"All right. We get Dana tonight. Desmond'll go plain clothes to her apartment and lure her out to bring her to the sub. Michael, Seth, and Matt, you'll come with me and we'll camp out in Dana's apartment for Alex's return. Kenneth and Trevor? You two make sure Desmond has everything he needs. Once you're done checking the supplies, Jarrod and the driver will load them. You're also in charge of waiting for Desmond, Jarrod, just to make sure he doesn't have trouble with her. Lord knows she's given us enough."

There was a murmur of approval as General Cross fished out headsets and radios. After they were all taught how to clip them on, the General looked at Desmond.

"And, Desmond, I expect you to kill whoever gets in the way."

Desmond nodded, flinching at Ezio's and Altair's screeches.

"Is that a sign of weakness?"

"No, sir," Desmond said, perhaps a tad bit louder than it should've been, but he was trying to hear himself above the din of his ancestors, "it's a sign that the voices in my head are protesting."

"Will that be a problem?"

"No, sir," he hissed, sticking his finger in his ear.

Altair and Ezio were pitching a tantrum about killing innocents. They would've done nothing but be there at the wrong place at the wrong time, and they didn't need to die. It broke the first tenet of the creed—their creed, Desmond reminded himself, narrowing his eyes as he shook his head and commanded them to silent.

He was no longer a part of that order. His Order was the Blackwatch.

As nighttime rolled around, Desmond pulled on his familiar hoodie and jeans. He had the battle suit on underneath, and most of the gear on under his hoodie. His weapons and ammunition were back on the sub, all save the M4 Carbine, which was specially packed into a backpack. It was a snug fit with everything on underneath, but he wasn't going to risk not wearing the armor. He slid through the night, his hood up, until he reached Dana's complex. He walked up to the door, tugged his hood down more, and knocked.

"Coming!" A few seconds later, the door opened. "What's up?"

He looked up and jumped, stepping back a few paces. "R-Rebecca?"

She blinked, and he reached out as she laughed and grabbed his hand before he could touch her face. "You must be Desmond. Come on in!"

He followed her in slowly and looked around the darkened apartment. She had walked off into a tiny kitchen as was rifling through the fridge.

"So, you really made Blackwatch, huh?"

He offered a small smile as she returned with a carton of vanilla ice cream and a spoon, itching her leg with her socked foot. He sat uneasily on the couch, Ezio hissing at him that he shouldn't go through with this and that this shit was permanent, and he would be branded a traitor. Of course, he had also been branded a traitor when he ran all those years ago. With a roll of his head to crack his neck and a shrug of his shoulders, he relaxed a little bit more. He could do this. He was Blackwatch. He was Wisemen.

"Do you want to go for a walk outside?" he murmured. "It's still pretty out. And we could go to the docks to talk. They're usually secluded—and if they aren't, I can make them secluded."

"Are you sure that's wise? I mean: we're supposed to keep on the DL."

He smiled softly at her. "It doesn't matter. All they'll see is two kids out to have fun on a beautiful night, and if they think they see something else?" He adjusted his backpack. "I'll blow them to smithereens."

Dana laughed. "Sure. Lemme get some flip-flops on. I told Alex not to come near me since I'm meeting with you, and there's a high probability we'll meet one of your buddies."

His lips formed a thin line. "Yeah. There is, but the more I stay inside, the easier it gets to hear Ezio and Altair, and I really need to stay busy to keep them from coming back."

"I bet!" she said, the spoon dangling from her lips as she pushed her sock-covered feet into flip-flops. Her jeans and tight t-shirt looked great on her. "All right, let's go."

He stood, eager to be out of the apartment building. They walked in silence out of the building, and he could feel his team members slip into the building like ghosts, ready to spring into action the moment she was down. She was spooning the ice cream out of the carton, and most of it had been eaten previously, he surmised at the almost empty container. He looked around at all the life and lights, feeling something akin to what someone once described to him as peace.

"Want some?"

He turned to see a spoon full of ice cream offered toward him. Without thinking, he leaned over and wrapped his lips around it, pulling it off. He couldn't even remember the last time he had had ice cream. Dana was smirking. He quirked an eyebrow.

"And now that we've kissed…"

"Wha?" he said around the frozen dessert.

She laughed. "You know, 'swap spit,' kissing?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, you'd be the first kiss I could remember."

She made a face. "Really?"

"Yeah. All that shit the assassins put me through? I wasn't even myself for most of it. You ask me where I was two years ago, and I'll say Masyaf or Jerusalem—even Italy."

"Really?"

He nodded, looking back around at the life trickling out as they approached the pier where the submarine would meet them. He sighed. "Bootcamp was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"That's sad, man. Don't you have a lover or something?"

He shook his head, looking around the corner to find a group of druggies. He walked to the edge of the water, hidden from public behind the building. They stared at him as he gestured. "Pack your shit. We're here, now."

When they refused, he pulled his baby out of the backpack. "Leave, idiots."

"Just kill them, Desmond," Jarrod's voice cracked over the radio in his ear. "Right, General?"

"Go for it, kid," came Cross's reply.

He didn't even bat an eye as he open-fired on them. When he was satisfied the five of them were dead, he turned to look at Dana, who was wide-eyed. He aimed at her. Ezio and Altair were screaming and pounding at the front of his skull. He had just murdered his first bunch of innocents, and he couldn't find it in himself to feel bad at all—only annoyed that his ancestors were raising such a ruckus. Sure, perhaps a little bit of remorse, but the reminder they were, in fact, going to die of a drug overdose anyway quickly squashed it. "Hands up. You're being taken in."

The spoon clattered to the ground, and her eyes narrowed. Slowly, her hands rose.

"If you even think about making one call for help, I'll knock you out."

He saw the submarine come to pick them up, and Jarrod left to talk to the submarine opeartor, his mask on as he cuffed Dana and forced her into the ship. He picked up the ice cream and spoon, brushed it off, and hopped in. They were led through the maze of halls and tiny rooms until they reached their designated area. The military was humming with life around them. Dana looked pissed.

"So you're a traitor now?"

"Something along those lines," he said as he scooped out some ice cream and ate it. "Not that I can really help it."

"Not that you can help it? Bull fucking shit."

He smirked as Jarrod moved up to the submarine operator, and he could feel them moving down. He pulled off his hoodie and jeans, now back in his uniform as he strapped his weapons onto him.

"It's what they deserve. See this?" He wiggled his left hand, emphasizing the missing ring finger. "After I 'saved the world' and all that mumbo-jumbo, they sent me home with Shaun."

"What does that—"

"After Shaun made it clear he didn't want to be around me, I volunteered to leave. But you wanna know what was wrong with that?"

She hissed. "What?"

"I wasn't sane. I wasn't living in Parris Island. I was living in Syria. I was living in the streets of Renaissance Italy. I was beating my head against brick walls at bootcamp and slicing my own finger off while trying to assassinate anyone who didn't believe I was the Grand Master Assassin. The order didn't give a shit about me, so I'm doing what I want. The Wisemen have given me a family where there has never been one, and for once? I feel like I'm cared about. It's a nice feeling, you know? I feel like I belong. I don't feel like I'm 'just a tool.'"

Dana was silent, her eyes betraying her as somewhere between appalled, sympathetic, and angry.

"And now, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to stay in the Wisemen, because they treat me like I'm actually worth something."

He plopped down, eating another bite of the ice cream.

"And I don't care if it means murdering civilians. I don't care if it means sacrificing myself. At least my life will have been worth something then. This is the best life I've ever had. I would never repeat my past. I have a big bed; I have people who genuinely like me; I have purpose, and I have something to care for. The assassins' order took all that from me."

He offered her out a bite, and she took it warily.

"So you may as well get comfortable, because we're in here for the long haul until your brother agrees to join the military."

She scoffed around the sweet treat, settling back. Desmond, for once, felt powerful. He felt in charge. He leaned his head against the wall of the submarine and closed his eyes. He knew he could overpower everyone in here if he needed to. He had the speed and finesse of an assassin, and the strength and brutality of a military man. He liked the feeling settling into his gut as he lapsed into silence, polishing off the ice cream before murmuring again.

"That was the first time I've had a treat like that in… some three years."

"Yeah, well, you certainly don't deserve one for murdering those innocents."

He felt a smile pull at the corner of his lips. He wasn't proud that he had just mowed through the druggies like they were dummies, but he had certainly enjoyed the power trip. The feeling of adrenaline as he saw the bodies fall, the feeling of knowing he could've spared their lives but chose not to, the feeling of power in finally getting to control something's—someone's—life was something he could get used to. It was like a drug for him, soothing his anger at having to live on the run for so many years and being tossed around like a ragdoll for the memories of some long-dead guy. Sure, perhaps he didn't need to kill those men, but they were in his way, and he still did want to use his gun (how could he not? It was a brand new toy for him). The difference between killing on a mission and killing those innocents was—there wasn't one. Killing was killing, and half of the time, he wasn't entirely sure why he was killing his mark, simply being told that he had to die to better humanity (and the assassins, but that was never said). He had become cold to murder ever since he had felt Altair's blade pierce his final target's throat.

Ezio told him that he was a disgrace to the line for abandoning the creed.

He thought that he was following the Creed. He had done exactly as General Cross had ordered him. It would've done them no good if the druggies had seen the submarine.

Ezio hissed, berating him for betraying them.

Altair was the one who shut him up. He told Desmond that it was good he wasn't exactly proud of murdering innocents, but he was just as guilty as him, and there was a sick sort of unbridled happiness in knowing he had power. Desmond nodded, inclined to believe him, and while Altair wasn't condoning the murder of the civilians, he certainly wasn't telling him not to do it again.

He fell into blissful slumber after that, recalling the first kill he had ever made inside the Animus, the first kill he had ever made outside the Animus. He wondered if it had ever occurred to his ancestors the guards were innocents as well, paid to try to protect their families. Altair had certainly considered that, but he still enjoyed killing them anyway. Perhaps it wasn't the blood of an assassin that ran through his veins, but the blood of a sociopath. There was thin line between the two.

He looked when he felt something kick his boot, and Jarrod was standing above him, mask off.

"Wanna play cards?"

They had dealt out the hands for a game of "Go Fish," when a voice came crackling over the radio.

"Well la-de-fucking-da, it's Mercer."

Desmond smirked, and Jarrod chuckled.

"I have no Goddamn clue where Dana is. I do, however, know she's in a submarine in the ocean, guarded by two of my men."

Desmond held a fist out, and Jarrod bumped it back.

"And I can get her back to you if you're willing to make a deal. Otherwise, I'm afraid she's gonna sleep on the ocean floor forever."

He laughed. General Cross sounded so smug.

"Desmond, give the earpiece to Dana. Alex wants to speak to her."

He did as he was told, despite Dana's struggle and refusal to speak at first.

"Alex? Is that you?"

He adjusted, wondering if they should tie her down instead of just cuffing her.

"Don't let them force you to do anything you don't want to, okay?"

A soft murmur from the other side.

"All I know is I'm in the ocean. I can't tell you more. I have no idea. I'm cuffed. I didn't struggle too much since, you know, they have guns… and I don't."

They chatted for a little while longer before he took the piece back and reattached it.

"And you," came growling into his ear. God, Desmond liked that voice. "If you hurt her, I will rip you limb from limb."

He felt an excited smile stretch his lips.

"I'll look forward to it, Alex," he purred in the same way Ezio did to get any woman—or man, in some occasions—into bed.

There was a fierce snarl on the other end. He could fuck with this man's mind all night. He wondered if General Cross would let him purr dirty, obscene things into the mike to irritate him. They turned back to their game of "Go Fish," bunkering down for several long days in the submarine.

It was about the third day things got extremely boring. Sure, they had stopped once for food, but there was nothing to do as they waited to get orders to come back. There had been a couple of brief communications with them as they hammered out details with Alex, but, in a sense, all there was was Jarrod and Dana. The military was always working, always moving, always generally glaring at them because they were Blackwatch.

Dana wasn't much fun, either. She would sit there, quietly, and stare at the two—stare at him, and Lord Almighty if he didn't want to wipe that sympathetic look off her face. Nevertheless, they entertained themselves with cards and pestering each other, or dozing briefly, or trying to scare the others on board. The contract was almost drawn, at the end of six days, when he woke to feel Dana kicking his boot. He looked at her, and she stared back.

"Yeah?"

"I don't get it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't get what?"

"How you seem so human."

He blinked. "What?"

"Watching you and other man there… you seem almost human. Not like everyone describes Blackwatch. Or the Wisemen."

Desmond rolled his eyes. "We are humans. The difference is, we do inhuman work."

Dana stared at him a while more before he shut his eyes and tilted his head back. Jarrod had his head in his lap.

"You should've been there during the Infection," Jarrod murmured, staring at the ceiling of the submarine. "It was awesome. And we got to see Cross fight Mercer. That was fucking cool. Nothing's going to ever compare to that."

"The Infection was hell," Dana hissed.

"It gave you a better brother," Jarrod scoffed. "Well, kinda. I don't think I'd want to be related to a germ like him."

Desmond smiled. "It's almost adorable how protective he is of her."

Jarrod laughed. "Almost, but not quite."

"Don't either of you have a family outside of your psychotic team?" Dana asked, shifting.

Desmond thought she looked like she was trying to figure him out.

"I don't," Jarrod said. "I was an orphan before I joined Wisemen."

"I did. But after I ran away, the Templars destroyed my town, and then I thought I found one in the team I hooked up with, but, eh… As Shaun said, 'I don't want you, and I never have. It was just because we need your ancestors' memories we kept you around.'"

"Who's Shaun?" Dana asked.

Desmond shook his head. "He's no one important. If anything, I owe him for sending me away; otherwise, I never would've started bootcamp."

"Is it Shaun Hastings?"

He scowled. "Yeah, and tell him if he ever shows his fat head around me again, I'm gonna use all my power as a Wisemen team member to make his life a living Hell."

Dana frowned.

"I'm sure if you ask, he'll tell you. He doesn't like me at all. As a matter of fact, he'll probably tell you it if you even mention my name."

"I'm sure you're being overdramatic."

"I'm not. It's clear you've never been around him."

He effectively ended the conversation, that old rage bubbling in his stomach as he closed his eyes, willing the memories of that day away. He was quiet for the remainder of the day, purposefully ignoring Dana whenever she made a request. Jarrod would laugh at them whenever she would try to get his attention, but he wasn't going to have it. If she even mentioned Shaun once more, he would blow her head off, and all of their plans would be for not. Around noon, they got the orders to come back, and Desmond heaved a sigh of relief. He was finally getting out of the submarine and away from Dana and all his problems. He would have to stay away from her. If she wanted info on his life that bad, she could find it in the assassins' database. There was no point for him to look back.

He ignored her until they were back, pulling into the piers several streets down from their base. They had decided it would be safer if they didn't tell them which pier they would pull up on in order to keep Alex from simply picking the submarine and ripping them all to pieces. He put his mask on, shouldering his gun. Alex was back at base, waiting anxiously for his sister to return, the contract having been sent off to the White House, so even if he did destroy the base, he would still have to work for him.

As he stepped out of the submarine and onto the pier, he shot the man waiting for him on reflex when he went to give him a handshake. There had been something on his wrist, and Desmond trusted nothing on a wrist. He blinked when Dana gasped.

"What was that for?"

That face looked familiar. He bent over it, looking at the face. He was familiar—but not from the military. The blood was pooling around the single bullet hole in the chest, and he grabbed the chin, examining him.

"Who's that?"

Desmond pulled down the sleeve, only to find a small box strapped to the underside of the wrist. He examined the hand to find the button, and out slipped a small needle. He could see the liquid dripping from it—a modified poison blade: an assassin.

"So, this is Blackwatch, hm? A bunch of heartless killers."

He looked to find three more familiar faces standing there—and one extremely familiar scowl. Shaun—Lucy—Rebecca—they were here, pointing pistols at him. There was another, too. He frowned behind his mask, standing, still holding the wrist. He jerked the body up to show them.

"This—this is planned assassination."

Lucy jerked the gun. "Set it down. Those military dogs won't help you."

He could feel Jarrod get ready to shoot one of them, and he waved him off. He could outwit these guys. He turned the barrel toward himself and held out his Carbine. When she went to take it, he grabbed her occupied hand and spun her around, twisting Lucy's arm behind her and snapping it in two to get the pistol and fire at the stranger before using her to shield himself. He could feel her struggling in his arm, the Carbine laying uselessly behind him. He laughed harshly.

"Set them down, kids."

Rebecca and Shaun were stunned. Apparently, they hadn't heard he was one of the Blackwatch yet. Lucy was putting up a fierce fight, and he remembered that at one point in time he could make her writhe like this for other reasons, and now all he could think about was lodging a bullet in her fucking skull. Jarrod had his gun up and pointed at them, and Dana was still quiet, watching, her eyes full of loathing.

"You can't out smart me, damnit," he said, still laughing. "I know all of you too well."

Shaun dropped his gun, and Rebecca followed suit.

Rebecca frowned. "How do you know us?"

"This is General Cross. Over."

"Loud an' clear, General," Desmond said.

"Is everything all right?"

"Someone tried to assassinate us. We've got three of the five of them. Dana is still alive and well, over," Jarrod responded into the headpiece.

"Who the fuck are they?"

"Assassins. The real deal. That shady organization the President works for sent them," Desmond replied, smashing Lucy in the head with the butt of the pistol to stun her.

"The guys you used to work for?"

"Yup."

"Kill them."

"Should we take hostages, sir?"

"I think we should, General. I know these guys pretty well."

"Pretty well—who are you?" Shaun spat, bristling.

"Eh… I guess. I don't know what the hell we'd do with them, though."

"Well, you see, one of them has a special place in my heart."

He could almost hear the amusement in his voice, "Then bring them in, boys. We're having some fun tonight."

Desmond grinned behind his mask as he dropped the limp body and picked up the Carbine again. He nudged her and chuckled when she stirred. He motioned to Rebecca.

"Come get her."

He held his gun up as she approached the body warily and picked it up.

"Who the bloody Hell are you?" Shaun snarled.

Desmond laughed as he nudged the prisoners into a line and into a march.

"You'll find out in due time, limey."

Shaun snarled. He had missed that. He took pride in having them march like dogs, and when they entered the base, he saw Alex Mercer waiting by General Cross. When Alex saw Dana, he rushed over, giving her a hug as he snapped the cuffs. The entire family was good looking.

"Dana," he murmured.

For an instant, Desmond had to admit he was jealous of the siblings.

"I'm fine, Alex." It sounded as if she wasn't even trying to hide the hatred in her voice.

The other Wisemen took the three assassins inside. He hoped he'd be able to talk to Shaun later, and his eyes widened marginally at the vivid images of torture running through his mind. He knew they were coming from Altair—torture had been one of the things they taught at Masyaf to extract information. But what surprised him most, was the fact that he found himself completely immune to it. Before, when he had lived through the memory of Altair torturing someone and been pulled out, he had gotten a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had thrown up in the toilet, and felt like the lowest of humans. He had felt regret and remorse: he had had nightmares for months.

Now, he realized, he felt the itch in his fingers to hold the branding rods. He wanted to see Shaun's pupils dilate in extreme pain, and he could feel that familiar anger coil in his belly and heat the blood in his veins. He was looking forward to it. The Blackwatch mindset was seeping in. He could hear Altair chuckle, asking him if was really the Blackwatch mindset or just him. He watched as Alex disappeared to take his sister home, and General Cross was grinning.

"Well now, nice job, you guys. I think we're in for a party tonight. Alex'll be stationed here, so you'll see him plenty. He'll accompany us on our missions."

Desmond nodded, looking back at the door the assassins had been moved into.

"So you really know them?"

"Yes, sir," Desmond said. "And part of me still wishes I was with them."

The General wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Come on: let's get lunch to celebrate our victory, and you can tell the rest of us what happened with them. Sound good?"

Desmond looked at him and smiled almost sadly as he was led in. "Yeah. It does."

Jarrod laughed as he fell in step with them. "I hope you don't go back to them. I gotta admit: I like having you on the team."

Desmond grinned at that feeling, fighting the painful feeling in his chest conflicting with the lazy heat of anger from being treated like shit. He was too hopeful. He spent the afternoon with the Wisemen team, regaling the entire tale to them. He finished with joining boot camp, and leaned back in seat, chewing on the end of a fork.

"Sounds like a wild ride," Kenneth said. "Kinda makes me glad I was here instead. Damn, now all those stories about you in boot camp make sense."

Desmond nodded. "It… wasn't fun, to say the least. Several times, I almost tried to commit suicide before I had the assassins stick me in boot camp."

"Well," Seth picked up, "I'm glad you're here. And I'm glad you know those guys. Just wait until you see my awesome skills tonight."

"Awesome skills?"

General Cross laughed. "This man is our master of torture. He's gotten more information than an encyclopedia."

Seth rose and performed an extravagant bow. "I studied ancient torture in college."

"No way," Desmond said with a laugh. "How far back?"

"As far as I could go," he said as he grinned.

Desmond nodded, and Altair scoffed in the back of his mind. Time passed quickly, and when nighttime rolled around, Desmond found himself with a knot in his gut and an itch in his fingers to get the game going. He paced down the base hallways, thinking about how long they seemed and unable to wait for when they would end at that door with his old team behind it. His footsteps echoed in the empty halls, all of the military men asleep in their bunks, getting ready to be sent home. His whole body gave a violent jerk, and he could hardly swallow as he turned the corner to see that foreboding door at the end of the hall. Michael nodded at him as he grew closer, and he nodded back. Their masks looked so demonic, and a small flare of pride made itself known. He hadn't heard from either Altair or Ezio yet. He smiled behind his mask.

The click of the door as he opened it for him seemed almost deafening as he saw the three people tied up behind it. Lucy's arm was purple and swollen from where he had broken it earlier, and he paused in the doorway. That knot in his gut gave a violent twist, and he exhaled loudly. This was it. This was his time. There would be no regret on his part.

Of course, Ezio told him otherwise.

And for that, Altair told the Italian to fuck off.

He could almost feel the Arab standing flush against him, running his hands through the Blackwatch uniform to smooth over his skin.

"You can do this, Desmond."

He could almost hear the mirth in Altair's voice. Until the Apple had sucked him in, Altair had been a sadist. He had gotten glee in fighting and killing, and there had been that sick twist of joy in his gut whenever he had to pry information out of someone and beat them up. Of course, Desmond remembered there had always been that hope that he wouldn't spill, and he would have to use more gruesome techniques. He could feel Altair breathe on his ear, and he could feel the curl of that sadistic, lazy smile.

"You chose to betray the order that betray you. Serve your new one with all you have."

He shivered, and Altair chuckled, quietly and beautifully in his ear.

"Don't worry. I'll help you. We were trained for this. And if you think this is beautiful, you should've seen Malik's interrogation methods. HE was even better than I."

He could feel Altair give him a small push.

"And don't forget to remove your mask. Make it personal."

Desmond looked over his shoulder, only to find nothing in his wake. Maybe he was crazier than when he first joined boot camp. The other Wisemen were all ready there, and General Cross was sitting on a table, looking at him.

"You okay?"

Desmond looked at him and nodded, at first, slowly, then with a more vigorously. "Yeah. I'm fine, sir. Just… flashbacks."

"Well," General Cross said, smirking, "you will go fucking crazier here than you were before."

"And that's why we work," Sean said, laughing behind his mask.

"But that's cool," Matt said. "'Cause we're one, big, happy family, ain't we?"

Desmond laughed and looked at the three tied up assassins. Lucy looked as if she was in bad shape, and he almost felt bad: it hadn't been her fault she had been wary around him after stabbing him. Rebecca looked downright terrified and defiant all at once, and Shaun looked, well, pissed off. That was nothing new.

"Who are you?" Shaun hissed, looking between them. "Which bloody one of you knew us?"

"I don't think you're in any position to be making orders, Hastings," Desmond growled, "but I suppose I can oblige you."

He pulled off his mask and held it in his hands, shaking his head. With a smirk, he looked at them. He laughed when he saw Shaun's face pale considerably, and Rebecca looked upset. He had actually liked her. Lucy gritted her teeth, looking pained. Perhaps he should give her a mercy shot. He could let Rebecca go. Let her warn the assassin order of his betrayal.

"D-Desmond?" Rebecca murmured.

"None other!" he chirped, smiling warmly. "It's funny how the tables turn, right? For once, I'm in control, and you're going to be put through Hell. It's a pity, really, that I can't get you guys into the Animus, too, but this'll do. Minimally."

Not doing too bad... I think. I DO intend to put up the torture, but it will be in a separate chapter, one that can be skipped, and I will warn for it. So, no complaining, all right? Unless that's part of your review or something. Like, "I dunno, I don't think it's necessary, since... [X, Y, and Z]" or "I think that would take away from the story because of [X], and I think that [Y] may be a better alternative."