation with my daughter someday soon…" Connor said. "But I must thank you, Daniel. For paying an old, crippled man like myself the attention most men your age would probably withdraw. You keep me informed of current events better than I could do by myself these days… for that matter, have you heard what Matthew is doing?"

"In her last letter to me, Helena has informed me that he is staying in Washington for the time being. He is developing an alliance with Andrew Jackson, for he feels that the President's popularity amongst the common people will prove useful to the goals of the Assassins, all the while preventing the Templars from doing the same."

"Well, I pray that he is fruitful in his endeavors, then. I trust that my son will do the right thing…" Deep down, though, Connor did feel a little bit of trepidation about Matthew's plans. He remembered the mistake he had made when he had placed too much trust into Commander Washington during the Revolution, and how subsequently he had never made any permanent alliances with figures like the President during his years of leadership that followed. He prayed that Matthew knew what he was doing, that he would know the consequences that could come by putting too much faith into the abilities of one man.


Matthew, Washington, 1829

The President's office was finally empty. As the last of the men whom Jackson had been meeting with departed, they did not notice the unseen figure hidden in the shadows that slinked past them. Matthew dropped down, looking around to make sure that no one was in sight, and pulled off his hood. He opened the door, finding himself in a yellow room. President Jackson was gazing out the windows at the city, his arms behind his back.

Matthew rapped his desk. The President turned around, his face like he was about to yell for being interrupted in his private thoughts, but he calmed as he saw who it was.

"Hello, Matthew. I was expecting you to turn up at some point."

"Yes, Mr. President. The talk at the hotel in Alexandria was only the beginning. Now it's time to truly conspire."

"Conspire, Matthew? I was hoping for a kinder term than that. No, I merely plan the future of my country whom I dutifully serve. To restore the basic sorts of liberty and ideals that the old Revolutionaries fought for – to serve the people, a thought that many of my predecessors deplorably sought to forsake. You are merely an aid in my plan."

"As you are in mine."

"I see."

"What do you have planned so far, Mr. President?"

"I plan to reform this nation to better suit the principles of a Republican creed." He explained. "For example, look at the many government offices in this nation. Did you know that many of them are still filled with individuals that have been there since the Washington presidency, now just sitting there and taking up space? I worry that this stagnation may lead to what I have always feared would become of this great nation: a crooked administration. Simply put, I believe in a country where offices are created solely for the benefit of the people no one man has any more intrinsic right to official station than another."

"So what do you plan to do about these holdovers, Mr. President?"

"I believe the development of a new rotation system will help move most of these holdovers out of office."

"And what shall you do with the vacant spots, Mr. President?"

"Replace them with people that I can trust that will serve their country with dutiful responsibility."

Matthew asked him with a note of concern. "And what if these people you appoint lack the proper experience, Mr. President? Wouldn't that do just as much harm as the holdovers?"

"Matthew… if they are loyal to their country rather than themselves, that is all that I need. If they lack experience, they will learn it. You must learn to place your trust into the heart of the people. But if your fears do prove true, and my appointees do prove a threat to the Republic, you know what must be done."

"I see…" Matthew said. "So, what else have you got planned?"

"I wish to put the power back in the hands of the people, the way that it should be, not a monopoly of elites." Matthew smiled at this. He was certain that Andrew Jackson understood. He'd make a fine Assassin was he not a politician first and foremost. "The first step is to reinvigorate the spirit of national unity amongst the humble man. It shall not be easy, with all the sectional differences amongst us, but I am certain it must be done. The second step is to eliminate the tools that the elite have used to keep power from the people – such as the Electoral College and National Bank. The final step must be taken to ensure that the first two can be brought to fruition – the defeat of political enemies who would oppose what I seek to do. Those who backed my predecessor in office, the remnants of Federalism that pollute the benches of the Supreme Court, even my own Vice-President, I fear that this list is numerous."

"Then it's best we get to working together, why don't we?"


Helena

"That is it." Albert Carver pointed out the brewery that was ahead of them, a decrepit building which looked like it hadn't been used since the days of the Revolution.

"Really? Who'd want to hole up in a place like that?" Helena asked him. "Must be infested to the brim with rats and roaches… hardly a thought to catch a good night's sleep on."

"Someone who does not want to be found, obviously. For a so-called Assassin, you are showing yourself to be surprisingly raw in certain matters." Albert Carver said with clear-cut disdain.

"So what?"

"I feel that you may not be up to the task just yet. So I am ordering you to stay behind while I go in and show you how it's done."

"Wait… what?" Helena asked him with shock. "This is my task that has been assigned to me by Matthew!"

"Yes, but Matthew also entrusted you to my care. From what I have seen, you haven't shown anything that can convince me to trust in your abilities as an Assassin so far." Carver told her. "This man that we seek is dangerous, and I am the more experienced of the two. I shall go in, for I feel that you are not up to the task of capturing him.

"Fine…" Helena crossed her arms and grumbled. It wasn't right. She was an adult, and an Assassin, and yet this man in front of her was treating her like a child that was still in training. She watched Albert Carver walk into the brewery, pulled off her hood, and she simply waited where she was. She waited for long, as streams of passerby flowed past her. She became bored quickly. She looked at the brewery. It was not that big of a building – it was falling apart in the multiple places with many bits of the building have collapsed upon themselves. Surely it should not have taken him that long to find one man and capture him. He had told her to stay behind, but as her mother would've have said, sod her orders. Helena put her hood back on and walked towards the building. She did not use the front entrance. She climbed up, and from there, she'd look for another entrance.


Connor

"Daniel!" The old man called out as he stood in the living room. He had neatly placed a long box on the table behind him. He waited as his apprentice ran up from the basement and into the room. Daniel had been practicing by himself, his axe in his hands, and Connor's call had been so abrupt that he had forgotten to set his weapon away.

"What is it, Master?" Daniel asked Connor.

"Here. The local gunsmith had this ordered." He handed Daniel the box, and his apprentice slowly opened it. His eyes widened as he saw the rifle that was before him.

"This is no dusty old flintlock." Daniel said as he looked it over. "It's… it's… breech-loaded carbine."

"Indeed. It's still a single-shot rifle, but unlike the long guns I used in my Assassin days, this one can be reloaded directly at the action part instead of the muzzle. Makes things more convenient. You certainly are a lucky boy, Daniel." Connor said to him, patting him on the back with his freehand. "You shall never know the tedium of the way we used to reload. You have John Harris Hall to thank for this, or so the gunsmith assures me."

"Thank you, Master…"

"Don't mention it. And there's one more thing, Daniel." Connor said as he took out a smaller box. "I sent for these a while back. One of them was acquired locally, the other a gift from a friend I have in France. I had intended these as a surprise, but since you never gave me any special dates, I suppose I might as well hand these over to you along with your new rifle."

Connor sat the box down and opened it. He took out a tall pistol with a large cylinder. "This is a revolver that my French friend sent to me, along with an extremely elaborate and complicated set of instructions. Allegedly, it can hold twenty rounds at once, although I have not bothered using it. My body isn't exactly in the position where it can easily handle a firearm's recoil, after all."

"Hmm... I like the design of this weapon." Daniel said as Connor handed him the French revolver. "What's the other gun?"

Connor took out a much smaller pistol, so small Daniel probably could've hidden it up his sleeve. He looked at it in curiosity, as well as amusement. This certainly didn't look like it would be of much help in terms of range or efficiency in a heated firefight.

"This is a Derringer pistol, Daniel, developed in 1825, the year you made your way here. The Assassins have adopted this weapon as a new sort of hidden gun, given the conveniences of its smaller frame. Single-shot. But even for a firearm, it's rather loud, so don't expect it to keep you hidden. I suppose that you can attach it to a spring-based contraption, place it in your sleeve, use it as a surprise."

"You didn't have to do this for me, Master. I am fine enough with the rifle you got me…" Daniel said in gratitude.

"I felt you deserved a gift for your hard training." Connor said. "But if you change your mind…"

"No, thank you, Master Kenway. I will make good use of these new firearms in my possession." Daniel said. "How can I ever repay you?"

"I'll tell you what you can do, Daniel." Connor said. "Be a good man. Not just as an Assassin, but a good man for her. That is all that I will require you do to recompense me."

"Wait…"

"You know what I said…" Connor gave him a small smile. "I trust that I have made the right judgment regarding you, Daniel. I can see that you are a good man, not like the average lust-sick boy who shows an interest in Helena, or more accurately, her body. You are one that I can trust will respect her as the lovely lady and Assassin she is. Now I expect you to exceed my expectations. I know that you're more than capable of doing it, Daniel."

"Does this mean…"

"No. But you are close to that day. But until then, why don't you take a walk into the woods, practice a bit with your new toys?" Connor suggested. "Just heed some of my advice – my people, the Mohawk, never hunted to excess. We only took from the natural world what we needed to use… don't get too carried away in your practice."


Helena

She found a large hole in the roof that let her into the building. She climbed on the rafters, using her Eagle Vision to locate some clues to discern what had happened to Albert Carver. Her investigations led her to a large door that was still standing. Two men were standing guard in front of it. She could hear yelling, the sound of flesh pounding flesh, faintly permeating from behind it. Helena reached into her pouch and dropped a smoke bomb down on the men. She silently and agilely made her way down from the rafter as the bomb went off.

She knocked one of the men into unconsciousness and held the other with her hidden blade less than a centimeter from his throat. A gruff voice came from behind the door.

"What the hell was that?"

"Tell him that everything is fine and I'll let you live." She whispered to her captive.

"S-s-ure. Everything's alright!" He yelled at the door. Helena then softly choked him unconscious. She climbed back up into the rafters. It was possible, but it wasn't exactly the smartest of approaches to simply barge through the front door. It was a lesson that Father had hammered into her head. She supposed that he had done it at one point, and suffered severely as a result. He had never told her the exact circumstances, and she wondered greatly.

She climbed back out of the hole in the roof, looking for another way to get into the room where Albert presumably was being held. She found a window that had been smashed sufficiently enough for her to make her way through, and she climbed onto a new set of rafters. Holding her breath, she slowly crept, praying that a reflection of light did not give her shadow away. She looked downwards. The man they had been seeking had tied Albert Carver to a burned chair, and was tapping his right hand with a large club as he stood in front of Carver. Helena made her way to a spot where she was above him, listening as she did.

"Who else is with you, Assassin?"

"No one! I am all alone!"

The sound of wood pounding flesh. "That is a lie. No self-respecting Assassin Mentor would send an Assassin as incompetent as yourself after MacLeod by himself. Tell me the truth, and I'll kill you quickly. Who else is with you?"

"Above you." Helena whispered. She dropped down, using the full force of her weight as she landed down on him. She popped out her hidden blade, holding it to his throat. To her shock, the Templar whom she had just subdued was a black man. But MacLeod, to her knowledge, was the one putting men just like him into slavery. Why was he working for the Templar?

"Tell me. Have you the faintest idea where your employer is currently? Or where he plans to make his next move?"

"I do…" She had not pinned down his legs. She had no time to react before he kicked her off of him. Novice mistake… if her life was not in danger, she'd be mighty embarrassed. "But you won't find him by my knowledge!"

The black man swung his club at Helena. Helena quickly withdrew her rapier, and with a fast flick of her blade, knocked the club from his hands. She backed him into the corner, holding the tip of her blade close to his Adam's apple.

"I believe I will. Now tell me, or I'll kill you!" She threatened him. She hadn't killed anyone thus far in her career as an Assassin, leaving all the Templars she encountered unconscious, but she supposed that she'd eventually and regrettably start somewhere.

"You really have no idea how to interrogate someone do you, little girl?" The black man shook his head. "Like I said, I ain't telling you shit about where MacLeod is… and you know, missy, I think I can do that by myself!"

"Wha" Helena's mouth opened as his hand moved for the pistol dangling at his side. Before Helena could react, there was a loud bang and the smell of gunpowder in the smoke that followed. The black man slumped forward, blood trickling from the hole in the side of what was left of his head. Helena stepped back, avoiding the blood. She walked to Albert, began to untie him.

"That was a mess. I'm not certain that Matthew was quite correct in bestowing upon you such an important task." Albert derided her.

"Such ungrateful words from someone whose life I just saved." Helena sighed.

"You saved no one's life. I would've found a way out before he killed me, and gotten what I needed from him. You know what sets us apart, child? Real experience! And now, thanks to your interference, the trail's gone cold!"

"Our would've-been informant has perished, but the trail is not cold." Helena told him. "I have the gift of Eagle Vision, and there are a few useful uses of it in acquiring information long after the informants have tasted the blade. I just need to go over this whole place and nearby with my vision, see what I can come up with."

"I doubt that will be enough." Carver told him. "I have no reason to think anything of you but doubt. I heard it in your voice when you were 'threatening' him. You lacked the resolve to actually follow up upon your threat."

"Even so, we still have other options. No doubt there are other Templars in this city. We could track them down for a bit of interrogation, and we could always make our way to a plantation that MacLeod has stolen slaves from. See what we can find out from the evidence he may have left behind."

"Not much of a plan, but I'll let you run on with it." Carver said. "I hope that you'll give me a reason to stop doubting you… I don't know what Matthew sees in you."

"And I don't know what sort of friendship he has with a pessimist such as yourself." Helena told him. "But there is something that troubles me… the dead man was a Negro. But MacLeod enslaves Negroes. Why would one be working for him, and furthermore, be so loyal to him to the point of killing himself instead of divulging information?"

"When you've been oppressed like these people… you either break or grow desperate for each opportunity that promises freedom. Likely, MacLeod promises them false salvation in exchange for their services." Carver told her.

"That's sickening. How could a man do such a thing to another?"

"You have a lot to learn. This isn't your comfortable manor at Davenport, this is the real world. And sometimes… when you've been around as long as I have, you have to accept that some people are naturally horrible."

"So you say. I reject that premise." Helena told him.

"Ah, idealism. I'd lose that naivety quickly if I were you."

"I'd rather not. Defeatism can only lead to an unhealthy lifestyle. Besides, we have more important things to discuss than my naivety. Come on, Carver, we have a Templar to investigate…"


Matthew, sometime later

Helena had sent him another letter regarding her progress in Virginia. She had moved out of Norfolk by now, and was riding towards Richmond with Albert. That was all Matthew had read of the letter before setting it away. He was meeting with the President again, this time in a secluded location of Washington that no one would ever think of looking for them.

"Hello, Matthew." The President addressed him as he showed up on a white mare.

"Why have you sent for me, Mr. President? And why such a secluded location? We could've easily met in your office again."

"I enjoy the exercise. You need it at this age." Jackson told him. "And since we were meeting outdoors, a location where no one would ever suspect the most powerful man in the nation is meeting with the leader of a secret organization of killers."

"So what do you ask of me?" Matthew asked.

"I am troubled by several developments south of the Potomac. I fear that if these go unchecked, the security of the nation may very well be compromised."

"What has happened?"

"I've inherited a mess made by John Adams' boy. His administration introduced a tariff that has been lovingly dubbed the Tariff of Abominations by the peoples of the South. Many people expected my presidency to reduce the highs set by Adams' tariff. Now, there always is a bit of backlash whenever a new tariff is signed into being, but South Carolina has reacted particularly harshly. Do you know what the state politicians are trying to do? Nullify the tariff! These dogs essentially threaten secession by doing this, defying the law set by higher government! Worse of all, my Vice-President, Mr. Calhoun, is on their side. I will not stand for this…"

"Do you need me to make anybody disappear or shut-up?" Matthew said.

"In the future, perhaps. I'll try to handle things reasonably for now, despite South Carolina's defiance of the Federal government's word. I'll see how they react to a tariff which will lower the rates a bit… but there's something else down South where I might require your help, Matthew."

"What is it?"

"Have you heard of the Five Civilized Tribes?"

"I suppose I've had. My father told me about them… the Indian Nations that were able to adopt European culture and thrive with their colonist neighbors?"

"Yes, the Five Tribes: Cherokee, Choctaw, Muscogee, Seminole, and Chickasaw. For many years they have held large sums of land in Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia while managing to coexist with their neighbors – managing to retain their unique identities and recognition of boundaries by the government all this time. But I fear that peace can no longer be maintained…"

"Why is that?"

"What do you think? Peace between Indian and the white man only exists when the white man is satisfied with the amount of land he has, and the people's desire for the fertile lands that the Five Tribes sit on grows. Matthew, I worry that it is necessary to relocate these tribes. If you could, would you travel down South – visit these tribes, and convince them not to resist with violence?"

"More land to expand their blight of slavery…" Matthew said. "Why should I help you? My duty to the cause of freedom opposes the spread of that disease."

"Do not act as if the Five Tribes have their hands clean either. You know that they have adopted any of our customs, slavery being amongst them."

"But does that make it any better to push people off their land that is ancestrally theirs?" Matthew said. "Why are you planning to push the native owners of that Earth off, instead of trying to eradicate oppression in a land that is supposedly free?"

"You know that this country is still young… it has yet to be fully unified. Slavery is a deeply rooted tradition in these parts – and forcible attempts to remove it would be catastrophic. You already see how states threaten to secede due to tariffs and taxes – how well do you suppose that events will transpire if an issue as heated as slavery is stroked when the country is not yet ready to debate it yet?"

"That still does not excuse the forced relocation of a people who have shown a willingness to coexist with our kind!" Matthew yelled. "All because some men want more land to plant their cotton on?"

"I wish I could help them, Matthew, but my duty is to the American people first and foremost. These natives, regrettably, due to the recognition of sovereignty by the treaties, are not Americans."

"Jackson… I am beginning to regret giving you my aid."

"Please, Matthew, listen to me. Do you think that I plan to relocate the Five Civilized Tribes out of a hatred for their kind or greed? No! I simply am doing what I think is best for the Indians!" Andrew insisted, his voice growing fierier.

"Prove it, President." Matthew said.

"Matthew, the westward expansion of America is inevitable. The Indians will never be strong enough to resist that juggernaut. You from up North should know this very well – after all, where are nations such as Iroquois now? The longer the Five Tribes resist encroachment, the greater they risk the utter annihilation of their very existence! Expansion cannot be stopped, it can only be delayed, and the safety of those peoples crumbles with each second of that delay."

"Surely there has to be another way!"

"There isn't." Jackson shook his head. "Look, do you think that this is an easy decision for me to make? I've spent long considering my options, and in the end, relocating these peoples is an act of mercy compared to what will happen if they try and hold onto their tribal lands!"

"Where will you take them?"

"Far west. Past the borders of the Westernmost states. To Indian Territory established from Jefferson's purchase from Napoleon. There, they'll be able to thrive and maintain their culture, separated from the white man." Jackson told him.

"I'll need some time to consider your words, Mr. President."

"Go ahead, take your time. Feel free to terminate our alliance, Matthew, but I warn you, that would not be a wise move…"

"Do not send for me… when I am ready, I will seek you out." Matthew walked away. The President watched him go, and then left on his horse.

That night, Matthew dreamed. And even though he couldn't remember just what he had dreamed about when he woke up the next morning, his mind had become clear. He knew what had to be done.

He made his decision.

And thus it began…