Lucy didn't like the look on Dr. Vidic's face. His abnormally pointed features always had a look of anger and resentment about them; she had grown accustomed to it once she realized that bringing him coffee and a donut in the morning did nothing to ease the steel of his constantly negative expression. The simple and unusual problem, however, was that he was smiling.
"You're late, Ms. Stillman," he said with the same sour tone, hardly sweetened by his features.
She sighed. "I was speaking with tech support," she answered. "They still haven't found the source of the virus."
"I should think it obvious." He paused to search his pockets for his access pen. "It's those Assassins, of course." He threw up his hands. "Damn, lost it again. What's the password this week?"
"'Arthur,' like King Arthur," said Lucy. Vidic crossed the room to type it into his computer without a note of thanks. "Are you sure it's them?"
"Who else would it be?"
Lucy was silently thankful that he was momentarily unhappy. Aside from the fact that anything good for him meant destruction for the Assassins, that mysterious, too-even smile on his face was starting to get unsettling. It returned moments later when he had finished checking his emails and returned to her side at the control panel of the Animus. The maliciousness of it all had spread throughout his entire expression. She forced herself to return her gaze to Desmond's unmoving form.
"We should get him out of there," she noted quietly.
"No," Vidic said sternly. "Not until we know how it's affected him. This could've erased his memories, for all we know."
"I don't think they've been erased…" Lucy's voice trailed off as she sorted through a few files on the computer. She pulled up a stream of video feed from Desmond's latest session and studied it carefully, pausing it when the camera turned to look another man in the eyes. "There," she said, placing a finger on the screen. "That's his ancestor, isn't it? So why aren't we watching it through his eyes?"
Vidic shrugged. "Who cares? Just send him back to the Crusades. We can't afford to get the data mixed up."
"It's a little late for that." She stopped typing when she realized what she had said. Vidic looked at her expectantly, suspiciously. "I mean…I think it's already happened," she continued slowly. "He was living Altaïr's life, right? What if…"
"What if Altaïr is now in the Renaissance."
The smile resurfaced, wider this time, showing off polished, over-whitened teeth. It made his hair seem a heavier leaden gray in comparison. "This is very interesting."
"It's dangerous," Lucy said quickly. Vidic glanced at her again. She mentally yelled at herself to keep control of the situation. "His memories…they could be tainted. Everything is going wrong. We have to get him out and start over-"
"Now, now, Ms. Stillman," said Vidic, cutting her off with a wave of his wrinkled hand, "there's no need to get excited. Just think of this as a sort of…" He grinned like a wolf. "…experiment."
Altaïr felt his agitation growing with each passing second. Why Ezio had chosen to waste their time in such a town was beyond him. He was anxious to leave, and his fingers were becoming restless from a lack of murder. He was an Assassin, after all. He was trained to kill, not to sit idly by waiting for someone outside a whorehouse.
If he thought it would make any difference, he would scold Ezio for his many outlandish practices. He knew how his acquaintance would respond, though; a well-placed nod to show that he might be listening, a scattering of apologies without trying to justify anything, and he would be on his way, returning again to his old ways. Altaïr would do much the same.
There was still some hidden fact about Ezio that provoked Altaïr's mind. He folded his hands, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees while he thought. A chain of familiarity ran through his appearance, his actions and mannerisms, but Altaïr could not quite decipher it. He would have to study the man further before deciding what else was so strange about him.
"I have learned what I needed to know," Ezio said as he approached. "We can continue to Venezia."
"What was so important that we needed to come here?" Altaïr questioned.
"Caterina Sforza had information about my next target." Ezio never broke stride or sentence as he swiped gold from nearly every person they passed. Altaïr grabbed his wrist and twisted it, threatening to break it with a cold glare in his eyes.
"I stand corrected," he growled, speaking low so only Ezio could hear. "You are lower than a thief."
Ezio jerked his hand away. "Don't tell me you've never taken anything," he snapped.
"Only from pickpockets," Altaïr said, "and only what was necessary. You have gold enough to feed everyone in this town."
"Information does not come without a price. I had to-"
"You should have been discreet about it!" Altaïr's words stung Ezio more than if he had been slapped in the face. It felt like the reprimand of a parent, and he had heard enough of it.
"Who are you to tell me such things?" he asked hotly. "You are not my father."
"Perhaps you would not be so insolent if I were." Altaïr looked at him with a single eye. The statement had hit a chord with both of them. He knew of Ezio's odd devotion to his family, and he had been hoping that the words would leave a mark on the man, but something about it resounded in the back of his own mind. Curiosity rather than anger passed through his gaze.
"Let's go," Ezio said emotionlessly, passing Altaïr with a rough brush against his shoulder that could not have been unintentional. Altaïr became more certain of this when, for a brief moment, he felt fingers grasping at the empty space where his wallet would have been, had he been foolish enough to carry one so openly. He thought about breaking Ezio's wrist for real, but when he caught the look of dark surprise wavering across the man's face after realizing he had acquired no money from his fellow Assassin, Altaïr decided against causing a scene and slowly made for the entrance of the town, becoming no more conspicuous than anyone else in the crowd. If anything, it was Ezio's outfit of flour white with splashes of tomato red that stood out the most. Altaïr saw no scholars wandering the city in their typical groups and simply wondered.
As they trotted along the path to Venice, a breeze swept over them, coupled with a sudden rush of shadows over the land, and the sharp scent of rain filled the air. Both Ezio and Altaïr raised their eyes aloft when they heard thunder rumble through the heavy clouds now hiding the sun from view, and moments later it began to sprinkle.
"We should run," Ezio called back over his shoulder. Altaïr grudgingly agreed and urged the horse into a smooth canter, but he soon had to tell it to gallop once he saw the blurring gray of Ezio's mount begin to distance itself from him. Glancing up at the sky a second time, he saw that they were running directly into the heart of the storm, and he grimaced. He hoped Venice would not be too far away.
Ezio suddenly veered off of the already narrow path and kicked his horse forward onto a slope covered with dangerously loose rocks that slipped away under the animal's feet. Altaïr could see no reason for the man's brash actions, but he followed nonetheless.
"We are being followed!" Ezio shouted through the driving rain, answering his unspoken question. Altaïr glanced back and saw a band of black horses moving more slowly but with clear determination after them. He knew there were too many to fight and silently admitted that perhaps trying to escape was the better option. Ezio's method, however, was putting them both in danger. Sharp rocks were being kicked back at him from such a high angle that they seemed to be falling from the sky. The driving rain blurred his vision and stung the multitude of cuts appearing on his face. He raised an arm to block the tree branches from smacking him in the face and finally decided to let the horse determine their path, knowing the animal had a better sense for navigating the treacherous trail.
"What do they want?" Altaïr yelled.
"The Sforzas have many enemies," Ezio answered, taking a sudden, sharp turn.
Altaïr heard a shower of pebbles ricochet off of a few tree trunks behind them, one narrowly missing his head. "And you started a fight with them."
"I will explain later. Follow me; I have an idea."
Altaïr pulled the horse to an abrupt stop when he saw that Ezio had halted. There was a large pile of rocks precariously balanced on the edge of a cliff wall. Altaïr studied the steep drop straight down to the path they had traveled on earlier. He heard a rumble of hoof beats louder than the thunder of the storm and saw a group of their followers rapidly approaching. He soon understood Ezio's plan.
"Hurry, before the others catch up to us!" Ezio cried. He pulled his sword from its sheath and jammed it into a space between the rocks, trying to loosen them enough that they would tumble down onto the pathway below. Altaïr leapt from his horse as well and mimicked Ezio's actions. The pouring rain turned the ground into slippery mud beneath their feet, but it also made moving the rocks easier. A few smaller ones started to fall at first, then the other boulders quickly followed with a tumultuous roar. Altaïr glanced down in time to catch a glimpse of the shocked expressions on their pursuers' faces as they desperately tried to stop their horses, but all was quickly obscured by a cloud of murky dust that even the rain could not mitigate.
Both of them turned around at the sound of several swords being drawn. They were surrounded by a half ring of five black horses with heavily armed riders. Ezio and Altaïr silently stepped slightly closer to each other, each sizing up the group of enemies and deciding what to do.
"And what was the point of that, exactly?" Altaïr asked flatly. "They have caught us anyway."
Ezio smirked. "I was trying to even the odds."
He picked up a handful of rocks and flung it at the nearest horse's legs. It neighed in pain and reared up suddenly, dancing on its hind legs and flailing wildly with the front. The others became frantic and reacted in much the same way, managing to abandon three of their riders on the ground while they darted back down the path. Altaïr leapt forward and swiftly dispatched of one, while Ezio took care of the other two with both of his hidden blades. The final two riders, having witnessed the deaths of several of their comrades firsthand, turned their horses around and galloped away. Altaïr did not even have time to relish the silence following a successful kill; Ezio was soon mounted on his horse again and took off down the path without waiting for him.
With the usual trail now blocked by the pile of boulders, Altaïr and Ezio had to take a long, winding pathway around the site of the destruction. They turned a corner at a slow canter, and Altaïr narrowly missed plowing into Ezio's horse, which had come to a dead stop.
"What is it?" Altaïr asked, now breathless from all the running. Ezio merely lifted his eyes to the top of the walls running along either side of the path. Altaïr froze. "Do you have a plan to even these odds?"
Soldiers stood in thick rows on the edges of the cliff, staring down at the two Assassins and awaiting their orders. Another group of men blocked the path in front of them. A single man stepped forward, clothed in black and with a hood blocking the view of his face.
"You should have been more careful, Auditore," the man said with an accent unfamiliar to Altaïr. Ezio cringed. "To attack a member of my family in broad daylight. I would not have expected such a bold move from you."
"You do not expect many things, Borgia," Ezio spat. "I assume you were not expecting to die today."
Borgia laughed, a deep, gravelly sound that immediately set Altaïr on edge. "Today, I will not be the one to die. But you will." He motioned to the soldiers standing behind him. "Get them!"
It happened very quickly. The soldiers closed in around them like the mouth of a great black animal. Ezio fought back a few of them, then tried to run, but the rain had transformed the ground into soggy mud. He lost his footing on the slippery surface, and his head collided with the toe of a dead soldier's boot with such force that it knocked him unconscious. Altaïr defended himself as much as possible, but it wasn't long before the soldiers' sheer numbers outmatched him and brought him to his knees, weaponless and exhausted. Borgia stepped forward and used the tip of a sword to lift and remove Altaïr's hood.
"Your face is unfamiliar to me," Borgia said with complete disinterest. He raised one large eyebrow. "However…you do fight reasonably well. Perhaps I could convince you to join my fight."
Altaïr winced as fresh rainwater stung the bleeding cuts on his face. He could already tell that he did not like this man, even separating the fact that he was clearly against the Assassins. Altaïr saw a small pin of a stylized red cross on the man's robes and instantly had his answer. "I would sooner die than serve the Templars."
A swift kick to the back of his head sent him sprawling forward. His mind swirled as he lapsed into unconsciousness. "Then you shall have your wish."