Disclaimer - I don't the Assassin's Creed or Prototype franchise, they all belong to their respective owners.

Midnight Secrets

October 16th, 1774...

Homestead Manor, Hidden Room...

Connor continued to stare at the paragraph he had written a few months ago, along with a bloodied letter tucked in his journal. Mind full of questions and doubts that were an impenetrable fog.

William Johnson is dead – and with him, the Templar plot to steal the land of my people. But in ending this threat, I have revealed another. On his body was a letter addressed to John Pitcairn, containing orders to root out and destroy the Patriot weapons and supplies. Should he succeed in this, the colonists will be unable to maintain their resistance and the Templars will surely take control. So long as Pitcairn lives, the danger remains. I need to find him. He needs to die.

The Kanien'kehá:ka wondered if this was what Raké:ni feared when he told him the stranger's story, worried that he would become a vengeful ghost that will not rest until it saw the Templar Order uprooted and every man and woman within slaughtered and dead at his feet. What would he become once the deed was done and the task was completed? Tainted in the blood of his enemies and driven by his Creed. Perhaps it was like what his surrogate father told him months Templars, the Monsters, would stop at nothing to take control of the world; the Heroes, he and Raké:ni, would fight until they defeat their sworn enemies; and afterwards, he suspected that the Elder saw the Men as the Colonists who would destroy them despite of their good deeds. How he wanted to prove that this was not a future set in stone. His black eyes went to the portrait of his father, wondering what the Grandmaster would say in response of the Elder's words.

'Still having troubles with Iskandar's words?' Achilles' voice drifted to his ear.

Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't turn to face the Mentor of the Brotherhood, thinking that the old man would leave him to his solitude after he had announced that their numbers had recently raised to six. Two more members had joined them in their fight, Clipper Wilkinson and Duncan Little. Clipper was a young man skilled with a musket and his accuracy would be a great asset in their fight. Duncan was similar to Stephane in some ways, a religious man with a strong sense of justice. Their brothers-in-arms should be more than enough to satisfy Achilles' constant urgency to push the Templar force out of the Colonies, but here he was, bothering him again.

The Native exhaled heavily and half in frustration as he answered, 'Raké:ni just want some time alone.'

Of course that was the saddest excuse that he had ever uttered, but it was what his surrogate father said before he departed to visit Giry and Gabriel and that was weeks ago. Though it might also be because he wanted to keep his distance from him, one reason or another, the older Kanien'kehá:ka was also having problems of his own. It was like the events of Johnson's attempt to buy their land had created a chasm between them and, each day they remained separate, it grew wider and deeper. Ratonhnhaké:ton wondered how to reassemble the breaking pieces of their father-and-son relationship. The problem in repairing it was that he was not even certain what his mistake was: was it his impatience in seeking revenge or was it his reaction of hatred that he was displeased of? Or maybe, it was his dislike of his mentor's and his people's impassiveness.

'You say these words, but do you truly believe them?' the Mentor Assassin asked as he tightened his grip on his cane.

Connor made a derisive snort as he headed towards the stairs, ignoring Achilles' demand of where he was going. He should speak with his Raké:ni, anything was better than staying here. I should go to the Sea soon. Captain Kidd's treasure should help...

Meanwhile...

Giry's Orphanage...

Alex was pouting or grimacing or simply sad-clown-facing, he had every right to be that right now and probably for another week or month. This cold war between him and Ratonhnhaké:ton was affecting him like an itch that did not go away with time and festered like an infected wound. He was the codename Prototype, a weapon for Bio-Warfare, the Blacklight Virus, the evolution of Redlight, and Alexander Mercer, the heartless murder on New York's streets. Here he was, pacing around like a grumpy kid and, somehow, he was feeling sadness? What the hell happened to the man who set out for revenge against Gentek?!

GOD! THIS IS RIDICULOUS! The Blacklight roared deep within his mind as he resisted trying to break any furniture that was within the room, gritting his teeth in frustration as he ran his fingers painfully across his scalps, slightly hoping that he would feel blood running under his nails. His ears soon perked when he heard the, these days at least, annoying and infuriating voice of Gabriel behind the closed doors.

'He's still in there acting like the Beast?' the master thief asked softly, but his voice shown that he was amused.

'Gabriel!' Giry exclaimed lowly and a smack soon followed. 'Stop calling him that! You know he is not... content.'

'Content?' Gabriel repeated the word incredulously. 'He had spent weeks in his room, scaring the orphans and your workers alike and was close to crushing everything within, I'm surprised that the furniture and décors were still intact. With... OUCH!'

'Will you cease your ramblings?' the old lady of the house hissed out disapprovingly. 'I believe that he and Connor need to talk PRIVATELY to get some forms of compromise. It's rare enough for Zeus to find someone he cared and one who cared him back despite they hold no blood relation. To let a simple misunderstanding destroy their bond is something I will never accept. I want him to be happy and if I have to restore his happiness by being the peacekeeper between them or die to repair it, so be it.'

Alex heaved a heavy sigh as he paced around once more, ignoring the whispers of his two friends and pushing the incessant noises of their voice. The virus stomped a bit harder on the wood to drown the gossiping voices, he continued so until his friends had finally ended their conversation on the most miserable topic in the universe. Finally! I can think. And in PEACE!

The Blacklight virus went to lie down on his bed at the corner of the room, with his hands clasped behind the back of his head and eyes closed. He did not need rest, but being in this relaxed position helped a little bit in settling down the running gears and clogs that were his mind. As soon as he felt his body turning lax, he would have thought he was going to fall asleep. The peace was ruined by the knocks on his door. Grunting in displeasure, he simply turned his back towards the doors and his left hand went to press itself against his ear before he shouted, 'LEAVE ME ALONE!'

'Aren't you grumpy today?' the sing-song voice of the thief came inside the room.

'Don't you have thieving to do then?' Alex retorted as thoughts of dismemberments and some other gory details were filling his mind, fuelling his anger.

'Surprisingly, no,' Gabriel said cheerfully and the virus could feel the light footsteps on wooden floorboards before the breath of the thief was on his neck. 'Beside, I am having too much fun seeing you so fluster like this.'

Fluster, cute, timid, etc. were not words Alex liked to have them associate with him and they often made him started a lecture that could tear the ears off someone and half of their soul knocked out of their body. The grimmer consequence was a splatter of blood the ground. He was ready to yell into Gabriel's ears until they became deaf or sensitive to sounds for a while. Suddenly the Blacklight virus felt a dip on the bed and when his head turned around, warm lips were on his cold ones and his eyes widen at the unexpected a and unwanted contact. His reaction time had to have gotten rusty, because it took him half a minute of time to push the daredevil away to break the kiss and shoved the human a bit harder than in normal strength. Watching with a slight satisfaction of the heavy bang on the deck and low groan emitted from Gabriel who fell into a fetus position as his hands went to cradle his sore neck and back.

'What the fucking hell!' Alex shouted indignantly before he rubbed his clothed arm over his mouth and thought that he needed some mouth washer and toothpaste while he was at it. This lip-to-lip contact was disgusting and filled with gems in his opinion, he might be a virus that invulnerable to everything and he might be overacting, though this was anything but exaggerating.

The door opened slightly and Giry's grey head poked into the room, surveying the scene before her stern eyes landed on the thief moaning thief on the floor, she entered the room with her hands on her narrow hips and demanded disapprovingly, 'What did you do this time, Gabriel?'

'Oh, just giving some of my love to our dearest leader who overreacted from a simple kiss,' the injured man bit out as he continued with his rubbing.

'No wonder why Connor has ran out of the mansion in such hurry. You–'

Alex didn't listen to the rest as he slammed the doors opened and disappeared in a blur.

Minutes ago...

The Assassin was pulling his hood nervously, not even certain if his Raké:ni even wanted to see him and he was feeling a sense of dread of the coming meeting. Ratonhnhaké:ton was pulled out of his train of thought by a gentle and elderly voice calling out to him.

The Native American smile wryly as he greeted the lady of the house, Giry came and hugged him much as she did like a mother to the young children, after that she immediately took a step back and murmured softly, 'Let me take a look at you, young man.'

He stiffly made a small turn and smiled timidly as the older woman was commenting on his figure that was different from when they had met and she was thanking Iskandar of listening to her instead of Achilles. Connor would never understand what the two of them had against each other and that the only thing that happened when they met was trading blows. Inwardly, he wondered if there would ever be peace between them. The Assassin felt heat rose on his cheeks and felt his tip ears numb at the elder lady's compliment of his appearances, beauty was not something people noticed the most out of him and it was weird and awkward to hear someone giving such compliments.

'If you are looking for Iskandar, he's at the third door on the right, upstairs,' Giry said as she lifted a frail finger at the next story of the manor with a wry smile. 'I think it is best if you speak with him. He hasn't been himself since he came here and he is unhappy for days.'

The word unhappy was a foreign word for Ratonhnhaké:ton, because while there were many words that could associated with the older Kanien'kehá:ka, things that said he was sad disappeared in an instant and those feelings were rarely lasted very long. Hearing this made Connor felt a bit guilty of leaving his surrogate father alone to deal with his own personal dilemma. The Assassin quickly excused himself and quickly ascended the stairs, though he partly wondered if Raké:ni wanted to see him. The Native Assassin was about to knock on the door of the guest room, when he noticed two forms from the small opening. Dark coloured eyes widened in shock at the intimate scene before their owner turned on his heels and left as fast as he had arrived, ignoring the questioning and confused gaze from Giry as he left her household.

The young Kanien'kehá:ka whistled sharply, his ride came into view at his signal, and immediately hauled himself up the saddle of his horse, ignoring the sounds of thundering footsteps and the callings of his name, he escaped the lady's property and rode as fast as the animal could. It was only when he found himself at the cliff of Homestead did he slowed to a halt. Connor was not sure why he ran, but the scene was branded in his mind and it made him blushed as much as it saddened him. Their tribes had never had much trouble with man loving man or woman loving woman, they simply saw it as they possessed two distinct spirits that of a male and female, having the strength of one and the gentleness of another. He had no trouble with that aspect, but this was his Raké:ni... The thought of him and the rogue together was not one that held any sort of appeal to him and thinking about made him wished he had barged into the room to beat him. The Assassin clutched a fistful of his hair as he swallowed back his frustration, Ratonhnhaké:ton was uncertain what he was truly angry at, whether it was the fact his surrogate father was in love with a pervert of a man or he found someone else who was special to him. His eyes widened in surprise for the second time of the day, he went to bump his fist against his forehead, seething at the thought that he was jealous of that thief.

Ugh, the scene made things more awkward than they should be and the heat that rose on his cheek was not welcomed at all. At this rate, the two of them would never have a formal or private talk. His courage and determination were emptied to the last drop after witnessing that intimate moment; his anger and discomfort were filled to the brink though. Shaking his head slightly to get rid of the depressing thoughts as he adamantly whispered, 'Time. Time will repair this. I just need to put some time and distance between us. Distance...'

Head tilted to the side, observing the current of waves from the sea and hearing the far-off waves crashing on stone.

The sea is most definitely calling me... The Native American thought morosely after he had muttered that sentence like a mantra of his for a few minutes as he gazed at the distant ship in the bay, he took his time to leave the mountains and trotted through the village in complete silence, half-heartedly returned the greetings. Inwardly, he was wondering if he should perhaps send words before he departed for the search of Captain Kidd's second piece of the treasure map in Dead Chest Island, somewhere within the region of the British Virgin Islands according to Aquila's quartermaster, where a graveyard of unfortunate ships that did not survive the battle against the ocean's fury and traps.

Connor's lips thin in strain and his frown deepened once more, tanned skin hands clenched into a tight fist as the mind wished he had the thief's neck under his fingers. He must have looked terrible judging by the stable boy's loud squeak when he handed him the reins of his horse and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him and the trotting animal. Forcing himself to take deep breathes, he returned to his previous mantra mentally while he ordered Mr. Faulkner to ready the ship for their long journey towards the Dead Chest Island. As the port turned into a louder cacophony than before with the sailors rushing around to prepare the ship and get the supplies onto the cargo, Ratonhnhaké:ton stared at the ink-filled pot before he let out a sigh and went to write down a simple note for the Elder before he boarded Aquila and remained in the captain's quarter for the rest of the day until the quartermaster told him that everything was ready.

'THAT WAS IRRESPONSIBLE! CHILDISH AS MUCH AS IT IS PATHETIC! WHERE IN THE WORLD IS YOUR MIND WHEN YOU DID THAT STUNT!'

Alex grimaced for enth-time for the last few days, because Giry was tearing a new hide off of the thief who took the verbal beating without pouting or his usual carefree daredevil-like attitude which was surprising to say the least. Oh he was still angry at him for that uncalled for intimate contact, but what was he supposed to do now that Connor had went thousand miles away from Homestead into an ocean part that had an infamous reputation of killing even the best experienced sailors. His reasons of not pursuing the child were quite simple. First, the virus hated water and couldn't stand to be on a ship or a patch of earth surrounded by a large quantity of H2O. Second, it was obvious that the young man needed time to get his bearings together by the fact that he had everyone up and sailing the instant they reached the mountain cliff and, when his mind settled down, the two of them would have a talk at a later date, which would also give him time to formulate a rational explanation of the awkward event the Assassin had witnessed. Third, he really needed to get the old lady to stop shouting, because he was really close to bring the claws if he had to endure another minute of the banshee-like screeches. Don't get him wrong, he loved Giry very much, but a lecture had to have a time limit and, if she continued like this, he would lose his desire of putting his two cents in scolding Gabriel and might pity him more than he currently did.

Alex cleared his throat loudly to catch the fuming woman's attention, her bangs had came off of her usually well-kept bun and the pause gave her time to take large gulps of air that she would require for further shouting. The Blacklight was surprised that the lady's lungs managed to produce enough ammunitions for her gigantic scolding. 'Giry, can you please leave us to ourselves? ALONE?'

It seemed that the small timeout allowed her to get her bearings as she carefully straightened her ruffled feathers, dress he meant but you should understand what he was referring to, and gently tucked her white bangs behind her ears. Giry nodded calmly and left them, but not before she threw one last withering look at the thief who, finally had a normal reaction, rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Alex let out a mental sigh of relief as he took a seat next to the thief with the small table between them, Gabriel might look like he hadn't been scolded an entire day but the virus easily spotted the exhausting gaze in his friend's eyes. He was probably resigning himself to another morale lecture from him or an equally tough beating, judging from the tensed fist on the wooden furniture. The fake Mohawk went to rub his face in exasperation, a very normal human reaction that he wouldn't think he was capable decades ago, but with the amount of troublemakers around him and idiocy from society that was currently making his simple planning miserable, humanity had long settled its rotting roots in him. Mostly...

'You know, if I ignore the fact that Ratonhnhaké:ton walked in on us, I think that was the first time you have jumped onto phase two,' the Blacklight virus mused after a minute of thoughtful thinking.

The thief scoffed loudly as he returned, in his opinion, the teasing with a muse of his own, 'Phase two? Isn't that when I should be bedding you?'

'Eh, no, that is phase three,' Alex answered in fake nervousness, drawing a laugh from Gabriel. 'Phase one is small and light touches or holding hands. Phase two is for kisses and lingering touches. And phase three is all in the bed as you can POSSIBLY imagine.'

Now Gabriel had began laughing like there was no tomorrow, fist banging on the table lightly with his free hand clutching his quivering stomach, while he gasped out, 'I am pretty sure there's a paper I have found floating around that says the same, similarly. I should bring it to you one day or another.'

Floating paper...? Ah, Franklin's Almanac pages. Alex realized mentally before he cringed slightly at the memory of Connor innocently asked him to explain the content of a page that concerned of a man bedding an older woman and a younger one. He had almost decided to run straight to Boston to cleave the old author into two for daring to write this topic and losing it in the process. He had spent literally ages to distract the boy from understanding what the thesis meant. I am pretty sure that Giry will take offence of that topic, almost as much as a guy asking a gal her measurements.

'In a manner of speaking, I am a bit jealous of that boy,' Gabriel murmured softly, bringing the virus back to the conversation, who didn't notice that he had stopped laughing. 'You take care of him with the same dedication of a faithful follower to his worshipped god.' Not excessively. At least I don't think so. 'You should be careful with the amount of trust and faith you place in Connor. Putting too much effort in him, and you'll break when he disappoints you.'

'I think I'm the one he is disappointed with me, Gabriel,' the virus said as he leaned his head backward on the chair to stare at the wooden ceiling. 'He's... thinking I am staying too much on the sidelines, but the whole talk of war and the Patriots, they aren't exactly productive. In the Destruction of the Tea in Boston, Connor is the one who did everything and they just manipulate him to do their work while they continue spouting their propaganda.'

Nodding his head in agreement, the master thief rested a reassuring on his friend's shoulder. 'Don't worry my dear patron. You have sent a little guardian angel to look after him. I'm sure he's in safe hands right now.'

The problem is that this GUARDIAN ANGEL is sitting next to you. Alex thought sullenly. Knowing Ratonhnhaké:ton, he's getting a large amount of trouble charging towards him.

At the same time…

Across miles of earthly lands and of ocean water...

The Assassin and his quartermaster carefully approached the Dead Chest Island on the row boat while the Aquila in a safer distance from the dangerous shore of the island, the Native kept careful eyes at the tooth-like rocks and warily glanced at the wreckages of unfortunate vessels. Yellowed sails with holes ominously fluttered at the wind, broken masts that stood as tombstones for the fallen and hulls and keels that could be mistaken as rocks covered in moss. It was indeed a graveyard of ships as Mr. Faulkner had told him.

'Ship's graveyard's just around the point. Can't miss it,' the quartermaster said as he rowed closely to one of the rocks that were close to the shore. 'The men say Abel Owens was aboard one of the doomed vessels. If it's true, you'll find what's left of him here.'

When the boat got close enough, Ratonhnhaké:ton jumped onto the rock, frowning slightly at the smooth and slippery texture covering the stone. Faulkner called out to him one last time before he left him on Dead Chest. 'Scavengers love the graveyard. So be on your guard!'

The Kanien'kehá:ka gave a small nod at the old man before he jumped from slippery rocks to broken ships until he reached the shore where he found some money and salvageable items, he picked everything he could carry without hindering him before he looked at the rocky cliff. If Able Owens' ship wrecked around here, they must have been looking for something themselves. But what?

Never think that there's never only one answer to a mystery Ratonhnhaké:ton. You might see it as a maze with many dead ends, but it's actually a spider web, everything is connected to the center, the truth.

Shaking his head to rid of the wise words that his surrogate father had taught him when he was teaching him of how to gather information on a target. The Assassin did not need that person's voice in his head right now, because THAT scene was still too fresh in his memories. The only thing that was resolved from his journey to Dead Chest Island was that he had no right in judging who his father wanted to be... INTIMATE with, but he certainly had the right to say that he could have picked a better partner. Gabriel was a thief first and a pervert second, who liked to COURT the most beautiful and impossible to attain human beings. Of course, he was apparently on the list until his cold indifference and Raké:ni's constant and adamant disapproval of his actions brought an end to his seductions. The Native quickly tucked that thought in the back of his mind as he slowly ascended the cliff and from the top, his sharp eyesight immediately caught the lights of a ship in the distance, but it did not belong to the Aquila.

'Another ship. Scavengers,' Connor muttered when he spotted light coming from wreckage nearby as he quickly headed towards the cliff that supported the broken back of the vessel diagonally. His jump onto the window of the captain's cabin did not go unnoticed by the scavenger who, on closer inspection, held the second part of Captain Kidd's treasure map.

'Put that down,' the Kanien'kehá:ka ordered threateningly. A voice in his mind whispered nonchalantly. Like that will make him surrender the map to you. You still have a lot to learn young man.

The scavenger stood up fearfully before he shouted, 'Piss off! I found it! 'Tis mine!'

At that he bolted to the next wreckage in hurry just as Connor shouted at him to stop. The young man slide down to deck where the thief knelt seconds ago and quickly caught up to him, but the man somehow managed to keep ahead of him and the deteriorated area was working against him, each rush and panic movements the scavenger made caused the weakened woods to break and became obstacles.

'Leave me be! I found it!' the scavenger exclaimed.

'What you carry is mine!' the Assassin shot back. Technically speaking that's not yours.

The Native American growled in frustration as he mentally stomped the voice out of his mind as he doubled in his effort to catch the thief. He sure needed the rest or else this voice in head would sooner or later drive him crazy. He cut down every lackey who stood in his way, but when he thought he managed to catch him, the man's weight and panic movements knocked a piece wood that had been supporting the opening he just went threw and debris sealed it tight. Seeing this, Ratonhnhaké:ton sprinted faster and jumped on top of the debris before he took another jump, landing on the skeleton of an overturned hull.

'Stop and give me what I came for!' Connor shouted warningly as the chase continued, seeing that thief had sealed another opening, he opted to continue this chase from the higher grounds. 'Hand it over!'

'Sorry mate!' the scavenger replied mockingly. 'Looks like you lost this treasure hunt!'

Thankfully to the Assassin and sadly for the thief, the masts of the broken vessel were lined up perfectly for the Native to follow him from above. Until the last mast, Connor heard a deafening crack and the entire structure soon fell. 'Damn!'

Out of pure luck, the mast didn't fall into the seawater, where he would have drowned or been crushed under the heavy weight, and landed on another ship's hull, he quickly climbed onto the other ruined vessel and slid the rest of the way down to the ground. Just in time to see the thief running into his peripheral vision, the Assassin extended his hidden blade and body tensed for the coup de grace. A predator pounced onto its prey and its life ended before the unsuspected realized the blade embedded in the back of his skull. The prize Connor aimed for was soon taken from the clutch of a dead man.

'Near the wolf's abode,' the Assassin read as he studied the map piece, the words and lines made no sense to him anymore than the first fragment he had found in Fort Wolcott. He ignored the mystery in favour to retreat, he did not how many men there were or where their ship was now, he better returned to the Aquila before it... she... was discovered. Ratonhnhaké:ton headed towards the high ground of the shore first, where he could easily spotted where his ship was anchored. Should I head back? Or should I linger in the ocean a little longer...?

A few months later...

January 11th, 1775

Alex lifted the axe in his hands high above his head before he slammed it on the log in front of him. It was a stress-relief the Homestead housewives had pushed him into, saying that his anger would be most useful in targeting wooden logs for their fireplace, it worked at first but it grew boring and aggravating. He heavily sighed once again before he threw the two cut pieces to the mountain-size pile next to him. The virus was patient but he also disliked for being taken for an idiot. Every pigeon that had returned to the Assassin base brought a small note of excuses. Chasing a scavenger in a boat graveyard for a piece of treasure map? Visiting a crazed doctor's household for another treasure map? Discovering a Mayan temple with an infamous pirate's hoard? When Ratonhnhaké:ton finally returned from his journey, they would have a serious talk about his lack of imagination.

His irritation couldn't be completely blamed on the Native Assassin. Part of what made him tensed for days was the fact that the tavern Gabriel had built with his share of the money their group had made back in London was being commandeered by a certain Templar. While it helped them gather some information, the thieves were immensely displeased with their presences and it was affecting their operations. They didn't even have the space to do their own planning and thinking and the money they received for their SILENCE was miserable compared to what they collect during their heists.

Alex took another piece of his frustration onto another innocent log, but this one would be the last one. He needed to get out of Homestead before anybody thought of another stupid task to keep from his moody depression and sharp-tooth anger. Thankfully, he had taken the habit of keep some ink and papers on him, so he didn't need to return to the manor to write a small note, or else, he would keep imaging different scenarios of how to plan Davenport's death that ranged from a bloody mess or a clean death. That only happened whenever he spotted the old limping man.

The Blacklight virus tucked the note under the heavy weight of the axe before he turned his body back to his Mercer persona, one who had spent his time hunting down whatever Templar lackeys who were unlucky to cross his path and patrolling Boston's streets and the Frontier. From time to time, he would go to Gabriel for a job or Giry for some information, his friends were slowly warming up to the presence of Mercer. He visited the latter far less, seeing that he hated the children who followed him like ducklings and were unaffected by his basilisk's glare, which further amused the old lady. Recently, one of the orphans had come back from Boston in a near catatonic state and he had kept muttering "Boogeyman" since then. Giry had, more or less, ordered him to find the man responsible for causing such distress in one of her charges.

Alex believed that the man, he doubted it was a monster like the children liked to tell him when he was actually the real "meanest monster" by definition wise, was someone who operated during night time, because Giry's women found the boy near the rural parts of Boston in morning. Here he was, sitting in a rundown tavern and sipping tasteless ale while he waited for the sun to set and the night to rise. He was going to order another when his pale blue eyes caught a shadow in the darkest part of the tavern, he wouldn't have noticed the person if his sight wasn't so heightened and he wondered why no one would notice, seeing that the man's clothes weren't exactly of current fashion and his hat was ridiculously eye-catching to even a blind man.

The man wore a pretty tight, almost catsuit tight, leather clothing with different sets of buckles on the side, aside from his eyes, not one extra inch of skin was revealed, but from what he could see, the stranger was unnaturally pale, almost like his. The lower part of his face was hidden by a blue coloured bandana and a Sombreros-like hat with one part of it tilted upward, but it still shadowed the upward of his face. The eyes were closed, but Alex could see the smallest twitches the eyeballs made faintly, he was studying everyone in the room under his eyelashes.

Sneaky. The virus thought to himself as he traced the top of his empty pewter tankard, he kept an eye at the shadowed man while he waved at the bartender to fill his drink again. By the time, his drink was filled and a quarter of it was in him, night came and the moon shone brightly outside. Time to hunt.

As he finished that peculiar bloodlust thought, the strangely garbed man stood up from his seat and left without anyone noticing he was gone until one of the drunkards in a nearby table made a half-hearted panic gesture at the empty table. Curious Alex threw five gold coins on the table, attracting the barkeeper's greedy eyes as he reached for them with glee, only to be caught by the virus in a tight grip. He gave the old man a shark-like smile as he asked, 'Who was that man who just left? The one who is sitting by that table minutes ago.'

The man's anger vanished into thin air and the red soon turned pale, panic eyes running all around the tavern's shadowed spots before he leaned in close enough for Alex to smell horrid stench of his breath and whispered, 'Don't talk about the Night Stalker. He's everywhere and anywhere in shadows.'

'Night Stalker,' the disguised Blacklight repeated the ridiculous but oddly fitting name. Why not Jack the Ripper? Or Dr. Henry Jekyll? Perhaps Mr. Edward Hyde? Maybe Count Vald Dracula? And here I thought being stuck as Zeus is the bad enough. Night Stalker is far worse.

'Shh,' the bartender hissed out urgently, his hands clenching and unclenching like he wasn't sure if he should focus on shushing or praying. 'He'll hear you. Night Stalker trades his sanity for the Devil's aid in his quest for blood.'

Oh please! There's no Devil or God in this world, only idiots who wants money and those who stupid enough to believe those craps. The logical thought sounded loudly in his mind as he gave the old man a non-impress gaze that spoke volumes of scepticism. After all, this monster standing here was created by scientific means not magic. 'He's sitting there minutes ago like any other man in here. I doubt any madman out there will walk in and just sit there and do nothing.'

'Do you have a death wish?' the human whispered in distress, looking him in horror. 'If you want that, leave now! I don't care what you want with that monster, but I will not have you turn this fine establishment into a butcher's house. NOW LEAVE!'

So much for getting a hint on where the guy might be heading. Alex thought with a frown as he pocketed four of the coins and left without another word. 'Now it's the old fashion way. Start from the outskirts and work my way inward.'

Surprisingly, at the Boston's harbour, where he decided to scout first, he found the stranger fighting against a group of brutes with one guy standing outside the circle of fight and shouting orders to his lackeys, Alex's eyes narrowed as he studied the man's features and clothes before his eyesight landed on the small ring with the Templar's symbol on it. Despite having this malnourished appearance, Night Stalker actually kept up with the constant attacks from the mercenaries who were twice his size. He constantly focused on using his hook, which made the virus's eyebrows rose at the odd choice of a weapon, to either roll over a target or sweep over a fallen one that he had tripped with his hook. The deadly dance he showed was one that had the Blacklight astonished at the display. Such technique would be useful for the Assassin, but to replicate the movements with a tomahawk might require some tests from his part and training from Ratonhnhaké:ton, seeing that the young man's fighting style revolved more around his brute strength and quick strike on fatal parts of the human body. Alex knew fairly well that his student had troubles against the Redcoat brutes who all seemed to be capable in stopping his attacks and inflicting heavy wounds in counter. The Native Assassin had chosen to deal with that type of enemy with the rope-dart, but it was only effective when he was in a large area or there were few enemies. The rope-dart would be useless and difficult to manoeuvre in cases where he was being swamped by a large amount of British soldiers.

Alex soon refocused on the fight and pushed the planning to a later date to consider, he returned just in time to see something that he thought he wouldn't see on anybody other than the Assassins, a hidden blade. It also seemed like the Night Stalker was being slowly forced into a corner, but the man, Assassin he meant, was not going to go down without a fight, seeing his chance, the virus quickly slipped into shadowed spots as he slowly crept closer to the Templar who was saying haughty words in Spanish, believing that his men would soon killed the Assassin, he utterly failed to notice the Blacklight behind him until the loud crack sounded above the clashing noises of steel banging on steel.

The mercenaries and Assassin paused in their fight long enough to catch their breath and look at the source of the bone-cracking sound, the men finally realizing that their employer laid dead on the floor and the newly arrived stranger behind the corpse. The hirelings were speechless and frozen at the sight, which Night Stalker took full advantage of, embedding both of his weapons into the distracted men and Alex broke the neck of the few remaining. When there were only corpses next to their feet, Night Stalker, with a speed that wasn't normal of a human, rounded on him in an instant with his hidden blade extended and held it close to his neck as he demanded in a quiet manner, 'Who are you? Why are you after my prey?'

Alex wondered if this was how the man threatened everyone he deemed a threat, because it felt almost unnatural for a human to speak so quietly and void of emotions towards a danger. Of course he could easily overpowered Night Stalker, but if this man was an Assassin he better stayed on his good side, so he did what he usually wouldn't do in any circumstances: surrender. The Prototype kept his poker face on and slowly moved his hands up in surrender as he answered calmly, 'My name is Alex and I am here to speak with you.'

'Why?' the Assassin said, grey blue eyes narrowed in distrust.

'A few days ago, a child is brought back to the orphanage in a shock state and he kept saying the word boogeyman,' the virus explained before he gestured to the corpses. 'I believe he witnessed your killings, but his mind couldn't handle what he has seen, the child has simply told everyone he saw the boogeyman.

Night Stalker's eyes twitched slightly, something he doubted everyone could spot it if they weren't completely concentrating on the emotionless man, whether it was regret or unease by the fact that he had indirectly harmed a child remained to be seen. He tilted his head slightly, his ridiculous hat shielding his eyes as he silently questioned, 'Is the child all right?'

Again, the man's actions and feelings were like dust, you could easily miss them if you weren't focused. Alex shrugged his shoulder lightly and replied, 'He's calm down the last I have seen of him.'

When the Assassin remained in his petrified state, Alex sighed tiredly as he huffed out, 'Look I am not your enemy. Aside from finding the one responsible for traumatizing the boy, my employer has ordered me to look for any remaining Assassin who has survived the Purge.'

A much larger reaction this time, the hidden blade jabbed his throat with a bit more force that would have broke a human skin, but the only sensation he had was that of mosquito's bite. He guessed Night Stalker focused more on the shadowed intimidating gaze than his weapon's lethal danger to threaten his enemies to submission, wet their pants or faint out of shock, maybe all three at the same time if he were to judge from the reactions he found in the pub. Sadly, it didn't work on him as effectively as it normally should and the Assassin knew it, though he kept his tough façade on.

'Look how about you go to Davenport Homestead to confirm my identity and my mission from my employer yourself,' the virus said as he gestured in one hand at the general direction of North and slightly North-West where the Colonial Assassin base was located. 'Don't speak with Achilles though. He has little to no care for the affairs of the Brotherhood. It's all taken care by a Native American called Iskandar. Now that I've said all that needs to be said, can you please stop poking my neck with your hidden blade and let me go of me at the same time?'

The eyes looked left and right, rolled a half-circle and blinked a few time before they paused from their constant movement and halted to a close. Night Stalker ever slowly retracted his weapon with a soft click and allowed Alex to take a retreating step from him. The man soon hided his sight from him with the wide rim of his hat once more as he quietly asked, 'We shall see if you speaking the truth, but if I find nothing other than lies in your words. Rest assure that I will find you when you least expect it.'

Soon the man melted into the shadow, surprising the Blacklight at the display, but he could still detect the body heat signature in the darkness of the building Night Stalker and watched as the Assassin left the area as fast as the mist was approaching the port. A skilled Assassin and a Batman lover apparently. Well, at least, we are getting another ally on our ends.

Shoving his hands into his coat's pockets like he did back in New York Zero, Alex left the crime scene as a thick fog began to settle over the area, hiding the sight of the cooling corpses behind colourless curtains of mist.

Sorry for the late update and hope you all enjoy it.