For those of you who've been waiting for this chapter for **checks calendar** 9 months (sorry 'bout that!), here's a quick rundown of everything that's happened so far:

Shaun and Rebecca are at Abstergo when an earthquake comes through, heralding the arrival of one newly-resurrected Desmond Miles. After some sneaking and reacquiring stolen items, the three of them make a daring escape to an Assassin hideout in the foothills north of Montreal. Desmond has some time to himself to collect his thoughts and tries to piece together what happened prior to his death. Rebecca interrupts and the two of them join Shaun in figuring out what's going on and why (the earthquake in Montreal was not the only one). While they figure this out, the Assassin Mentor, Gavin, calls and accidentally reveals a suspicious situation in Paris whereby an Abstergo facility had blown up. Thinking it might be related to the earthquakes and against Gavin's advice, the three of them head to Paris to investigate. They find out there's a sole survivor (Emilie) and head to the hospital to talk to her. She indicates that she overheard two men (one German, one American) and a woman talking through a tablet and mention a Shroud (which has since gone missing). Before they leave the hospital, a "doctor" enters Emilie's room and kills her.

Shaun, Rebecca, and Desmond discover that the "doctor" was Heinrich Hart, a German Abstergo agent who's been feeding information to the Assassins on Gavin's instructions. They also discover that Otso Berg and Violet Da Costa, two high-ranking Templars, are also in Paris to investigate. After more talks with Gavin, the trio begin to surmise that Hart is the German man, Da Costa the woman, and Gavin, their Mentor, is the American man... and now a potential traitor. Desmond follows Hart to a warehouse where the latter meets with another man-not Gavin, but still American-and reveals their partnership, exonerating Gavin. Desmond is discovered, Hart kills his partner, and he tries to kill Desmond, too, but inadvertently causes the building to partially collapse, both barely escaping.

The next morning, Gavin calls. Still unsure of his allegiances, Shaun and Rebecca are both tightlipped and reveal as little as possible. After hanging up with him, Hart calls and insists they meet up immediately, claiming that he's being set up by Gavin. They're hesitant, but relent when he reveals that he knows they have a very-much-alive Desmond Miles with them and threatens to release this information. They meet in an office building on an abandoned floor. The space is almost completely empty save for a few cubicles, many of which have parts of a mysterious symbol painted across them. All of the power is seemingly turned off. They get uneasy when Hart doesn't show up right away and decide to leave. As they try to leave via the elevator, it's revealed to be a trap and they barely manage to escape out a window when the building explodes. They fall into the Seine and swim to the other side before escaping away from the scene.

Shaun reveals that just before the explosion, he remembered what the symbol painted on the cubicles and walls represented, and that Hart must be taking his orders from Juno.

"It...didn't quite go as planned."

Desmond inhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What the hell do you mean 'Hart's getting his orders from Juno?'"

"I mean exactly that," Shaun explained. "From what we've found out, she's been busy gathering followers this past year. Ever since you rel—erm—she was released from the Grand Temple."

"And you didn't mention this before because…?"

"Until now, she hasn't really been much of a problem," Rebecca answered quickly. "I mean, there was that one little incident with the analyst back at Abstergo, but she's been quiet otherwise."

"She's stuck in some sort of internet purgatory. Essentially harmless, though maybe less so nowadays what with her followers blowing up buildings left and right. Bex, do you still have those random notes from the analyst's files? The ones that sounded like something out of the loony bin?"

"They should be on my computer, why?"

"I'm pretty sure those mentioned the name of whatever group Hart's a part of. Instrumental… something?"

Rebecca shrugged.

"Anyway, they're an absolutely bonkers group that thinks the Isu will rise again or some nonsense."

"And Juno's in charge?"

"Looks like it. Makes sense as she's the last one, right?"

"But how is she going to…" Desmond trailed off, his stomach plummeting. "It's Juno. She's…" His heart pounded in his chest and his breathing became shallow. "She's the one they brought back," he said weakly. His head spun and he had to lean against a nearby wall for support.

"Back? As in, has a body now?" Rebecca looked worriedly between the others.

Shaun threw his head back and groaned. "It all makes sense: John's missing body, the Shroud, the earthquake…"

Desmond stared intently at the ground, forcing himself to breathe while his mind swirled with a thousand thoughts.

Minerva had warned him, of course, that something like this would eventually happen. "You must not free her!" she'd said. "Then the consequences of this mistake are yours to live—and die—with." He'd considered the decision for the briefest of moments, whether he would touch the device or not. But with the world on the precipice of disaster, there was only one right choice to make in that moment.

But now that Juno wasn't just free, but corporeal, those consequences were soon to rear their ugly heads. He'd already died with those consequences. And now… well, now he'd have to live with them.

Given a second chance at life, it was up to him to fix what he'd set into motion.

"Des?" Rebecca asked quietly, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"I'm going to kill her," he decided, muttering under his breath.

"You're what?"

"I'm going to kill Hart—" he looked up at them with a heated glare— "and then I'm going to kill Juno." He jerked away from Rebecca's hand and stormed back towards the hotel.

"You can't be serious," Shaun said. "He can't be serious?"

"How do you plan to do that?" Rebecca called after him. "She's basically a god."

"She's got a body now, right?" Desmond yelled over his shoulder.

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Then she can be killed!"

Shaun shook his head. "That's absolutely mental."

"We don't even know how to kill her!"

"Do you have a better plan?"

"Well no, but Des—" Rebecca protested.

"It's a suicide mission," Shaun cut in. "We have no idea what she's capable of or what we'd be walking into. This isn't some old codger in a lab coat surrounded by lackeys pulled in off the street. We need to do this carefully, not go rushing headlong into something we know fuck all about."

Desmond spun around abruptly, and the other two reeled back. "Fuck being careful!" he burst out. "Since when has that gotten us anywhere!? Nobody did shit about the sun blowing everything up for what? A thousand fucking years?" He violently gestured to the sky then jabbed a finger into his chest. "And at the last minute I had to be the one who died! I had to be the one to make the choice! So fuck being careful! Not like anything would change if I died again anyways. I'll just make sure to take her with me this time." He wheeled around and hurried off towards the hotel again.

"We don't even know where to find her," Shaun called out.

"No, but we know who probably does."

"Hart's already tried to blow us up once today," Rebecca reminded him, "and you want to give him another chance?"

"He's not getting another chance," Desmond growled, staring straight ahead as he marched on.

Shaun and Rebecca struggled to keep up with his pace and were panting and out of breath by the time they reached the hotel, collapsing onto the beds while he continued pacing impatiently back-and-forth across the room.

Rebecca grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, which was already showing live coverage of the wreckage.

"My god," Shaun whispered hoarsely, his eyes glued to the screen where firemen and police officers swarmed the area, working quickly to assess the situation and rescue any survivors. Beyond the cordon, crowds of people were huddling and crying.

"I can't watch this," Rebecca said, going to the kitchenette to make lunch.

"I suppose we should be thanking you," Shaun said to Desmond, the frustration from their earlier argument gone now. "Again."

He raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For getting us out of there. Can't say it enough how useful your Eagle Vision has been these past few days."

Desmond shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "It… it wasn't Eagle Vision." He felt his cheeks going red as he looked between their bewildered faces. "I don't have that back yet."

Their eyebrows shot up simultaneously.

"That's troubling," Rebecca said.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I figured it'd take time. I only first noticed when I tried to pick Hart out of a crowd last night and… just couldn't. It took me a while to get it in the first place though, right? So it might take a while to come back."

"Hopefully not too long," Shaun muttered.

Desmond threw him a reproachful look. "Trust me, I wish I'd had it. Maybe then all those people would still be alive…" He ignored their curious glances and stared blankly ahead at the TV, only half paying attention to what was happening on screen.

"I guess we should just feel lucky that you found the bomb when you did," Rebecca said, trying to placate him while absentmindedly stirring soup that simmered in a pot on the stove.

"Yeah, lucky…" he trailed off, his brows furrowing.

"Oh I know that look," Shaun said. "You've got that 'something's not right' look going on."

"Something's been bothering me… the second we pushed the button for the elevator, the water cooler kicked on. Why?"

"Because the bomb was in there. Maybe he linked the two somehow?"

"Right, but then why have the timer at all? Why not just set it to blow as soon as one of us pushed the button? Why give us time to escape?"

They both shrugged, but looked as disturbed as he felt. Something felt off about the whole situation, and the more they played this cat-and-mouse game with Hart, the more Desmond wondered who was really the cat, and who was really the mouse. Every step of the way, Hart had managed to out-play them in their own game.

"This is just devastating," Shaun said, looking intently at something on his phone.

"What is?"

"They're saying that they don't think anyone managed to get out of the building in time."

"Nobody except us," Rebecca reminded him solemnly as she handed each of them their bowl of soup.

"Nobody… except us…" Desmond repeated slowly.

"What's going on in that head of yours now?"

"I think I may have a plan."

"Oh well that's a welcome change from earlier. Care to share?"

Desmond ignored Shaun's insult and continued. "Rebecca, have you been able to get a trace on Hart again?"

"Not yet. It's been running since we left this morning but so far, nothing."

"Let me know as soon as that changes or we get any sign of him."

"What makes you think he's going to come out of hiding at all?" Shaun asked. "Or do you think Hart may have been one of the victims? Wouldn't that be poetic? If his own bomb blew him up?"

"No, he's not dead. But according to the news, we are. Or at least, he'll think we are." He looked between Shaun and Rebecca expectantly, watching as his plan dawned on them.

"Ah, so you think he's waiting to hear if we turn up at all—or if there's even a chance we'll turn up—before he makes his next move?"

"And who do you think he's going to run straight to when he does?" Desmond said, back to feeling more like the cat and less like the mouse.

"Oh that's brilliant," Shaun commended him. "Well, at least until the part where you confront Juno and try to kill a god. That part's less brilliant. But hey, one thing at a time, right?"

"And how do you know when he'll turn up? We could be waiting for days."

Desmond shook his head. "He's not going to stick around for too long. The Templars are already looking for him and with news of you two dead, it won't be long until the Assassins are close behind."

"If we're pretending to be dead, we should probably turn everything off that was with us today," Rebecca suggested, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "Or at least limit how much we use them. Hart's crafty. If there's a way to track us, he will. We can leave our own tracking software running, though."

Shaun groaned and turned his phone over in his hand.

"Come on, Shaun. He could be trying to check it right now."

"I know, I know. I just don't like this. What if Bill finally calls back? Or Gavin? Or what if they connect the dots and think we're dead?"

"It's not permanent," she reminded him. "Just until we catch Hart."

Desmond smiled coyly. "Besides, being dead isn't all that bad."

"Ha. You're hilarious," Shaun snarked, shaking his head and rolling his eyes while he turned his phone off.

"And now we wait?" Rebecca asked.

Desmond sat back in his chair and propped his feet up. "And now we wait."

As he predicted, it didn't take long for Hart to emerge. They'd hardly finished cleaning up after lunch when the computer dinged, letting them know their search was complete.

"Good call, Des," Rebecca said, sidling into one of the desk chairs and clicking away. "Looks like he bought a train ticket leaving for Rome in"—she checked her watch—"fuck, only an hour!"

"How long will it take us to get to the station?" he asked.

"With traffic? Probably about an hour," she said woefully.

"Any chance you could hold the train until we get on it?"

She shrugged. "I can try…But we'll also need our own tickets."

"Do what you have to."

While Rebecca bought their tickets and worked her digital magic to hold the train until they arrived, Desmond and Shaun got busy packing their bags, slinging whatever they could into their duffels as quickly as possible; They'd have time to sort everything when—if—they made it to the train.

"Des, you help Bex finish packing up. I'll go call us a taxi. Better be a fast one, too."

"The Métro will be faster this time of day," she said over her shoulder.

"Fine. I'll get us Métro tickets."

"No need, I already got those, too."

"Then what do you need us to do?" Shaun asked impatiently.

"Be ready to run."

Two minutes later they were sprinting to the Métro stop a block away, taking the stairs two at a time and sliding through the ticket gates just as their train pulled up to the platform. The doors slid open and they dove headlong into the nearest train car, collapsing in a small heap in the first three open seats they could find. Other Parisians stared only for a moment, then went back to their phones without a word.

The three Assassins had only just caught their breath when the train stopped at Gare de Lyon, where their train to Italy sat waiting to leave. Dense crowds of holiday travelers packed the station, forcing Desmond and the others to roughly push their way through in order to get anywhere. They kept their heads low, actively attempting to avoid drawing any more attention than they already had. As the escalators brought them up to the main platform and they continued to push their way through the throngs, they ignored angry yells as people swore at them in rapid French.

"Shit! That's our train!" Rebecca half-shouted as a woman's voice echoed from the intercom overhead. "We've got one minute!"

"Here! It's over here!" Shaun said, pulling on Desmond and Rebecca's sleeves and leading them towards one of the gates at the far end of the platform.

They stumbled through the increasingly more irate crowds, breathing a sigh of relief when they made it through the stile and onto the train just as the doors closed behind them. They tottered their way to their compartment, dragging their bags inside and falling onto the bottom two bunks as the train pulled away from the station.

"Phew, that was close," Shaun gasped, still trying to catch his breath. "So now what? Do we wait? Try to find Hart now?"

"His compartment's in the first sleeper past the dining car," Rebecca explained. "It's a private, first-class room so you shouldn't have to worry about witnesses once inside. It's possible he's not in there right now. If I were you, Des, I'd wait until everyone's asleep. Fewer people to spot you and easier to, uh, deal with him."

Desmond nodded. "Got it."

They sat in silence and collectively watched through the window as the station—then Paris—passed them by. Before they knew it, they were outside of the city and passing by rolling fields of farmland, the sun slowly sinking below the horizon.

While Shaun and Rebecca reorganized their bags and settled in for the night, Desmond let his mind wander as he continued to stare out until it grew too dark outside and the only thing he could see was his own reflection in the glass. He sighed and shut the blinds before climbing up the ladder into one of the top bunks, laying on his back and letting his mind drift further as the train gently rocked back and forth as it sped along the tracks.

He contemplated trying to sleep for a bit before hunting down Hart, but whenever he closed his eyes, he found himself back in the Grand Temple, back in the same nightmare he'd had the past two nights, his arm burning with a fiery heat as he reached for the pedestal, listening to that ominous laughter echoing around him…

"Hey Des?" Rebecca asked, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Earlier… on our way back to the hotel, you said… you told us you had a choice. Back at the Grand Temple, when you… ya know."

Shaun, who'd been midway through changing shirts, stopped suddenly, keen to hear Desmond's answer.

"What about it?" Desmond said, a slight grumble to his voice.

"I guess I just… it sounds like maybe things are starting to come back to you. You mentioned Eagle Vision isn't back yet, but I was wondering if maybe your memories are."

He craned his neck and stared between them for a moment, his face remaining blank and expressionless. He rubbed this arm, trying to massage away the throbbing pain that had manifested in the past minute. It felt warm to the touch, and he let his other hand casually fall to his side, hoping neither of them had noticed.

"Not really," he said nonchalantly, turning his head back . He laid in the bunk silently, staring at the drab, off-white ceiling while he waited for her response.

She shrugged and sighed but said nothing.

Everyone was quiet then, each of them in their own headspace as the train hurtled down the tracks through the French countryside. Desmond passed the time mentally preparing himself and—knowing how much he'd need it—desperately tried to bring his Eagle Vision back. But no matter how hard he tried, nothing happened. He tried not to let his worry show: Shaun and Rebecca were already on edge, and he didn't need them to work themselves into a panic on his behalf. He'd just have to do without his Eagle Vision again.

He rolled over to see Shaun laying in his bunk, turning his phone over in his hands, glancing down at it every few seconds, no doubt wondering if he could get away with checking for a missed call from Bill or Gavin. He must've decided against it, instead dropping it into his bag on the floor next to him and rolling over to face the wall.

In a mirror across the room, Desmond saw Rebecca in the bunk below his, her headphones on and eyes closed. He could only tell she was still awake by the way her head nodded to the music, bobbing asynchronously from the swaying of the train.

He rolled onto his back again and kept himself preoccupied by flicking his wrist blade in and out of its sheath. When he grew bored of that, he pulled his knife out, twirling it between his fingers while he plotted out the various ways he could kill Hart. When that wasn't enough to hold his attention, he hopped down from his bunk and began pacing the small compartment.

"Everything alright?" Shaun asked over his shoulder.

"Yep. Just burning off some extra energy," he said.

"Hmph."

After another few hours of him alternating between pacing and lying down, the sounds of people shuffling along the train finally died out. "It's time," he said, hopping back down from his bunk once more.

He had one shot at this. No mistakes. If Hart was allowed to leave the train alive, they'd lose him in Rome and he'd be sure to tell Juno about Desmond, and any element of surprise that they still had over her would be gone forever.

He took a deep breath as he gripped the handle of his knife and flicked his wrist blade out one last time.

"Here," Rebecca said, handing him a small, square metal device. "You'll need this to get into his room. Just tap this against the lock and it should open. Good luck." She patted him on the shoulder as he drew his hood up around his face.

He slinked from their compartment and down the length of the dark car, using the steady clack-clack of train wheels on tracks to cover what little noise his footsteps made. Bright moonlight shone in through the windows, casting everything in an eerie shadow.

He paused when he reached the end of the car and glanced over his shoulder. Not having Eagle Vision set his teeth on edge and he felt vulnerable and exposed, as though Hart could ambush him at any second and he'd be powerless to stop it.

His heart raced as he slipped through the doors and into the next car. He tiptoed down the corridor, still checking over his shoulder every few steps. As he reached out to open the door at the far end, he heard a soft click and the sound of a door sliding open behind him. He scurried into the next car and waited to see if it was Hart. It wasn't, and after a minute, he slowly continued to creep along the last hall, his back pressed against the windows and head swiveling back and forth, until he reached the door to the dining car.

He took a deep breath and lowered his hood before entering, wanting to look as inconspicuous as possible. According to Rebecca, there was a bartender on staff the entire train ride. If all went to plan, they'd be the only potential witness. But when Desmond stepped into the dining car, it was completely empty. No patrons, no bartender, and—to his immense relief—no Hart.

He slowly maneuvered his way around the dining tables, all of them empty and unused, and towards the far end where the bar sat unattended.

I could kill for a drink right now. He sighed internally. Maybe after…

Desmond walked past the bar and the stools and hurried on to the next car, where Hart would—with any luck—be sleeping in his cabin. He was extra cautious with each step forward, timing them just right so as to step in rhythm with the clack-clacks.

When he reached the door, he took his knife in one hand and the square, metal skeleton keycard Rebecca made him in the other. He pressed himself up against the wall and slowly tapped the key to the lock. The door unlatched with a small, nearly imperceptible click. Desmond stuffed the keycard back into his pocket and raised the knife, ready for whatever waited for him on the other side of the door. In one silent motion, he slid the door back and rushed inside the cabin.

But the room was empty. The bed was still made, as though it hadn't even been sat upon. The desk was bare, with a full pad of paper and pen sitting untouched in the far corner. A stack of towels sat neatly folded on a shelf just above.

The only thing out of place was a wheelchair sitting empty at the far end of the cabin beneath the window, two bags of fluids hanging from the attached IV rack and swaying rhythmically with the movement of the train.

Dread fell over Desmond in that moment, a sudden, unshakeable fear for Shaun and Rebecca, waiting unsuspectingly in their own cabin. He spun on his heels and hurried from the room. He raced down the hall back towards the dining car, barely stopping to wait for the doors to completely open before stepping through. As he did, a faint glow from the corner of his eye caught his attention. But he didn't have time to savor the fact that his Eagle Vision seemingly returned. Instead, he stopped when he saw a foot sticking out from behind the bar. Stepping closer he found the body of the bartender sprawled out on the floor in front of him.

Desmond fell to his knees and checked for a pulse. Dead. His breathing quickened and heart pounded in his chest when he stood up from the body, his mind so preoccupied with getting back to Shaun and Rebecca that he almost didn't hear the soft click of a door opening behind him.

He twisted around just in time to register Heinrich Hart was standing behind him, a whip crackling with electrical energy in his hand. As Desmond lunged out of the way, Hart snapped the whip around his chest and his entire body convulsed as a loud crackle pierced his ears.

His head nearly struck the edge of the bar as he collapsed to the ground next to the bartender's unmoving corpse. He tried to fight the electricity now surging through his body, struggling to regain any control, but his muscles refused to obey. He was utterly powerless as Hart hovered over him, a malicious smile on his face.

"I've been wanting to test out my new prototype. I've always liked playing with electricity. Almost as much as I like playing with explosives. But sometimes—"

Desmond's heart raced faster and faster as Hart uncapped the needle to a syringe he pulled from his pocket, leaned down closer and prepared to inject him with some clear substance.

"Sometimes you need something a little more subtle." Hart released the trigger of the taser whip just as the tip of the needle penetrated the skin of his neck, but even with electricity no longer coursing through him, it took a few seconds for Desmond to regain control, long enough for Hart to jam the needle the rest of the way and inject the syringe's contents deep into his neck.

He gained enough muscle control halfway through to throw Hart off of him and hoisted himself back up to his feet using the edge of the bar. He took a moment to breathe as Hart rolled out of the way and landed spryly on his own feet on the other side of the car, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Desmond's muscles continued to spasm as he drew his knife, the hand that gripped it shaking as he held it in front of himself. He moved with careful deliberation towards Hart, who grabbed the nearest barstool and held it out in front of himself like a shield.

"You really think you can beat me in a one-on-one fight?" Desmond taunted, ignoring the slight convulsions pulsing through his legs as he stepped closer. He grabbed the bottom of the barstool with his free hand and wrenched it away from Hart while simultaneously slashing a knife at his face. But his swing was wild and slow and Hart ducked out of the way and out of Desmond's reach with ease.

Backed against the bar, Hart reached over the top and grabbed several opened bottles of liquor, launching them towards Desmond's head. He ducked the first two, but a spasm in his back at just the wrong moment prevented him from dodging the third, which caught the side of his head and sent him stumbling backwards into the nearest table.

"I don't have to beat you," Hart replied, throwing yet another two bottles at Desmond. "I just have to last long enough for the drugs to take hold. And I don't imagine I'll have to wait long."

All it took was one wobbly step forward for Desmond to register what Hart meant, and with another he clutched onto the edge of the bar counter to keep himself from collapsing to the floor completely.

Hart now wore a malicious smile, no longer looking worried, even as Desmond took another two, equally wobbly, steps closer.

"You're probably feeling a bit dizzy by now. That's good. It means it'll be over quicker."

Desmond's vision swirled in front of him and he struggled to remain upright. Hart's voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Whatever was in that syringe that now coursed through his body worked far faster than Desmond had anticipated, and any confidence he may have had during this fight had vanished.

"I'm over here." It was Hart's turn to taunt now as Desmond staggered around, struggling to pinpoint where he was. The train jostled side-to-side just as he took a step forward, forcing his feet to tangle up in each other and sending him toppling over, his knife clattering across the floor as he reached out to break his fall.

Hart kicked it away and grabbed Desmond by the wrist, dragging him roughly along the floor. He tried to wrench himself free when he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, but Hart's grip was too tight and his efforts were futile.

Desmond felt like he was floating on a cloud, the combination of Hart's concoction and the swaying of the train along the tracks lulling him into semi-consciousness. Numb to his surroundings, he hadn't realized they were already back in Hart's cabin until he heard the click of the door's lock catching. He tried to stay focused, tried to concentrate on getting himself out of the precarious situation he found himself in, but like sand through a sieve, the more he tried to hold on to each individual thought, the faster they slipped away.

In the dark, he could barely make out the soft gasping sound of Hart catching his breath. If ever there was a moment to catch him off guard, this was it. But when Desmond went to raise his arm and trigger his hidden blade, it felt heavy, like it'd been pinned to the floor with cinder blocks despite nothing holding him down.

"I had hoped you'd survived the explosion earlier today," Hart said, stepping over Desmond and rolling the wheelchair closer. "My mistress will be very pleased to see you. Oh no, not that kind of mistress," he said, seeing the disturbed look on Desmond's face. "No, no. She's far too great to stoop to our level like that. Even we Instruments aren't worthy in her eyes." By now, Hart busied himself with the IV drip, tinkering with the tubes and needle. "She spoke quite highly of you, in fact. She thanks you for being the one to make this all possible."

Desmond groaned and felt sick to his stomach, nausea compounding as both his nerves and the drugs started hitting his stomach in the worst way.

"It's a shame I wasn't there that night. She said it was a glorious moment, one that should be remembered by all. Too bad she was the only one there. But you... you remember it, don't you?" Hart looked at Desmond's scarred wrist, then back to his widened eyes. The corner of his lips twisted upwards. "Yes, you remember it all. It doesn't take long for all the memories to come back, does it? A few hours, a day or two at most. Yes, she remembers all of it. Even your death. She said it was one of her proudest moments yet; that with you out of the way, all of her plans could be realized."

Hart stood over him, preparing to hoist him up into the wheelchair, then stopped, his eyes catching a glimpse of something that had fallen out of Desmond's pocket.

"What is this?" he asked, picking up the keycard and turning it over in his hand. "Ah, so this is how you opened my door? Very clever. No doubt one of Rebecca's? I thought she and Shaun might still be alive as well." He pocketed it and knelt down to hook his arms underneath Desmond's shoulders, who strained to wrest himself from his captor. Hart wheezed as he heaved Desmond's limp body into the wheelchair, everything from his neck down slack and unwilling to do what he wanted. "Perhaps," Hart whispered breathily into his ear, "I shall pay them a visit after I'm done with you here."

A new pit settled in his stomach. No, he couldn't—wouldn't—let Hart get to the others.

Hart reached over him to insert the first needle into his hand. "Can't have anyone following us to Jun—"

With one last burst of strength, Desmond struck at Hart, driving his hidden blade into the center of his captor's chest. They locked eyes for a second, realization dawning on Hart. Whether the drugs or something else entirely Desmond wasn't sure, but time seemed to slow down as Hart crashed to the floor. He'd managed to grasp a handful of Desmond's shirt on the way down, pulling him out of the wheelchair and to the ground. Hart gasped and clutched at the hole in his chest, where blood was now pouring out and rapidly spreading across the front of Hart's shirt.

"My death," he coughed, more blood spurting out of his mouth, "is inconsequential to her grand plan. You can't stop her now, Desmond Miles. She will… she will usher in… the new world."

"Tell me where Juno is," Desmond slurred, his energy entirely spent on killing Hart.

Hart chuckled darkly and coughed more blood. "Home," he said, the lights in his eyes dimming for good.

Desmond waited for the relief that Heinrich Hart was finally dead to wash over him, but instead he only felt more disconcerted than before. Hart had all but confirmed that Juno was alive and well, much to Desmond's dismay, and that she was busy working on something nefarious. And how did Hart know so much about his death?

But now Desmond struggled to even form coherent thoughts, let alone ponder the answers to these questions, most of which he'd forgotten about as soon as he thought them. Every so often, he'd try to push himself off the floor, but that same feeling of being weighed down held him firmly on the ground, unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling above him.

As he laid there, his mother appeared next to him, dark brown hair falling around her face as she frowned in worry and swooped down next to him. Fingers pressed into his neck and a hand laid on his chest.

"Desmond? Des, oh my god, are you okay?" Her voice echoed, sounding very different than how he remembered. Though it had been a while since he'd last heard it.

He smiled weakly. "I am now," he whispered hoarsely as she swooped down next to him. "How'd you know I was here?"

"Not many places you could've been. We figured when you didn't return after an hour that we should come check on you."

"An hour?" His brow creased in confusion.

"Yeah, it's been a while. We weren't sure if you were okay."

"But… it's been ten years…"

"Ten years?" His father now appeared to his left, his face unreadable as always. "You alright there, mate? You seem a bit out of it."

Desmond craned his head side-to-side to look at both his parents, their figures both blurring as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Are you… are you high right now?"

Desmond looked back to his father, now wearing a pair of glasses. He blinked a few times, his father's form slowly morphing to look more like Shaun. He blinked again and turned to his mother, who'd disappeared, Rebecca now in her place. Desmond groaned and peeled his arms off the floor to rub his eyes, struggling to remember what had just happened. "A li'l bit, yeah," he admitted. "It… didn't quite go as planned. Hart, he… he got me with something." He lifted his heavy arm and pointed towards Hart's medical bag sitting on the nearby table.

"Do you know who we are?"

"Shaun… and Rebecca."

"That's promising," Shaun said, stepping over him to investigate the bag. He pulled out a handful of syringes, all full of a clear liquid. He put one in Rebecca's outstretched hand and continued rooting through the bag.

Rebecca examined the syringe under a flashlight, then squirted a bit onto her finger before sniffing and tasting it. She grimaced. "Ugh, ketamine. He'll probably be fine in a few hours. Des, can you hear me? How are you feeling? Are you still here with us?"

"I think so," he groaned.

"C'mon, let's get you back to our car," Shaun said, hoisting Desmond up by the shoulders with a loud grunt and wheezing as he plopped him in the wheelchair.

"We should probably do something about this," Rebecca said, gesturing to Hart's body. "And the mess in the dining car."

"We can deal with that after we get him back. For now, let's get him to bed," Shaun said, then wheeled a still very stoned Desmond to their cabin.

"Down you go," Shaun said as he dropped him onto one of the bottom bunks with a grunt. He pulled the covers over Desmond's legs and unstrapped his hidden blade from his wrist. "We'll be back in a bit. We've got a bit of a mess to clean up."

"'M sorry," he slurred, his head settling deep into a pillow and already half asleep.

"No apologies necessary. Just try to get some rest and we'll be back as soon as we can."

Desmond nodded sluggishly, already drifting through various states of consciousness as the rhythmic bouncing of the train lulled him to deep sleep.

End Notes:

Apologies for the very extensive hiatus. It's been a helluva year and time quickly got away from me. I'm hopeful that I'll be able to continue updating semi-regularly again but I don't want to make any promises I can't keep. I will say that the next few chapters are written and are almost completely edited, so it shouldn't take 9 months to get to it.

Thank you for everyone who's stuck by and waited for this update! I really appreciate it and hope this chapter didn't disappoint! Things are definitely about to get heated and some old faces are going to make an appearance soon so I hope you stick around for those as well!