Stacy found herself, when the pink mist subsided, in the middle of what looked like a desert. She stood for a moment, confused. When her mind cleared, she rounded on Mr. Idiot who stood there cluelessly.
"Do you have any idea how powerful those artifacts were?" she asked, her voice high. The guy cringed a little. "Do you have any idea what could have happened if you touched the wrong one?!" she was yelling, almost at the top of her lungs. "Did you not see the warning signs? Can you READ, Subject?" She knocked on his head. It looked like it hurt.
"My name is Desmond. Desmond Miles," he said quietly.
"Subject seventeen?" she asked, suddenly breathless.
"You know me by name?" he asked, forgetting her outburst for a second.
"Well, subject seventeen is pretty much the most important part of -" she started, but cut herself off. She wasn't supposed to tell anyone, not even the subjects, what Abstergo did.
She didn't have any time to mess anything else up, though, because they heard a horse galloping in the distance, followed by shouting. They got louder, and Stacy began making out just what the shouting was.
"Assassin! He's an Assassin! Don't let him get away!"
"Oh no," Desmond said, turning towards Stacy. "Stace, I've got a bad feeling about this."
"I told you not to call me that," she said in response, looking toward the galloping and wishing she had something to hide behind. She looked behind her and saw what looked like a very small kind of village, complete with a well, three buildings, and a random pile of hay. She backed up enough to get away from the galloping, heading for the back of a building, and Desmond followed.
A white horse galloped past, bringing wind into their faces. The white robed person riding the horse jumped off mid-gallop to land safely in the aforementioned random pile of hay, leaving his horse to slow down and turn back for him.
"Shit," Desmond said. "I was right."
The guards ran up to the village and looked around for him, forgetting to check the pile of hay. Giving up, they started walking back to wherever it was they had come from.
Before she could react, Desmond grabbed Stacy's arm and brought her over to the pile of hay, which still concealed the white-robed man. What is he doing? she thought as he called out to the haystack.
"Altair," he said, "The coast is clear."
The hay did nothing. Desmond sighed. He bent down, reaching into the straw for reasons unknown to Stacy, and in an explosion of hay the white-robed man was on him, a blade pressed against his throat and bits of straw floating after him. He pushed Desmond to the ground and hovered above him.
"How do you know of my name?" the man - Altair? - growled, apparently not noticing Stacy.
"It's - a long - story," Desmond tried to say. It looked difficult to talk with a knife against his throat.
"We have time," Altair said, somehow achieving a tone deeper than before, and seemed to push the knife harder.
"I - don't!" Desmond choked out, his words almost scrambled while he tried not to let the knife puncture his skin. Altair seemed to notice this, picking his blade up and sheathing it. They stood up, Desmond holding his neck with his hand and breathing deeply.
"You will explain," Altair said. She couldn't see his face; it was obscured by his white hood. He had a lot of weapons on him and they clanked together in a muffled way.
"It's hard to explain, and you won't believe me anyway," he said, then he held up what remained of the artifact. "Do you know what this is?"
Stacy could tell Altair didn't know what it was, but he didn't answer. "You will explain," he said, with a little more emphasis. A hidden blade unsheathed itself from his wrist.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Desmond said, holding his hands up. "You can't hurt me, remember? Rule one, stay your blade from the flesh of a-"
"How do you know of my creed? If you are an enemy of the Assassins, then you are no longer innocent!" He rose his hand to neck level. Stacy could see that the knife was fastened somehow to the underside of his wrist, beneath his clothes. He was missing one finger.
"Okay, okay, I see your point," Desmond said, backing away. He didn't lower his hands. "But, uh... I'm... I'm not an enemy! I knew where you were hiding, didn't I? I didn't tell the guards you were there."
"You could have wanted my hide for yourself," Altair said, walking closer.
"But... but, I didn't! Do I look like I could fight you? I spend all day mixing drinks, for Christ's sake! I don't work out!"
The man hesitated. Stacy agreed, it didn't look like Desmond would even get the chance to throw a punch. Altair sheathed his hidden blade, lowering his arm and somehow making the submissive motion threatening. Desmond slowly lowered his arms.
"Okay, look," Desmond said after a little while, trying to keep his hands where Altair could see them, "I'm unarmed. Stace is unarmed. The only thing we have that isn't clothing is this thingy." He held up the broken artifact again, and Stacy winced as she saw a whole third of it missing. If they ever got out of this alive, she would be fired, or possibly killed.
She took the opportunity to snatch it out of Desmond's hand, glaring at him and pocketing it. She would make sure that what's left of it would remain intact.
"Identify yourself," Altair said in a menacing way. His body language while standing straight was enough to send you to the opposite side of the room.
"I'm Desmond," Desmond said, "And this is Stace." He pointed at Stacy as she glared at him again.
"I'm Stacy," she said, making a point to pronounce her name correctly, "I can identify myself perfectly well but unfortunately we're just leaving." She smiled at the Assassin and grabbed Desmond's arm.
"You will stay," Altair stated in a very matter-of-fact way. Stacy found her feet firmly planted on the ground.
"Look, dude, I know you have stuff to get back to-" Desmond started.
"I have no duties in waiting of performance." She couldn't see his shadow-covered face, but she somehow knew about the glare in his eye. "You will follow me."
He seemed very confident about this fact, because he turned his back on Stacy and Desmond right then, walking over to his white horse.