Another chapter reuploaded. This story was actually done a few weeks before Syndicate was released and it's kinda what I had hoped would happen (but didn't)

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Chapter One: Plans

There were times Jacob regretted living so far out from the main city; yes, he could climb the walls and take shortcuts to get to his destinations much quicker, but you never knew who could be watching you. It was safer to use the transportation system the people of London relied on to cover large distances.

Trains were expensive so Jacob opted to go with the horse carriage system instead. It cost anything between five and ten pounds depending on how much ground you needed to cover. Fortunately, his parents had left him and sister with a reasonable amount of wealth to survive in London though he preferred to earn his own income by winning bar brawls and hosting alley way fights.

Evie disproved of his methods; he was well aware of that fact, but it did nothing to deter him. He never felt more alive and free when in the middle of fight. There were no rules to follow. He could do what he pleased. Evie was so much like their father that it was no surprise she had obtained the rank of a Master Assassin by the age of eighteen. She was the golden child of the siblings whilst he was the black sheep.

Throughout his childhood years, his father had been constantly on his back, forcing him to improve so that one day he too could rise to the top of Brotherhood ranks. Ethan Frye believed that if Jacob became an Assassin it would control his rebellious spirit and turn him into a better person. So far, he had proven wrong. The only thing being an Assassin had taught him was how to handle himself in a fight and win, even if the odds were stacked against him.

Perhaps that's why his father died – perhaps he died of shame because his son had 'failed' him. "Are you just going to stand there all day long or are you going to pay for a ride?" Jacob's thoughts were broken by a hoarse male voice. He was standing before a horse carriage and a man with a moustache giving him a sour look.

Jacob cleared his throat. "Take me to Lambeth."

"That will be five pounds."

He dug a hand into one of the inside pockets of his black trench coat then handed the man the amount required. The carriage rider seemed surprised, but he didn't say anything. He motioned for Jacob to climb on. As soon as Jacob sat down next the driver, rain drops started to fall. Great, he thought bitterly. A ride in the rain.

"What brings you here to the heart of London?"

Small talk. The popular method of avoiding awkward silences. He was more than happy to play along; it would keep his thoughts from thinking about his father at least. "Visiting friends," he replied.

"Your friends live quite the distance from you."

He nodded. "That's a good thing. Means I don't have to see them too often." Truth was he didn't spend a lot of time with anyone else aside from Henry and Evie. Anyone could be a Templar, and if they knew he was an Assassin, their lives would become a little more complicated than he would like.

The man snorted. "Not much of a people-person then? Can't say I blame you; hard to trust anyone these days. A man's body was found dead last week – did you hear about that?"

Ah yes, that was a Templar called George. Jacob remembered getting into a fist-fight with the man after an interrogation session went poorly. It was George who gave them the location of the messenger, the male he killed last night in the abandoned bar. Jacob shook his head. "Nope. Didn't hear anything about it at all."

"Well, you should be careful out there. The authorities have put out a word there's a criminal on the streets. You don't want to be caught by yourself alone at night, especially in a dark alleyway."

The man paused and focused his attention on his driving, making a sharp right turn into a crowded alley. Scruffy clothes, dirt stains and rubbish on the streets told him this was one of the many poor districts within London. It was also a sign there were Templars within the area ruling with an iron fist.

"A criminal, you say? What do they say this person has done?" Jacob inquired.

"They believe the criminal is male, and that he's efficient with hand-to-hand combat."

He raised a brow. "How do they know?"

"Studying the marks on the body uncovered. No signs of any weapons being used."

Templar George was a new recruit. It only took a couple of seconds to disarm the man of his weapon and snap his neck. "Anything else?" Jacob said, trying to keep his voice steady, but failed to conceal the edge in his tone. His sister was going to be absolutely thrilled to hear of this. Most likely it would lead to another argument in which she accuses him of a 'bull-headed reckless fool'.

The man turned to face him, a dark thick brow raised. "You seem anxious."

"Concerned, that's all. A criminal on the streets? Tell me why I shouldn't be worried."

The man relaxed. "I understand; I am concerned myself, but you needn't worry; more Templars have been called to the area to the patrol the streets. The criminal will be found and will be given the justice he deserves – a quick merciless death."

They turned another corner, this time to the left. This street was less busy than the previous, but still had its fair share of poor. Some were sleeping on the ground with nothing but a dirty rag to keep them warm, whilst others were searching for food on among the rubbish. Templars had stripped these people off basic human needs and wants. Templars had obtained more power whilst hundreds of people were left to suffer. He felt that familiar sensation of hot anger rising from within as he gripped the side of his seat with his right hand, so firmly his fingers and wrist started to hurt.

The man faced him again sizing him up, eyes then resting on the sleeve of his trench coat. His eyes moved along his arm stopping at his left hand. "What's that? A fancy glove?" the man said, gesturing to the gauntlet on his left hand. "Can't say I've seen it sold in the shops around here."

Jacob wasn't surprised. He often caught the locals looking at it with awe. Sometimes they asked him about, and he simply told them it was just a glove to hide an injury. That was enough to make people stop asking questions – some then believed he was disease and maintained a healthy distance. "I fell ill several years ago, and it affected my hand," Jacob lied. "It did some nasty damage to the skin on my left hand, so I had this crafted to hide the scars. Can't walk around with a scarred hand now, can I? What would the locals think?" he added tersely, placing his left arm beneath his right one. Situations like these were always awkward.

The gauntlet was more than just a fancy glove. It was the mark of an Assassin. The gauntlet looked like a simple device, but it was made to kill. On the underside of the gauntlet was the favoured hidden blade and rope launcher. The hidden blade was used assassinations and the rope launcher used to cover large distances with ease. In addition, he carried a few hallucinogenic darts to cripple opponents and turn them against each other, but he preferred not to use them. Why watch two people fight when you could be the one fighting?

Aside from the gauntlet, he carried a few extra weapons as back up. His fists were his primary and favoured method of close combat, but he did carry a revolver and a cane sword to use against those pesky Templars who carried melee weapons of their own. He also had a few throwing knives at his disposal though he made little use of them. Throwing knives from the shadows was Evie's preferred style of combat, and he didn't want to copy her.

The driver fell silent for the first time during the ride. Sudden silence was worrying. Did the man suspect he was the man responsible for the murder of the Templar? Before he could ask questions of his own, they turned around into another street. This street was mostly devoid of life except for one girl with brown pigtails clad in a green dress. She couldn't be any older than a teenager. What was she doing out here all alone?

He averted his gaze and turned back to the driver again. The man was still eyeing the glove. Discomforted, Jacob fidgeted in his seat and cleared his throat. "It's nothing special."

The man frowned. "Hold on a second… I'm sure I've sketches of these gloves before somewhere in a book…" he murmured, as he turned another corner. "What were they called again? They were like some sort of cult."

"I think the word you're looking for is Assassin, lad," Jacob answered. "I wouldn't say they're part of a cult, but they're an uptight bunch of pricks. They fight for freedom yet they're bound to some stupid Creed," he added. It was no secret he had no love for the teachings of the Brotherhood. He didn't quite understand why the Assassins were so intent on following it. His sister, his father, Henry Green… they all took the teachings to heart.

"Assassins…" the man repeated. "You are a learned man?"

He gave a low chuckle. "I suppose you could say that… But I never went to college. I was home-schooled. History was important to my family." Indeed it was. For an hour each day, he was required to read up on the history of infamous Assassins of the past. Altair. Ezio. Connor. Edward. Arno. He supposed his father thought he'd be inspired by their actions and become a better Assassin. Evie enjoyed it. He often caught her head buried in the books of the past for hours. All it did was make his head hurt.

"Do you think these Assassins live here in London?"

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"

"There hasn't been a murder like that in years," the man said. "That's all my passengers have been talking about all week long – the murder of the poor innocent man. Why would anyone do such a thing? What possesses one man to kill another?"

"Power. Money. The thrill," Jacob replied. "Times are tough. Desperate times call for risky actions." Not surprising either considering what the standard of living was here. He had seen a few small gangs in the alleys near their home in Lambeth. In fact, he had come to know a few of them personally.

"You're referring to the thugs, aren't you? The police promised to clean the streets, but they haven't done a bloody thing. It's not safe at night, you know – a couple of weeks ago they say a carriage was robbed in Whitechapel by a couple of street thugs." He leaned over to the side and spat over the edge onto the cobblestones below then faced Jacob again.

Jacob furrowed his brows. Speaking ill of the city's most charming residents didn't sit well with him. The so-called 'thugs' were part of his family – he understood their plight, and appreciated their sense of loyalty and respect towards each other. They were labelled as 'criminals' by the police and the wealthy, but Jacob saw them as friends. "I'm new to London. You seem well-informed. What can you tell me about the gangs here?"

"Depends on what type of gang you want information on. We have two types – the good and the bad."

"Tell me more about the 'good' kind."

Colour drained from the man's face. "The Templars, surely you've heard of them? They helped us. They purged many of the streets of thugs. They protect us when the police can't."

So the man was a Templar supporter. No surprises there. He suspected the entire transportation industry was under Templar control which would make a lot of sense. They were the eyes and ears and knew the roads better than anyone else. Drivers probably heard more gossip than the townsfolk did at the taverns. It made the drivers quite the threat. "Do you know who leads the Templars? I'd like to meet him. You see I'm looking for some work."

"Her," the driver corrected. "Her name is Bloody Nora."

He couldn't help it. He chuckled. "Bloody Nora?"

"It's no laughing matter. She's the toughest gang member in London. Men and women tremble at the mention of her name." And apparently, so did this driver. His skin had turned a sickly pale colour. Whoever this Bloody Nora lady was she must be someone intimidating to have that affect on most people. That only made him keen to meet with her. "How can I find her?"

"Bloody Nora will find you when she wants to be found," the man replied. "You don't just organize a meeting with her unless you're important. And I'm sorry, but you're not. Your life is meaningless to her. If you want to meet with her then you have to make yourself known to the public. Only then will she care."

It seemed like the man knew Bloody Nora on a personal level thus confirming his suspicions the transportation industry, especially the carriages, was allied with the Templars. "Then I better make myself known to her then," Jacob replied with a grin then raised a hand. "Stop here," he added, pointing to the sidewalk.

The driver pulled over to the side as requested. "I can stop at your place."

"I'd rather you didn't. No offense, but I'd prefer to walk," Jacob replied, rising to his feet. If the man was close to Bloody Nora, then he didn't want the driver coming anywhere close to his place of residence. Templars already had enough spies patrolling the streets. He didn't want to add his house to that list. He paid the man his gold and jumped over the edge. "I'm sure I'll see you again… What was your name?"

"Mercutio."

"Off with you then. I'm sure you have other places to be."

Mercutio sighed, and mumbled something. He was sure it was an insult of some kind. "Lock the doors at night. Best to be cautious in these dangerous times."

"Will do." He waited until Mercutio prompted his horses to move before he started walking. Evie was probably on the way home. He knew what was to come – a long winded lecture about how he had screwed up again. Sighing to himself, he recycled old excuses in his mind as he headed back towards his place of residence.

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Jacob walked through the front entrance of his house, and made his way up the staircase to the upper level. The place was small, and space was tight, but it served as decent accommodation. It had also been quite cheap to purchase in comparison to the other districts. The downside was that they were quite far out from the city and journeying back and forth cost a fair bit of money. He had suggested stealing a carriage for their own use, but his sister disproved. She was in the room now sitting down at a table, arms crossed over her chest.

Still sour then over this morning's events, he thought. "What's the matter, sister?" he said, taking the chair opposite to her.

"We don't kill the innocent," Evie said.

"He was connected with the Templars," Jacob explained. "That makes him automatically guilty by association," he added, attempting to inject humour into the conversation. Her features hardened. "Lighten up, sister. It's not as bad as you believe it to be. We lost our lead, but we gained another. I caught a ride home today and the driver told me a Templar by the name of Bloody Nora is in charge of the Templars."

"And you believe what a driver has to say?"

He shrugged. "He's part of it, Evie. Transportation industry. Templars are most likely using them as spies which makes a lot of sense. They know more about the city than town gossips do." He paused for a few moments, waiting for her to speak, but she remained silent. He continued. "Maybe we should visit the Seven Bells. We might hear something there. Pretty sure Mercutio knows more than what he was letting on."

"That would be good. Henry's invited us there so we can discuss a plausible strategy to defeat the Templars."

"Henry wanting to talk strategy? Why, I didn't think he was too keen on the idea of taking London back from the Templars," Jacob replied curtly.

"He used to be part of the Brotherhood, Jacob. Show him some respect."

He sighed. "I'm just saying he's not interested in removing them by force. That's the only option we have because diplomacy isn't going to change anything." He sat down across from her and placed a fist on the table. "This is gang politics, Evie. They're only going to respond with force. Remove the leaders and the followers will lose morale and disband."

She brought a hand to her chin, resting her elbow on the table, emerald eyes locked on his face. Curious eyes, full of questions no doubt. "A two person gang isn't much of a threat."

"We need more firepower. We recruit our own members."

She raised a brow, disbelief on her face. "You want to start your own gang by picking people off the streets? They'll need to know how to fight. They need to be convinced we can give them what they want – a decent life."

A smile spread across his face. "Then we agree – we fight fire with fire and form our own gang. I've even got a name for them – the Rooks." He started to rise from his chair believing the conversation to be over, but his sister motioned for him to remain seated. "What?"

Her stern look remained. "But even with an army at our disposal, a direct conflict with the Templar gangs will only end in disaster. We can't bring open warfare to the streets of London nor can we risk capturing the attention of the police – we'll take them out one by one the way our father taught us."

Scout the area first, find the target to assassinate in the safety of the shadows then move onto the next target. It was the safe way. The smart method so to speak. He could see the benefits of stealth, but that was boring and too restrictive for him. He was the type of person who would rather take the fun exciting way out – clear out the entire area then walk out the front door.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "You've never witnessed a street alley fight between rival gangs. Sneaking around isn't an option in this situation. We'll be taken for cowards, and cowards aren't respected. Without respect, we'll have no power, and we'll need all the power we can get if we have any hope of winning this war."

"You can't always rely on physical strength to obtain victory. We need to develop strategies and plan accordingly in advance. Co-ordinate our attacks. Understand our enemies and their movements. Basic stuff," Evie countered.

"I'll leave the sneaking and spying up to you then, but I'll lead our people," he said, leaning back in his chair. "No offense, but I'm the only one who can. You said it yourself – I know the street life. You don't. Leave the recruitment and actual fighting part to me, and we have ourselves a deal."

She was silent again. He could see her mind at work. She was probably thinking of a few different strategies as they spoke. Typical Evie. Always had to be prepared before walking into something. She was too cautious for her own good. She hadn't yet realized sometimes you had to be spontaneous. Evie tilted her head to the side, giving him one of her calculating looks, then said, "Just don't break your oaths and we'll have no trouble."

The oath she referred to was the one he had sworn when he joined the Brotherhood. Of course she would have to bring that up. His sister was always the one who followed all the rules and took her role seriously. The level-headed one. The responsible sibling. The mature sister. The favourite sibling. The perfect Assassin. He forced the thoughts aside before he started thinking of his father again. "I swear, I'll be good."

"Then we'll pay this bar a visit." She rose up from her chair swiftly, turned her back and headed towards the door.