Wh-what? Two years? That's— There's n-no way I haven't updated in two years, nope, no siree. Seven hundred and thirty-one days? Ahhahahaha…ah… o - o'

Third: A Solution

"Uh, guys?"

The Assassins had been quiet for well over a minute, and Desmond could hear Shaun's impatient voice coming from behind him. He was going to have to start climbing soon in order to be done and far away from the city by sunrise. On the other hand, he felt like a kid again; his head was filled with the sense of wonder, as if he had never looked at the cityscape before. Like he did years ago, he gained a renewed understanding and appreciation of the word 'awesome.'

The American huffed. "Alright, you freeloaders, I'm starting to get nostalgic because of you, which means it's time to get to work so we can get the hell out of Dodge." He turned and walked back toward the van.

Work? Connor mumbled before he repeated louder and quicker, Work, yes, the mission. Right….

Desmond let out a low whistle. Whoa, he thought, not wanting to be heard by his allies. If you're practically tripping on the mere sight of the city, then for all of our sakes—but mostly for my own mental stability—I hereby abstain from all drugs until I'm alone in my body again.

Sorry, Stregone. It is just incredible, seeing the world so far in the future. Ezio paused before he caught himself drifting out of focus. How were we meant to react to this? I never imagined I would be in the twenty-first century, and thus I never prepared a proper reaction.

Desmond nodded. Fair enough.

What about Altaïr? Novecento anni. After nearly a millennium, Master Altaïr, tell us, how has our human race changed in that amount of time?

Silence, the Syrian commanded. Contemplating existence.

And there you have it, Stregone. I think we have been justified.

"Mm-hmm," he hummed as he collected the parachute and earpiece from the back of the van. He slung it over his shoulder and walked around to the technician's side of the vehicle. "What do I need to do?"

Rebecca smirked. "Finally done admiring the scenery? Turn on the Bluetooth on your headset while I get the camera."

"On it." The Assassin dropped the parachute and took off his backpack, turning on the part of the communicator in his bag with the flick of a switch. His earpiece beeped in response, connecting with the router.

As he was repositioning the bags on his back, Connor asked with a hint of excitement, What was that sound? And that box? Also, if those lights—those points of lightning—are not burning fires, then how do they remain alit?

Too many questions, not enough time. Rebecca had turned around, camera in hand, to come back to her friend. Find the answers yourself. You're in my head, after all; can't you look through my memories?

He didn't hear a response from the Mohawk, but after a moment, Desmond felt something behind his forehead, like a nagging memory he couldn't quite remember. He tried to focus on Rebecca waving the camera in the air, but the feeling pestered his mind in a way that thoroughly annoyed him.

He heard an awed gasp from one of the voices in his head, so he looked away from Rebecca and focused on the tickling feeling. Almost immediately, a bright light seemed to flash in his mind's eye. He flinched and pulled his right arm back, left hand covering his forearm protectively.

He heard a yelp; he wasn't sure if it came from him or one of his ancestors, but he also heard an Italian expletive. What the hell was that? Ezio asked, more curious than angry.

Connor was rummaging through Desmond's memories, answered Altaïr, sounding a bit surprised.

Yes…. Connor was breathless, trailing off before coming back with renewed energy. That was this…'electricity,' wasn't it? Or a memory of it, at the least.

Shaking himself out of his stupor in time to take the last of his equipment from Rebecca, Desmond thought, That must have been the time I was electrocuted as a kid.

When the American did not elaborate on his statement further, Altaïr asked, Specifically how would one be electrocuted?

It's similar to coming into contact with lightning, explained Connor, speaking faster with growing awe.

Desmond smirked and tuned out the mental voices. He thought Rebecca had told him to take the elevator, so he sauntered over to the doors in the back of the room, securing the parachute onto his back as he went. He was both glad and disturbed that the memory thing had worked: Now he wouldn't have to answer every single question the three may have, but it seemed like he'll have to relive all of the memories they picked out.

Spinning around in the elevator and getting the all-clear from his father, he pushed the top button on the panel. A slight irritation, a rustling, started up in his mind again. "Guys," sighed Desmond, "miraculous discovery, I know, but could you not mess with my head while I'm, you know, climbing a skyscraper?"

...Che cosa è un 'skyscraper'? Ezio muttered.

I'll check! offered Conner, and the rummaging began again.

The American caught an image of the Empire State Building before shaking his head and making an effort to ignore everything. Damn, guys, don't do that while I'm hundreds of feet above the ground.

Maybe it was meant to be, mused Altaïr. If you fall and die, maybe we would be returned to our times.

Your times, maybe. I'd be dead. Then I'm so haunting your ass.

The elevator dinged and opened its doors, revealing the metal framework of a new, still incomplete New York building. It was a rather welcome sight, reminding Desmond of when life was normal and when he wasn't spending his days in ancient temples and Renaissance Italy. He turned on the camera, let it hover unsteadily as it connected to its systems floors below, and cracked his knuckles as he eyed the crossbeams, beginning to plan a route up.

"And we have visuals," the earpiece buzzed with the light white noise of cheap but functional technology. "You're good to go, Des."

"Copy." And with that, he pushed off the ground with his back foot, took six quick strides across to the unfinished wall, jumped, and continued to run up the scaffolding for a second before locking his fingers over the wooden platform ten feet up.

As he heaved himself over the top to continue on his way, Altaïr let out a low whistle. Desmond, considering you have spent a significant number of days in your Animus machine, you have managed to keep your body in top condition. How have you done that through physically lying motionless?

He landed on an air vent and waited a moment to regain his balance before running along it. I asked Rebecca to explain it once, but I don't remember it now. And for the love of God, Connor—! Jump. Don't look through my head for it right now!

Wasn't even thinking of it, the youngest voice assured, a tad too quickly.

Uh-huh. Jump again. There was a wall over that way, but he could easily find handholds in the wire netting.

Destra.

What?

A destra. A weight suddenly seemed to wrap itself around Desmond's legs, stopping him on a dime. With a short cry his arms flung out for balance, flailing for a moment. There is a clearer path to the right, Ezio stated, turning their head to the right end of the room.

"What?"Desmond snapped, rubbing the back of his neck. That's not any help; it's too high up. Who deliberately tries to run up a wall when there are better options?

I'm sure I could make it, and if you were any kind of a good student, you'd know how to as well. Ezio made sure to keep their shared legs locked in place. Just jump a little higher.

Captive, Desmond rolled his eyes. That might lead straight up, sure, but the pipes and cables ahead have more handholds, which is obviously easier to climb!

Assassins do not need extra handholds. Come now, it's the most direct route.

"Son of a—" Okay. He gave the wall a moment's consideration. True, with the ceilings unfinished, it probably went straight to the top, but it was too smooth for comfort. Meanwhile, the path he wanted to take had netting, wires, pipes, rigging: plenty of things to grab. Thanks for the input, but I'm going my way.

He managed a single step before his legs numbed over anew. Maestro Altaïr, per favore, insisted the Italian.

I have no preference. I am still intrigued by the idea of killing Desmond, so feel free to take the more dangerous path.

Ezio wasn't as quick on the uptake. Maybe we should go your way, Desmond….

"Desmond!" a voice shouted in his ear. He jerked back, startled to attention, like having a bucket of ice water poured on his head. Then he realized it was exactly like that, the chill dripping from his head down his body in an instant. "Racin' the clock, here, mate!"

"On my way," Desmond heard his voice respond before his feet pushed off the ground—off into the open air. A rush of panic made his heart skip a beat; whether it was physically so or just mentally didn't matter at the moment. After a second of freefall, though, he fell in the fork between two steel beams, foot stable at their intersection.

Wow, your shoes really grip the metal well, remarked Connor, kicking what was currently his foot against the beam a couple times.

Shock quickly being replaced by indignation, any comment Desmond was going to make was drowned out by the stern, Now what sense does this make? from Altaïr. Their muscles tensed, vision straight ahead, and he added, If we are going to make this a team effort, then I will have to get out of this predicament.

It was a moment before Connor countered with obvious strain; Desmond realized that Altaïr must be fighting his possessor for control, but besides the stilled movements, he had no sense of their struggle. I know what I'm doing, Connor insisted. I may not be an Assassin yet, but if— if there's one thing I can do, it's climb.

Alright. The tension disappeared. There are no handholds or surfaces down here; how are you going to proceed?

Connor rolled his shoulders back and flexed his hands before taking another leap, this time pushing off of the next intersection to stop at the third. I don't need to land, as long as they're flat enough to step off of, to run from branch to branch. Didn't you ever climb trees as a boy?

He continued through the support beams, stepping from side to side in long strides. The Assassins were quiet, and Desmond had to wonder why he never saw anyone else free run like this before. I did, he offered. Climbed a few trees, but they were too far apart to jump between.

I…grew up in a desert, the Syrian admitted. He sounded matter-of-fact, but if he had a hood right now, Desmond would bet he would be trying to hide under it a bit more than usual.

The Italian sucked in a breath. Italy is not a desert, but there are a lot of architects, and we do tend to…focus more on elaborate buildings than on trees….

Interesting. A teenager was able to surpass three Assassins at something they do best, Connor commented quietly, which didn't help as they all heard it perfectly well in their shared headspace. Before they could challenge his statement, though, he said, Now if that sound means what I think it does, then this is the outside of the building.

He dropped into a crouch on the last beam, looking over the city lights through a cloudy sheet of plastic, crinkling in the wind. And if Desmond's memories of skyscrapers are accurate, then through here…, he mumbled as he pulled back the corner of the tarp and peered out, there should be an ideal structure to climb.

Sure enough, the outside of the top floors of the building was layered with scaffolding, secured twice over in careful consideration of the altitude. A grin spreading over his borrowed face, Connor grabbed the side of the structure, testing its stability before swiftly making his way up the neat metal lattice.

He reached the top quicker than expected, soon finding himself the roof, looking out over the cityscape with a sheer seven-hundred-foot drop at his feet. After a moment, he said aloud, "I think this is something I could get used to."

Perhaps their situation wasn't as inconvenient as they had feared. At least from Desmond's perspective, it was just like having a few extra opinions to consider. He didn't particularly like backseating his own actions, but the youngest member of their collective did get the job done fastest. In some ways, it reminded him of a more interactive Animus. Maybe this was karma for spending so much time living his ancestors' lives.

Eventually, Shaun sighed louder than was necessary. "Yes, yes, what a lovely view. Go throw yourself off that crane now, please."

Knowing there was no way in hell he would bet his life on the Assassins' use of a parachute, Desmond stretched out his arm, feeling warmth in his fingers that spread throughout his skin. He checked the parachute straps over his shoulders to make sure they were secure before following his teammate's order. The crane would give him a good fifty or sixty more feet of leeway, but when he began his ascent, Connor voiced his concerns. Are you sure you should jump from this high up? Even if the future has its advancements, your body doesn't seem that much more durable than mine….

My thoughts exactly, Altaïr added. Not to mention I haven't seen a single bushel of hay or safe pile of leaves in this city.

Calmate, amici. I'm sure they know what they're doing better than we do, Ezio assured. If Leonardo da Vinci was working on flight in my time, then they must have something functional by now.

"Heh. It's something, alright," mumbled Desmond as he balanced on top of the machine.

He wasn't sure if he should wait for some kind of signal. Either way, only seconds passed before Rebecca asked, "Are you feeling alright, Desmond? You seem a bit distracted by something."

Her friend snickered. "As I said, it's something." When she didn't respond, he realized she had no idea what the original context for that statement was, so he brushed it off with a head shake. "It's nothing. Just tell me when it's go time."

She seemed to accept that. For now, at least. "Jump when you're ready, but wait for my signal to open the chute."

"Got it." With that, he dove.

He heard a shout followed by something in Kanien'kéha from Connor. The others laughed, and what sounded like an Italian battle cry echoed back.

On cue, Desmond pulled the parachute. It stuck, wind continuing to whip through his clothes. He tried again, and the second time it opened, pulling him up with a jerk strong enough to silence his passengers. It caught the air perfectly, suspending him in a gentle descent to the helicopter pad on the adjacent rooftop.

He heard a sound akin to someone clearing their throat. Well, Ezio started, you would think five hundred years would produce more of an upgrade to something as simple as a parachute….

Hey, if it ain't broke, don't fix it, recited Desmond before dropping into a roll, the force from his fall dissipating through his arm and back. The straps clicked, and after he shed the parachute's harness he followed his guide's directions to the door. Now just down a flight should be the office we need.

Just as expected, one floor down there was an unlocked door that led to a spacious office, glass windows offering an unrestricted view of the city on three sides. On the desk in a glass display case was cubic-looking shape, the bluish-white light emanating from its core pulsating. He slowly walked towards it, checking every corner of the plain and empty room. This almost seems too easy, he thought to himself. Then again, it's not just to himself anymore.

That is a sign of a stealth mission well done, informed Altaïr. If you are unexpected, then there should not be extra security. It seems like you can complete an Assassin's mission after all. Desmond stopped in front of the case at that. Was that respect he heard? Or was it some kind of subtle insult? Even as a voice in his head that may not even be real, Altaïr was still the master of stoicism.

He shook it off and turned his attention to the case. It was the battery that was important, so the case didn't matter. Rather than take it off, he simply smashed it with a quick elbow strike.

Brushing the glass off his sleeve, he expected an alarm to go off. Nothing happened. He picked up the relic, turning it over in his hands. It wasn't as warm as the glow made it look, and instead just felt like a rock. All this trouble for a rock. "That wasn't so bad," he said as he made to leave.

He was met with a gun.

"So you must be Desmond," its owner drawled as he glared at his target. He appeared to be a decade or two older than the Assassin, with heavy clothing and a prominent brow that graced his features with a look of perpetual anger. He stood in the entrance, staring down the sight of the handgun.

Altaïr hummed as if something had dawned on him. Never mind. You were expected. Disregard what I just said, then.

Whether it was a joke or not—he still couldn't tell—someone laughed, making his lips twitch. He needed to focus on the problem at hand. "Who are you?" Desmond asked, watching his opponent's eyes instead of the weapon.

"Ask your father. Now give me that."

That didn't sound good. Desmond spared a glance at the battery, becoming uncomfortable to hold. "I don't think so."

With a sneer, the Templar began walking toward him, adjusting his aim. Is that a gun? Connor asked, whispering out of habit. It's so small.

Yeah, they're pocket-sized now, thought Desmond. His opponent was threatening him, but he wasn't paying attention to that. They're also annoyingly dangerous, especially this close range.

Could you treat it as a knife and just push it out of the way? Altaïr suggested.

I don't see why not. When his attacker was within reach, the Assassin pushed the gun to the side with his forearm, cutting off whichever badass threat was in the air at the time. He held the gun down as he hefted the battery, tightening his grip on it before striking it across the Templar's jaw. He fell, thoroughly unconscious. Not wanting to risk waiting around for more of his friends, Desmond ran for the exit.

Nice punch, Ezio praised with genuine excitement.

Grazie.

He only slowed down when the van was in view. They hadn't run into anyone else, but what that one guy had said was still on Desmond's mind. Shaun and Rebecca were already seated up front, while William waved him over to the back. Before he could say anything, though, his son demanded, "Who was that guy?"

"Let's get back to the Temple first," he answered immediately, as if he knew the question before it was asked.

He climbed into the back seat of the van after his father, barely closing the door before Shaun hit the gas. "Just give me a name, then."

"Daniel Cross."

It wasn't a name he recognized. "You know him, though."

William pointedly turned on his tablet. "I'll tell you when we're safe," he said, ending the conversation.

Why can't I just get a straight answer here? he thought, dropping his head to his hands.

Escaping the Templars is the most pressing issue here, Altaïr pointed out.

Desmond sighed. Yeah, but sometimes it feels like there's too much goddamn ambiguity. This isn't the first time it's been like this.

If you think about it, said Ezio, there was only this Daniel Cross. Why didn't he have backup?

Oh, good point! Connor said as if something had clicked. They must have thought he could handle it on his own, which meant he must be high in their ranks.

The Italian hummed in agreement, adding, Or he's more closely related to the Assassins, including your father, Desmond.

I guess, he said reluctantly, willing to let his frustrations go this time.

Both his head and the van were quiet for a few minutes. Then, with a slow start, Altaïr said, I think I should commend you on your successful mission, Desmond. It seems the Assassins are holding up well, albeit a bit differently, in this difficult time of the Order's existence.

Desmond wasn't sure what to say. Not only was it a sincere compliment from the Master Assassin himself, but it was recognition by the guy who had tried to advance his death on at least two occasions today. He smiled humorlessly, thinking about all that had happened in the last handful of hours. It was the kind of day that he'd have to reconsider in the morning and ask himself whether he was on something at the time. Either way, it seemed real enough to him now. Thanks, I guess, he said, for lack of anything better. I didn't ask for any of this, though. The Assassin training or the Assassin possession. I hope this means you'll stop trying to kill me.

To his surprise, he got a genuine laugh out of the cold, reserved Syrian. For now, I suppose. While we are stuck like this, perhaps we could be of some use. Connor was able to navigate the best, after all.

If this goes on much longer, that might be what we'll have to do, Desmond realized. Oddly enough, the thought didn't immediately bother him as much as he thought it would. Maybe it was because of all his time in the Animus. After all this was over, he really had to get away from that fucking machine for a while.

Maybe I'll have to show you how to climb trees, seeing as you all were deprived as children, joked Connor, making all four headmates break into snickers at the thought and the timing of it.

See? We'll all become great friends in no time! Ezio laughed.

I guess we'll have to, Connor agreed. …I'd still like to get my body back at some point, though.

Oh, sì, sì, certamente.

destra—right, as in the direction

Stregone—sorcerer (I've used it before but didn't translate it)

So funny story. The first three pages had been written for ages, but, you know, time and all that…. In other news, I have essentially levelled up in life since last chapter. In all those days I spent not writing, I did a good deal of drawing. Drew me a new avatar and added a hundred or so new items to my artwork folder. Got swept up in Gravity Falls and Undertale (and then Gravity Falls again because of that finale…).

But thank you all following along! It may not seem possible, but my writing rates would be even slower if I didn't have the pressure of two hundred and thirty-four people expecting a New Chapter email. So very sorry I can promise nothing about update speeds, knowing my consistency and all that… n.n'