Haytham's hanging off a balcony when the vision hits him. For a minute, he's somewhere else, somewhere diametrically different from the theater he'd just been in. There's a stranger barely five feet away just ogling at him. Haytham looks back at him, cautious, not quite sure what to make of the situation or this stranger. There are other people around, but Haytham knows instinctively that they're not the important ones here. They don't even look at him; Haytham's not sure they even know he's there. But the man in front of him knows.

They stare at each other until one of the others yells "Desmond!" and the stranger turns away. As soon as they break eye contact, the world around Haytham snaps back to reality, and suddenly he's hanging onto the balcony again, still in the same moment as when he left. The words of the play behind him pick up exactly where they left off, the gentle laughter from the audience continues, uninterrupted.

He manages not to fall through sheer instinct. He has no idea what just happened, or if it's going to happen again. He shakes his head; it doesn't matter. What he knows for sure is that if he stays where he is for too much longer, someone's going to look up and see him there. He's no fool. It's the theater. Of course there's someone down there, bored and looking for something to distract him. Haytham grits his teeth and starts moving again. Everything else can wait.

The assassin is exactly where Haytham expects him to be. And the kill goes exactly as expected as well. The surprise comes after Haytham's taken the key off the body, as he turns around to leave. There's a sudden pressure inside his skull, like someone's just hit him in the back of the head. He lifts a hand, feeling for an injury that isn't there.

The pain throbs a few times, and then fades into nothingness. Physically, there's nothing wrong. But he knows there's something wrong.

Not wrong. Different.

But there's still a dead man just behind him, and he knows he needs to leave before anyone discovers it. He can figure out what's going on later. He's moving more slowly than he should. There's something holding him back, and he's thinking too slowly, reacting in ways that aren't natural. Everything's too bright, and too loud. He's just stumbling along now, part of the crowd as they flee. Someone's already raised the alarm, and he knows he needs to get out before any assassins hear about what happened, and coming looking for him.

He needs to leave, but he can barely walk. The noise of the crowd is too loud, and everything around him is too bright-

The world shatters into a thousand pieces, and Haytham feels his mind flip inside out, like a piece of rubber snapping back. There's nothing left of the theater, just empty space, stretching on forever. He's never felt this out of control. Because he isn't in control. There's just enough time to realize that, before he sits up, way too quickly, panting and digging his nails into the palms of his hands.

Not his hands. Someone else's. He's not in his body, and he's not the one moving. He's just along for the ride. And even though it's not his body, he can feel the pain. His head's going to explode, it's the most pain he's ever felt, and he's not exactly a stranger to the feeling.

"Desmond!" Someone yells, and Haytham feels his eyes open. He's in the same strange room as before, from when he was hanging onto the balcony.

"I can't-" the words won't come out on the first try. "I can't sync, we're too different."

"Don't be ridiculous," says another voice- Haytham can't see who it is, because the body he's in has its head buried in its hands, as if blinding himself is going to help anything.

"Idiot," Haytham thinks, but no one's listening.

"He's your ancestor," the voice continues. "That means you can sync with him. End of story. And whatever made you start bleeding into him- right here and right now- it's got to be because it's important!"

"I can't!" Haytham feels himself jump to his feet, turning to glare at the other speaker. "I don't know. I think I'm just too used to assassins. This one's a templar, and it's like... his whole world view, everything, it's completely different-"

"Hold on, templar?"

"Yes!"

"How do you know that?"

He doesn't answer. Just shakes his head, and winces from the pain. "Shit, this hurts," he says. "Shit."