"Pull him!" Sofia's voice sliced through the tense silence, sharp and decisive. Her team, meticulously chosen for their unwavering focus, sprang into action. With practiced efficiency, they detached Cal from the Animus's steely embrace, his body limp but breathing steadily.
"Commence rehabilitation," Sofia ordered, her voice firm and laced with an undercurrent of concern. "Run a full systems check and log his vitals meticulously."
As her team buzzed around her, Sofia knelt beside the unconscious man. His face, etched with the remnants of his virtual ordeal, was serene in sleep. Despite her scientific objectivity, a pang of empathy tugged at her heart. But she swiftly pushed those emotions aside. Sentimentality was a luxury she couldn't afford, not when the success of their mission hinged on her unwavering focus.
"You did well, Cal," she murmured, a hint of warmth betraying her stoic facade.
Orderlies materialized at her side, their expressions reflecting the gravity of the situation. "Handle him with care," she cautioned, her voice firm yet laced with concern. "No one enters this room without my explicit authorization, not even my father."
The orderlies acknowledged her instructions with a curt nod, their eyes filled with a silent understanding of the weight of her responsibility. They carefully lifted Cal's unconscious form, their movements a testament to their practiced expertise.
With a silent dismissal, Sofia turned her attention to Alex and Samia, her colleagues and confidantes. "You both did well," she acknowledged, her voice tinged with appreciation. "How's he holding up?" she inquired, seeking an update on Cal's condition.
"Surprisingly well," Alex responded, his tone a blend of admiration and professional observation. "Strong fellow. His vitals are stable, but this experience undoubtedly took its toll on him."
Sofia nodded, the weight of Cal's experience settling on her shoulders. She understood the immense strain the intense simulation had likely placed on his physical and mental reserves. Allowing him time to recover before delving deeper into the data was paramount.
"It was an intense simulation, especially for his first time," she remarked, acknowledging the challenges Cal had faced within the virtual world. She recognized the need to pace themselves, to ensure they didn't push him beyond his limits.
"Why don't you both grab some lunch?" she suggested, gesturing towards the door. "We can delve into the data once you're refreshed." Her words carried an unspoken understanding of the need for a brief respite before resuming their analysis.
Samia and Alex exchanged a knowing glance, their silent communication a testament to their deep understanding of Sofia's character. They recognized the weight of her solitary contemplation and respected her need for space to process the complexities of their latest venture.
With a silent nod of acknowledgment, they exited the room, leaving Sofia alone with the echoes of her creation.
Born in the same year as Warren Vidic's pioneering efforts with the Animus, Sofia felt an intrinsic connection to the technology. She often mused on how their lives had intertwined, both driven by an insatiable hunger to unlock the secrets of the past.
While previous iterations resembled chairs or tables, confining subjects to a passive role, Sofia envisioned something more immersive. Drawing inspiration from her tech-saturated upbringing, she dreamt of three-dimensional, life-sized environments that allowed observers to fully immerse themselves in ancestral memories.
Furthermore, she championed the integration of the subject's body into the experience, believing in the power of kinesthetic memory. For Sofia, making the act of reliving memories an active endeavor was paramount. Engaging the body, she argued, would deepen the imprint of ancestral memories, creating a potent feedback loop of recollection and understanding.
"It's so obvious, really," she had once remarked to her father during a tense dinner conversation. Despite his carefully neutral expression, she could discern the skepticism in his eyes.
Previous iterations had incorporated some of her sweeping changes, but this latest model was the first to fully embrace her vision.
Now, Sofia activated a section of the recording and stepped onto the platform to revisit it. While she could observe what Cal experienced, she couldn't share in his sensations, a fact for which she was secretly grateful. Unlike some within Abstergo, Sofia had never harbored a desire to enter the Animus herself.
She walked past the recording of Cal kneeling over the fallen samurai, reliving the pivotal moment when he had faltered, overcome with horror and confusion. It had been a critical juncture, one where he could have easily lost control—the first real assassination. Yet, Cal had heeded her voice, anchoring himself to the memory, and the results had exceeded her expectations. Everything was crystal clear, remarkably so given that it was Cal's inaugural experience within the Animus.
Sofia paused the recording at a different spot, her gaze fixated on the captivating form of Saki. Sofia marveled at Saki's attire, each element chosen with meticulous care. The elegant design of her cowboy hat contrasted beautifully with the intricate pattern of her plaid clothing, a fusion of ruggedness and grace that mirrored Saki's unique persona. Despite the inherent beauty, Sofia knew the harsh realities of combat would soon tarnish Saki's appearance, staining her attire with dust, dirt, and perhaps even blood. Yet, there was an undeniable allure to her presence, drawing Sofia in almost as if she could reach out and touch the enigmatic Youkai.
For Cal, such a thing was possible. He could immerse himself fully in the memories, experiencing them through all his senses. When he had killed the Shishi samurai, it was as vivid and tangible for him as if he had plunged one of his blades through a living person while standing right there on the floor.
The secret Sofia Rikkin kept from everyone, including her father, was that most of her scientific breakthroughs stemmed not just from focus, discipline, and a thirst for learning, but also from her imagination. As a lonely child, deemed too important for ordinary playmates yet not important enough for her father's attention, she had created her own stories and imaginary friends, boys and girls from various historical eras who visited her through a time machine of her own invention.
While not a literal time travel device, the Animus offered the closest experience science could provide. The imposing Templar standing frozen in the center of the room was the culmination of an idea conceived when she was just a child. She had given form and voice to that which resided only in the memories of a man long dead. Now, she looked over again at the frozen hologram of Callum Lynch. They shared more in common than he would ever suspect.
And, in a way, Sofia envied him. He could experience history firsthand, while she was limited to observing and analyzing.
The air hung heavy in Alan Rikkin's lavish Tokyo office, a stark contrast to the vibrant bustle of the city below. Though CEO of Abstergo Industries and Grand Master of the Templars, Rikkin found solace in this space, adorned with his carefully curated vision of beauty and power.
Samurai art adorned the walls, whispering tales of past conflicts. A meticulously maintained map of Japan tracked their progress, red dots marking conquered territories. Above it, a gleaming array of weapons – swords, spears, each representing a fallen clan – served as a chilling reminder of past victories.
The centerpiece was a katana, its golden hilt glinting in the afternoon sun. Once wielded by the legendary Date Masamune, it symbolized not just Rikkin's power, but the culmination of his life's work – dismantling the Assassins and eradicating violence.
Fragile scrolls whispered secrets of the past, while antique armor stood sentinel, some pieces – like the helmets and naginatas – bearing the weight of his own lineage. Others, like the bows, daggers, and smoke bombs, were grim trophies, wrested from their Assassin adversaries.
Rikkin traced the intricate engravings on his favorite bow, each depicting scenes of mythical battles and legendary creatures. A thrill coursed through him; this weapon, steeped in Assassin tradition, now served the Templar cause. Soon, the Assassins themselves would follow suit.
He silenced the anxieties swirling in his mind with the soothing strains of Chopin, his fingers dancing across the ivory keys of a grand piano. On a nearby screen, his recorded address to the G7 played, his voice resonating with a practiced earnestness.
"Looking back," the recorded Rikkin proclaimed, "it's clear that conflict defines human history. Last year alone, violence cost the world nine trillion yen. We believe people lack a healthy outlet for their aggression."
A faint whisper cut through the music, momentarily distracting him. He ignored it, his focus returning to the screen.
"Imagine," his image continued, "if these costs could be channeled towards progress – education, healthcare, new technology."
"Do I look old to you?" the current Rikkin interrupted, turning to his daughter Sofia, who had entered the room, her white doctor's coat replaced by a simple black dress.
"Yes, Father,"she replied, her honesty refreshing. "Because you are."
He chuckled, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. "At my age, vanity seems rather foolish, wouldn't you agree? Sixty-five years is a long time to contemplate anything, even oneself."
A genuine smile softened her features. "You look fine."
"So," he said, turning his gaze towards the sprawling cityscape, "the regression went well?"
"Lynch is the one,"she stated confidently, her scientific demeanor masking a surge of excitement. "A direct descendant of Leopold. Everything was clear. For the first time. We've done countless regressions, all with varying degrees of success, but this one… remarkable."
Her eyes darted between the screen and her father, seemingly absorbing both his recorded words and his physical presence.
"With your help," Alan Rikkin's recorded voice boomed, "Abstergo can become a pioneer, ushering in a world free from violence – a dream we all share."
A wave of applause erupted from the virtual audience. Sofia smiled faintly.
"Borrowing my lines again, I see," she quipped.
"Only from the best,"he countered, his voice devoid of humor. "And the Apple?"
"It's within reach," she confirmed, her voice steady despite the weight of their mission.
"What happened?" he pressed, his tone shifting. "You pulled him. Why?"
"His health is paramount," she explained. "He was still recovering from the tetrodotoxin when Tadakuni subdued him, followed immediately by the Animus. Hardly an ideal way to build trust. But I believe I can gain his cooperation. Once we do, he'll lead us to it."
Rikkin, adjusting his cufflinks for the evening ahead, remained undeterred.
"Push him," he commanded.
She met his gaze, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "The Animus doesn't work that way."
Rikkin, accustomed to obedience, found himself challenged. Most Templars would have readily complied. Sofia, however, remained unfazed. Her unwavering spirit, a constant source of both pride and frustration, was on full display.
He acknowledged his earlier comment about age, the arthritis in his fingers a stark reminder of her words. A sigh escaped his lips, laced with irritation.
Sofia approached him, her black dress a silent presence. With practiced ease, she fastened his cufflink, her touch surprisingly gentle.
"There you go."
Despite her scientific detachment, Sofia possessed a kindness he had long ago lost, if ever possessed at all.
A flicker of something akin to warmth passed between them in that quiet exchange. Rikkin, ever the pragmatist, quickly quashed the sentiment.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice gruff.
Their eyes met, hers reflecting the boundless blue sky, his a steely gray etched with the passage of time. Both possessed the same unwavering determination, a legacy passed down through generations.
"1917: Rutherford splits the atom," Rikkin began, his voice low and measured. "1953: Watson and Crick discover the double helix. 2016," he paused, savoring the weight of his words, "and my daughter unlocks the mythical realm of Gensokyo, paving the way for a cure to violence."
"Sofia," he continued, his voice softening, "your mother and I chose your name well." The weight of the Greek word, "wisdom," hung heavy in the air. "You've always been brighter than me."
He reached out, his touch surprisingly gentle as he cupped her chin, tilting her head upwards. A hint of regret flickered in his eyes as he offered a rare, genuine smile.
He withdrew his hand, taking a deep breath to steel himself for the task at hand. "Now, I'm running late. I have to report to the Elders in Kyoto tonight. I shouldn't be long."
"Kyoto?" she echoed, her curiosity piqued. "What for?"
Rikkin sighed, the weight of his secrets settling upon him. "There's something they need to discuss. Urgent business."
He cast a final glance around the opulent office, a silent farewell to his sanctuary of power. As he turned to leave, a single thought echoed in his mind: the future, and the fate of the Templars, rested precariously on the shoulders of his brilliant, enigmatic daughter.