Willoffire123: Remind me again why you two hate each other?
Arno: Il est un crétin
Leonardo: He talks in french too much
Willoffire123: Please. I'm sure you're just annoyed that you and Ezio are no longer the only ones with an on and off relationship with the English language.
Leonardo: Il mio inglese è bene, grazie mille
Willoffire123: I rest my case. I don't own Assassin's Creed. Let's see the chapter now, shall we?
"Bastard," Edward growled at the bolted dungeon door, rubbing his sore wrists awake.
Haytham laid out the medical supplies left behind on the table. "Father, we don't have a moment to waste; Ezio's lost a lot of blood."
Edward blinked himself out of a stupor to help his friend. "You're right. Let's get to work."
"The stab wound is precisely three centimeters wide and one deep," said Haytham, wiping Ezio's chest down with the antiseptic. "Does your Assassin's training include basic suturing?"
"This isn't the kind of stuff field assassins are trained for," Edward admitted begrudgingly. "If there aren't any medical assassins on a mission with us, we learn as we go."
"The English branch has some work to do," said Altaïr with a groan. "I can assure you, Haytham, this is not the case here in the Middle East."
"Wonderful," said Haytham. "The only assassin here with no medical training is the only one fit to do so."
"What do you propose?" said Altaïr, struggling into a seated position against the wall next to Connor.
"I have basic medical knowledge," said Haytham, threading the needle. "If you were to instruct myself and my father, Ezio might just live."
"Then let's get to work," Altaïr said grimly. "Edward, you watched Malik suture both me and Connor, yes? You will sew. Haytham, you will bandage him when Edward is finished and make sure he doesn't fail."
"Understood," said Haytham.
"Aye," said Edward.
Haytham studied his father while he sewed. It intrigued him to find that while he was inexperienced, his hands were steady and calm.
"Am I doing alright, professor?" he asked his son mockingly, never looking up from his work.
"You're doing just fine, father," said Haytham.
"Do I detect surprise, my boy?" asked Edward.
"Maybe a little," Haytham admitted. "I never imagined you to have skill in such delicate matters."
"It doesn't matter how skilled I am in something," said Edward, tying off the suture per Altaïr's instructions. "If my comrade's life depends on my completing a task, I will complete it with whatever skill level is necessary; failure isn't an option."
"You know, I always wondered what kind of man you had become since you left us to return to the assassins," Haytham said while bandaging Ezio's torso. "Now I know that you are better off because you left us."
"Maybe if I had stayed, though," said Edward, refusing to meet his son's gaze. "Birch couldn't have taken you under his wing, and we'd be allies today, rather than enemies."
"I was unaware of what he did to Jenny," Haytham admitted. "But if you had stayed, I have no doubt that he would have killed you, father."
"I have done plenty of things in my life that I regret," interjected Altaïr. "But maybe we could leave the personal redemption sessions to after we have escaped the pits of hell?"
"Of course, my friend," said Edward, kneeling next to the wounded man. "You're right, as always. We have more important matters to discus."
"Such as, how we will escape?" said Altaïr. "Now that Ezio is both wounded and imprisoned with us, we must return to the drawing board."
"Don't we have other allies here in Damascus?" asked Edward.
"He's right," said Haytham. "That must have been why you were travelling here in the first place, no?"
"But if nobody knows we are here, what good are they?" Altaïr pointed out glumly.
"We could always break out on our own," said Edward. "But Haytham and I can't carry all three of you out of this highly guarded prison alone."
"I'll be fine," Altaïr protested. "Focus on Connor and Ezio."
"You'll be fine?" Haytham asked skeptically. "You don't look fine."
Altaïr's expression darkened. "Don't underestimate me, Templar."
"Altaïr, stand up," ordered Edward.
Altaïr blinked, taken aback. "Pardon?"
"If you'll be fine to take on a battalion of soldiers, surely you can stand up on your own," said Edward.
Altaïr may have been injured, but he was never one to dodge a challenge, especially to prove a point. Every nerve in his body screamed with fire, but he pulled himself to his feet.
"See?" he said triumphantly. "I'm fine."
But he wasn't, and Edward knew it. Edward could see the fire consuming his mind with pain, and put a hand on his shoulder.
"It's alright, brother," he said soothingly. "You don't have to struggle alone anymore. You can let it hurt."
With that, all the pain Altaïr had been forcefully ignoring from the fall until then broke through the surface, and the Levantine doubled over with a howl of pain.
Edward caught his fallen brother before he could hit the floor. "I've got you, brother."
To Edward's horror, Altaïr gave an anguished cry of pain at Edward's touch, pulling himself away from the pirate.
Haytham, careful not to hold Altaïr in the same manner as his father, caught the wounded man. "Altaïr, calm down."
Altaïr didn't listen. Now that he'd let it out, it wasn't coming back in again. He heard Haytham's voice from a distance, but the pain dimmed it, along with all his other senses, to a dull point.
SMACK!
Haytham's slap brought Altaïr back to reality. He touched his stinging cheek in surprise.
"Good," said Haytham. "You're back."
"We want to help you, Altaïr," said Edward. "You just need to tell us what hurts."
Altaïr stared at Edward, dumbfounded. He didn't want to remember. If he did, he would have to relive that place they took him and Connor where they…
He shook his head forcefully. "No-no-no, Edward, please no-."
"Do I have to smack you again?" inquired Haytham, hand raised.
Edward motioned his son to back off. "Altaïr, I'm going to remove your shirt now. Haytham, see to Ezio and your son," he said pointedly, gesturing at Connor. "Whatever they did to Altaïr, they probably did the same to Connor."
Haytham took the hint and removed Connor's shirt.
With steady hands, Edward pulled Altaïr's shirt up over his head. Altaïr grounded his teeth together, but the tiny cry of pain he let escape his lips did not go unnoticed by Edward.
"Good God…" said Haytham. "Father, Connor's back…"
Edward didn't need to examine his grandson to see it himself, for Altaïr had the same injury on his left shoulder blade.
Altaïr's back was an angry shade of red. Skin surrounding the mark showed untreated burns, blisters caked with dried blood from the mark itself, a human eye underneath the word 'Subject 1'.
"Those fuckers," Edward growled. "They branded them."
The dungeon door opened, Bishop striding through the door with his guards in tow.
Disregarding the consequences, Edward lunged at Bishop, intent on ripping out the bastard's throat.
Edward got in one hit before the guards had him pinned against the ground.
"Relax, Templar," Bishop told Haytham. "It isn't your time yet."
Haytham shielded a shivering Altaïr from the jailer. "You're a monster. Altaïr's in shock, my son is unconscious, and both of them are branded. What did you do to them? What do you want with my father?"
Bishop knelt next to the unconscious Connor and stroked Connor's brand mark, the same eye as on Altaïr's back underneath 'Subject 3'.
Connor shivered.
Bishop put his face to Connor's ear and ordered him to wake.
Connor woke with a gasp, whimpering at the sight of his tormentor.
Bishop sighed. "Shame, this one is. He's not long for this world; the Mohawk curse has seen to that."
Haytham balled his fists. "Don't touch my son."
Connor crouched on all fours and, to Haytham's astonishment, growled at Bishop, almost as if in agreement with his father.
Bishop stood without a word and dug his heel into Connor's face.
"Heel, mutt," he said coldly. Connor obeyed, curling into a ball, whimpering like a frightened pup.
"As for you," Bishop told Haytham. "You forget who the jailer is here."
He stalked towards Haytham, grabbed him by his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. Altaïr scrambled away from him in fright.
"You are my prisoner," he told Haytham. "If you value your life or your family's lives, you'll start acting like it."
Bishop dropped Haytham and approached Altaïr, shivering in his corner.
"Our prime subject," Bishop cooed, stroking the boy's hair fondly. "The prodigy of the Hashashin."
Altaïr whimpered.
"And we broke him," Bishop said maliciously. "As for your father."
Bishop studied the still restrained Edward carefully. His guards pulled Edward into a standing position so Bishop could examine him properly.
Edward struggled harder, itching to get away from the monster studying him as though he was Bishop's newest prize.
"You won't be needing this, will you?" asked Bishop, using his knife to cut off Edward's shirt. "Wonderful."
Bishop ran his hands down Edward's chest, examining every inch of his skin.
"Now I feel very violated," said Edward, barely able to keep the rising panic out of his voice.
"Get your hands off him!" demanded Haytham.
Bishop nodded at his guards, the two of them restraining Haytham themselves.
"This one's pretty, ain't he?" Guard #1 breathed in Haytham's ear.
"Almost as pretty as his son," said Guard #2, slowly removing Haytham's shirt. "Shall we check and make sure?"
Haytham tensed. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he didn't like it. He also knew that whatever these men were about to do to him, they'd already done it to both Altaïr and his own son.
No wonder the two boys were damaged.
"May we, sir?" asked Guard #1.
"Not yet, boys," said Bishop. "Inspection must be done by me, and only by me. Besides," he said, running his hands down Edward's thighs. "I'm itching to make my new plaything mine for good, just as I did the Mohawk and the Levantine."
Edward shuddered. "Get your hands off me, bastard."
Bishop pulled Edward close and whispered lovingly into his ear. "But you don't really mean that, do you?" and he jabbed a syringe into Edward's neck.
"Father!" cried Haytham.
Connor walked over to Bishop and his grandfather on all fours, sniffing at Bishop's boot.
"Connor…" Edward gasped before crumpling into Bishop's arms, unconscious.
"Easy, pet," Bishop assured Connor. "Your master will return with your grandfather soon enough. In the mean time," he pointed at Haytham just as Guard #2 was about to undo Haytham's belt buckle. "That man is hurting your father. Kill him."
Guard #1 scrambled away from Haytham and Guard #2 to stand by Bishop.
"I will carry him myself," Bishop told Guard #1. "You make sure that should he wake and escape, he doesn't run far."
"Yes, master," said Guard #1.
"Wait-," said Haytham, but he was too late. The dungeon door had already slammed shut, his father already being lead away for Bishop's 'examination'.
Guard #2 cursed and held Haytham tighter against the wall. "If I'm sentenced to die here, at least let me do this before I die."
The guard crashed his lips forcefully against Haytham's, grounding his hips into his.
Haytham's cry of alarm muffled against his rapist's lips, all he could do was freeze in horror.
Haytham heard, rather than saw Connor's attack. All he registered was the guard raping him one moment, then dead on the floor the next moment. Connor crouched over the dead man, his face covered in blood.
Haytham slid to the floor, utterly horrified.
Connor's mental state was, like the others, not at full capacity. He remembered talking to his ghost mother, the scary man in the white mask making first him, then Altaïr his own, being forced to fight Altaïr, then waking to see the scary man in the early stages of making both Connor's father and grandfather his own.
Kill him.
Connor saw the scary man taking away his grandfather and knew he needed to save him. But the scary man told him to kill the one about to make Haytham his own, and Connor had no choice.
He ripped out the man's throat.
Altaïr could only watch in horror as his tormentor brought more pain and suffering upon him and his brothers. His horror increased as per the tormentor's instructions, Connor ripped out Haytham's tormentor's throat.
His tormentor was right, they really did belong to him now.
Ezio groaned as the pain in his chest brought him back to reality. He stared at the celling, trying to remember where he was and how he'd gotten there.
We'll be going now.
Vittoria agli assassini!
EZIO!
"Merda," he cursed. "This wasn't supposed to happen."
Fighting back his light-headedness, Ezio pushed himself into a seated position.
"Merda," he repeated. For in front of him he saw a shirtless Altaïr cowering in a corner, a man Ezio didn't recognize against the back wall, also shirtless, his pants half-way off, and a shirtless Connor crouched over a dead man, blood and chunks of flesh dripping from his mouth.
The man he didn't recognize looked up at him. "Ezio Auditore?" he asked in a hollow, broken voice.
"Yes?" asked Ezio. "Who are you? Where am I? What is going on? Where is Edward Kenway?"
The man took a deep, shaky breath and rose to his feet, attempting to re-buckle his pants with shaking hands.
"Let me help you with that," said Ezio, getting to his feet, only to be pushed back down again by the incessant pain in his chest.
"No!" the man said immediately. "No contact is necessary, thank you." He took another deep breath. "My name is Haytham Kenway. Welcome to Hell."
Willoffire123: Why are you all the way over there?
Edward: You really have to ask?
Altaïr: You used to be only slightly crazy.
Ezio: You have reached an entirely new level of insane.
Connor: And we're all suffering because of it.
Arno: You'd better make us save them fast.
Leonardo: While they're still there to save.
Arno: And still sane enough to be saved, salaud malades.
Willoffire123 : …I'm a horrible person, I know. But I'll try and make it better, I promise !
Leonardo: Until next time, then.