"Assassin's Creed - Part 3"

A heavily bandaged man sat in a wheelchair and rolled through an underground complex to an "operation centre" by a tall man with black hair and glasses wearing a white lab coat simply referred to as the Doctor. The heavily bandaged man also had a man, but since his transformation from his other self to a new, improved man, he had relinquished his former life for a future he saw brimming with opportunity. A future where he saw London, England, his birth place, and its ruler, Queen Victoria, resign to a new rule and sovereign, when his plans were brought to fruition. As for now, things were only in the planning stage.

He had had eliminated most of his enemies, thanks in part to an obedient assassin he named "Number Six"; an identification number only, among other of his children who were also little killers. But Number Six was exceptionally special to him and was in fact his favorite. He was now the embodiment of beautification and strength, much like his parents were…parents who abandoned him because he didn't look right: Beautiful. Father took care of that, and faked the boy's death, and eventually gave the boy's parents their uncomings for transgressions against him, setting fire to their mansion. It was still unknown who had actually killed Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive, none of his little killers had taken credit for it, but their bodies were burned to ash in the fire - that was all that mattered. Their deaths, as well as those of Vincent's "Aristocrats of Evil", as they were penned, only served to show that Father's future was shining bright, and that good always conquered evil.

His good…

In the main room of the complex - the operation centre - other men and women busied themselves in lab experiments and other things, engaged in projects of Father's approval, and in a specially made chair of Father's design, sat Number Six. He did not need to be strapped down as his loyalty was unquestioned. He sat properly with a straight back and his arms on the arm-rests in this chair made of metal and stared into a kaleidoscope wheel that spung on a wall, powered by electricity. In each of the fourteen different colored sections of the kaleidoscope were words that formed Number Six's "assassin's creed", per sa.

The device worked on two levels: 1) the part of the human brain used for creativity, it focused on the colors; and 2) the words abated to the logical part of the brain, focused on understanding and learning. So together, the kaleidoscope utilized both levels of the brain effectively to their most optimum levels.

The kaleidoscope was like a "motion" picture - which was a revolutionary concept, although China had an interesting version of a spinning environment with a stationary figure like a horse, and with enough spin, it appeared the horse was moving. But with this "motion" picture concept, the eyes focused in on the words while the kaleidoscope spun, colors blurred, but the words, with unfocused eyes, became clear, and brought the words out of their single slots of the kaleidoscope into the assassin's reinforced creed. This continued reinforcement continued Number Six's complete and unbinding loyalty.

"Come hereto my knight and kill for me; you are mine - now and forever!" Father mentally recited.

It was designed so no one could just accidentally blurt it out and take control of his assassin and order him to turn against Father. He had originally considered making the assassin's creed a nursery rhyme like from a line from Old Mother Hubbard or The Old Woman Who Lived In a Shoe, but that would be too easy for someone to accidentally say, especially a child, and Number Six's programming would become inert, or would be broken. And if for whatever reason, he managed to recover his "true" identity on his own, the programming broken, the creed would become ineffective and thus the programmer's name - Father's true name - would be lost forever to Number Six's unconscious mind. It was a safety switch, per sa, to protect Father from retribution, and from the like of the rest of his children - bringing about amnesia of the past.

Father had surrounded himself with indeed a great deal of smart and inventive men.

The doctor wheeled Father over to Number Six, snapped his fingers, and someone turned off the kaleidoscope. Number Six turned his head slightly and looked at Father.

"You did well, my child," Father said. "All but two of the Aristocrats of Evil are dead. You are proficient as is your trainer." Number Six remained silent. But Father didn't need a "thank you". "But your next opponent will be by far most challenging. He was an associate of one of my enemies, also an enforcer. Your mission is to eliminate him as well. Another will give you the particulars of his possible whereabouts, after a suitable resting period and food. My little assassin must keep up his energy."

Number Six nodded acceptingly, as if it were an order.

"That's a good boy," Father said proudly. "Number Six."

"The next batch have arrived, sir," the Doctor said. "The twins have collected more subjects."

"I am pleased Sasha and Samuel Ironstadt are so efficient," Father said. When the Doctor turned him around and wheeled Father forward, leaving the operations room, they went down an adjacent stone-built hallway to another section of the underground, secret complex. "I am curious, what if they found him? If he survived? The boy's body was never found in the ruins of the mansion."

Doctor chuckled. "I think you will be pleasantly surprised," he said.

In a secluded, but large, boxed room - which was also used as a storage area for lab equipment and other things - two young men in bright white suits stood next to a series of cages filled with children. The next batch. Sasha and Samuel Ironstadt were hired to round up "lost" children or destitute children, those that were abandoned or unwanted, and bring them to Father to be utilized for various purposes. These were the kidnapped children of London that plagued the news headlines. Number Six had been acquired in a similar manner, but with a little more cunning and ingenuity, and had been declared legally dead by his parents. While his body was retrieved after his death by his parents, a fake body was handed over. The boy's face brutally scarred and unrecognizable able even to his parents. What a surprise they would have had if they knew the truth about their son's surprising resurrection, if they had lived.

"Is he here?" Father demanded.

The twins seemed to look at each other momentarily uncertain what their boss was asking, then Sasha nodded, and pointed out the third cage down the line. "He was living on the streets, but we caught him like the others," the twin said.

Father was wheeled to the small cage, the size used by trappers to keep cougars or other animals of a vicious nature, and saw a small boy with dark, grungy-looking hair, huddled up with his knees to his chest, melancholy and withdraw; his once sweet, deep bluish-purple eyes, downcast to mirror his saddened look.

Father looked closer at the boy and felt disillusioned. This was not the same Ciel Phantomhive he had once thought the essence of beautification of a boy. He had only met the boy once, five years prior at a social engagement arranged by Vincent Phantomhive, but Father could not get Ciel's beautiful face out of his mind, which was why - and bitter sweet to Vincent Phantomhive and his Aristocrats of Evil shunning him from their group because he "was too old and ugly" - his face gave rise to the casting mould for Number Six's new appearance, because an accident had caused a deformity damaging his face and it needed fixing. And the Doctor did an outstanding job in the plastic surgery.

Ciel Phantomhive was nothing to him now, covered in soot and grim and tattered cloths. With his uncle now dead, killed by Number Six, Ciel was the sole heir to the Phantomhive name, but everyone believed he died in the fire than burned his home down and killed his parents, and so it will remain. He was now one of his children, and like others, will be trained to obey his every command, or be discarded like a dead dog.

"The Inner Circle have requested sacrifices for their ritual in five nights time," the Doctor said.

"Very well, this batch is of no use to me anyhow; what a disgusting lot," Father said, waving them off as if they were some unwanted animals. "Even send Ciel Phantomhive, unless you want him…his parents are dead, as well as anyone else who can help him. Number Six will track and eliminate the other two who belonged to Vincent Phantomhive's secret club in due time."

The Doctor leaned in to Father's right ear, and whispered, "You are a jealous man, Bryon Kelvin."

Father - Bryon Kelvin - smirked beneath his bandages, but the sides of his mouth stretched them to show it. "Indeed. As children, we learn an important lesson: We all play or none of us play."

The Doctor agreed. "I'll inform a representative of the Inner Circle to pick whom they would like out of this batch. But may I take a few for myself? I need new raw material for my experiments."

Father nodded. "Your choice. But make sure you reverse the best for him."

"I know, sir. He has no right arm. I'm still looking for the perfect candidate."

"See that you do," Father said firmly. "I can not have the leader of my special circus troupe of assassins at a disadvantage."

"Indeed, I will endeavor to keep looking…"

The man simply referred to as the Doctor stood over a medical stab in a private infirmity and smiled. Then plunged a long sharp, carving knife into the torso of one of his "raw material" subjects, cutting the child from pelvis to chest, who had been laying "unconscious", or rather brainwashed to remain immobile on the stab. He then went about removing organs and other material that he needed for his experiments.

It may have appeared like murder to others, but it was all in the guise of science. And these children were forgotten, abandoned, and in the eyes of the world already dead, so why not use them for a good purpose? And what he could not use was given away for animal food to Bryon Kelvin's nephew to sell to dog owners in an underground dog fighting gambling ring he organized.

And he was still looking for that one perfect candidate for Bryon Kelvin's assassin he called -

There was a scream!

The Doctor startled, nearly dropping an organ he had just removed from his latest subject, stumbling to catch it before it fell to the ground.

He plopped it into a bowl and then turned to the child who had made the scream, still in his cage next to a stone wall. He wiped his hands on his white surgical garb as he told the child to shut-up.

"Stop it! Stop it!" the child raged, continuing his protest. "Those are children!"

The Doctor knew the boy. Ciel Phantomhive. But instead of the melancholy, destitute look he had come in with, the boy now had a hatred burning in his eyes as he clutched the bars of his lonely cage. Bryon Kelvin had given the boy to him for his experiments, but he wanted to save the kid for last.

"You nearly made me drop that heart, kid. Now be quiet or you're next on the table!"

"What you're doing is horrible! Children on not like cows or chickens!"

"You may not be old enough to understand this, kid, but everyone is "slaughtered" in life. Be it in death or in life, from a psychological point of view."

"You mean in their different classes in life?"

The Doctor rose his brow impressed. "Very good. So you do understand. Your father educated you well."

"My father is…" he cleared his throat, "…was a good and smart man. Did you kill him?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I had no hand in your parents' deaths. Notwithstanding, I don't care. My interest is purely in science. And since…my employer has given me subjects to work with, I have made some very interesting discoveries and advancements. I even know how to reattach a severed limb to a body, even years after the skin has sealed over the wound."

The boy tilted his head, as if not knowing how to reply to that. The Doctor figured that the boy had never been exposed to such a thing. Ciel Phantomhive had probably been so isolated to the way of the world that the true reality of it had never been revealed to him. With him in that cage, perhaps now it had.

A knock on the door to his lab gave him just cause for the conversation to end. But he groaned in displeasure. "Why all these interruptions?"

He answered the door, unlocking it first, and yanked it open. He was about to protest the interruption, when he was confronted by a very large, bald and tall man, with a tattoo on the side of his head. He appeared to slump slightly, but it didn't deter his largeness any.

The Doctor cleared his throat. He knew this man, he was a member of Bryon Kelvin's traveling circus troupe, also his most loved band of assassins. He didn't talk much, but he did have the unpleasant nickname "Tiny", which was a play on his size and a non de plume for his circus role. Tiny had been found with others whom Kelvin had found living on the street some years back. Tiny refused to allow Kelvin to take them unless he came along. So, in a way, Tiny were the others' unofficial protector.

"What do you want?" the Doctor asked firmly. Behind him dwarfed another, who suddenly peaked out from behind Tiny, and the Doctor recognized him as well. He normally wore his red hair aflame and spiked and circus make-up as a member of the circus troupe, its leader in fact, but at the moment, he was dressed more conservatively with his hair flatter and parted in the middle wearing a dark cape over his clothes. He had the nickname of Joker, also given to him by Kelvin. "Oh, it's you… Why are you here?"

Joker smiled modestly. "Father requested I come; he says you found a proper candidate to replace my missing limb?" Joker stepped out into the open. His right arm was missing, caused by some unknown happenstance at a young age. Despite being "damaged", Kelvin still kept him and put him in charge of his traveling circus troupe. When the troupe weren't killing people of Kelvin's choosing, they were entertaining the English masses with their clowning and performing acts. It was the perfect cover.

The Doctor furrowed his brow confused. "I have not informed 'Father' of such," referring to Bryon Kelvin's godly title he preferred to use now in front of his children. "He is mistaken."

Joker eyed the Doctor with his own confusion. "But Father said you said - "

"I shall speak to him." The Doctor went out into the corridor, slamming his lab door behind him. He didn't want them to see what was hidden therein.

The three of them went up to the main operations centre one level up, where 'Father' was, in his wheelchair and wrapped in bandages, speaking with another scientist. The Doctor noticed a table in one corner of the room with a white sheet draped over what could only be a dead body beneath. This was only not here the previous evening. It must have just come in? But he ignored it for the time being.

Allocating to the same playdom as his children, he said to Kelvin, "Father, may I speak with you a moment?" Joker and Tiny followed him. Bryon turned his wheelchair around to face them. "There must be some confusion. I still have not found a suitable candidate for Joker's missing limb. He has informed me that - "

"That I have," Bryon finished, and gestured to the table with the dead body beneath.

The Doctor crossed the room to the table and pulled off the sheet. The young man on the table was dead, his body was beginning to decay and smell, but he did appear to be the same height and weight as Joker. The Doctor looked back at Bryon. Where had Bryon acquired this body from? "He is dead…"

"He is just what is needed," Bryon said.

"I prefer my subjects to be living." The Doctor held the right arm of the dead man aloft. The skin was decaying rapidly without oxygen supplying the blood cells to it, turning it a blue hue. "The tissue and muscle are of no use. This arm is worthless."

"Then strip it off."

For the first time, despite all the grotesque things that he had done, performed to other bodies, he was taken aback by what Bryon was suggesting.

"Is there a problem? You have told me the reattachment of a severed limb is of a rather simple operation."

The Doctor composed himself, then nodded. "It can be done." He mused a moment, smiling. "To attach the skeletal remains of a severed limb to a living body will be an interesting experiment. An interesting experiment, indeed."

"Joker, do you accept this?" Kelvin said.

Joker seemed to take a moment to wonder about it, looking at the body, then back at Father. Then he nodded, as if refusal of Father's "gift" would be an insult. "Yey, Father. I am honored."

"Then I will prepare immediately," the Doctor said.

"Ah, just in time…" Bryon Kelvin said, looking past them to the entrance of the operation centre. The Doctor turned, as did the others, to the appearance of Number Six. "Joker, may I introduce Number Six. Another one, if not my most successful assassin's to date, present company excluded, if course."

"Hello," Joker said.

"Hello," Number Six said plainly.

"Well rested from your sleep period, my child? Did you eat some food?" Bryon asked. Number Six nodded. "Excellent! Then, the mission I spoke about last evening is waiting for you. And it may be your most difficult one yet. You are to kill Vulcan Hardgrove, enforcer to your late - " He stopped abruptly, as if catching himself before he said something wrong. He smiled. "Enforcer to a great enemy of mine!"

To be continued…