'How do you take your eggs?'

The leader of New Mexico's largest drug cartel was standing at a stove, wearing a slightly grimy apron over his jeans and band T-shirt, rolling an egg around between his palms contemplatively as bacon began to sizzle in the frying pan. There were faint traces of a Mexican accent in the question, but it was clear that Vicente had been living in America for a long time. He raised his eyebrow at the two men seated at the table, and Desmond glanced over at Daniel uncertainly.

Vicentre rolled his eyes. 'It's not a trick question. I am not going to kill you if you get the answer wrong.'

'Scrambled,' Daniel replied coolly.

'Fried,' Desmond muttered.

Vicente whistled through his teeth, stilled the motion of the egg in his hands, and then cracked it expertly using his fingernails, dropping the yolk and whites into the frying pan next to the bacon. He then cracked another egg into a mixing bowl, added milk, and began whisking the mixture.

'We didn't come here for eggs, Vicente,' Daniel said.

'Speak for yourself,' Desmond interjected hurriedly. 'I can't remember the last time I ate hot food.' The smell of cooking bacon was making his stomach ache with need.

'Hmm.' Vicente poured the mixture into a second pan, this one with a base of melted butter, and picked up a spatula. 'What did you come here for, if not eggs? Here about the whole population going Stepford?'

'You noticed?' Daniel enquired with a slight grin.

'Notice?' Vicente made a tutting noise as he began to scramble Daniel's eggs. 'My whole business died overnight. My men abandoned me. My clients are gone. I have a huge stash of guns and drugs and no one seems to want them. It's like no one is interested in committing crime any more. It's a tragedy.'

'We want them,' Daniel said seriously, before Desmond had a chance to comment. Instead, he did a slow double-take.

'We do?' he asked in surprise.

Daniel sighed at the interruption. 'Not the drugs, obviously. But if we're going up against Abstergo then I'd like to be packing a little heat.'

'Against Abstergo?' Vicente repeated with a frown, turning the bacon. 'I thought you were working for them? Last time we met, you were all hot and bothered about getting me to sign up.'

'Yeah, well, I had a change of career,' Daniel said, throwing a dark look at Desmond for some reason.

Vicente nodded thoughtfully as he tipped the food onto two plated and walked over to the table with them, folding his arms as he took a seat next to Daniel. Desmond gave a soft, high-pitched moan as he took the first bite of bacon, closing his eyes in ecstasy as the flavour and heat flooded his mouth. When he looked up, however, he noticed that Daniel hadn't moved.

'You're not eating?' Daniel asked of their host pointedly.

Vicente grinned. Desmond paused in the middle of chewing, a sudden feeling of uncertainty in his gut.

'Why don't you try some of my food?' Daniel continued, offering his fork.

There was a long pause. Then Vicente laughed, pulled Daniel's plate in front of him, and ate exactly half of his bacon and eggs before returning it. Wiping his greasy mouth on his sleeve, the cartel leader said, 'That is what you get for being suspicious.'

As it turned out, the large empty space in the middle of all the compound's buildings was not just for decoration. The wiry Mexican man felt around underneath the dirt for several seconds before grinning in triumph and lifting up the corner of a hidden, filthy piece of sacking, pulling it backwards so that the dirt shifted away with it to reveal a wooden trapdoor set right in the middle of the desert. It was quite ingenious actually; you would never know it was there unless someone showed it to you, which meant that it would most likely go unnoticed in a police raid.

'You dug this out?' Daniel asked incredulously as Vicente pulled unlocked several padlocks and pulled the two doors open with a grunt.

He wiped his brow and shook his head. 'It was already here. I'd been running my operation her for about three years before I stumbled over it. It was just some grubby little cave then, scratches on the walls but nothing of value. So I sealed it up with plaster and rebuilt the doors, and then I moved the entire stash down here.'

He beckoned to them as he made his way down a set of rickety wooden steps, flicking a lightswitch on the wall as he descended to activate several bare fluorescent bulbs. The ceiling of the storeroom was about ten feet underground, and it was about ten feet across, twenty feet lengthways. Daniel ducked his head into the doorway and moved a couple of feet inside before suddenly freezing up.

He could actually hear his own heart begin to speed up. Somewhere beside him, he heard Desmond mutter, "holy shit." The words seemed far away and distant, though.

An entire wall of the storeroom was lined with weapons: shotguns, pistols, assault rifles, machine guns, rocket launchers and more. There were dozens of boxes full of grenades and ammo, along with lethal-looking blades that seemed to be modelled partially on assassin designs. Vicente was sitting on enough firepower to gear up a small army.

The opposite wall was lined with drugs. Hundreds of bricks of marble-white cocaine and light brown heroin and muddy-green marijuana. Carefully packaged flakes of crystal meth. Boxes of pill bottles, containing everything from Ecstasy to stolen prescription drugs like the Prozac that Desmond was carrying.

Daniel ... was torn.

He'd been a junkie for a long time. He had been on drugs for longer than he had now been clean and the sweetness of them, the numbness, the way they dulled the visions and scorched away his worries, and the feeling of flying and being above everything, or buried underneath a blanket of beautiful confusion ... he'd never forgotten. He'd kept it at bay with constant work and constant discipline but now, looking at enough drugs to keep him occupied for an entire lifetime, and with the butt of a pistol resting against his spine that could easily remove Vicente and Desmond from the equation he ... wavered.

Tearing his eyes away from the promise that lay in front of them, Daniel glanced over at Desmond. The kid was staring at the weaponry and ammunition on the other side of the room, a curiously tight, brooding expression. The small burst of curiosity that Daniel felt broke the spell that the drugs had temporarily cast over him, and he mentally shook himself in anger. That part of his life was behind him now. He'd tried being a loser and it hadn't worked out. Time to be a winner.

'Alright,' he said, stalking over to the gun racks and running his finger lovingly over the muzzle of a sniper rifle. 'Here's how it is, Vicente. We have money with us - a fair bit, but probably not as much as we need for a full loadout. The bigger the discount you give us, the greater likelihood there is that you'll get your regular customers back. So, that in mind...' He lifted the sniper rifle off the rack and held it confidently in one hand. 'How much do you want for this?'

Vicente looked from Daniel to the gun and then grinned, exposing a set of startlingly white teeth. 'I'm sure we can work something out.'

Five minutes later, Daniel had a pile of priority items stacked by the entrance to the storeroom: an RPG, the sniper rifle, four brand new pistols with silencers, two machine guns, two shotguns, grenades and flashbangs and some C4. He was perusing Vicente's limited collection of security system hacking gear when he heard Desmond coming down the wooden steps once more. He had left a couple of minutes earlier, explaining that he needed something from the van.

'Welcome back, bonita,' Vicente called to him. 'Your friend has done all the choosing so far. Come on, treat yourself. What catches your eye?'

Desmond didn't reply at first, and so Daniel glanced up at him. He was approaching them slowly, staring at the ground, and holding the old shotgun that he'd brought with him in one hand. Without meeting Vicente's eye he held it out and said, 'I need shells. For this.'

Vicente raised an eyebrow in surprise and reached out to take the weapon from Desmond's grasp. There was a short moment of struggle in which Desmond seemed reluctant to let go, but then he allowed his fingers to go limp and his arm to fall back to his side, and Vicente weighed the shotgun in his hands.

'Hmm.' He squinted along the barrel, and then wiped a finger just inside of it, grimacing at the grime that came off. 'A decent model, but kind of old, and not well cared for. Are you sure it even still works?'

'It worked fine the last time it was used,' Desmond replied shortly.

Vicente looked sceptical, but he shrugged and rested the butt of the shotgun on the ground as he waved one hand at the collection in front of them. 'Got a lot of brand new models here. I can recommend one if you-'

'I don't need a new gun,' Desmond interrupted quietly. 'I have a gun already.' With that, he tugged the shotgun back and lifted the strap over his shoulder. 'Just give me the shells.'

Daniel was scowling, able to guess at why Desmond was so attached to the stupid gun and refusing to even consider loading up with more efficient weapons. No matter, he could talk him out of the sentimentality later on. Hell, he'd throw the damn shotgun in a river if it helped Desmond to focus instead of pining after his dead boyfriend.

'I guess that's it, then,' he said to Vicente, as the man handed over several boxes of shotgun shells to Desmond. Reaching into his back pocket, Daniel pulled out a brown envelope with the fat wad of cash in it and handed it over. He'd considered just shooting Vicente in the head and taking whatever he felt like, but he still had hope that the cartel leader might consent to joining them on their mission to infiltrate Abstegro. Besides, if Vicente died, Daniel didn't trust himself not to dip into the cartel's enormous drug stash - or spend the rest of his life drowning himself in it.

'Come on,' Daniel continued, clapping a hand on Vicente's shoulder as he finished counting the green bills. 'Help me move this gear up to the van.'

The two men each grabbed an armful of weapons, slinging strips of rounds over their shoulders and shoving grenades into the pockets of their clothes. They headed up the stairs, but Desmond didn't follow just yet. He stood, holding the shotgun between steady fingers, contemplating it and thinking about what lay ahead of them now. A dark mood had settled over him, and the antidepressants were not enough to keep it at bay. He could not help replaying in his mind that moment in the Kaczmareks' kitchen, the moment when...

A whisper came from the back of the storeroom.

Desmond looked up sharply. He whirled around, his broodings temporarily forgotten as he set all his senses on edge, trying to find the source of the sound. He wondered, in a sudden panic, whether Vicente trafficked in human slaves as well as drugs and guns. If there was someone trapped down here then Desmond could hardly ignore it, even if it meant souring their welcome at the compound.

Taking a few slow breaths, he closed his eyes and activated his eagle vision. As he lifted his lids once more, he noticed them immediately: patches of light shining dimly, muffled by the plaster sealing that had been pasted over the walls of the underground chamber, with one patch shining a little brighter than the rest.

Possessed by a sudden fierce curiosity, Desmond began walking towards the glowing patch of wall, noticing as he did so that the whispering began to get louder. When he reached the wall, he realised that the plaster was partially crumbled away and that there appeared to be something hidden behind it. He reached up, and used his fingernails to pick away larger chunks of wall, thinking vaguely about what Vicente had told him.

It was already here.

There was a definite shape starting to form where his fingers scratched.

I'd been running my operation her for about three years before I stumbled over it. It was just some grubby little cave then...

What an odd coincidence that Vicente, one of the precious few hybrids left of the planet, should have chosen this nondescript slice of desert upon which to build his entire operation. An entire chunk of plaster came away underneath Desmond's probing fingers, revealing a pair of triangles, interlaced.

Scratches on the walls...

Clawing obsessively now, blood streaking the white plaster, Desmond tore the symbol free from its bindings and stood back, breathing heavily, as he stared wild-eyed at the shape on the wall. He had seen this before, he had seen it...

'Seventy-two,' Desmond whispered, without thinking.

And like an earthquake, like a volcano, like the screaming of a siren, like the end of the world - that awful familiar voice blasted through his head, fearsome and bitter and vengeful.

I SEE YOU, CYPHER.

Desmond moaned in pain and clapped his hands over his ears, but it didn't help.

LISTEN.

Daniel dumped the first load of weapons into the van and glanced over at Vicente, who was stretching out the muscles in his back casually.

'Should be able to get the rest in one more trip,' Daniel said.

'Definitely, if we can convince your friend to help out this time,' Vicente replied pointedly. Something over Daniel's shoulder caught his eye and he made a huff of surprise. 'Though it looks like he has different ideas.

Daniel turned to look in the same direction, and felt a small burst of irritation as he saw Desmond walking away from the storeroom with a slow, rolling gait, shotgun slung casually over his shoulder, looking for all the world like he was walking in his sleep.

'Hey!' Daniel called, taking a couple of steps forward. 'Get back here, we're not done!' But Desmond didn't so much as turn his head, and Daniel was not inclined to chase after him and force him to help out. He kicked at the dust and turned back to Vicente. 'Kids today, huh?'

'He gonna be OK?' Vicente asked, furrowing his brow as he watched Desmond disappear, swallowed by the glare of the setting sun.

'He'll be fine,' Daniel replied witheringly. 'He'll sulk for a few hours and then he'll take a happy pill and cheer up. If he doesn't, I'll slap some sense into him. Actually, I might do that anyway, just to get back at him for shirking.'

Vicente nodded, seemingly satisfied by Daniel's assurances. 'Alright,' he said. 'Let's finish up. Then you can tell me more about this so-called plan of yours.'

The sun had long since vanished below the horizon by the time Daniel had finished relating, over a bottle of fine whisky, the story of Eye Abstergo, and the Assassins, and the hybrids, and his own flight from both of the secret organisations that had taken him in. Vicente listened to the tale silently, taking particularly large swigs of his amber drink whenever Daniel reached an especially dramatic turning point. When it was finished, Daniel asked Vicente bluntly whether or not he believed what he had been told.

'I wouldn't have,' he confessed, scratching the back of his head. 'Before you showed up here that second time, and did whatever you did to my men. Before crime and unsafe sex disappeared overnight, with no one seeming to notice apart from me. Now ... I guess I can't think of any explanation that's less weird than what you just told me.'

Daniel granted him a tight smile. 'You think the world is better this way?' he asked.

Vicente's eyes grew distant and doubtful. 'It's not better for me,' he replied cautiously.

'But...?'

'But I got a couple of kids. They don't even know I'm their father. I wanted them to be able to live normal lives, away from all this, so I just make sure they got enough money to live on and I drop in to see their mom every now and then. As a family friend, you know?' He stared morosely down into his glass. 'Maybe it'd be better for them, growing up...'

'Slaves,' Daniel interrupted bluntly. 'That's what they are, Vicente. They're slaves, and so is everyone else. You think everyone is suddenly behaving themselves because Abstergo managed to fundamentally improve human nature? No way. They're acting this way because they're on a tight leash, all of them. You want your kids growing up like that?'

Vicente sighed resignedly. 'You want me to come with you, right?'

'I...'

'No. Sorry, amigo, but this isn't my fight. I'll give you weapons, I'll give you whatever you need, but I turned you down twice already and my reasons haven't changed.' He sat back heavily in his chair and took a swig directly from the bottle. 'Besides, your friend seems like a real firebrand. I figure you can handle this, between the two of you.'

As Daniel laughed sceptically, he realised that he hadn't seen Desmond since the kid had walked away from the storeroom. 'Speaking of which,' he said, standing up a little unsteadily. 'I should probably track him down. You got somewhere we can sleep?'

'The cabin next to this one has spare beds.'

'Good. It'll make a nice change from crashing in the back of that van.' Daniel stood up and clapped Vicente on the shoulder. 'Thank you.'

He nodded, his expression troubled. 'I'm sorry I can't...'

'Forget it. I shouldn't have asked.'

In fact, Daniel had no intention whatsoever of heading for Abstergo without Vicente in tow, but he knew that consistently putting pressure on the man would do nothing to help his cause. He would leave the idea, and the guilt of denial, to fester for a few days whilst dropping hints of the terrible fate that might await Vicente's children (an excellent piece of leverage, that information), and allow the topic to come to light again naturally. If Daniel worked him over properly, Vicente would eventually be left begging to join them.

In the meantime, however, Daniel needed to track down the other member of his team. He checked the van first, but it was empty, and so he checked his pistol in its new holster before heading off in the direction that he'd last seen Desmond walking.

He found him a little way outside the settlement, standing on top of a small hill and staring off at the distant lights of Las Cruces. The clear moonlight bounced off the outline of him, harsh blue shadows making him look older and more haggard than he actually was.

'Hey,' Daniel said as he approached, hearing the slur in his own voice from the alcohol. 'Get inside. There are free beds to sleep in, and you need to rest. You look like shit.'

Desmond turned his head slowly, a delayed reaction to the voice that was insulting him. He looked at Daniel and his eyes were glazed and a little vague.

'Right,' Desmond said. He didn't move.

'Now, would be good,' Daniel prompted, exasperated.

'Sure,' Desmond said, still in that same fogged-up tone of voice. 'In a bit.' He turned his head to look back at Las Cruces.

For a moment, Daniel was very tempted to just turn away and leave the idiot standing out here in the cold for the rest of the night, if it suited him. But there was something in this scenario that did not quite sit right with him, and so he hesitated, then spoke harshly.

'Look, I'm not in the mood to play guessing games, so can you just tell me what the fuck is wrong with you so we can fix it and I can go to bed?'

There was another delay of about three seconds before Desmond answered, robotically, 'Nothing's wrong. I'll come inside soon. You go ahead.'

Daniel sighed in irritation and began heading back, pissed that he'd come all the way out here just to get shrugged off by Desmond. He glanced back, just once, as he left the hill behind him, and as he looked back he saw two things, each small, almost insignificant by themselves.

He saw Desmond sway on the spot and almost stumble before catching himself.

Then, on the ground, he saw a tiny white shape that would have been invisible were it not for the moonlight glinting off it.

The two things came together in Daniel's mind and an idea occurred to him: an idea that grew in size, snowballed, and stopped him in his tracks, and swallowed his heart and stomach and gripped them in sudden panic and fury. He stopped walking away, and then he sprinted forward, teeth clenched in anger at himself for being so blind.

Desmond heard him coming and turned his head, blinkly stupidly in confusion, and had just enough time to murmur, "what...?" before Daniel grabbed him viciously by the hair, and forced him to his knees, and threw an arm around him to keep him from escaping. As Desmond struggled and thrashed with sudden fresh energy, Daniel pointed two of his fingers and thrust them into the writhing man's open mouth, shoving them deep inside, pressing on the back of Desmond's throat, just behind his tongue.

For a few seconds nothing happened. Then Daniel felt Desmond convulse in his arms, and groan, and retch, and then vomit was sluicing warmly over the back of Daniel's hand and splattering onto the ground, pearling in the dust of the desert, and Daniel could see small white specks mixed in with the remains of the meal that Desmond had eaten earlier.

With fresh fury, he jabbed his fingers further back into Desmond's mouth, not caring if he hurt the kid, and Desmond shivered and puked until there was nothing left to come up and his entire body was wracked with dry retches and shakes. Conscious of the risk of accidentally killing him through suffocation, and satisfied that all of the pills that Desmond had taken had come up (there were a lot of them - he must have taken everything that was left in the bottle, all at once), Daniel released him and pushed him sideways.

As we watched Desmond gasp roughly for breath on the ground, Daniel reached down and wiped his filthy hand over his companion's T-shirt to clean it. Noticing that Desmond's eyes were closed and he was starting to fall still, Daniel cursed under his breath, reached down, lifted him into a sitting position by the collar of his shirt, drew a hand back and delivered a brutal, back-handed slap to Desmond right cheek.

The blow had the desired effect. The fresh burst of adrenaline and endorphins forced Desmond's eyes open and he looked around in shock and disbelief. 'What...?' he ground out through his ravaged throat. 'What...?'

Daniel clenched his fist in the material of the young Assassin's shirt, torn between the desire to shake him violently or to keep things simple and just hit him again, when he looked - really looked - at the wreck in front of him and realised how different, how very different, Desmond now was from the man who had walked determinedly across Abstergo's parking lot merely days ago. He was just as broken as he had been then, but the brokenness that had once left him full of sharp edges and fiery potential was now manifesting itself in useless wretchedness.

It occurred to Daniel, the thought piercing through the veil of frustration and anger that had temporarily clouded his judgement, that he was at least partially at fault for what had become of the kid. He had assumed that since brutality and horror had improved Desmond so much from what he had once been, that further harsh treatment would toughen his skin and sharpen his rage just as much as it had done for Innokenti Orelov. But somewhere along the line, without Daniel realising it, Desmond had been pushed past his breaking point. He must have been close to it - at the finest point - after Kaczmarek had died.

And now ... how to reverse the damage? How to fix him? Daniel's talents had never really lain in reparation, and now he find himself a little out of depth.

Desmond's eyelids drooped and his head lolled to one side.

Well, Daniel thought. Keeping the kid from dying would probably be a good start.