Revolutionary Tactics

by Project X

March 23, 1775 is the day most Americans remember as Mister Patrick Henry's speech. "Give me Liberty or Give me Death!" However what most Americans don't know is that very day, in the shadows of Richmond's streets, there was a man watching over all. There was also a young woman running away from British soldiers after calling them numbskulls. Obviously she's a bit out of her time

7. Kyle's Prison Break

Author's Note: So, I've noticed that I have 46 followers on this story, which is awesome by the way; I love each and every one of you but…. I only got one review this past chapter. I'm wondering if you guys have just been doing Summer things and haven't had time to review, or if you gave up on the story, or if you hated last chapter? I really would like to know. I mean, if there was something about the last chapter you didn't like you could tell me. And I promise I'm working on this story now, if you don't like how long it's taking the chapters to come out. I've just been really overwhelmed lately.

Please, just let me know okay? I do this for you guys after all.

Special thanks: Fox Mew Brittany

Enjoy!

-X-

Revolutionary Tactics

Chapter 7: Kyle's Prison Break

Homestead, August 30th, 1775

It's starting to get pretty cold here among the colonies. I'm expecting it to snow soon. I really want it to, but at the same time I don't. Reasons being; it'll be too freaking cold and I won't be able to run through the snow. I'll just get stuck there and freeze to death.

Luckily, I was Cold free and healthy as can be. I no longer had to stay in bed and eat soup while being watched by two deadly Assassins that might care a bit too much. But all was well now and we're getting back to training.

-Shing-

"Gah!" I jumped back, afraid of my hand getting cut open, only to land unceremoniously on my butt. The ground is cold and wet, the sun just barely peeking out above the trees of the forest. And all I have to protect me from the drop in temperature is an old worn out hoody, some leather gloves, a pair of stockings, and some old black leather boots. Really, that's not enough, and chills go up my spine as the rear end of my pants gets drenched.

"You must move faster than that, if you want to avoid the end of a blade." Connor calls as he gracefully walks over to me, the sun at his back, casting shadows along his body. He looks like a killer in this atmosphere, his Hangar sword out, tinted in blood, his eyes cold during our time of battle.

But below all that, beneath the blood that covered his hands, he was a good man. At this point I wondered how he could do it, be two of something at once; a good man and a killer. You can't call him a soldier, in fact, to me and all these people here in the Homestead, he was a guardian. And that was something I strove to become, but it wasn't going to be easy I could already tell.

Connor offered a hand to me then, and while a few months ago I would have been reluctant to take it, now I was more than eager. With his help I stood and retrieved my short sword. It glistened in the barely there sunlight, the leather grip of it wet from the grass. I held it in my grasp as I faced Connor; I weighed it back and forth on each hand as I scuffed the dirt with my right boot.

Connor nodded at the signal and took a few steps back. As he did I took a deep long drag of cold air into my lungs, letting my muscles relax.

After two months of swordsmanship training, Connor finally dubbed me ready to wield a real blade. Fighting with real swords has been far more difficult than fighting with sticks. I suppose that would be obvious, as when you fight with real swords you have to actually worry about getting killed. But Connor was more than skilled enough to pull back before the plunge.

I blinked and he was upon me, I wasn't even ready yet, I hadn't given the final signal, before he began his attack. This was one of those moments his speeches came to mind, the one about always being prepared because the enemy doesn't wait for you to be ready and blah blah blah.

-Ka-shing-

Our blades connected with a spark. Metal to metal, Connor pushed down and tried to force my block away. But instead of letting him put his weight upon me, I side stepped, letting his heavy sword fall to the forest floor. But, the Master Assassin didn't stay stunned for long, if at all.

Another loud sound of clattering metal and I was forcing his blade away from my throat. In my defense, I kicked out, the back of my boot striking behind his shin. His knee only slightly buckles and gives me but a second to retaliate. I raise my sword higher above my shoulder blade, swiping it down as fast as I can, it cutting the air and leaving a bleeding line along Connor's cheek.

Before I can bask in my glorious victory, Connor sweeps his feet under mine, knocking me off kilter and to the ground. And as I blink, his sword is at my throat, his body overlying mine. There was no escape from this hold, so I dropped my blade and surrendered.

Connor's face was completely shadowed when I looked up at him; I could not see the expression he might have had on his face as we lay there. But it's only a moment before he stands, sunlight now casted on him, revealing a confident smirk that annoys me to no end. While Connor was not the type to boast, or bemoan my slow progress, he was the type to wear a grin every time he won.

I swore one day to wipe that smug look off his face.

Once again, he offered me a hand, and instantly I took it. He pulled me swiftly to my feet and chuckled as I swayed. I glared up at him as I began dusting off my hoody and trousers.

"It's not funny." I whined, pulling bits of dead grass out of my hair.

"It may not be to you, but I find it rather amusing." Connor replied, sheathing his sword, signaling we were done practicing our swordsmanship for the day.

I grunted and grabbed my own sword, sheathing it in the makeshift thing made from a leather belt I had at my side. It was an awful looking thing, not as cool as what Connor had, but it was enough, I supposed, for an apprentice.

"KYLE!"

Suddenly, my grip was at my sword again, and so was Connor's. The both of us, wide eyed and alert, looked up to follow the thundering of the voice. It echoed across the trees, waking birds from their nests, disturbing the tranquil peace I had become so accustomed to.

As I looked out across the valley, towards the dirt road that connected us to the Frontier, I saw a lone brown horse and a young man wearing a rebel's uniform, riding it. He was waving feverishly as he rode rapidly towards us, getting ever so much closer.

Connor's brow rose as he looked over at me and I just shrugged.

-X-

It was Peter Brown, the young seventeen year old soldier, with dusty hair and blue eyes, which had given us a visit.

Well, I say visit, more of stayed.

He got a room at the Inn, said his father left him quite the sum in his Will. Peter stated that he was very keen on taking me up on my offer. He wanted to live here in Davenport, create a printing press service in his father's memory. Well, the boy certainly had the money for it, but he also had the determination and skill.

This was fine with Achilles as well as Connor, and Lance was more than happy to help the boy build a home. So, in a matter of hours, it was settled. Peter Brown became a new member of our community and all was right with the world.

Until, that is, he kissed me.

I've never seen Connor angrier in my life.

-X-

Homestead, September 24th, 1775

Today I turn nineteen. I've been here, in this world, almost a whole year now. Everything about me, it seems, has changed. I don't even recognize myself in the mirror anymore.

The once unblemished skin of my hands covered in callouses, my legs bruised and scarred, my face darkened and covered in dirt, my hair holding barely a curl, and my once gut covered mid-section now holding muscles like I never thought possible.

Sometimes, when I get up before dawn, ready to hunt by Connor's side, I sneak past the mirror and catch barely a reflection. Sometimes I wonder who it is, looking back at me with such dim eyes. Then I remember how this war has changed me, how I hear my dead father's voice in my head and how I yearn for blood. And then I think of how things have only just begun.

-X-

-Shrink-

"Shiiiiiiit! Ugh!"

It hurts; the slash along my arm. It bled like a fountain and stung deeply. The pain from my back only counter balanced it, as I had landed there, on the thin layer of snow, bleeding out onto the white.

But I wasn't done yet, not by far.

So, I leapt back onto my feet, as if the pain was nothing, and hid the cut behind my back. Sword in my other hand, I lunged. The lunge was easily parried by the Master Assassin, and because of that I twisted onto my side, spinning behind him, hoping to find an opening.

But my dance was futile. Connor was quicker than me, and could easily see through my plot. On his heels he turned, adding gravity and force to the equation of his attack. My block was too weak, and away my sword flew.

Panting, I watched it fly, landing on the other side of the meadow, and in the snow. Connor had barely even broken a sweat, and sheathed his sword as if we were done. I wasn't though, not yet, my adrenaline was still up, and for some reason my blood was boiling.

As Connor began to walk away I leapt again, but this time I delivered a hard punch to his chin. This knocked him back a few steps, only slightly stunned by the attack. Even then I felt I needed to do more. So, I axle twirled, and kicked him in the gut. My boot had never hit anything harder before in my life. That didn't dissuade me though.

Valiantly, or rather stubbornly, I continued with my attack, hitting him in the back with my elbow and knocking him off his feet. I thought then, maybe, I'd feel better. But instead of Connor lying on his back in front of me; I was greeted with him grabbing my ankle and pulling me upwards.

I struggled as I dangled, upside down, in mid-air. I did not like the feeling it caused. So, I kicked out and punched, squirmed and twisted. But no matter what I did I just hung there, cold and wet, bloody and angry.

"Enough." Connor's voice held strength in its command, it was deep and foreboding. Not like the tone he would usually use while we trained.

Curious, I looked down, or up as the case may be, to see his face. But as usual the expression was shrouded in darkness. All I had to go on was his voice, and it did not sound pleased.

"Are you done now?" He asks; his voiced laced with frustration and annoyance.

All I could do was nod, my arms crossed. And I was certainly not prepared for when he let me go, bumbling to the ground head first. I got covered, or really drenched, in snow as I stumbled and staggered to get to my feet. This time no help was offered.

"Why, pray tell, did you do that?" Connor's voice was on edge, his hand gripping his slowly swelling jaw. And oddly, at that moment, I saw some of his father in him, in the way he expressed his irritation.

Barely standing, I replied roughly. "I hate feeling weak." It was really a mumble, but as I ventured on my voice raised in volume. "It's almost been a year! And I haven't made any progress!" Anger boiled in me, almost to the point of rage, but not at Connor, only at myself. I felt so inadequate, like I wasn't strong enough to become an Assassin.

"I just," As my emotions died away, the anger becoming cold, I felt the sting in my arm again, but this time the pain was worse. I had to talk through gritted teeth. "I just want to show you that I can still fight."

Connor just stood there, as I continued to hide my injured arm from him, and remained silent. The tension in the air was palpable and pressuring. At moments like this I felt frozen, not knowing what to do. I couldn't see Connor's face, read his body movement, or hear his voice. What he felt was completely lost to me.

But as the sun rose above the trees, making the snow around us shine, not only could I see the remorseful look upon Connor's face, but he could also see the blood trail I had left behind in the snow.

As everything became bright, Connor began to scan the area, most likely trying to track where the blood had come from. It didn't take long before his gaze landed on my hidden arm. Swiftly, with grace and that terrifying power he held, Connor came up to me and grabbed my arm, pulling it out so he could see it.

The second he saw the slash across my forearm he let me go. Abruptly, as I began to feel the cold nipping at my heels, Connor began to tear away at his under shirt. In moments he had a long stretch of cloth that he bound my injury with tightly; and yet gently.

"If you are worried that I see you as weak, you should not." Connor's softer; more reassuring tone caught me by surprise. He held my arm securely, even after bandaging it, almost as if he wanted to make sure I stayed put and listened to his words. "Time is what strengthens us, not what we fear others think of us." He says, his head beginning to lean closely to mine. "But I do not think of you as weak, if anything I see strength in you that defies my own. And fear it, I do not." Now his forehead was touching mine, connecting us, his words filling me with more emotion than I'd felt in weeks.

I was rendered speechless; I honestly had no idea what to say. So, I didn't. I just stood there and absorbed his warmth as the cold winter wind whipped at my back. I embraced the moment, later treasuring it, drawing strength from it. For if Connor believed in me, what right did I have to doubt myself?

Then, ever so gently, like an older brother would do, he kissed me on the head. "Khe'kén:'a." He whispered, and then slowly began to drag me away, towards Doctor White's house I presumed.

And that was the best birthday I'd ever have.

-X-

Homestead, February 14th, 1776

Things don't change too much as the months pass by. Connor continues his constant search for his next target, using what means he can, but without barely ever leaving home. I worry sometimes, when he goes down to the basement, and stares at the paintings, as if just looking at them will give him the answers he seeks.

This rarely happens though, as my training has kept him busy. Yet, even though it has been over a year, I still have not gotten to the stage in my training where I can wield a hidden blade. Connor says that was the last thing Achilles ever taught him to do, so it will be the last thing he teaches me to do. I supposed that was fair, even as I itched for a hidden blade of my own.

But every day I feel myself growing stronger, faster, and more agile. And as my strength in body grows, my strength of heart and mind diminishes. I think sometimes of telling Connor about the voice in my head; or of my gory nightmares where I revel in the blood of our enemies. But I don't, I never say a word of it.

I worry, that if I did, Connor would question my sanity and of my position as an Assassin.

In the months that have passed my ability with a sword has grown. Practicing every morning with Connor has made me a better swordsman than I ever thought possible. Yet, I have not been able to beat Connor a second time in our many duals. But since I turned nineteen I've stopped fretting over whether or not I'm progressing, because now I can feel that progression.

I feel it in my bones, in the muscles I've built, in the stamina I've grown, and the skills I've achieved. While I am certainly not up to Connor's par yet, I feel, given time, that I might be some day.

As December came and went, with no annual celebrations that I had been so accustomed to, things have begun to come alive in our community. The sons and daughters of the residents here love to come out and play, make a ruckus that I was more than happy to listen to, as we put metal to metal near Big Dave's black smith forge.

When the cold left, the snow with it, Peter began working on his printing press. It wasn't easy work, messing with a machine like that, but the time he spent on it seemed to make him happy. So happy in fact, on certain days I would find bundles of flowers on the manor porch. On other days Connor or Achilles would find them. Achilles was tickled by it, Connor however, not so much.

The more time passed the more becoming stronger began to weigh on me. I didn't even stop to draw anymore, not that I could, as my pencil was all out of lead. But still, it seems I'm becoming less and less like myself. And that was beginning to worry me.

How long before the old me was completely lost, replaced by the woman my father had wanted as an heir?

-X-

Connor was doing it again.

I found him down stairs, in the basement, staring at the paintings of our enemies. It was dimly lit, only a single candle on the table to light the whole room. I came down the stairs as silently as possible, sweaty from my afternoon hike.

Connor was so deep in contemplation that he didn't notice me. So, I stood there, leaning against the back wall, hiding in the shadows as I watched him. And as I did, my eyes kept wondering to the painting of Haytham; a knot forming in my gut every time my thoughts drifted to him.

It wasn't long before Achilles began to look for us, coming down the creaky stairs, his cane hitting each step with a dull wooden sound. As he came down, slowly and as gingerly as possible, his eyes landed on me.

I greeted him with a silent nod and in reply he put one finger over his mouth, signaling me not to say a word. Obeying him, I began to smile, knowing full well what Achilles' intentions were.

"How fares the hunt, Connor?" He says, leaving his cane in my hands, as he walks up beside my brother. I had hoped his words would have snapped the Master Assassin out of his own head, but they did not.

"There is progress, but I worry it is not enough." Connor replies rather directly, his voice straight forward, tone still deep in thought.

I feel a slight sting at those words, imagining he was talking about me. But the moment that thought came was the same instance I pushed it aside. I knew what Connor thought of my progress, and now he spoke of his hunt, not of me.

"You must strike where you're needed most." Achilles advises, his eyes gazing at the paintings laid out before them. As usual his voice is hard, but his tone is confident. But the confidence was not in himself; the confidence was for Connor. He believed in Connor just as much as I did. He just would not admit it as easily.

"What if you pursued Charles Lee and your father-," Achilles looked over at Connor and the sudden sullen expression written all over his face at the mention of the word 'father'. It struck me almost as hard. "What then of Paul Revere? And the soldiers at Lexington?"

'Or Isaac and Doctor Warren?' It was only then I began to get a sense of the body count this war had racked up. Some close to me, some not. And yet we were nowhere near done fighting.

The moment Achilles said 'soldiers' Connor's head snapped up, his teeth gritted like he was about to growl. "Soldiers?!" He yelled, looking distraught and furious all at the same time. Angry and in mourning for people he didn't even know. Even I wasn't that selfless. "There were no soldiers in those towns- only men and women who were forced to defend themselves!" Connor argued, his words edged deeply with bitter truth.

Hearing him say that reminded me of those dead bodies I saw over a year ago. In Lexington, the images flashed in my mind's eye, so clear and vivid I nearly gagged. That little girl, shot and killed, her blood flowing out into the gutter as she laid cold, right next to the rest of her long and forgotten family. They were never even buried, just trampled and ripped to pieces by people that didn't even care.

It had been a massacre.

"Is this not why you fight?" Achilles questioned, in no way shaken by Connor's tone. Almost as if he knew, things could have been so much worse. He had seen how bad things could get, and he only wanted Connor to understand that war was not going to get any better any time soon. "To protect your people? Your struggle is the colonist's struggle. In helping one, you help the other." The Old Man said, his words now speaking of an Assassin's duty, not just of Connor's conflicts.

And before Achilles began to walk away he looked to me, almost as if the last thing he said wasn't just meant for my brother but for me as well. He then passed me, walking into my shadowed haven, and took his cane as he ascended the stairs.

Connor turned as the older man began to flee, something dark and dangerous in his eyes. That look scared me, and it had been such a long time since Connor frightened me at all, but now he did. As his eyes followed Achilles the look only grew worse. But then, almost as if he was just sensing me, he turned and looked to me. His face instantly fell as he saw my expression.

But his anger did not still for long. For as soon as his gaze left mine he was enraged again, running after Achilles as if ready to kill the man we both thought of as a father.

He passes me, and starts climbing the stairs, as he began shouting. "Encouraging words from who thought mine a fool's errand!" Connor scrambles up the stairs with urgency as if he needed to argue with the Old Man face to face.

Many times had I been caught up in their fights, usually I would leave the manor; go hide out in the forest or at the forge. Myriam was such a comfort, and so was Dave. And now, lately, I find myself with Peter more often than I ever thought I would, of course, this usually only makes things with Connor worse.

Today, however, I had had enough of the shouting. I had my fill of it when I was young; having a drunken father and an emotionless mother never bode well in any household. But here, it was just Connor being young, angry, and rebellious. Well, if he wanted to take his anger out on something we could always just go kill some Redcoats.

When Achilles began laughing sarcastically, I knew things were about to get bad.

As quickly as I could, I tailed behind Connor. Slinging myself across the hall and into the first floor of the manor, where the argument had been taken.

"Make no mistake- I still do. But I can't help but feel some pride in your success."

'Oh boy, here we go.' I rolled my eyes as I finally made my way to the two. Connor was practically ready to throw a punch. Achilles, however, stood confident that he wouldn't.

Connor snarled in reply. "And why should I give you any credit?"

'Okay, that's it!' With my hands in my hoody pockets, teeth grinding in aggravation, I step between both hard headed men. Tired of their stubbornness and their fight for strength against one another; it was like watching dogs battle for supremacy. Basically, just a pissing match.

"For God's sake; SHUT UP!" I couldn't have found a more inelegant way to stop them. But, then again, I was kinda headstrong myself. 'Oops.' "Jesus! You two are the worst!" I whined, looking up into a malicious set of golden eyes, and down at a sarcastic set of deep brown ones. I felt like I was standing between two bulls, and both had seen red. "We got problems, isn't that enough for you people?!"

And what did I receive in reply, you may ask. Well, all I got was an eye roll from Connor and Achilles walking away as if I hadn't said anything. 'What's a girl gotta do to get heard around here?' I groaned, crossing my arms and pouting like a little kid. 'Oh yeah, kill people.' I thought bitterly.

Before I could say anything else though, Connor was side stepping me, galloping right after Achilles again; most likely to renew their argument. Well, I wasn't having any of that! So, I trailed right behind Connor, going to stop him.

"Or you could just admit that you were wrong!" Connor stomped into the kitchen, huffing and puffing as he had been before. But this time, I was ending this match, for good!

Just before Achilles could start sardonically declaring things right back, I used my momentum and newly added strength to tackle Connor right off his feet. I landed on top of him at the kitchen threshold, just as Achilles was picking up his tea.

The Old Man, as I expected, didn't pay any mind to our misbehaving.

Connor though, he was a bit stunned I had tackled him, or that I even could bring him to the ground. But it was his own fault; he's the one that taught me how to do that in the first place.

"Stop arguing! It's stupid and pointless! You're only angry at yourself for not being able to save those people! There's no reason to take that shit out on Achilles!" I nearly screeched into his ear, as he struggled underneath me. My hold was now around his neck, legs straddled over his back, keeping him pinned to the floor. He thrashed for only a moment after I said that, then instantly stilled, his skin paling, blood running cold. I could feel the sudden drop in temperature as much as he could, I was just as haunted.

We were both still panting as Connor looked up at me, his expression no longer conveying anger but disappointment and inner turmoil. Sometimes, I wondered how much he knew that we were alike, or if he didn't sense it at all. But at that moment he saw that I knew the truth, and that I felt the same. His eyes conveyed it all.

"Ahem." That moment, however, was shattered as someone cleared their throat. Swiftly, the two of us snapped up, hurriedly getting onto our feet, as a nobleman holding a tea cup greeted our sights. "I hope I'm not interrupting something."

As quickly as possible we both shook our heads.

"Connor, Kyle, this is Benjamin Tallmadge." Achilles introduced, taking a sip out of his own tea cup. Not fazed at all by our display, he was far too used to it to be. "His father was one of us, no need for secrecy. I think he has something he wants to say." The smirk on the Old Man's lips was almost all-knowing; telling me he was far too sly for his own good. Achilles knew exactly what Tallmadge had to say.

The nobleman, Benjamin, stepped forward daringly. "Achilles tells me you've uncovered a plot to murder the Commander in Chief." He states, a slight lisp in his words.

Looking down, slightly ashamed by his previous actions, Connor replies. "Yes we have." I startle slightly at the implication that I had helped Connor discover the plot, but he goes on. "But we have only false starts and dead ends to show for it." Again, with this 'we' business; I think Connor might be a bit confused.

Sitting down his tea cup, Benjamin begins to say otherwise. "Not anymore, my friends." He turns, and his gaze is set on both my shoulders and Connor's. I was beginning to worry that someone might be planning to drag me into something.

'Oh, well, an Assassin's life and all that jazz.'

"Thomas Hickey's your man- and I aim to help you catch him." He states proudly, a puff in his chest and a confidence in his eyes. Graciously, he walks over behind the two of us and pats us on the shoulders. At this point I'm a bit nervous.

"How?" I ask, stealing the word right out from Connor's mouth, as I stare up at Ben.

To this he smirks. "I'll explain on the way." He then begins to gently push both of us towards the door. "We are going to New York."

'Joys.'

-X-

New York, February 15th, 1776

We rode for New York almost directly after our talk with Benjamin. But right before we did, I changed clothes. I thought it better to be prepared, since this time I was actually coming with Connor as an Assassin, not just as an apprentice. Meaning; I'd have to fight alongside him, not just linger in the shadows. I was more than ready this time to defend myself and protect Connor if need be.

So, I put on my gloves, got a pouch of throwing knives, got my bow and quiver, sheathed my short sword, and put on my boots and trousers. I even pulled my hood over my head, using it to try and shield my face, as the Templars did in fact know what I looked like. And they might just be keeping an eye out for me.

The ride was full of chit chatting here and there. Benjamin was curious about how I had become an Assassin. It was a long story I had explained, in reply he said we had a long ride ahead of us. So, I told him bits and pieces of the story, leaving out things no one but me should know. After his curiosity was satisfied we came upon the entrance to New York.

As we rode through the streets Connor and Tallmadge started conversing. They talked about the life of an Assassin and why Ben wasn't one. He wanted a family and not divided ethics, so he became a middle man and just decided to work for the Brotherhood on the side. I could understand that, but not all of us were really given a choice.

It wasn't long before I was asked to dismount Noir and to tie the horses up. When I finished with the task I hastily followed after Connor and Ben as they began to walk along the road. Soon, we came to an alley and Tallmadge began to finally fill us in on what he knew.

"There are rumors of bad bills circulating here. No doubt they come from Thomas." He stated confidentially, sure that he was right about what Hickey was up to.

And as we continued to walk, me shadowing Connor, Tallmadge and him side-by-side, we started into the market area of town. Here people were shouting and yelling about all sorts of things. Bags and baskets were being strewn around; animals were being sold or butchered. It was hard hearing Ben over the ruckus, so he began to raise his voice ever so slightly. Connor, however, didn't have to.

"Are you sure?" The Master Assassin asked, his arms folded behind his back, as he gracefully strode onward.

"Completely." Tallmadge replied as he stopped walking to lean against a vender's stall. As he did, Connor and I glanced at each other, unsure whether we trusted him or not, then swiftly glanced back at the man. As we did he nodded toward a stall not far from where we stood, pointing out the chaos that was ensuing.

"What are you up to?" An angry vender shouted at his customer, holding strange slips of paper in his hand. "This isn't money! It's colored paper." He exclaimed, throwing the slips right back at the blue long coat wearing man. "You've cheated me for the last time!" The vender declared as the man began to tip his hat, covering his face in shame. "GUARDS!"

As soon as that word was uttered the Blue Coat man turned on his heel and began to briskly walk away. After that the three of us exchanged glances, all of us thinking the same thing. This was our man; he would lead us to Hickey.

And before I could blink, Connor was off, tailing the criminal, and oddly, I was right behind him; the action, by now, being just reflex to me.

-X-

This was my first time shadowing someone in a big city like New York, although small compared to how it is in my time; it was still bigger than Boston and what little I had traversed of the Frontier. I haven't even practiced the art of tailing that much, but Connor was more than happy to demonstrate how things worked for me.

While ahead of me, Connor signaled that he would take the rooftops and that I would stay on the streets. This way we had him cornered if it came to that. Something told me though that pressuring this man for information wouldn't be necessary.

On the roof, Connor hid as the man looked back, while I stayed behind the brick wall of a building; shadowed. As soon as he got going again he was stopped by a guard, they brawled for a bit, then Blue Coat managed to get away.

We followed him down several streets, and every time he looked back I hid; just out of sight. When he would get going again I'd try and be as silent as possible, I even stopped a bit to hide in certain crowds. But it wasn't long before he came upon some cohorts.

From where I was, hiding in a well, dangling as I was, I couldn't hear the conversation. I knew Connor could though, as I could see him listening intently from where I hung. As soon as the conversation was over Connor signaled me and I came up from the well.

We tailed him just for a few more streets, and then he came across one last man. It seemed like he was Blue Coat's main partner in crime. The other man reprimanded him and told Blue Coat to go talk to their boss about what had happened with the vendor.

Connor was able to hear the full conversation from where he was perched, but again, I only caught tid bits from where I hid in the shadows of New York's daily alley life. With the new man gone, Blue Coat headed right toward where we needed him to. Discreetly, he went into a building and didn't come back out.

As Connor leapt from the roof of the building he whistled, meaning he was ready for me to come out from hiding and join him. Side-by-side, we stood before the house Blue Coat had ambled into. Then, rather easily, Connor and I kicked down the door, like cops storming a hide out.

The man we had been following was standing far too close to the door, becoming a casualty in only the first few seconds of our siege. Across the room Hickey stood next to a table, which just happened to be covered with counterfeit bills. This proved Tallmadge had been right all along.

Hickey snarled at us, his hands itching for a sword. "What's this?" He questioned, almost calmly but very cautiously. I was a bit surprised by the lack of shock in his reaction really.

"Good morrow gents, anyone call for a door repair man? 'Cause I think your hinges might be broken-…..busted, I think your hinges might be busted; just like you're about to be!" I tried so hard to come up with something witty and original, and while usually I would have gone with the classic pizza man gag, this was the 18th century and that wouldn't fly. So, hastily, I said what came to mind. Not as pun-tastic as I was hoping, but good enough for the situation at hand.

Hickey just looked at me, jaw slacked, a bit bewildered. "Wot?"

I sighed exasperatedly; the joke wasn't any good if I had to explain it!

"Thomas Hickey?" Connor asked with venom, pushing me back a bit with his right arm, signaling the joking was over. Now was the time for serious Assassin business, and the Master Assassin was ready to take his kill.

"Might be." Hickey takes an intimidating step forward, not afraid to face the challenge that was Connor's descending wrath. All the while his thugs stood in the corner, watching, silent. "What's it to ya?" He scowled, eyes darkening as he only got closer.

In reply Connor pulled out his dagger from the hidden blade bracer on his wrist. Which, in my opinion, that was still one of the coolest things ever. The dagger even looked like Altair's sword from AC 2!

But as Connor pulled out his weapon of choice so did I. My short sword might not have appeared unexpectedly like Connor's dagger did, but it glistened with ill intent just as much.

"Ain't s'pposed to be none of your kind left." Hickey whispers darkly, a contemplating stare in his expression. I would say it mirrored that of being haunted, but usually such a look did not seem so malicious.

There is a tense second of silence before Hickey signals his men to come to his aid. As he does there is a furious glare in his eyes, directed only at me and Connor. Now with a sword, Thomas begins to step back, afraid of facing us himself.

"Suppose I'd best be rectifyin' that, then." He states, pushing one of his men in the side as he begins to flee the house. "Get 'im!" Hickey shouts, making his way out the back door, like a dog with its tail between its legs.

As soon as the thugs come at us I block. "Connor, quick, get after him!" I yell, already slashing through one of the men's sides, hearing flesh tear and blood spill. In the midst of attack I ignore my more human like reactions and continue with my kill. "Don't worry, I got this, you just get Hickey!" I assured him, taking another well practiced swing with my blade.

Connor looks back at me for only a moment, nodding, then leaps onto the table and jumps out the window. I vaguely can see him pursuing Thomas as I stab my way through four men. None, of whom, are armed. They only have their bare fists as I take their throats apart. I feel like I should be sorry for them, but I don't have the time.

I don't even consider the fact I have killed four men, before I'm out the door, chasing after Connor.

-X-

By the time I catch up with Connor and Hickey it's too late. A guard already has them both by their collars, lifting them off the wall, dangling them towards their imprisonment.

"Ah well, we were just havin' a scrap, officer!" Hickey tries to explain, lying through his teeth as best as he can. But even he sounds nervous. Connor however, is as blank faced as always. "Ain't nuttin' wrong with two men settlin' their differences the ol' fashi'n way." He rambles, arms up in the air, as another blue uniformed guard shows up, evening the odds if only a little bit.

I stand off to the right, only a foot away, as the two coppers try to secure their arrest-ies. I'm not sure what to do. Connor hasn't given me any signal yet, and I know he's seen me. I try and think of a way to rescue my brother, but all the plans I can come up with, when calculated in my head, end very badly. So, I stand in the shadows and watch, hoping things will turn out better than I remember them being.

His lip turned up in a light snarl, Connor turns to Hickey. "Quiet!" He barks, his tone sending both Hickey and the copper reeling. "What are the charges?" He asks, his voice still hot with anger.

Suddenly, a third guard appears, in his hand a large burlap sack. "Counterfeiting!" He accuses harshly, throwing both Connor and Hickey a heated glare.

As the sack holding guard turns to the other, Connor exclaims: "I had nothing to do with that!" In his own defense. The guards don't look so convinced by his statement though.

"'Course not!" The older copper of the three yells, his voice gravelly and hoarse. To tell the truth, he has a look on his face that clearly states he couldn't possibly care less if Connor was innocent or not. He wanted to throw someone in jail, doesn't matter how much evidence, or who it was.

"Listen!" Connor exclaims, his actions panicky, his tone wild. "There are more important things at stake here! This man is planning to-"

And before Connor can finish his sentence, the youngest of the three guards hits him on the back of the head. He hits him as hard as he can with the butt of his sword. This knocks Connor to the ground, his nose bleeding, consciousness lost as he falls to the stone streets.

My heart jumps, pulse gone, as breath leaves my lungs. I can't sit back anymore, I have to do something. My mind is telling me there was nothing I could do, my father screaming for blood, and my heart cracking into pieces. Emotions have never been very strong in me, but I have had my moments. Connor was hurt, and I had to help him, damn the rules he gave me! All I could think of was my brother, not by blood but by something far stronger, dying in the street like a rat.

Without being signaled to; I ran to him, my boots heavily landing along the pavement as I rushed like wind to his side. "Connor!" I cry, flinging myself to his unstirring form. "Connor!" I grip his arm tightly, on my knees as I kneeled. "Connor!" I shook him and he still didn't wake up. At that moment I felt lost.

"Miss!" I heard one of the guards call and reflexively I look up. I should have known better. There was pain first, then absolute darkness. Even while unconscious I felt frustrated and ashamed that I would fall for his trick after seeing him already preform it.

But there was nothing I could do.

So I just embraced the sea of black.

-X-

It's almost completely dark when I wake up. The only lights keeping the night at bay are the small lanterns lit along the street. My back, head, and side all ache as I rouse. It takes only moments for panic to set in, my gut churning, as I remember what's happened.

I'm panting heavily as I start running, running as fast as I possibly can, through New York. I have no idea what time it was, but the scum of the alleys filled the streets, whores of the evening calling like cats. In my state I run, farther and faster than I have in a while, trying to get to the tied horses we left God knows how long ago.

I'm not breathing hard because I'm exhausted, I know my own limit, and I haven't even broken into a sweat yet. No, it's been a long time but I recognized the symptoms. I was having a panic attack, thoughts of my brother imprisoned; dread coursing through my very veins like blood.

Noir, as unlikely as I thought it would be, was still tied to the post, along with her companion Yakohsa:tens. In the feverish state of mind that I was, I could barely think, yet somehow, if maybe by reflex, I tied Yakohsa:tens reins to Noir and mounted my horse. As soon as I was on I spurred her forward, as fast as she could go, back to the Homestead.

I needed to tell Achilles. I had to know what to do next.

-X-

Homestead, February 16th, 1776

"Connor's been captured!" I nearly screamed, breathing thinly, as I burst into the manor, only just having ridden up. The horses weren't even put up yet, and the sun was only just rising as it slowly turned dawn. But the Old Man was already awake, oat meal boiling in a pot, kettle on the fire.

While I was coated in sweat, panic attack having just left my body but an hour ago, he was completely calm, even after my announcement. And even though I was exhausted, having rode for hours on end just to get here when I did, I couldn't seem to stay still. I began pacing almost immediately, at the threshold of the kitchen.

"How?" Achilles simply asked, with absolutely no change in his demeanor, just calm smoothness in his tone. Leisurely, Achilles put his cane against the table and had a seat, tea cup in his hand, and a bowl already full of oat meal in front of him.

I almost couldn't believe it! How could he be so….so….level headed at a time like this! Connor was in prison, not at a social event! For crying out loud! "THEGUARDS, HICKEYCONTERFIETING, PRISON!" As my body rocked with shaking and trembling, so did my tongue, my words coming out in jumbles, my breathing still far from normal pace.

Achilles only gave me The Look; a look that scared me but angered Connor. It was the type of look any normal father would give you when he's tired of your shit, and he wouldn't accept any excuses until he can understand you. This look is usually followed up by some heavy reprimanding on Achilles' part, but this time he took a deep breath and shook his head.

"I can not understand you, child. Calm yourself before you speak again." He says deliberately, gently in fact, almost as if he didn't want to upset me more than I already was. Like always, he treated me differently than Connor. More like a girl I guess, as if I was fragile, yet only during times things would get to me. Sometimes I wondered if Achilles wanted a daughter just as much as he had wanted to keep his own son.

So, I did what I could in this situation. I took a deep breath and followed Achilles' instructions, pulling out a seat from the table so that I could sit down and find my center, become calm. It takes a bit, and like every time before, Achilles is patient, he only sips his tea as he waits.

"Okay," I take a few more breaths before I stretch and look to Achilles again. "I'm calm." I declare, only barely being. "Connor and me had Hickey, we'd tracked him down." I began explaining, motioning certain aspects of my story with my hands as I spoke to Achilles. "But he fled, and then Connor chased after him while I took care of his goons. Not long after that two guards had them both and took them away to Bridewell." I finished, feeling nervous, tingling all over, as I played with my shaky hands, unable to look Achilles in the eye.

There were a few moments of silence, tense and pressurized air crowding my lungs as I waited for the Old Man's orders. I wanted so badly to go after Connor, rescue him like he had me back at Fort George. But knowing what I know, I knew that was impossible, especially for someone as low caliber as me. Yet, I thought perhaps I could catch up with Hickey, if my long lost theory was correct anyway.

"Then, there is only one thing to do." Achilles announced, hands laced in front of him, a thoughtful look on his face. I was nearly at the edge of my seat as I waited for him to speak again. I needed orders, while I still had the adrenaline and energy to complete them. "We wait." He finally says, going to eat his now cold oat meal.

He says this and I freeze, a burst of emotions deflating like a balloon, and I fall out of my chair in fatigue and frustration. I couldn't believe he just wanted us to sit here and wait! What if Connor needed me now? "You can't possibly mean for us to leave him there?" I shout, rocketing up from where I'd fallen to the floor.

"Yes. Connor is more than capable of escaping himself. He will be fine." Achilles explains steadily, eating his breakfast like today was any other day.

My face fell and my heart sank as I heard him say that. He would abandon his first pupil? Or does he really trust him that much? "Well," I shook my head as I rose to my feet. Then I dusted myself off and popped my knuckles. "You may be content to stay here, but I have to do something!"

Achilles only raised a sarcastic brow, not amused or impressed. "In your state, child. What will you do? Pass out? I can assure you the Templars do not fear girls with fatigue, let alone an exhausted apprentice."

To that I only bit my tongue. I had no witty reply or come back, but that didn't matter. Connor may like to fight with Achilles about his decisions, but I'd rather take action where I could. I didn't have time to argue. Connor's life was at stake!

So I turned tail and began to leave.

"Connor may not die from this encounter, but you surely will! Don't throw your life away because of your emotional state!" Achilles calls, his voice echoing through the cold and empty manor. I could feel at one time how full this house used to be, a husband, a wife, and a child. Not only that but the constant ins and outs of fellow Assassins. But now there was only the Old Man left, and Connor.

If I had to sacrifice myself to make sure it stayed that way, so be it.

Death, like killing, no longer frightens me.

-X-

Achilles was right, I couldn't even untie Yakohsa:tens' reins from Noir's, my hands were shaking so bad. My vision was even fading in and out I was so exhausted. In my state I could do little more than faint at a Templar. And I refused to act like a damsel when I was an Assassin!

I thought, perhaps, I could rest for a little while. If I could regain some of my energy then I would at least try something to aid Connor's escape. I didn't know exactly what I would do yet, but there had to be something!

I find myself, mysteriously, dragging to the heavily wooded area of the Homestead. There, I slid down a tree, and just let my muscles go lax. I was so tired it didn't take long for me to fall asleep.

-X-

Oddly enough, I didn't have any dreams this time. But I felt extraordinary when I woke up from my nap. The sun, now, directly overhead, shafts of light shining through the leafs on each tree. I have no idea why I felt so much better, but I didn't really have time to question it.

As I was getting up, ready to race off, I heard something. It was a rustle, then a snap of twigs. I felt myself tense, hands going towards my throwing knifes. If I had Eagle Vision it would have kicked in then, but since I don't I just listen closely, doing as Connor has taught me.

In a moment a form appears from the bushes, large and furry, but with no teeth bared and no growls heard, he announced himself to be friendly. And when I looked at the creature I recognized him. It was Balto the wolf; I had met him almost a year ago, before the Battle of Lexington and Concord. He had given me a dagger with Kanien'kehá:ka originated carvings on it. But now, after so long, he'd wondered back to the woods of Davenport. How strange.

"Are 'ya lost again buddy?" I ask coolly as I walk up to him then kneel by his side. He sat very serenely, watching the branches of trees dance in the wild. But as soon as I spoke he looked up, and I could have sworn he smiled.

"I'll take that as a no then." I chuckle, petting Balto on his head, the slightly domesticated wolf leans into the touch. Just feeling of his fur makes me feel more tranquil. Something about the wolf-dog, or maybe full wolf I don't know, always makes me feel one with nature, at peace.

As I petted the creature it began to nudge me, sniffing at my pockets. I didn't know exactly what it was doing but I felt no urge to stop it. After a moment, Balto found his way inside my left trouser pocket. It was only a second before he pulled back, that old dagger in his mouth. I didn't remember putting the dagger there, and I narrowed my eyes as I questioned where it had come from. Just as Balto held it in his mouth he dropped it into the palm of my hand, just like before.

"Ga Okwaho." I read the inscription carved on the dagger again and frowned. Connor's clan mother had called me this, said it was my destiny. But I only knew what half of it meant. What a lousy time for the universe to be cryptic. "What does it mean?" I asked, not really to specifically anyone, but just to someone who might know, meaning to no one.

In reply Balto only panted, licking me eagerly. Playfully, I swatted him away and wiped off my face. Once again I could have sworn he was smiling. And as the light from the sun, shaded by an overhanging branch, hit his face just right, his green eyes practically glowed.

He really was beautiful, and smart too. I wished then that I could keep him as my own, but he was already claimed.

I sighed, and fell back down on my back, my anxiety coming to attack me again. Balto stayed seated though, looking down on me with what I thought was almost wisdom sparkling in his eyes.

I shook my head, tears of frustration and anger leaving me as I puffed out my chest and swallowed a hot lump in my throat. "I don't know what to do, boy!" I shouted, looking to the animal for guidance. "I have no clues, no plan, nothing!" I stated begrudgingly, pounding my fists against the pile of fallen leafs beside me.

Balto almost looked serious, stricken with this abrupt expression that held no playful tones to it at all. Suddenly, he got up and began to walk gracefully, showing off the pure power that irradiated from underneath his fur, and strode through the forest.

Swiftly, I got to my feet and ran after him. As soon as I caught up to him he took off, racing through the woods like a cheetah. I could barely keep up and had to resort to climbing and leaping from tree to tree to keep pace with him.

It was after a few miles of this that he stopped, right in front of Ellen's home. And there, in the window, I could see the closet she kept my Assassin robes safely hidden in. Ellen had told me she had finished with the jacket a month ago, calling it one of her most challenging commissions as of yet. I paid her for her time then requested she hide the finished work. She only gave me a perplexed look, and then did as I asked, with no questions.

Balto almost appeared elegant and commanding as he looked up at me, his eyes fierce and piercing. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was trying to tell me something.

"You want me to kill Hickey don't you?" I said, kneeling down in front of him, so that we were eye to eye. "You want me to take his life as an Assassin." I stated, almost knowing deep down exactly what the wolf wanted, even though he could not speak or tell me on his own.

But he nodded anyway, assuring me that I was right. I couldn't believe my own eyes, a wolf telling me to kill. I had to be dreaming, there was no way I was taking orders from a okwaho erhar! And yet, that was exactly what I was about to do.

"Looks like me and you are…." When I looked up from staring at Ellen's window, Balto was gone, running back into the woods. But as I watched him go his form steadily began to dissipate, and not like he's getting farther away and harder to see, more like he was freaking disappearing! And just before he was completely gone another form appeared; taller, far more human, an Iroquois warrior actually.

So, I'm starting to hallucinate too, uh? Just add that to the list of things that are making me bat-crap insane why don't 'ya?

-X-

"Ellen!" I called, knocking on the New York seamstress' front door. As I waited I began to feel increasingly antsy, moving constantly, my very being tingling, completely on edge.

"Kyle?" Ellen opened her door and narrowed her eyes. She seemed surprised, not expecting me. But that didn't stop her from opening the door wider and kindly ushering me in. "What can I do for you?"

"I need those robes, the ones I told you to hide." I say urgently, my hands fisted tightly in my hoody pockets. On shaky legs I crossed her threshold and found myself inside, just lingering in her main room, and not sitting down like most would.

"Now?" She asked, confused. "But you said you would retrieve them in three years' time. I don't understand why, but…"

I shook my head and paced erratically. "I'm sorry Ellen, I can't explain but I need them now."

Ellen only nodded calmly and took in my appearance and temperance. She looked to be biting her lip, as if to keep herself from saying something, but she smiled for me anyway, and went down to the hall closet to retrieve the robes as asked.

They seemed heavy in Ellen's hands as she brought them back in a heap, but to me I couldn't look at them without shaking in excitement. The robes were amazing, exactly to my design. The interior of the jacket was made up of fine leather, a type of old school armor; and the black leather came to button up at the middle while the rest of the garment was made up of an elegant white cloth like frock coat.

The hood that came up and over my head, on the very tip of it, was the design of a wolf instead of an eagle. The trousers that came with it were also lightly layered with leather, but only on the outside. You could see the robes were clearly a frost color along with a night color; the white cloth of the frock matching spectacularly with the black of the leather.

And lastly, there was the blood red sash that tied around in the middle, a loud contrast with the rest of the robes, but very befitting of an Assassin's wardrobe.

After Ellen handed me the outfit she curtsied and toddled off to another room so that I could change. It was lucky then that, in her main room, there was a long and tall standing mirror next to the fire place. Which my eyes were glued to as I stripped my old hoody off and put on my new Assassin robes.

As I slipped my arms through the long, thick, and heavy sleeves I buttoned up the leather part in the middle. Slowly, I treasured this moment, putting my throwing knives in the places they perfectly fit in, as well as my sword, and quiver across my chest. And after I had my bow in place, trousers on, I took the red sash with the metal bit that curved into the Assassin's symbol and tied it around me.

I barely recognized myself as I looked up at the mirror, an actual Assassin looking right back at me. I truly was the me from this alternate reality. If only my world would stop spinning, then maybe, for a moment, I could actually take it all in and believe this was real. Not just my imagination.

The last thing I did was take my dagger and slide it into my sleeve, then pull my hood over my head and watch myself transform.

'Ga Okwaho.'

-X-

New York, February 16th, 1776

The race was on! I had only a limited amount of time to find Hickey before they had Connor hanged for the assassination attempt on George Washington, before they had him hanged as a traitor of the yet-to-be-born nation.

This time I had to push Noir to her absolute limit, so that I could get back to New York before the day was over. And by night fall I had made it, but only just. To thank Noir for her swiftness I paid to have her settled at a stable, well taken care of, so that she might be ready for the journey back home.

On my own I searched for a clue to where Hickey might be. Alley after alley, bribe after bribe, they all said the same: Bridewell prison. But I wasn't that stupid, I figured, some year ago when this world was just behind a TV screen, that Hickey and Lee had left the prison to scheme and prepare their trap for Connor.

But the question was where?

"Well our shifts done for the night. Want to have a pint?"

"Aye. Time for the good stuff!"

"The tavern it is then, mate!"

It was hard thinking over the idiotic ramblings that were the British soldiers off shift, done with their patrols. Even hidden in the shadows of a back alley I could hear them, taking off to their booze. Ugh, the thought only made me taste sour. Such things reminded me of my father who loved to visit….

I gasped, suddenly stricken with an idea, like a lightning bolt lighting a candle wick. It was then I knew exactly where Hickey and Lee were! Where else? The Templar's favorite hangout. It was the place they would always meet. A place they probably still visited regularly.

"The Green Dragon Tavern!" I nearly shouted, feeling absurd I hadn't thought of it earlier. It seemed so obvious to me now. Of course, that was in Boston. And while, usually that would have put me down, thinking all was lost. I knew for a fact there was an Inn here almost exactly like it that Charles had an affinity for.

Before I could blink I was running. I leapt onto a stack of barrels, jumped to a railing, then climbed up onto the edge of a building. Once on the rooftop, a full moon shining down on me, I raced to the other end of New York. I did my best to stay out of the light, fallen in with the shadows so no guard could see me.

And this chase, the hunt, it felt almost as if I was a predator, a wolf, bounding down a snowy hill, ready to pounce on its prey. With my dagger hidden and ready for the kill, it was almost like I had my fangs bared, prepared for the lunge. Tonight Hickey would be mine. And this time Connor would know about my kill, Charles, no doubt, would go back to Bridewell and threaten Connor that he would have my head after what I would do tonight.

But I felt prepared, this felt right. Even the way the moon shifted with the clouds, hanging in the sky like my beacon, was helping guide my way. The wolf in me was ready, and maybe that's why Balto appeared, to show me that. To show me now was the time to pick up my sword and truly join the fight.

In rank I was still just an apprentice, and it would remain that way until I finished my four full years of training. But the animal in me had grown stronger, just strong enough to protect the eagle. And tonight was my night.

On steps as light as feathers I found my way to the Queen Ann's Tavern. I looked over at it from where I sat, perched on a railing, ready to leap down and go in. Swiftly, but not as gracefully as I would have liked, I dropped down onto the streets and looked around.

After memorizing my plan to escape I made my way inside.

-X-

I pulled my hood extra tightly over my head as I went to the bar. I placed two pounds in front of the tavern owner and he nodded. Not but a second later he handed me a glass full of something akin to wine. I wasn't actually planning on drinking it, not while I was still on a mission, but it would help me to blend in.

The Queen Ann's Tavern looks practically like any other tavern, except for their inexplicable love for the Queen. British in its design, British in its beliefs. But that didn't necessarily mean they supported the Redcoats. Plenty of people within the colonies still treasured their heritage and old home, but had adopted new beliefs, such as freedom.

There wasn't that much difference between it and the Green Dragon; just that maybe the atmosphere was a bit friendlier and lightly less grubby. Everything was almost spit shined; the owner of the pub area below the Inn portion of the tavern obviously had a thing for seeing his reflection in everything shiny and not so shiny.

But the crowd it brought in was still questionable; especially the two men at the back table. Charles and Thomas seemed far more preoccupied plotting than concerned for their well-being. Lee really should know to still be watching his back; he knew there was more than one Assassin. Yet, after all he did to me; he probably didn't see me as much of a threat.

Casually, I found myself a seat not far from them. Close enough to hear their conversation but too far away so not to draw undue attention to myself. Silently, I took my seat and pretended to sip my drink as I listened to them, my back to the both of them.

Even then I questioned my actions. Why was I waiting? They were right there? Why not kill them now? But instead of hearing my own voice in my head I heard two others. I really was beginning to lose my own mind, literally.

'Kill them now! Spill their blood! Make the bastards pay for your pain!'

My father was still there, rattling around inside my skull. His voice echoing from a distant past, which I thought was long forgotten. But it seems my old man left an impression on me. His dirt wouldn't wash off no matter how hard I tried.

'No, you must wait. Even a wolf understands the importance of timing when taking its prey. You must be patient. Use the skills I have taught you.'

Now it was Connor's turn to make his presence known. I felt lucky that I had an angel on my shoulders as much as I had a devil. And like every time before, Connor's voice keeps the insanity at bay. Like a torch in the night, he helped keep things clear. Even when my brother was not physically at my side he was still with me, his voice and his teachings sticking like glue.

"It will not be hard to pin the savage for our plans." Charles drawls, his tone bringing me back to the present, and my mission at hand.

"And 'en we 'll be free of dos' nasty Assassins." Hickey chuckles and hiccups, clearly a mug of ale having already passed his palate.

"Damn them, the whole lot. I thought with the death of that apprentice they would be weakened. But they seem to spread like a disease." Charles says, sounding strongly disgusted. Almost as if he thought we were nothing more than bugs, just needing to be exterminated.

"You knew? And 'ya did'nt tell da boss?" Hickey questions Lee, utterly confused.

And so was I. Lee knew that there were more Assassins out there but didn't share with the rest of the class. That didn't seem like him. He also seemed to think I was dead for some reason; which I could understand that. If Connor hadn't rescued me when he did I would be dead, no doubt about that.

"Master Kenway left me in charge of destroying those bastards! And yet one springs up out of the blue! I had them! I saw no reason to deter him from his previous work just to fix the mess I did a poor job of cleaning." Lee exclaims, feeling a need to defend himself apparently. His tone was filled with an indescribable rage, and half of it was directed back at himself.

"Aye. No need to worry Charlie. I ain't tell'n a soul. Honest." Hickey replied; I could almost hear the grin in his voice. I could also hear him holding out his hand for the payment that would ensure his silence. The man certainly had a thing for money, him and Church both.

My hands were beginning to shake then. All my instincts were being pulled and put to the test. My opportunity to strike would not come as soon as I needed it to. That was beginning to be obvious. So, instead of waiting I would create my own moment. But how?

Looking up, I scanned the area. Once again, if I had Eagle Vision this would be the time it would kick it, but I don't. So I'm left with my raw human instincts, sharpened by a year's worth of hard training. I also have my brain, something that had been sharpened by a life's time worth of creating.

All around the room were rowdy men, soldiers off duty, Rebels and Redcoats alike. The tenseness of the room was like a powder keg, all it needed was one small spark, and everything would go up in flames. And, what the Hell, I've always wanted to start a bar fight.

I grin devilishly as I pull my glass back and throw. "Oi! You British are noth'n but lobcocks!" I shout in the deepest, most gravelly, voice I could muster. The still-full glass hits the bar, where, just as it happens, a bunch of Redcoats were standing around talking shit about the residents of our fair country.

And it only takes a second for full on glorious chaos to ensue! The whole bar went absolutely nuts. Men throwing punches, people smacking each other with chairs, and the waitresses kicking guys in their genitals after they got too handsy. The place was practically on fire.

When I stood, dodging things as I did, I looked back to see Charles trying to usher Hickey outside. But Thomas seemed to be enjoying the bar brawl, and wanted to join in. Apparently Lee gave up trying to drag him out and began to leave himself.

This, this was my moment to strike. I could feel my wolf baring its fangs, ready to lunge. Stealthily, I brought the dagger to my hand and pushed my way through the crowd. I wasn't far from Hickey, and it was only a few steps I had to take before I was upon him.

At first he had his back to me, then, when it was too late, he was facing me, my dagger buried deeply in his heart. Unlike Connor I didn't give Hickey time to speak his last words. The only thing I did was listen to him gurgle as blood flooded his mouth and he slumped onto my shoulder.

I felt no remorse over his death, no guilt for my actions, but I felt no triumph over it either. Just bitter. It was all bitter. Nothing was ever sweet in this war. I saved no lives today, maybe Connor's if any, but all I did was end the life of a man who barely lived at all.

Sluggishly, the body fell from my shoulders to the floor. And the moment it landed with a loud thump the Tavern went deathly silent. A young woman, a bar maid, saw what had happened and screamed. People began to flee then, making an even bigger ruckus, and an even thicker chaos. There was panic and desperation as I blended with the crowd that flowed out of the building like a school of fish.

But it was no sooner I thought that I was home free that I was grabbed from behind and held at the throat.

"You!" Lee sounded surprised as he began to strangle me. His eyes were like an inferno, fury like a dragon's being held behind them. "You're supposed to be dead!" He shouted, looking directly into my eyes as the moon shone down on us, making my face clear and easy to see.

"Says who?" I choke back, kicking out as hard as I can, my boots landing heavily against Charles' chest. He gasped at that, being flung backwards as I'm flung forwards by the force. It doesn't take long before he's back up on his feet, being winded is nothing to him it seems.

But I'm younger, lithe and quick. And I'm running before he's even up, going by the route I had memorized as my escape: Up the barrels, past the railing, and on the rooftop like before. I leap the gaps of the buildings, bounding past chimneys, my heart racing like a horse.

I see what I imagine to be the final stretch, almost home free. But like before, that feeling of hope is smashed and completely crushed as Haytham Freaking Kenway appears in my sights. It feels like I'm pulling a handbrake on an eighteen wheeler as I try and stop before I hit the brick wall that is Kenway.

I manage to get a grip and stop about three feet away from where he stands. The moon only adds to his threatening posture. It makes his shadow stretch long before him, and hides his face yet sharpens his eyes. Unlike Lee his eyes are not full of disgust, if anything it is distain. He likes nothing that fumbles his plans. And clearly, he was out to stop me.

But I wasn't going to be stopped, not when I was this close.

"It seems there is two of you then." He states calmly, taking one step closer, his shoulders thrown back, and his arms held behind him.

Kenway stalks with the elegance of a tiger, his many years of training and experience shining as bright as the moon itself. This only added to his intimidating presence. If Charles Lee was fire, full of anger and hatred, then Haytham was ice, filled with pain and deceit.

But inside of me I feel the wolf, and have to bite my tongue to keep from growling like one. So, I stayed completely silent. And I knew he couldn't see my face from where he stood. My eyes were completely shadowed thanks to the direction the moon hung from above us.

"You would do well to leave your companion behind. His death is eminent now. But, I suppose, you fate is as sealed." He says so matter-of-factly I have to grind my teeth to keep myself from blurting out. And as he talks he continues to come forward, gradually, his steps soft and silent.

At this point I'm racking my brain for a way around him. But I don't know how fast he is, or if he has his hidden blade at the ready. All I can think to do is use my speed as my only advantage, as I have up to this point, to get away. Noir was so close, just one hop, skip, and jump away.

"Tomorrow he'll hang for being a traitor, befitting I think, penitence for his ignorance. Yours as well." He continues to speak, trying to rile me up, get a rise out of me: Like picking at a scab, wanting nothing more than to watch it bleed. And I try, so very hard, to keep myself calm. But he's pressing all the right buttons and I feel cornered. "But you may die knowing his death aided us and our cause. If anything I will leave you with that thought in mind."

My breath hitches and he's only a foot away from me now. I can feel the bloody dagger in the palm of my hand, fangs still wet from the kill. And my whole body is twitching, but not in fear, no, in aggravation. I'm trying so hard not to say anything, but I can't hold it in any more.

"He's your son! You ignorant, hypocritical, heartless, jerk off, bastard!" And I take that moment and lunge, flinging myself past a slightly frozen Haytham. My words make him sluggish, not enough to send him completely in shock, but enough for me to run the Hell away.

It was like Putnam said: Don't fire 'till you see the whites of their eyes. Or, at least, don't run 'till you stab them in the ice of their hearts. I know my words will have consequences later but for right now I was just happy to be in my saddle and away from the near death experience that had become my daily life.

-X-

New York, February 17th, 1776

It was pouring down rain as the people of New York gathered to watch the innocent traitor hang. They were riled up, like animals, just waiting for the guards to pull Connor out of the cart. Me though, I had more to do than just stand around and shout like an idiot.

In the rain I scaled the closest building to the gallows. With my dagger, still bloody from the night before, I took out a few on-lookers. Rebels lined the streets and alleys, but few took to the roofs; a mistake on their part, but good luck on mine.

Drenched and heaving, I found myself the perfect place to perch, right where I could see everything and had the perfect vantage point of the noose. The guards were rough with Connor when they brought him out, and unlike the cutscenes from the once fictional game, there was no Hickey in sight. He was dead, for sure, by my hand. It hadn't been just a dream.

If I think the guards treat Connor poorly than the people just act like he's nothing more than shit. There's even a woman who goes out of her way to punch Connor in the face. I snarl at that and feel for the handle of one of my throwing knives, ready to kill her even if she is an innocent. But before I can take action Achilles is there, pulling the woman back, helping Connor up. The Old Man whispers something in Connor's ear as they discreetly interact, and after he does Connor's gaze slowly comes to meet mine.

All I can think to do is nod, reassuring him that I was here to rescue him, that I was here when he needed me. And before he can acknowledge me further a guard has him again, pushing him away, closer to the noose. Reluctantly, Connor walks up the steps and onto the stage, where he's forced to act out his death while a rifle is held at his back.

This is when Charles begins his speech. Just hearing his voice makes me want to gag.

"Brothers. Sisters. Fellow Patriots. Several days ago we learned of a scheme so vile, so dastardly- that even repeating it now, disturbs my being." He shouts so that everyone can hear him, even those who don't want to, as he paces back and forth upon his stage. And all I wanted to do was show him what it felt like to actually have your very being disturbed. Make him an honest man. "The man before you plotted to murder our much beloved General." Oh, I bet it hurt him to say that.

At this point a man has the noose secured around Connor's neck. While he's doing that I'm taking out the bow Connor gave me so long ago, pulling an arrow from my quiver, and aiming it. I was going to make sure I didn't miss. If anything else, over the past twelve months I've learned how to shoot true. And this wasn't even a moving target.

People began to boo has Lee began to smile. I'd boo at that smile too, if I wasn't hiding in the shadows, out of sight and out of mind.

"Indeed. What darkness or madness moved him, none can say." Uh, I think Charles is calling himself crazy. Since he is the one ACTUALLY plotting to kill George after all, everything he says at this point is just him talking about himself. How interesting. "And he himself offers no defense." No, sorry, that's me. I'm his defense. "Shows no remorse. And though we have begged and pleaded with him to share what he knows, he maintains a deadly silence."

What? Torture and forced insanity was begging and pleading now? Did he tell others that he said please and thank you to me when he starved me, and burned me? What a farce! Lee was most certainly the deranged one here, not us. How could Haytham not see what this man has become? Of course I knew he was putting on a show for these people, but even still, none of this was warranted.

Now Lee takes the burlap sack he's been holding and puts it over Connor's head. This makes me nervous, but I refuse to lose my edge. I needed to stay calm, or else they would win. I just had to remember that this was all an act, a play for the people to watch so that they might feel protected and defended. When, really, it was all just a lie; as everything truly is.

Nothing is true.

"If the man will not explain himself- if he will not confess and atone what other option do we have, but this? He sought to send us into the arms of the enemy. And thus, we are compelled by justice to send him from this world."

As things come down to the wire, the last seconds before it was my time to act, I put my arrow into my bow and pulled back. Everything seemed to slow down as my adrenaline heightened. I closed my left eye and used my right to look down the arrow head and to the rope several yards away. I was beginning to tremble as things sped up.

"Take a deep breath, then let go. Don't tense up."

"May God have mercy on your soul."

I took a deep breath; let my shoulders go completely lax, as everything slowed again. It felt like hours before they finally released the panel, and with it I let go and watched my arrow sail through the air. Connor was only able to choke out a whistle, the signal, just as my arrow's head pierced the rope and let him fall.

Everything is permitted.

In the next seconds that passed, I was racing, practically flying, leaping from one roof to another, so that I could jump down and be beside Connor. I was panting as I stood there, Achilles handing Connor his Tomahawk.

Slowly, he looked over at me, drenched to the bone with red rimmed eyes, I probably looked a complete mess. But in his sights all he saw was me standing there, Assassin's robes on, with a Templar kill finally under my belt.

I think I saw pride in his eyes before I flung myself at him, hugging him as hard as I could, my face smothered by his chest. Almost exactly like the day we meant, the first time he saved my life. The difference was that this time he hugged back, just as tightly, with his cheek resting on my head.

"Tsi'a." I mumbled; my words muffled as I hung on to him for dear life.

"Khe'kén:'a." He whispered, his words reaching my ears even through the thundering of the storm and the shouting from the streets. "Thank you."

-X-

End Note: God, it took me two weeks to finish this! That's more than quadruple the time it would have taken me if I was still back in school! But my life has only gotten more complicated since graduating. So….

I think the beginning of this is a bit iffy, and I tried my hardest to not make Kyle seem like a Master Assassin while she was doing her thing. Because she's not and she can just barely wield a sword yet. I mean, it's not that hard to stab someone with a dagger then run away. And she's pretty fast after running all those laps out at the Homestead, so really speed was all she had going for her.

And I would have liked to have made this chapter a bit more detailed, but really I'm just excited for the next chapter. It's the one I've wanted to write since I started this whole thing. HAYTHAM, that is all. I also REALLY wanna hear from you guys about this chapter. PLEASE?

Pretty please review? Even if it's only one word I would really appreciate it.