The weary and dull factory held the stench of soot and sweat. Frantic strides resonated in the large concrete building as dust danced diligently in the listless air. An Assassin in a dim grey muscle shirt, black hoodie, blue jeans, and brown leather boots lurked around the steel rafters with the scent of raw metal hanging around her like a cheap perfume. Her dirty blonde hair was in a messy half ponytail with loose strands everywhere while strikingly azure eyes scanned her surroundings from the rim of her worn-in hood. Samaria's target was a very influential businessman with everything that wealth and power could buy. Her faction of Assassins believed in the condemnation of the death of men like him; men that had the power and ability to be corrupt and wicked to those that worked for them.

The posh and fairly round man almost waddled beneath Samaria. She would've already jumped down and killed him but the council insisted he died in his office for no spoken reason. That's where Sam was, creeping along the steel rafters of the building like a child doing training exercises. Usually, she was in and out, no questions asked. It might've been sloppy but at least Sam got the job done, and that's all the council usually cared about. But here she was, stalking this absurdly fat man as he crossed the boundary between a musky factory and a lavish office.

Sam dropped down from the sturdy metal rafters, just how a skilled Assassin as herself ought to, and landed on her targets back with laughable ease, the slight ruffle of clothing making hardly a sound to disrupt the cold air.

"What the hell?" The target yelped into the floor. Before he had the slightest chance to protest, however, her hidden blade sprung out and cut open his neck in one fluid line. Dark and thick blood started oozing and making a lazy, almost black, puddle around him. The blood splattered up slightly to coat Samaria's fingers a deep shade of wine red.

"Passer de ce monde à l'autre*," Sam mumbled solemnly as she removed herself from the fresh corpse. Her French wasn't perfect but she picked up enough when studying Arno Dorian and his life in her spare time off of training.

While the Realists idolised Ezio to no end, Sam had gone out of her way to find a fresher role model to learn and gain motivation from. That was when she stumbled upon Arno Dorian in a weathered and dingy blue book on the edges of the common library. How it got there was a mystery to her but she read it nonetheless. Dorian was a French assassin during the French Revolution. He strayed the brotherhood away from politics and fanaticism while using them as a means to achieve his own personal redemption for being accused of killing his adoptive father. While it ultimately didn't work in the end, Sam found it inspiring how he had his own private life and didn't eat, sleep, and live the brotherhood. While Sam was quite literally born into it, she strived to only be a small part of it because, while she yearned for an independent life, she liked the security that the Brotherhood had to offer.

A place to stay was all hers if she stayed involved with the Brotherhood. It was an inexpensive rent to pay for basic luxuries; all she was charged with was certain loyalty. And, Sam got a reputable street status out of it. Nobody would dare challenge her for power because of the Assassins. All in all, it was an easy life for Samaria. The only problem was that they restricted her vital independence. That unwavering loyalty which was required of her meant all Sam could do is only what they told her to do and nothing more; no questions asked. When someone had lived eighteen years of a certain lifestyle, a little breathing room is desperately in order. Nonetheless, she stayed with her faction knowing full well that her parents would be ultimately devastated if she left. Samaria knew she wouldn't be able to deal with that kind of heartbreak.

The leisurely walk back to the underground base, that she comfortably and lovingly called home, was a careful maze of winding back alleys and slimy side streets. Even if Sam had a powerful influence over the city, she still had to be notoriously careful that nobody followed her, lest they wished to kill Sam for prestige. Close footsteps meant that it seemed as if somebody was trying to do exactly that. With one turn down a dead end and a great sigh of annoyance, she finally confronted the person that dared to follow her so audibly.

Sam swiftly turned around to notice a boy, no taller than her, with olive-skinned hands shoved in his grey jeans and a white hoodie that covered his eyes on her heels. "The jig is up," sneered Sam, "What do you want?"

"Who, me?" The punk had a very soft and sarcastic tone. His plump lips were barely a shade darker than his skin.

"Who else?" Sam gestured to the open air with her blood touched hands.

"Who says I'm anybody. Maybe I'm just a homeless man following you around for change." The boy cockily shifted his weight to his other hip. That's when Sam saw the stark red emblem of a True on the inner sleeve of his arm.

"You're a True. What do you want?" Her eyes filled with instinctive rage and fury. A well-practised stance taking place among her experienced body.

"Listen," The young boy explained rather sharply, "I was sent here by my mentor to try and find your base. I can leave now and I'll never speak of this." He was accepting defeat.

"So what? The second I challenge you, you turn away? Just like how a True should be, " Sam scoffed.

"I don't think you understand," His voice bit the air, "I was taught to fight just like you but I choose not to fight. I don't enjoy controversy, even if they are my enemy," He was backing away slowly, giving Samaria some room.

"What's your name?" Sam was still in a taut stance just in case this boy intended to fight. A strong breeze chilled Sam and pushed off both of their opposite coloured hoods rather violently.

"Adriel. Adriel Chan," His eyes were of Asian descent and were the deepest shade of a beautiful cognac. They held a mix of childlike innocence and wonder. Not at all like how Assassin would seem. Dark freckles spread all across his face imitating constellations in the night sky. His raven hair was messy and thick on the top of his head, just slightly covering his equally as thick eyebrows. "And yours?"

"Samaria Sparks."

Now that her hood was removed, Adriel could see that her thin dirty blonde hair was barely held back in a half ponytail just above her shoulders with flyaways blowing everywhere in the slight breeze. Her Azure eyes were trained like a hawk, taking in every detail with just a small movement of the muscles behind them. A scar slightly presented itself on her right cheekbone showing off a fight of her own struggle on the already ghostly pale skin dotted with light acne.

The cooling air was stagnant with the scent of alcohol and wet concrete while the two were sizing each other up in a tense stillness. When Sam finished assessing Adriel, she snapped her dark grey hood back up with a flick of her wrist, careful not to trigger the hidden blade, and sprinted past the curious boy back to her home base; never once giving the briefest thought on how this seemingly small encounter would change her life as she knew it.

*Pass from this world to the next