Disclaimer – I don't own Assassin's Creed or Prototype franchise, they belong to their respective owners.

A New Guest in the Tea Party

December 15th 1773

Homestead Mansion...

Alex moved another piece on the board, his eyes were not focused on the Fanorona game as he waited Ratonhnhaké:ton's move. For the past month, he was regretting to not have killed Haytham when he could, now the man knew of his existence as an Assassin and the surprise edge they could have was long gone. Well, the surprise was not exactly gone completely, because the young Assassin and Alex Mercer weren't known to the enemy, they were now the wild cards in the war. But we are far from being safe here. If Kenway's men could just waltz into Kanatahséton without his knowledge, then Homestead is not safe either...

'Raké:ni? Is something wrong?'

Dark chocolate coloured eyes quickly refocused on the child, teenager to be exact, and saw the concern look his surrogate son gave him, a look that he had seen since he returned from his visit. Alex forced a smile on his lips as he said as genuine as possible, 'Do not worry child. I am fine. I am just thinking...'

For the past few days, he was forgetting that Ratonhnhaké:ton was already a teenager, just a year shied from being consider an adult in the future. While Alex still saw the young Kanien'kehá:ka as a child, many of the Homesteaders seemed to believe that he was over 21, which led them to often place their problem onto the child without a second thought and said child kept pleasing them by being helpful.

'Raké:ni, do you mind if we go fishing together?' the young Assassin asked out of the blue with a small smile. 'I know we haven't spent a lot of time doing trainings together these past weeks.'

The Blacklight virus blinked his eyes in shock before a chuckle got out of his throat, it seemed like he was slowly turning into an opened book to Ratonhnhaké:ton if the child could easily spot his nervousness and worry. Alex was about to reply when they heard the door being banged loudly and a voice called out, 'Ratonhnhaké:ton!'

The young Assassin opened the door, revealing a Native man in a thick red shirt that was decorate intricate patterns and on his shoulders and forearms, before he said, 'Kanen'tó:kon?'

'Yes, my friend,' greeted the childhood friend of Connor with a fading smile. His skin was more a bit tanned than Connor's and his long black hair was tied in two long braids that were slung over his shoulders, with a plume hair decoration on the tied part of his hair. It meant that the man had finally achieved the rank of hunter.

'What brings you here? Is the village alright?' Connor asked as the surprise soon melted away and left doubts clouding his thoughts.

'For now,' Kanen'tó:kon answered.

'What do you mean? What has happened?' the Assassin demanded.

Alex stood a few steps from them, but their voices were distant as he recalled what Gabriel had dug up that concerned one William Johnson who was discreetly making documents that showed Mohawk Valley's land could be sold to the highest bidder and Giry had discovered that the money that would be used to buy said land came from Johnson's personal caches of English tea that, despite people's refusal of buying them, kept providing a large amount of money. The virus quickly dived into his memory banks to know what got the Kanien'kehá:ka seeking them. What he found in the memories were not pleasant. Oh no. It's almost time for the Tea Party. Afterwards, it's going to be the Revolution.

'You must refuse!' Connor exclaimed, disbelief written all over his face as he tried to reign in his anger that was growing as he listened to his friend.

'We cannot oppose the sachem. But you are right as well. We cannot give up our home,' Kanen'tó:kon agreed with a nod.

'Do you have a name?' the Assassin asked. 'Do you know who is responsible?'

'William Johnson,' Alex said as he stepped into their conversation. 'He is the only person who was familiar enough with us and the land we live on. I suspect that he is also the one who have orchestrated the documents that demand us to give up our home. Am I correct in my assumption, Kanen'tó:kon?'

The Native man nodded in affirmation.

'Where is Johnson now?' Connor asked in a voice that dripped acidic poison to those near enough to hear.

Hesitating slightly, Connor's friend replied, 'He is in Boston, making preparations for the sale.'

Alex frowned at the word sale, while the young Assassin's rage had went to a boiling state as he shouted, 'Sale?! This is theft!'

'Connor, take care – these men are powerful,' Achilles said calmly from the hallway as he slowly hobbled his way to the doorway.

Alex shook his head in exasperation at the old man's warning, because he was waving a red flag in front an angry raging Taurus. Seething, Connor turned his attention to the old Mentor and snarled, 'And what would you have me do? I made a promise to my people.'

The young and old locked in a glaring match for a minute before Achilles gave up, sighing tiredly, and told him, 'If you insist upon this course of action, seek out Sam Adams in Boston. He'll be able to help.'

'Samuel Adams?' the Blacklight virus repeated the name under his breath as he stared at Achilles in disbelief at his suggestion that they sought help from one of the Sons of Liberty, which by doing so Ratonhnhaké:ton would be knee-deep in the American Revolution affair and there would no escape from it. Out of the corners of his eyes, he spotted the Connor extended his hand towards his childhood friend who, without a word, drew his tomahawk and handed it to him. Immediately, the Assassin slammed the bladed weapon to the support pillar, the action brought a solemn expression on the two Kanien'kehá:kas, while Alex simply closed his eyes and thought humorlessly. So it begins.

The old man grumbled loudly and throwing daggers both at the imbedded weapon and Assassin as he demanded an explanation for this behaviour, which the young Assassin gladly provided. 'When my people go to war, a hatchet buried in a post to signify its start. When the threat is ended.' He made the action of removing something from the pillar. 'The hatchet is removed.'

Both men turned to leave, the Prototype left the fuming handicapped man behind as he called out, 'Ratonhnhaké:ton! Wait!'

Connor whipped around and barked furiously, 'WE CAN NOT AFFORD TO WAIT RAKÉ:NI!'

The outburst was a shock that caused both surrogate father and son to stare at each other in surprise. The Assassin quickly looked away when the blow his words did faded with one hand touching his forehead, but the way his hand was posed made Alex believed that the child was ashamed of himself. Ratonhnhaké:ton kept his back facing him as he quickly said, 'I'll head to Boston immediately. If everything goes as plan, I will return tomorrow... Ó:nen ki' wáhi, Raké:ni.'

With that short goodbye, both youngsters left before he could say anything, watching their silhouettes fading into the forest, Alex tightened his fists as he slowly marched back to the house, trying to keep himself from beating or strangling the nearest thing his arms could reach. After he was safe from preying eyes of any wanderers, the Blacklight virus hurriedly pulled out one of the paper in his locked drawers, where he kept most of the letters that contained information his friends were able to gather from the Templar and the British's military. It looked like the drawer would soon be filled with those of the Continental Army as well.

The disguised Kanien'kehá:ka pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, because it was not the problem that needed his attention immediately. He was actually thankful of the pen Gabriel had stolen, and later given to him as a gift, it was much more durable than the previous ones he had brought that always ended up snapped in half when his temper was raising. Alex quickly scribbled a few notes to his friend before he folded the paper neatly and sealed it with wax that showed the jagged Z.

The Prototype quickly and quietly left Homestead grounds, when he reached the rocky cliff that held the small abandoned path that led to Kanatahséton, behind the waterfall and on the moist wet stone of the mountain, the fake Kanien'kehá:ka let his biomass shift to return to his true form, Alexander J. Mercer. Alex looked down at the pale coloured hand of his and clenched and unclenched his fingers as if the hand was that of lacked luster metal platings and rusted running gears. He left the shadow and stepped under the bright sunlight that was shinning down on him, he let the sunlight hit his white skin before he slowly made his way down to the river and stared at his unfocused reflection, finding it foreign and strange after spending years as a copper skin Mohawk.

The virus shook his head lightly to get rid of the unknown feeling he felt from staring at his reflection, his eyes soon settled on his clothes and knew he stuck out as a sore thumb in his modern fashion. Alex took one last look on his reflection before he closed his eyes and commanded his biomass to shift his current form to something more appropriated to this age. When the eyelids blinked opened, grey blue eyes immediately studied the image the water reflected. The black leather jacket had turned into a waist-length overcoat with a beaked hood, two white armbands with a black line in its middle along with the dragon-like red tribal marks on each upper arm and he kept the long-sleeved white shirt with a grey coloured button-up waistcoat over it. The blue jeans changed into breeches with similar colour and his black sneakers became knee-high boots with two hook buckles over the ankle. He wasn't used to seeing himself in any kind of formal attire, but it would do. Tugging his hood a bit downward to shadow his eyes, he headed towards the general direction where Giry's orphanage was located, running and jumping over rivers and cliffs.

Eventually, Alex had to slow down when he spotted the smoke raising from the orphanage's chimney, knowing that the mansion's occupants were very active and curious. He carefully dodged the running children and ignored those who were following him like ducklings until he reached front double doors. He knocked heavily on the wood with enough force that it rang like a bell within a church, Alex sighed heavily as he tried to act like the Alex Mercer he was back in New York Zero, a cold and indifferent person towards every stranger he met and readied to kill said stranger the moment he or she decided to stab him in the back.

When Giry opened the door of her orphanage, she saw what kind of person Dr. Mercer was, heartless and void of emotions. The old lady straightened slightly as she politely asked, 'Are you here to adopt one of my children? Mister...'

He lifted the letter to her eye level and simply answered, 'Mercer. I have a letter to you from your employer.'

The old lady carefully plucked the letter from his offered hand, taking out the spectacles and reading it quickly, but occasionally glancing up at him with suspicious eyes. After Giry finished the letter, she opened the door wider and beckoned him to follow her. Alex slowly followed the old woman, inwardly grimacing as he watched Giry struggling slightly at the stairs, but she kept on moving with a noble-like air. When they reached her office, the elder woman carefully sat down on her chair, taking some time to breathe before her hand went to one of the drawers of her desk and pulled out a small package, handling it to him. The virus approached to take the offered item, but he felt resistance from the old lady who was levelling him a serious expression, one that Alex had never seen before.

Giry whispered in a menacing way, 'I will tell you this, Mercer. What I give you is something my friend wants done cleanly. I do not care if you are a murderer or terrorist, but if you do anything that will directly or indirectly harm Iskandar and Connor. You will have to deal with me and many others. Am I clear?'

'Yes, ma'am,' Alex replied indifferently as he took the package, though a part of him was smirking at Giry's display of protectiveness. I think a present is in order for her when I come next time.

With a curt nod, the Prototype turned on his heels and left, prepared to aid Ratonhnhaké:ton in his quest and to kill those who would dare touch a hair on the boy.

A few hours later...

New York, outside of the Green Dragon Tavern...

Ratonhnhaké:ton's eyes were sharply studying his surroundings before they settled on the fuming French-Canadian chef, Stephane Chapheau, who wore a dirty white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a blue waistcoat over it and a brown-stained apron, with blue breeches, long socks and faded brown boots.

For the past hours, his instincts were clawing the back of his mind, like someone was following him, but he found no one and kept completing his tasks, which was to destroy the tea supplies that Johnson had given to his smugglers to sell to Bostonians and attack the tax enforcers who were forcing people to pay a large sum of money. These events led to another thing that worried him, such as when he reached the docks where many smugglers were based in, he found no guards of whatsoever around the caches of tea, even after he had destroyed them, no man came running to check on their supply or investigate the explosion. There were also strange blood stains in some back alley with abandoned weapons or hats next to them. This whole strangeness started the moment he finished speaking with Samuel Adams and William Molineux in the Green Dragon. If he didn't know better, he almost thought that there was another Assassin aiding him from the shadows, but that was ludicrous as he was the sole Assassin aside from Raké:ni who were operating in the New England Colonies.

The Native Assassin shook his head to get rid of his restlessness as he refocused on Stephane, armed with a pistol and cleaver, angrily shouted back, 'To get back what's rightfully mine!'

The Assassin took quick steps to catch up with the chef, only to see the man spotting a pair of redcoats standing around the corner of the street and decided to antagonize them. 'Oh, Regardez! Some pathetic Redcoats waiting for a beating! I will match your face to your jacket, crapule!'

As the two foot soldiers approached the raving French-Canadian, Ratonhnhaké:ton quickly and stealthily ended their lives with his hidden blade before either of them could lay their hand on their weapon, but his kill seemed to fuel Stephane's desire for revenge as the man continued onward and muttered murderously, 'Ces coquins me prennent mon père au Canada et voilà qu'ils me ravissent ma propriété ici. Il suffit!'

While Ratonhnhaké:ton was not very good with French, despite Giry's attempt at teaching him the language, but he understood some parts of it and could guess the rest. Dark brown eyes watched a group of angry Colonists joined Stephane. Cursing once more, the Native followed the growing group and found himself in a riot as men and women of Boston began beating three redcoats who were slowly pushing them back, the Assassin quickly entered the fight while Stephane rallied, 'We are not English! We are not the King's men! We are free! But the King sends these REDCOATS to push us around! They are NOT our MASTERS! This is our city! Let's show them who owns it! It's time to FIGHT!'

The tanned skin Assassin killed the first one with his hidden blade before he took out the rope-dart and pulled the second soldier, finishing him with his weapon imbedded in his skull. The last one was soon overpowered by the raging crowd. Connor shook his head disapprovingly at the sight before he turned to the French chef who was heading to another area to spread his words. If this continued, who knew how many innocent would get kill, just like those who died in the Boston Massacre. The Assassin called out urgently, 'Stephane. Please. Stop and listen to me.'

'I've listened for long enough!' the aggravated French-Canadian snapped back as he continued his march. 'They come into MY home and take MY things? I will get my revenge. The man responsible for this will pay. His friends will pay!'

The two men went around the church and into the graveyard, Stephane continued with his monologue, 'Voilà trop longtemps que je subis ces affronts! Ils vont goûter de mon courroux!'

Spotting another pair of regulars, the cook called out, 'You looking for a fight, Englishman!? I'll give you what you want!'

The two soldiers took the challenge and approached the French-Canadian with their musket readied, but Stephane did give them a chance to fight and neither did Connor. The chef took the first one with his cleaver, slicing the man's artery before he wiped the blood off on his apron, while the Assassin finished the other with his tomahawk imbedded in the soldier's chest. Ratonhnhaké:ton followed the man as though he was his shadow and found themselves in front of a larger group of British soldiers. The cook charged forward in a war cry, startling the redcoats and ending one of them before they began pulling out their weapons. Stephane quickly killed two more with his knife and the Native danced around the group, slamming his bladed weapon to whoever was the closest to him and finishing the last person standing with his pistol.

'Où que j'aille, l'Anglois croise mon chemin. Ils me volent ma maison, ils m'obligent à fuir mon pays. Et les voici qui veulent s'approprier ma NOUVELLE demeure!' Stephane spoke seething with Connor tailing behind him.

Isn't it enough? The Assassin thought before he voiced out, 'There is a way to fight injustice! But THIS is not it!'

Before the French-Canadian could reply, they reached the market place where two redcoats were stationed, behind them was one of the smugglers shouting at an African salesman. 'Destroyed!? You stupid mongrel. And I suppose you want me to tell Johnson his tea just spontaneously combusted! Nonsense! Someone's responsible for this and you will find out who. And if you can't, I'll gut you and find a smarter mongrel who can.'

The Native's brows furrowed at the scene, Stephane turned to him and asked, 'What do we do?'

You're asking me now? Ratonhnhaké:ton was tempted to say, but he kept it to himself and answered with certainty, 'Create a window.'

Stephane nodded his head in acknowledgement as he barged through the crowd to where the smuggler stood, turning to face him, the man demanded, 'Who the bloody hell are you?!'

His answer was a cleaver stuck on his shoulder, the smuggler fell to his knees with his blood gushing out of the wound, hand shakily going to the weapon as he looked up at his killer and whispered in a small voice, 'W–why?'

'You have no right to rob people blind,' the French-Canadian retorted as he pointed his finger accusingly at him. 'By decree of British Parliament or not.'

'British Parliament?' the injured man repeated confused. 'I work for William Johnson.'

It was now Stephane's turn to look confuse as he repeated the name, Connor quickly went to his side, placing his hand on his shoulder, and whispered quietly with a solemn expression, 'End his suffering cleanly.'

The Native walked away just as the smuggler was begging for mercy, but it soon died out and Stephane was soon at his side once more. The two men took position on a nearby rooftop, watching as soldiers surrounded the crime scene, seeing them safe from being eavesdropped, Connor remarked calmly, 'The people seem to have an ear for you. What of the things you lost?'

The chef's eyes never left the body of the man he killed as he answered, 'The people listened to me only because I spoke the truth loud enough, which is worth one thousand times the contents of my footlocker.' Facing the Assassin. 'The English, they can keep my THINGS.'

'You did well tonight,' the Assassin commented.

'I said I'd buy you an ale when you first helped me. In place of a drink I offer you my allegiance, for what it's worth,' Stephane pledged with a small smile.

'Your aid is welcome and I am grateful,' Connor said to the alliance he had forged with the cook, glad to see that the Brotherhood might have gain a new Assassin in their ranks, looking out at the city below. 'Now, I need to find Sam Adams.'

An hour and a half later...

Alex observed the discussion between the Sons of Liberty and Connor from the top of the bell tower. So far, the boy's instinct only alarmed him of someone near him, but he had yet to discover him. After leaving Stephane, Ratonhnhaké:ton had helped a poor Québécois, Norris, from being beaten by some drunk redcoats and aid a marksman who called himself Clipper in matters of redcoats forcing young men to conscript into the British army. On his end, the virus had made a small but remarkable discovery, the Freemasons' underground tunnels that span through Boston city and it would be useful in a later date.

The Assassin had finally found Samuel Adams, Paul Revere and William Molineux in front of the Old North Church, he could see that Ratonhnhaké:ton was hesitating to trust the Sons of Liberty. The Native wanted to know something had actually progressed in dealing with Johnson's finance, because so far, he saw only madness from riots people around the city made and the thieveries from Johnson's men, there wasn't even the shadow of the man anywhere. Personally, Alex wished that the boy cut ties with them immediately, but Adams is a politician, which meant he knew how to persuade men to join his side and Connor was no different.

'Of course,' Sam Adams started dejectedly. 'First, we make our way to Nathaniel Bradlee's house to fetch the rest of our little group. Then it's on to Griffin's Wharf, where we board the ships and dump the tea. Simple as that.'

'Simple seems a bit charitable,' Ratonhnhaké:ton retorted with a frown.

'Cheer up, Connor,' Adams said smoothly with a smile as he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, which turned the virus's gaze into one of steel, and spread his free hand towards the direction of the docks. 'For tonight we are all victors! The Sons of Liberty get to send a message to England and you rob William Johnson of his financing. Your village will be saved.' A temporary pause. 'I've an idea: why don't you lead the way? That should keep us out of any further trouble, am I right?'

Right... Alex drawled in his mind, wishing that he could cleave the man in half, not liking the way he was manipulating Ratonhnhaké:ton to do his biddings. And to the docks we go... The Boston Tea Party awaits...

The Blacklight virus continued to tail after the group until they gathered all their men to head to the harbour, when it was done, the bells within clock towers and churches sounded to announce that it was past midnight and December 16th had arrived. Alex carefully kept himself at a safer distance as he continued eavesdropping on the approaching group.

Adams was the first to speak as he cursed, 'Dammit! More guards!'

'We need to turn the crowd's anger to our advantage,' Molineux stated calmly.

'Say the word Connor and I will make it so!' Stephane piped up next to the Assassin as he took out his meat cleaver.

Alex watched as Ratonhnhaké:ton and Stephane took on the guards stationed one side while the Sons of Liberty stay away from the fighting at a safer distance. Cowards...

The Prototype ignored the measly sight of the future Founding Fathers and focused on the men below him. His hand went to the back of his waist where a belt of poison darts that he brought from one of the general store, throwing one of them in the air experimentally before he caught it and flicked it toward the first unfortunate target who stood in the middle of the group. The poison soon spread like wildfire in the dying man who went berserker on his own brothers, slashing his musket at them and fire its single shot. Alex quietly slipped back slightly just in time to see the Assassin and his comrade jumping over ship and landed a heavy blow on their first victim before they slaughtered the rest of them. When the battle was over, Ratonhnhaké:ton went to the man with the poison dart imbedded in his shoulder, pulling the small weapon off and studying it under the moon's light before black eyes began scanning the area in mistrust. Ratonhnhaké:ton, you might be trained to be a hunter, but you have yet to succeed in finding me...

When the Native couldn't find anything unusual, he pocketed the blade and let out a shrill whistle that mimicked that of an eagle's cry. Adams and Revere came out with sword in hand and Molineux held a musket, they surveyed the area before they nodded towards each other, a signal between them, they marched forward and raided the three ships, taking out every crate of English tea they found in the cargo. Alex observed the work like a hawk perched on top of a cliff. Soon, a small army of redcoats arrived along with a group of curious civilians. The Blacklight virus immediately and silently jumped to the ground, taking cover behind some large crates and listening intently to the sound of running footsteps.

Revere spotted the redcoats and immediately alarmed their small clandestine group, 'Regulars!'

'We need to keep those bastards at bay while the tea's being dumped.' Alex heard the French-Canadian said before something was dropped into the water. 'Let me help. I am yours to command.'

Good. At least Ratonhnhaké:ton has someone watching his back. The Prototype thought before he waited the running soldiers to run past his hiding spot, but at the last one, he pulled the man to his hiding place by the collar and snapped his neck with a loud click as bones and joints were dislocated. The Blacklight virus let the body fell to the ground unceremoniously as he took the musket, while he had no love for guns, he shouldn't waste a loaded gun, taking careful aim at the leader of the group before he pulled the trigger and watching with a satisfied grin at the downed corpse on the small wooden plank. The rest of the members either accidentally tripped on the body and fell into the freezing water below or paused in their step long enough for someone on the ships to shoot them. Alex kept to the shadow as he watched history been written in front of his very own eyes, but the protective wolf in him was growling angrily at the fact that Ratonhnhaké:ton's contribution to the Sons of Liberty, and perhaps in the Continental Army at a later time, did not appear in recorded history.

A grunt was heard above him, attracting Alex's attention, he immediately climbed up the crates and crouched down slightly to hide beneath the rooftop as he stare at the panting regular who managed to pull himself onto the roof of the warehouse, sweat gleaming brightly under the moon's light. Soon the man steeled himself and took aim with his weapon, following the direction it was pointing, he found Ratonhnhaké:ton busied with the redcoats swarming around him like ants high on pheromones, at the end of the targeting. A rush of emotion that had not surfaced for decades, Alex instantly dashed forward without a second thought and snarled in panic, 'NO!'

His prey turned and pointed his musket at him as his right arm shifted in its own accord to the one of metallic claws, piercing through the man's chest. The corpse fell onto him, eyes forever frozen in fear and the gun fell onto the tiles of the roof, rolling off of the old worn tiles loudly before it hit the ground with a seemingly loud bang. Regaining his control over his body from the shock, he morphed his arm back to normal and threw the body off of his bloodied arm, staring at his blood red hand under the bright moonlight. He questioned his petrifaction at the sight of the warm crimson liquid for he had spent everyday of his lifespan in hunting down organic beings and devouring them. Suddenly, seeing this pale hand covered in blood under the moon, it reminded too much of the pale artificial light of the last time he held his sister's body in Greene's Redlight nest. Did his mind played a trick on him or did he truly imagined it was the young child he had taken care of for the past two short years?

Feeling eyes on him, Alex whipped around to face another threat, but he only found Ratonhnhaké:ton's brown eyes staring at him intently. Still, Alex was confident that the Native Assassin could not see him in detail with the bright full moon shining on his back and the shadow of his body engulfed his features well enough that the child would not be able to see his face clearly. Though he watched in slight fascination that those dark chocolate irises he studied fixedly day and night suddenly changed into ones of a golden hue. The shade of gold you could only find in certain type of wolves and the virus found such colour suited the young man better than the common brown colour that anyone could find in any part of the world. A tiny voice in the back of his mind soon knocked him back to reality with a special comment. And you don't see such sight when you are Ratonhnhaké:ton, his Raké:ni, isn't that right, Alex?

In the blink of an eye, the strange sight was gone and the warrior's focus turned to the remaining boxes of tea while Alex quickly left the rooftop, blending into the thick shadow where the bright beam of moonlight could not touch and watching as the Boston Tea Party came to a close. He tilted his head slightly to the side and observed the three figures who stood on the other side of the dock, but where they had a perfect view of what had happened on board of those three ships. His biomass throbbed in his still bloodied arm, licking the blood clean of it, as the Blacklight virus stared at them in contemplation before he shook his head and left under darkness' protection. The time that would come to John Pitcairn, William Johnson and Charles Lee, but tonight, he would stay his hand, because Ratonhnhaké:ton was still in the premise. He would hunt them another time and the child had the right to exact revenge with him...

Meanwhile...

Ratonhnhaké:ton did not feel as accomplished as the Sons of Liberty did at the effort in dumping all the tea to the ocean, because his mind was lost in the shadowed figure he spotted on top of a warehouse. The man, too tall and broad to be a woman, was standing on the roof with a dead redcoat at his feet, he did not need to guess to know that the stranger had saved him from being shot from above while he was distracted by the small army he faced on the ground. His second sight had shown him the figure bathing in a calming blue, indicating that he was an ally and not an enemy. When his sight melted away, he found himself staring into the same blue he witnessed in the stranger's eyes.

'Connor!' Stephane called out from behind him, drawing the young man back to reality, as he barged his way through the men to hand him a crate that had the British stamp on it. 'We saved the last one for you.'

With a smirk, Ratonhnhaké:ton raised it high in the air like a warrior presenting his trophy, spotting Johnson standing at a safer distance from them, with Charles Lee and Jonathan Pitcairn behind him. The Assassin advanced to the edge of the dock with the crate in arms, looking like he was going to give the man's last box of profit back before he dropped it into the salty sea water. Seeing different grimaces and frowns on his enemies brought greater accomplishment in him than the fighting. With Johnson's finance destroyed and the man himself disgraced, his village was now safe from being taken by the Templar Order.

'Best we get out of here, eh?' his French-Canadian ally said with a small pat on his arm, but the Assassin kept his eyes on the leaving Templars and only moved when they were out of sight.

Ratonhnhaké:ton smiled a ghost of smile as he looked forward to tell the good news to his Raké:ni and apologized for his harshness...

The next day...

Homestead manor...

Alex was spending his time in the hidden basement and placing some new weapons he had purchased when he was back in Boston last night, some greater swords and polished pistols and a few precious tomahawks he was able acquired from Kanien'kehá:kas this morning for Ratonhnhaké:ton. He scribbled another set of numbers in the ledger before he placed the War Tomahawk on the row for blunt weapons. Of course when being questioned by Achilles of his whereabouts yesterday, he simply answered that he went for a walk and did some shopping while he was at it. Of course, the old limping man did not believe in a second that that was all he did during his absence and Ratonhnhaké:ton's surrogate father retired before the conversation turned into an interrogation.

He was about to check the pistols' chamber and parts when he heard a high neigh outside, he easily recognized the cry from the only white horse they had, it was named as Penthesilea by the old Mentor from his fondness of Trojan history and her sole rider was Connor. Whenever he approached her, the mare would try to bite him like an animal that was backed against the wall and decided to fight dirty against the predator. Ever since then, Alex made sure that there was at least five-stable-distance between him and the harpy.

He just returned the gun in his hand into the crate filled with hay and made one last note in the ledger before he went out to greet the Assassin, when he arrived outside, he caught Ratonhnhaké:ton answered Achilles' question with a reluctant tone, 'No. He retreated when we destroyed the tea.'

Not really looking at the boy, the old man continued stared at the setting sun and muttered in exasperation, 'Only to hatch some new scheme. I'm sure...' A steel-like glint filled his dark eyes. 'You should have killed him.'

'There was no need,' Ratonhnhaké:ton answered genuinely. Not seeing any reason he should be chasing the disgraced Templar.

Achilles snorted at the answer as he whispered with a hint of certainty, 'Time will tell if you speak the truth.'

Connor stopped pacing in front of the Mentor, shaking his head dejectedly, as he turned around and spotted Alex standing at the corner of the manor. Head cast a downward glance at his feet and hands clasped in front of his waist, the child marched towards him at the pace of man taking steady steps to his death. Alex supposed that this became a part of his defence mechanisms of sort, whenever Ratonhnhaké:ton was unsure or nervous, he would start playing with his hands or the way he walked resemble to that of an old man.

'Hello, Raké:ni,' the young man greeted him in a small voice. 'I...'

The Assassin flinched when he spotted Alex raising hand and closed his eyes shut, bracing for a hit that never came. The only thing he felt was the unnaturally warm hand of his surrogate father on top of his head, it was the only way the older Kanien'kehá:ka displayed his care to him as he said quietly, 'Welcome home, Ratonhnhaké:ton.'

The virus smiled lightly at the content face the child gave him, though part of him really wondered if there wasn't some wolf blood running in the boy with the way he leaned into his touch whenever his hand settled on his head. Ignoring this thought, he pulled back to gesture to the manor and softly said, 'We can discuss what happened inside.'

Alex led the young man to the dining room while he went to prepare some biscuits, knowing that Ratonhnhaké:ton had probably rode his way back without stopping for a rest, and brewed some honey tea to wear off the cold of the winter. While he was throwing woods for the fire, he heard Connor asked thoughtfully, 'Raké:ni? Are there other Assassins in America than just the three of us?'

'I don't think so,' Alex answered after he considered for a moment and took a few memory dives in some Templars' memories. 'Everyone except Achilles has died in the Purge. I do not recall any others.' A tiny pause. 'Why do you ask?'

'I... saw someone that night when I am fighting regulars and destroying Johnson's tea,' said Ratonhnhaké:ton. 'Someone saved me from being shot from behind. I don't know who he is, but whoever he was, my sight told me that he was a friend or an ally, and I owe him my life.'

The Prototype listened to the young Kanien'kehá:ka intently, but at the mention of his SIGHT, it sounded like he had more than one vision and hearing this drew him in like a curious cat. He looked over his shoulder and asked, 'Your sight? What do you mean by that?'

He saw Connor made the face of someone who had realized he had spoken too much, but the look soon faded to a relaxed one as the young man took a deep calming breath before he explained, 'It is an ability that I have since I was born. It allows me to spot things that people could miss from the naked eye, such as footprints and hidden switches. The sight also shows me whether the person I am facing is a friend or foe. People or object coloured in gold is a target or of impotance. In red, it means the person is an enemy. In blue, it shows that it is an ally.'

A pause silence filled with nothing but the clinking and clanking noise of the silverware in Alex's hand.

'This is actually the first time I have told anyone about my second sight,' said Ratonhnhaké:ton. His eyes were focused on his clasped hands on the table.

Hearing this genuine confession brought a gentle smile Alex's lips as he brought the tray of snacks and tea to the boy and said, 'I thank you for telling me this, child. And I am sure this will not be the last time you see him, Ratonhnhaké:ton. I am certain you will meet him again.'

'How can you be so sure?' the young Assassin asked curiously. 'Do you know something, Raké:ni?'

Alex smiled wider as he replied mysteriously, 'Not yet.'

A chapter I have forgotten I've completed after several sudden inspirations have popped up in my head.