The Beginning of Silence

Chapter 04

Vidic remained adamantly silent for the duration of the car ride, despite Desmond's increasingly loud attempts at getting information out of him. It took a not-so-subtle hint from Thompson (involving the butt of his pistol and Desmond's face, to be precise) to get the captive to shut up. Not too long after the incident, the car arrived at the Abstergo lab.

It hadn't changed much since Desmond's captive days. It was still cold and forbidding, and heavily guarded by more than a few thugs with guns. After a brief (but thorough) inspection, the car was let past the front gate and into the lab proper.

Desmond was blindfolded by Thompson, then escorted into the lab by both of Vidic's bodyguards. After minutes of walking (and probably some backtracking, to confuse Desmond's new assassin senses, no doubt), the hiss of an airlock and the swish of automated doors heralded Desmond's unwilling return to the Animus Laboratory.

It, like the building itself, hadn't changed much. There were still windows of bulletproof glass and dull tile walls, glowing machinery in the corners and harsh lights overhead, but the Animus, which occupied the center of the high ceilinged room, was different. Or rather, bigger. There were now a grand total of—count 'em—three slab on which the Descendant (or was it 'Descendants,' now?) could lie, arranged in starburst. The three head rests were pushed up together, with the rest of the slabs radiating outward like when the witness indicator flashed a warning. An omen, perhaps?

"Remodeling, eh?" Desmond quipped, watching the two guards leave the Lab out of the corner of his eye. The doors closed tight behind them with a hiss. No escape now. "I like what you've done with the place. Very 'mad scientist.'"

Vidic smirked. "The living quarters have been redone, as well."

"You don't say." Desmond looked around him with wary eyes. Three Animus? What was going on? "Looks like I'm gonna have some company."

"Possibly. Probably, actually, but we'll wait to determine if more memory sources are needed."

"Right." Desmond relaxed somewhat now that he was back in the Lab. Though he loathed the place, it was a least familiar, unlike the back of that stuffy car.

Something, however, was missing. It didn't take him long to figure out what. "Where's Lucy?"

Vidic, who had been strolling leisurely along the perimeter of the room, stopped dead. His face hardened from prideful to a carefully cultivated neutral. "She was… let go," he said.

"You killed her." It was not a question.

Vidic shot Desmond a warning glance. "No. She ran away." The glare cracked, then crumbled away. He was back to acting pleasant again. Key word here: acting. "The Animus has a new operator—one who is just as qualified as Lucy, if not more so. You'll meet her in due time." His smile was dry. "But for now, I suggest you change your clothes; you're sopping wet. You'll find your room in the same location as before." His wave was dismissive. "And do try to hurry. We have work to begin."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Desmond slouched off, feet automatically carrying him to his old quarters. They, like the rest of the Lab, were relatively unchanged: the main difference was that the wide bed had been downsized to a set of bunk beds and a single twin. Another desk had been added to the ensemble, as had a nightstand.

The closet was in the same place, and it was open. With the self-consciousness born only of someone under the watchful eye of a surveillance camera, Desmond undressed himself and pulled a replica of the outfit he'd been stuck in 'back in the day' out of the closet: a white hoodie with an Abstergo logo and stonewashed jeans. His old clothes he left wadded up on the floor. No sense making Abstergo's life any easier, right?

He was about to go back out into the main hall, like an obedient little prisoner, when he remembered something. Staring hard at the wall above his old bed, he concentrated hard and called up the Eagle Vision.

The sigils, glowing bloodily in the harsh overhead lights, hadn't faded since he'd last seen them. The cryptic messages, Bible verses, and the lone Lorenz Attractor in the center leered at him with an almost sentient light. His hair on the back of his neck prickled.

The door to the room hissed open. "Well, are you coming or aren't you?" Vidic snapped irritably, striding inward.

Desmond swung his gaze around to the doctor, letting go of the Eagle Vision as easily as he released his held breath, but not before he saw that the doctor was shining a brilliant gold. So he was an assassination target, was he?

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on," Desmond drawled, stalking out past Vidic. A women he hadn't seen before was typing intently on the small computer at the head of one of the Animus pods.

"Who's she?" Desmond asked as Vidic stepped into place beside him.

"Jenifer," Vidic sniffed. "Possessor of degrees in—among other things—psychology, neurology, and physics."

The woman looked up at the mention of her name. She was petite, with a tiny body and fine bone structure that reminded Desmond of a child's slight build. Her face was similarly constructed: delicate features, a snub nose, and almond eyes that were decidedly Asian. Her black hair and skin the color of parchment confirmed her race. Desmond noticed that she dimpled when she smiled, and that she had a beauty mark under her left eye.

"Hello, Dr. Vidic. Desmond." She stepped out from behind the computer and gave a tiny bow. Her voice was a flute-like soprano. "Shall we begin?"

"What? Now?" Desmond asked.

Jenifer nodded. "I'd prefer to begin immediately." She turned to Vidic and amended: "As long as it is okay with you, Doctor."

Suck up, thought Desmond sullenly.

Vidic actually smiled. "Of course, of course." He obviously had a soft spot for the suck-up. Desmond filed that away for future reference. "Let's not keep our superiors waiting." He looked at Desmond, and when he spoke his tone was noticeably sharper. "Onto the Animus, Mr. Miles."

"'Kay," he said with mock cheer, and lay down. As the fiber optic screen displaying Abstergo's logo slid to cover his field of view—flashing blue numbers, symbols, and organic compounds so fast he could hardly even register their appearance—Jenifer said: "We'll start with a basic test to see if you'll mesh with the Ancestor on the most basic level, then jump to the earliest memory available." There came a tapping sound: keystrokes on a keyboard made by tiny female fingers. "I've pinpointed one from the Ancestor's late childhood—he's about eleven. For some reason, the memories prior to that are hazy. Probably a psychological trauma of some sort, no doubt. Tell me when you're ready."

Head reeling from the woman's rambling (God, could she talk!), Desmond hesitated. "Eleven? Isn't that a bit young?" The fact that she had been looking for an even younger one was unsettling. Would they have put him in an infant's body if they could?

"We're going to see if the Ancestor has any childhood friends who would fit the criteria of the individual we're looking for," she explained, and Desmond kicked himself. He should've known. Luckily, however, Jenifer seemed pretty good tempered (better than Vidic was on his best day), and went on: "We think it would be best to begin at the earliest point possible, when the majority of the Ancestor's relationships were cultivated. He was more trusting as a child, you see. All of us were."

"Makes sense," Desmond muttered. "He was a damn cold SOB, that's for sure."

"Inform when ready," said Jenifer.

Desmond took a deep breath. "Here we go again," he said, and then: "Ready."

The world faded into light.