The Beginning of Silence

Chapter 02

Even with a constitution augmented by an age-old assassin's, Desmond was still not prepared to see the wolfish smile Vidic so proudly displayed through the crack between Desmond's door and its frame. His stomach did a back flip, but the rest of him was too stunned to move. He suddenly felt sick.

"Hello, Mr. Miles," said Vidic, still smiling broadly. "I see you're looking well. May I come in?"

That broke Desmond's paralysis. He slammed the door in the doctor's face, bolted it, and backed away. He didn't know what to do. He hadn't been expecting this, not after a month of nothing. His mouth was a dry as the deserts of Altair's homeland.

The backs of Desmond's knees bumped into his coffee table. The TV still blared loudly about basketball, oblivious to his plight. The rain droned on, steady. A bead of cold sweat trickled over Desmond's temple. His heart beat with a crazy cadence, and Desmond's hands trembled like a child's.

He willed himself to be calm, and the peace came rushing in, courtesy of Altair's training. Here were the benefits of synchronization at last. The hair on the back of his neck rose, goose flesh burst out on his arms, and then Desmond could sense the vibrations in the air, telltale whispers of sensation that betrayed the slightest movement of either friend or foe. Sounds magnified, became distinct. Scents sharpened. Sights vivified. It was like opening his eyes. Desmond knew what to do, now that he could think.

He wheeled around and stalked over to his balcony, a small concrete ledge ringed in cheap wrought iron, simultaneously pulling the black hood of his sweatshirt over his head. Not minding the rain, he stuck his head out into the gale, looking for a ledge. He saw one in reach, stood on the wrought iron barrier with steady feet despite the water, and grabbed the up-stair neighbor's balcony. With a grunt and a show of strength unexpressed by his build, he hauled himself upward with only his arms. From there, it was an easy matter to ascend of the side of the building using the network of balconies, just hand over hand over hand…

Desmond wasn't even winded when he finally made it to the roof. He set off for the fire escape he'd picked as a get away point at a sprint, but stopped dead when a man in a crisp black suit stepped off of it onto the plastic/rubber chips someone had liberally strewn over the roof's surface. There was a gun in his hand, pointed straight at Desmond.

Desmond decided that the opposite direction was better (guns can be very good incentives for directional changes), so he turned mid-step and ran. A shot rang out, and a spray of water and rubber bits foutained next to his foot. He stopped dead, rain mixing with the cold sweat on his brow.

"Don't move," said the suit. "Next time, I won't miss."

"I gathered," Desmond quipped, slowly raising his hands.

The suit saw the motion and approved, both of it and Desmond's words. "Good man. Turn around, and keep 'em up,"

"Yes sir," said Desmond with an insincere smirk, and did as directed. He grinned, blinking water from his eyes. His hood had fallen down sometime during his run. "Don't suppose you'd just let me walk away?"

"Not a chance," the gunman replied, weapon leveled.

"Ah, well. Didn't think so." Desmond shrugged, then swallowed. The Altaïr part of him was screaming for action, but then, Altaïr hadn't understood the concept of firearms. He hadn't had to deal with them back in the day, and couldn't fathom why Desmond was letting a (seemingly) unarmed man hold him in place by pointing a blunt bit of metal at him (The object isn't even streamlined for throwing! the assassin's instinct screamed). But, Desmond fought the urge to bodily take the suit down; even though he knew that though the man was bigger, he was slower.

A moment later, two more figures stepped off the fire escape. The first was another gun-toting suit, complete with pistol, and the second was Vidic.

The doctor gave the first suit a curt nod and said: "Thank you, Mr. Thompson." He walked forward until he was within a stone's throw of Desmond—but not arm's reach. Vidic knew that the Altaïr side of his captive would not dismiss the chance for a hostage. His smile was more wolfish than ever. "Ever the rebellious one, Mr. Miles?"

"You know it," Desmond returned. He swallowed again. He hated being trapped like this; like Bugs Bunny in a shallow hole. "What's up, Doc?"

Vidic's eyes burned, and his uncharacteristically genial nature vanished. "Are you trying to be funny?"

"No. It's more like I'm 'trying to be a bunny,' if you really wanna know."

"The humor fell flat after the first syllable. It would be best to quit now, while you are ever so slightly ahead."

Desmond shrugged, but decided one more Looney Tunes quote was in order. "Th-th-then that's all, folks," he said in Porkie the Pig's trademark stutter.

Vidic's lips twitched, but not in a smile. "Yes, you always were the funny one," he said. "So unlike your ancestor."

"Bite me."

"I'll do worse if you don't cooperate." The words were punctuated by the cocking of a gun.

That shut Desmond up. Vidic smirked. "Now, be a good boy and come with me, Mr. Miles. No funny business."

Desmond opted for silence, then let himself be herded down the fire escape and into the back of a sleek black car.

After all, with a gun at his back, what choice did he have?

AUTHOR'S NOTE AND/OR APOLOGY:

Frankly, I suck something awful at playing Assassins Creed.

I blame my ineptitude on my short attention span. I'm too lazy to pickpocket, too chicken to interrogate, and have a distinct aversion to the informer's time trial flag-collecting challenges. Plus, when it comes to all that wall climbing—dear God, if that was me in there, I would break my neck. My mind jumps from thing to thing with a speed my dear Altaïr can't follow—one moment, I want him on the market stall, the next on the roof. The controls just can't keep up with my brain (but not to put any blame on Montreal Ubisoft's marvelous control scheme—my fingers can't make time either).

That being said, I would like to warn you that I have left most of the playing part of the game to my brother.

Yes, that's right—I watch him play the game for the cut scenes, but infrequently pick up a controller myself (even though I love the game). I'm just not worthy to control the main character, and feel very embarrassed to play just to watch him die… again… and again, and again….

The PS3 in my household was purchased by yours truly after weeks of saving many, many paychecks, so he (little bro) doesn't play when I'm not around (unlike most, he is a brother with morals dictating he is not to play what is not his without asking me, bless him). Occasionally, however, he has his slip ups, and I miss a cut scene or two. His biggest slip up came when he finished the game a few days ago...

WITHOUT ME.

You can imagine my horror, right? WRONG. You can't. It's too horrific for you to comprehend. Don't even try. I got him to tell me the game's ending, and right now I'm trying to play through the damn game from start to finish by myself, but if I've missed something and write about a dead character or some other fallacy, please let me know. I tried to check his accuracy by using Wikipedia for comparison purposes (that site is a gift from the Higher Powers, by the way, no matter what deity you serve), but their information was sorely lacking. Too bad.

Still, if I've made a huge blunder in my writing, let me know immediately. That's all I really have to say (so what was he point of that huge meandering rant preceding this phrase?).

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next is due out soon!