Antoine Momoro's voiced boomed through the mighty cathedral while she hid tucked away in her little sanctuary: a confession booth, a relic of the previous owners. The procession was at the center of the building, she just behind it, the crowd at the front.

"No, it is THEY who do not understand good and evil! Like small children, they derive right and wrong from the words of an authority figure. The..."

She had arrived hours before the festival, when the building had less attention. Even before the festival, the cathedral was still highly secure, and it had required an arduous amount ingenuity, sneaking, muscle, and patience to get where she was. She knew her joints would ache in the morning.

"Or perhaps, they believe, God has the right to dictate such things. But that supposes a pre-existing moral principle, rights based on creation!"

It was an amazing building. Its dazzle was even more appreciable from the inside. It was perhaps six stories tall, and its stained glass windows projected beautiful colored light into the interior. But none of that she could see now, and this grand trophy of Christianity, in Europe's greatest city, had been stolen by atheists.

"We all have the eye of reason, it is an inescapable conclusion. Could we conclude we did not that? That would..."

Antoine Momoro, her mark, was loud mouth radical activist who had been working with the Illuminati for at least a year to the Templar's knowledge. He had written a pamphlet giving this new religion a name: The Cult of Reason. He believed he would be meeting with a man named Duchesneau in the back of the church after his speech. By now Arno had already taken care of Duchesneau somewhere outside. She was waiting for him to finish so he would head into the back, somewhere he would not distract the crowd.

"All we need is in ourselves! So again, we see we do not need God for morality! Laws arise not from divinity, but from reason! Today we free ourselves from dogma, shed the lie there can be no morality without God! The tyranny, too, is within our selves. The tyranny of faith. Unité, Indivisibilité de la République; Liberté, égalité, fraternité ou la mort!"

A thunderous applause erupted, the sound of a Paris caught in the thrall of fanatics. Her time was soon at hand, meaning his was soon to end. If everything went as planned, the crowd would be none the wiser. If it did not, she had already planned an escape route, albeit it would make things much worse going forward. This city already hated her for Marat.

"Now, the Goddess of Reason, the personification of liberty, shall light the flame of truth!"

Music began to play.

The music was good, it would mask her footsteps, but his too, so she tried to watch through the sliver of fabric for his approach. She did not actually know what he looked like, but he would be the only person walking to the back at this time.

She saw him pass through the slit of fabric, dark coat and medium build. She let him get a few more steps and then she exited.

Out in the mighty cathedral, both her footfalls were perfectly audibly due to the loud pipe music. In theory she could be seen by some of the crowd at this time, but she had learned from the Assassins that the human mind was easily and powerfully distracted, and whatever silliness was going on upfront would grab all their attention. She quickened her pace to get right behind him. She knew at what point she would become perfectly invisible to anyone in the crowd.

When she crossed that line she did not waste a second.

She grabbed his mouth and stabbed him in the neck. A hot scream of death poured onto her hand, but it was nearly inaudible against both her hand and the pipe organs. She set him down to rest upon the checkered floor.

"Death is an eternal slumber. Sleep now, Momoro."

"Martyred like Marat. Duchesneua is dead too, isn't he? All this violence, and for what? We've won already! We have the people's hearts! The vale has been lifted, they just needed a little push." The checkered floor was turning crimson with his blood. "Now they see the profane lies of religion and tradition, and they embrace themselves!"

"Christianity has guided Europe for over a thousand years. Robespierre and Weishaupt are in over their heads."

"Ha! Robespierre wanted no part of this! We acted alone, and yet look at the reception!"

"You went rogue on your master?"

"He was...silent on the matter," he said. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, the pool of blood beneath him now copious. "He did not forbid us, but offered no support. Our order seems less...cohesive than it used to be."

"And yet your so confident you've already won?"

"I'm confident we won't turn our blades on our brothers. Our mission is too...important." His voice was growing weak.

"You've already turned your blades on us and so many of your fellow countrymen. Don't be so sure."

She wondered how he would retort.

But his face was frozen. He had already passed.

She closed his eyes. Then she rose again. The loud music was still playing.