Captain: First off, as some have noticed, my username has been changed! I'd been Black Wolf-Dog for *forever* but decided I no longer wanted a name based on a long-gone fanfic, instead I chose one based on an original character of mine and plan to keep this name for...well probably a long time. Secondly, I would tell you all of the numerous reasons this chapter took so damn long to write, but that would near double the word count so I will just leave it at data entry jobs are *not* for me.

A note on the language: Emma has a dirty mouth when the situation calls for it and I really did think about doing everyone's historically accurate, but I felt it would jack up the flow of the story to make even English not an option for them, so while keeping their speech more reformed, I am fudging it a bit for plot purposes, though there will be misunderstandings on both sides even with the adjusted speech.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Regarding the last chapter, I noticed that a *very* important line had somehow been cut out, it has since been fixed

Enjoy the extra-long chapter!


Emma's head pounded as the sun pierced her eyelids through the open window. How much did she have to drink last night? Ugh, she really needed to stay away from the tequila; it was always her undoing on a night out.

At least it felt like she hadn't lost any of her clothing this time, that one top had been a bitch to replace…

With a groan, she shifted, dirt scraping against her face. Jeezus did she end up in the gutter? That would be a first. An awkward shape was digging into her side and with a start, she realized it was her belt, gun and all. Shit. What the hell happened?

Dimly memories came back, the crash, Abstergo and some psycho plan that involved using her as a guinea pig followed by a hallucination trip to top it off.

A voice made it through the dim fog of other voices, louder than the rest. Emma tried to focus on it to gain some clue as to where she'd ended up, but the man was yelling gibberish. Some language from the other side of the ocean most like, but not one she could identify or make sense of.

Rubbing the grit from her eyes, she sat up, bracing her back against the wall behind her. Stiff branches rubbed against her skin, and though it was the morning sun shining on her, it was already hot. Damn eastern summers, the abnormally cool temperatures were about to break apparently.

The voice only paused long enough for the man to refill his lungs before he was belting out again. Seriously, could someone please shut the crackpot up? She must have ended up on the really wrong end of town to be suffering this psychobabble.

Blinking at the dusty building before her, she took a deep breath of the morning air and tried to orient herself. Instead, she started hacking, the sand filling her lungs and grating against her already parched throat.

Women in their Sunday best passed by without sparing her a glance. What part of town was she even in? More like which town, she mused to herself, she knew the city well, and all of its cracks. Not one of those was home to sandy dirt, preaching foreigners and women who flocked to church. Certainly there were all three, but never in the same place.

There was more wrong here than just the people and the building material. The very air was different, warmer, somehow lighter yet still heavy with the stink of so many people in one place. Even the sounds were off. Dogs barked where cars should have been honking and dimly it almost sounded like a horse neighing. The only horses were at Central Park and with the mounted patrol, neither of which had been anywhere near the Abstergo building.

Not that she believed she was anywhere near said building herself anymore. Dust lazily floated in the air from the crowds walking by, not a single mark of pavement in either direction. Looking closer at the people as they passed by the mouth of her alley, she blinked. Not their Sunday best it seemed. Dresses yes, but not of the like that had been seen in…well a long damn time. Even the men had robes over their clothes, at least she hoped there was clothing under there. What. The. Fuck?

Pulling herself to her feet, she braced a hand against the gritty wall of the two-story building behind her. It wasn't right either, no steel or brick, just brittle stone that shaved easily when she drug her nails across it. She would be hard pressed to say there were buildings this short inside the city. Where the hell did those bastards dump her? Had they knocked her out after the acid trip and kept her out long enough to drop her in some third world country? It almost seemed plausible at this point. Judging by the dress and construction, she'd go so far as to say….well that she didn't have a fucking clue. She wasn't some cultural expert or whatever. She was a cop, she knew New York.

"This isn't the city Toto." She muttered to herself, gaining more queer looks. Lovely. She was the new freak show in town apparently.

Stumbling from the alley, she tried to glimpse a sign of the skyscrapers, some way to orient herself. On a clear day like this, the Empire State Building should stand out even from the outskirts. But even in the open street, there was no towering building to guide her way. The tallest was no more than five or six stories, and it was more of a needle tower than a functional structure. The ground crunched and shifted beneath her boots in the areas it wasn't packed nearly solid. People swerved to give her a wide berth, even the men sent her disgusted looks. Well that was new. Sure not everyone was fond of cops (more so these days), but most times she still received several rather crude jokes about handcuffs.

Moving in the general direction of the crowd, she hoped to make it out of this weird place and find something familiar.

A man in a padded robe of some sort eyed her carefully, one hand going to rest on the hilt of his sword.

Wait what.

A sword? Really? Taking a double-look, she nearly groaned at seeing that yes, it was what she'd thought; they took this role-playing seriously apparently. Any chance it could have been a prop was erased when he loosed it some, and the sun glinted off the partially revealed blade in the way that only metal could.

Emma's right hand slowly came to rest on the butt of her gun, thumb flicking the holster strap open. She had no intentions of becoming a shish kebob during some reenactment, thank-you. He said not a word to her, but his eyes never left her, she could even feel them burning into her back as she passed beyond him. Tipping her head, she kept her ears trained for the ring of metal being drawn.

When it did not come, she released her breath and let herself focus on her new surroundings. The air she'd let out was promptly sucked in. The plaza (if it could be called that) had a single shallow pool in the center, surrounded by some kind of flowering bushes and short trees. Stone pillars with writing she couldn't read were scattered throughout, in front of which was the man shouting nonsense to a crowd who apparently understood every word. Some were agreeing with whatever he was saying while others shook their heads and continued on their way.

All in all, not that different from the city, other than the language, clothes, buildings, dust, and jeezus fuck where was she?!

The multitude of voices made a very dull roar, but even focusing on different conversations got her nowhere closer to figuring out what the hell was going on. Everyone spoke in the same gibberish language. Head pounding, she paused to lean against the corner of a building, squinting hard and focusing on the people around her. It strained to try seeing so many at once, but most tinted a dull grey. Neither friend nor enemy, she'd find no help with them. The armed men had a red glow that put her on edge. Mercenaries or their version of law enforcement she had no idea, but it would be best to avoid them.

Shaking her head, she let the colors of the world come back full force, the pressure behind her eyes lingering like an unpleasant aftertaste. It did not bode well that not a single soul outlined in blue or white. She was on her own, with no less than five potential thugs to make the situation even more difficult.

Stepping away from the building and out into the open, she became the center of attention very quickly. Even the crier paused his rant to look over at her before spewing again, pointing her direction and shouting with more fervor than before. Emma edged away from him as the crowd turned hateful eyes towards her. Alright then, clearly this town was anti-cop. Fan-fucking-tastic.

If only the annoying piss-ant would shut his damn mouth. The longer he went, the more people joined in. Uneasy, she rested her hand on her gun again, getting a loose grip on it. Loathe as she was to use it so outnumbered and with so many civilians around, she wasn't about to let herself become easy fodder to the growing multitude.

The way she had come was very nearly barren of people, but to the left, the street was lined with stalls in what had to be the market, with enough civilians wandering around that she could (hopefully) lose the unwanted attention. Some were advancing on her, shouting what had to be insults. The men with the swords made no move to break up the crowd, so she was forced to retreat to the market, backpedaling to keep the mob in sight.

Bumping her way through the first line, several of the group broke off, but others still advanced. One man bent over, scooping up a stone from the path. Cursing in their damn impossible-to-understand language, he hurled the rock towards her.

Fucking asshole.

Jumping to the side, she rammed into the person behind her, the stone sailing past and striking the body that had moved into its path. A pot shattered and feminine hands shoved against her back, forcing her into the man who had just taken the rock meant for her.

"Sorry." She grunted, righting herself and turning her attention back to the mob, wary of anymore sailing projectiles coming for her head. Outnumbered, no chance of backup and surrounded by strange civilians, she did not want to use her gun, but she might not have a choice should they insist on attempting to stone her in the middle of a crowd.

The man who'd been hit started shouting himself, his voice carrying easily over the noise, gesturing with one arm. Emma noted in a quick glance that his other sleeve hung limp and empty, the black cloth swaying with his movements. Whatever he said or whoever he was was somehow enough, and the rest of her pursuers broke away.

"Thanks." She let out a breath of relief, squatting with him to gather the herbs and fruits that had fallen from the basket he'd dropped when the stone struck him. He gave her a startled look, double-taking her appearance before frowning. Lovely, was he about to call the mob back now? Peachy.

"Is it your intent to cause needless strife woman?" He snapped, roughly shoving the last of his things into the basket and attempting to balance it onto his hand while standing. He was not doing a fantastic job of it.

Emma was momentarily taken aback by the fact that someone actually fucking spoke English. Rough, thickly accented and older than Shakespearian but holy shit someone she could actually communicate with!

He was already moving away, and she dared not risk standing still long enough to try her Sense on him, especially since her head still swam from the last time. No this one she'd have to go with the gut feeling and pray it wouldn't lead her astray.

The fact he'd basically insulted her she decided to chalk up to getting pelted with a rock. She was pretty miffed about it herself and she wasn't even hit; so she stood, weaving through the few people he'd managed to put between them. It took only a few paces to catch up, the crowd thick here and he struggling to maintain his hold on the oversized basket. Tilting her head, she noted the strain on his face, the veins bulging in places they normally wouldn't be under such a light load.

It was the familiarity of barely masked agony that told her the loss of his arm was recent, that the skin of his stump he kept so tightly clamped to his side would be raw and jagged and tender even to the touch of the sleeve. She knew that look, her brother wore it for some time after he lost his leg. It made her wonder, if they were so backwards in clothing and building regs, what was their medical practice like? Not something she really wanted to know, nor would it be anything she could actually help with. She had her own number of jagged scars to prove her skill at stitches was…well…lacking.

Not that that was the point at all, she found someone who could perhaps tell her what the fuck was going on and in turn she could…well maybe do something.

A passerby jostled into him roughly, hitting the stump and moving off without so much as a glance back. He would have dropped the basket again had it not tipped in Emma's direction, but he paid no attention to her catching his things, his hand was gripping his stump, knuckles white and sweat beading on his brow as he swore long and hard in what was apparently the native tongue.

There wasn't anything she could do for the pain, but she did know that his brain was still sending those signals from a limb no longer there. Handling pain was one thing, attempting to deal with it when there was nothing to grab onto was another.

Another careless civilian bumped into his good side, causing the hand on his stump to flex. The swearing came through ground teeth, and it brought back the memories of those long months getting her brother through rehab. She had to help him, even if he couldn't help her in the end.

Shifting the basket to her left arm, she stepped up to his side, shielding the injury from further punishment. "Is there a mirror anywhere?"

He spared her a single glancing glare, that was either a 'what the fuck is a mirror?' or 'why the hell would there be one around here?'. What did they call those things in older times anyway? Everything else seemed backwards here so maybe the terminology was as well. "Uh, a looking glass or something that shows your reflection?"

"That will not help." He ground out. Well he was entirely unhelpful then. Yeesh. Standing on her toes to see above parts of the crowd, she hoped some vendor would be selling mirrors.

There! Sunlight glinted off one, and without further preamble, put a hand to his back and nudged him forward. Solid, tensed muscle met her touch, and for a man focusing on breathing through massive amounts of pain, he did not budge an inch. Rolling her eyes, she tried to dig deep for whatever little patience she had. "Trust me it will help, we did it with my brother."

Judging by the wary look he sent her, 'trust me' wasn't exactly the best phrase in this backwards, over-literal town. Whatever. "Do you want help or don't you?"

Really, she didn't have to be standing here in the open trying to help, she could very well leave his wounded ass and attempt to figure things out herself. Though…he was the only one so far who seemed to have any knowledge of English and her bloody conscious might not let her just walk away. Not that he needed to know that.

Whether he actually decided to try her suggestion or he was just tired of getting jostled by the crowd—she'd had to balance nearly on her toes at times just to keep herself from being shoved into him—he began to move towards the mirror vendor. Thankfully said stall was not nearly as crowded as the others, only a few richly dressed women picking over jewel-handled pieces. Emma ignored them and urged him straight for the single full-body mirror, moving to stand next to it and making him face her. The vendor came over, talking no doubt about how wonderful (it wasn't) his wares were. Her companion snipped a few words that had the older man returning to the ladies.

He was still looking unsure, and in pain, his hand flexing just above the stump, too on-fire to touch but unable to not try to clench the pain away. "Hold your good arm in front of the mirror, move it like your left arm feels like it should be moving."

He stared confused for a long moment before he either worked out what she'd said or figured it out for himself. With the stump behind the frame, he raised his good arm, eyes focusing on the reflection as he went through the motions. It might not work, might not be the kind of signals he was going through, but it was her only thought to help. It was the only way her brother ever got through losing his lower leg; the early mornings had been the worst, when he'd woken delirious, not yet remembering that it was gone and complaining how much his foot hurt.

"It's called phantom pain, your head hasn't accepted that it's gone yet." There was no telling if these people knew what nerves or a brain were and frankly she didn't understand the science behind it much either, so the simplest explanation was the best option. Not to mention, judging by the various looks they were getting, probably not the best street-conversation either. If anyone else could actually understand her that is.

She was actually hard-pressed to say who was getting more of those looks though. Her, dressed to stand out and about the only fair skinned, blonde woman around; or him, moving his arm around in front of a mirror with extreme concentration.

His face cleared somewhat. It wouldn't make the pain go away but it could at least help his brain sort through the conflicting signals it was getting. After a long moment he nodded to her, stepping away from the mirror and taking the basket back into his good arm. "I thank you for your assistance. Is there some way I can repay this debt?"

Emma glanced around, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck, she really hated asking for help for anything, let alone something like this. Growing up in New York meant she shouldn't even be able to get lost within the state borders. Rule number one for staying alive as a cop meant always knowing where she was. "Well uh, for start…where the hell am I?"

He stared at her for a long moment, as if unsure what exactly she meant before answering slowly. "You are in the Rich District, in the bazaar."

It was her turn to blink at him, before resisting the urge to face-palm. No wonder he'd spoken as if she was slow. Well….this probably wasn't going to make him think any different. "City, what city am I in?"

His suspicion was growing with every word out of her mouth and he was regarding her more carefully. "Jerusalem. How did you come by here, the slave caravan?"

Slaves? Really? Was that a joke or something? Jeezus they took this role-playing thing way too damn seriously.

Wait.

Wait just a fucking minute.

JERUSALEM?!

She stared at him, body stiff as she waited for him to crack a smile, laugh, break character or something. He didn't, he just continued to watch her as if she was about to sprout another head and tap dance. Emma wasn't about to break into a number, but she might very well pass out.

"This is a joke right, some sick twisted joke that isn't even remotely fucking funny." His look was quickly transforming to one of mild disgust. Right, women in whatever-time they were recreating weren't supposed to swear. Boo-fucking-who. She was thrown in loony-town with no foreseeable way back home since the one person who spoke a remotely understandable language was under the impression they were in the damn Middle East.

"I know not what a joke is but I can assure you I am not attempting to be humorous." He clipped back at her shortly. "If that is all milady, there are things I must attend to."

Shifting his basket, he began to walk back towards the crowd, ignoring the seller who was making a last ditch effort to sell him the mirror. Not only did 'milady' sound weird as hell in that accent, but being called so made her feel like she was in medieval Europe. Did he think she was from there or something? Sweet mercy it was making her head hurt.

"Wait! One more thing." She called, a faint twitch to her lips, she had to find out how deep this ruse went. "What year is it?"

A single brow quirked up as he glanced back at her over his shoulder, "As you Christians say, it is the year of your Lord 1191."

He disappeared into the crowd. Emma blinked several times, attempting to track him with her eyes, but he'd blended into the masses.

1191?!

What in the hell were these people smoking that would make them want to relive Robin Hood?! Okay sure her younger self had had romantic notions at one point of cavorting with a hot outlaw in the woods but….that was when she was sixteen and they weren't even pretending to be in England! Ah crap there was something else historical going on around then she knew it, one of the Crusades most likely.

Well, that explained the general dislike most of the citizens seemed to be throwing her way. Pretend Muslims in this pretend city would pretend to hate her 'English' self. Lovely. At least one guy had the decency to give her some help, even if it wasn't actually helpful.

With a sigh, she rubbed her forehead in a sorry attempt to ease the pain. Damn she could use a drink. The thought made her realize she really did need a drink, and not necessarily of the booze kind. Her mouth was as dry as the sand around her and somehow she really doubted she'd be finding any sort of drinking fountain set up in the middle of all this. There was the pool in the central area she'd first come out, but she could still dimly hear shouting and doubted the herald would waste a single second to turn the crowd on her again. Her only other option was to explore until she found something, surely with all these people there had to be clean water somewhere.

The faint call of horses reached her again, she tipped her head to better judge the direction it had come from. If all else failed, the animals would have a full trough.

Getting to it however, proved far easier in theory than it did so in practice. Along the way she met much of the same disgusted looks, gibberish insults, and threatening stances from every man with a sword. A stone or two had come her way again, but she could not pick out the culprit. Emma was fast losing her patience with these people, and the next one to throw a rock may just find themselves handcuffed and hog-tied.

"Son of a bitch!" She growled as the twisting alley spit her out onto a familiar street, one she'd been down three times. Was it impossible to set up an ancient city so the layout would make some damn sense?! Evidently such marvels were beyond these people. With another string of curses, she turned around and tried again.

Finally, after too many twists, turns, backtracks and dead ends, a towering wall loomed up before her, disappearing in either direction and several stories high. She glanced up at it, shielding her eyes from the midday sun. "What is this, a Game of Thrones wannabe?"

The horses were just on the other side, she could hear them snorting and squealing at each other. Unfortunately, her string of bad luck decided to continue, as four armed guards stood across the gate and as many more stood sentry just before it.

Perhaps they would see she obviously did not belong in this thing, surely they'd see that, let her through and back into the real world. The Sense gave her a bad feeling, but hopefully these ones wouldn't be as into their roles as some of the other asshats.

With confident steps she moved towards them, aching, thirsty and otherwise peeved beyond expression. Really, she dared them to try and stop her at this point, she was beyond done with this little charade.

Swords were drawn the moment she stepped past the first line, her gun came up to level on the closest one as others surrounded her. "That is fucking it! I've had enough of your damn games, enough of this stupid place and enough of being threatened! So drop the fucking swords before someone gets shot!"

Damn it all if she was about to take another second of this bullshit.

All of the men were shouting back at her, some things had been spat her way before, some was new, but still she understood none of it. They showed no fear of her gun, no respect for the uniform, it was like they'd never even seen it before.

That….that wasn't possible. Even the Amish knew a gun when they saw one! Everyone did! Her gut sank as the reality of it started to sink in. Whether or not these people really believed it was 1191 didn't matter, but they saw no authority in her, and while her clip may hold sixteen bullets, they were too close for her to have a prayer to take them all down before they got to her.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Most stood between her and the gate, only two were behind. She took her chances and dove backwards, bull-rushing one rather than chance getting between them before the metal did. He flinched back as her shoulder drove into him, giving her leverage to knock him off his feet while barely keeping hers. It was enough to give her clearance to charge into the city, taking random streets and alleys in an effort to lose those that gave chase. They followed for some time, their knowledge of the layout allowing them to take shortcuts and cutoffs, forcing her to change direction each time she thought she'd outpaced them.

Lungs burning and muscles trembling, she knew she had to find some place to hide soon. Short sprints were fine, but long distance was not her friend. A loose stone caught her foot as she came around a corner, and with a curse she went headfirst into a pile of hay. Panting, she rolled to her back and some of the grass collapsed on top of her. She moved to brush it away before the pounding footsteps of her pursuers reached her ears and she froze. It was a poor hiding place, but just maybe it could be enough.

Holding a hand over her mouth to quiet her breathing, she dared not move when the few trailing guards came through. The others had either returned to their posts or moved to cut her off, but no one looked towards the hay. After a long moment of discussion, the guards sheathed their swords and moved off.

Only after they were gone did Emma dare let out a breath, her heart beating like drums in her ears and her left shoulder stinging like mad. Reaching over to lightly touch the spot, she winced at finding it warm and slick. As the adrenaline faded, the pain spread across her forearm as well. Evidently, the swords were most definitely real and tackling a guy with one was not the smartest idea.

Laying in the scratchy hay, she caught her breath and took stock of what she knew, which frankly, spelt one giant clusterfuck. Abstergo was into some sketchy shit that involved using her as an experiment and dropped her in this….whatever it was where everyone believed it was 1191 Jerusalem. She knew some of those role-players really got into it but assaulting a cop crossed the line, the second she got out of here she was bringing the entire damn force to arrest these assholes. Except the one-armed dude, he was semi-reasonable.

The brief, flickering thought of time-travel made her snort a laugh, scaring the bejeezus out of a passing civilian who looked at the hay as if it were about to eat her. It made Emma snort again, muttering to herself, "This isn't an episode of Supernatural, it's a rerun of Psych."

With a groan she pulled herself out, now thirstier, dirtier and more in pain than before, but at least the adrenaline had pushed the headache away. Taking stock of her arm, she winced at the very idea of having to stitch herself up. There were many talents required of a cop, but decent knitting was not one of them. The cuts were decently deep, but not so much so they absolutely required stitches per say. She would leave it for now, wrap it in…whatever she could scrounge up.

A laundry line hung in the alley across, robes and long, loose shirts swayed in the breeze. It was nearly laughable to call them shirts since they hung to the men's knees, but the light material would do, so she yanked down both. Karma was feeling generous as an uncrowded fountain was just a few alleys over, tucked into a corner and populated by only a few elderly couples. They ignored her, leaving her to take her fill of the lukewarm waters and wash the blood from her arm in peace. The shirt was sacrificed; pulling the small knife from her boot she cut it into strips and tied it around the cuts. It was sloppy and the knots ugly, but it would hold for now.

The heat was reaching uncomfortably high levels, too hot for the end of June in New York. Pulling the robe over her head, she cursed the necessity for another layer, but she couldn't afford to keep standing out if it meant sprinting across the damn city again. She had to lay low, and attempt to find the one-armed man again for answers.

"One thing is for certain," She glanced around, picking a street at random. "Oz would have been a more cheerful place to land."

The heat was stifling, worse than any city summer she'd gone through under the Kevlar. There were more people than she'd originally thought too, swarming the streets in some areas and all but deserting them in others. An almost distinct line separated the classes, she discovered. With no sense of North and South it was impossible to give direction to them, but where she'd woken up was definitely the upper class. Their clothing was more colorful, the buildings more ornate and there were certainly fewer of them. The slum was the opposite as expected. Crowded, left in disrepair and everyone dressed in rags.

The red robe she'd stolen blended more in the middle class area, but nowhere could she escape the odd looks, the glares and unwanted attention. Her blonde ponytail stood out too much, even darkened by sweat the gold still stood in stark contrast to the dark hair everyone sported. Even her fairer skin was like a beacon. The robe hardly helped her blend at all, but at least it was enough to keep the rocks at bay.

Nothing seemed able to assist her finding the one-armed man again, no matter what part of the city she searched, which market she scoped through, he remained out of sight. The little hope she had when she found the original bazaar she'd met him in quickly snuffed out at seeing no sign and the sun beginning its decent onto the horizon.

Merchants started packing up their wares, civilians hurried home and even a few guards disappeared from their posts. Emma frowned, glancing at the sky and guessing there was probably another two hours of daylight left. Why the hell were they all running for cover now?

Dark clouds rolled in the distance, but they were still a ways off, plenty of time for them to make it home at a leisurely pace, hell there was even time for her to find cover. Only…..in her random trips throughout the city she hadn't found much in the way of free protection and even if there had been, she doubted she would be able to find it again before dark.

A little hut sat on the roof close to a ladder a guard was coming down. She'd seen several of them throughout the city but had no idea what they were for and most those she could get to had sentries sitting on them. Now though it was open, and she figured it could be her best bet. With luck it would be totally enclosed and this little squall would be a warm summer sprinkle that would go as fast as it came.

Luck, as it turned out, decided to turn a blind eye to her. The so-called hut was a roof garden, no more than a square of planted gutters with hanging curtains to keep the worst of the sun off the plants. The clouds had moved faster than she had anticipated too, and thunder rumbled in the not-so-far-off distance. There was no time to find something else, nor anywhere she could think to try. So she pulled herself into the garden, tucking her body onto the floor in a corner against the wind that already blowing cool against her skin, chilling what sweat remained.

It did not sprinkle, it was not a warm summer shower to make the day more bearable. The storm was a freezing torrent that started with a downpour and only got worse as the night went on.

Emma could only wrap her arms around her knees to trap what warmth she had and pray that by morning the entire thing would be a dream.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"The windows have all been repaired, Sir." Otto hadn't the faintest idea why some of his underlings felt the need to fill him in on every single detail that went on in the building. It was annoying and repetitive. Contrary to what they all seemed to believe, he did actually check in on the cameras to see things for himself, so he had well known that all evidence of the 'accident' that occurred last night courtesy of a nosey cop had been cleaned up and cleared. The only task he currently wanted to know the update on was one that would no doubt be needed within the week. Cops had a nasty habit of looking out for their own after all, and the bloody woman had made herself seen to the responders.

"The video footage?" He did not bother turning to face Marcus, rather continued to watch the progress on his machine. Robin would ensure not only that it was still fully functional, but that it would land their next subject exactly where they wanted them to go. Soon she would have an estimation on the load capacity as well. Otto would prefer to keep it a small operation to limit the potential time ripples, but if he had to, he would send every man and woman in this building to the Crusades if it meant destroying the Assassins.

"Doctored as you ordered." Good, there would be no evidence the woman ever lingered here.

"Otto." Another voice cut in, forcing the man to turn an acknowledge whoever was brave (or foolish) enough to use his first name. Marcus ducked out with a frown upon his face, messages delivered but a hollow feeling in his gut.

"Mr. Byron." The presence of their time theory expert was not all that surprising, his lack of acknowledging Otto's authority, though equally unsurprising, was not so appreciated. A man who feared and respected him was a predictable man, one who could be controlled with a few words. Kevin Byron was not so easily cowed, and that made him a potential risk. Unfortunately he was also necessary to the project until such a time they could determine which theory was in play and what that could mean for the current world. Otto was left to suffer the man's near insubordination.

"I still question the thinking of sending the cop back with all of her weapons and gear, the repercussions of such things in that time…"

"I am well aware of your perceived consequences. It was necessary to ascertain whether the transport of firearms would be possible, furthermore should Robert's alchemists have a chance at recreating pepper spray it will only help them defeat what assassins remain once we are through." Otto cut over the older man coolly, not feeling the need to explain himself but knowing the man would not cease his prattle about it unless otherwise reminded.

Byron sighed, glancing over the worn pages in his hands, one of the Codex pages no doubt. "We know the Apple showed Altair the general make of a firearm, but….what if this is our proof right here that she survives and makes it to the assassins, and he only wrote it was knowledge from the Apple to hide her existence?"

Otto turned fully to face the man; it was little spirts like this that made him worth keeping around, even if in this case, he was wrong. "We left her with a Glock and a six-shooter, neither of which come close to Altair's design. Be assured, the Apple gave him those schematics and in the world she is in, he will never receive them. Go back to your studies Mr. Byron, it is only one woman."

Kevin left with a scowl, the fact Otto brushed off all of the possible unforeseen complications so flippantly bothered him greatly. Could he really not see that the very presence of that women in the timeline could change everything? The ripples she could start even without her gear were innumerable, the very nature of Chaos theory came in to play here, and there was no telling where it could lead.


Captain: Yaaaaay for Malik! Mr. Sassypants. I figure that since the Assassins work both sides of the war and have to be able to blend anywhere, by a certain rank they would be able to speak a few languages, including English. And Otto is of course a dick. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter and will be kind enough to leave me a review! Unless life kicks me in the teeth the next chapter will not take nearly as long to get out aaaaand *drum roll* we shall be seeing Altair next chapter! I'm super excited for it and I can promise, the meeting of Altair and Emma will not be one either ever forgets...