Cal hadn't darkened the door of a museum in three decades, and he had never even graduated from middle school. But the rooms through which Sofia now led him evoked both... times about a thousand.
Men and women dressed in white—Sofia's researchers, he assumed—moved about with the kind of hushed, focused air he remembered from rare visits to a library as a child. There was plenty of light, but Cal could tell it was a special kind of light, and even as it illuminated, it gave the room a secluded, almost cloistered feel, accentuated by the carved stone archways through which they passed.
Weapons were in evidence here, but only as antiquities to be carefully catalogued and analyzed. There were shards of pottery, inkwells and quills, pieces of statuary. In one area, what was clearly a painstaking restoration of an old painting was going on. Ancient tomes were sheltered in display cases, and pages upon pages of manuscripts were mounted on clear walls of plastic or glass. As Cal drew closer, however, he saw that most of the pieces of paper weren't manuscripts, as he had first thought, but transcripts of a much more contemporary nature.
And some of them were chillingly familiar.
Cal's pulse quickened as he stared into a photograph of himself. The boy in the picture was the age he had been when he had fled a bloodied tenement. His blue eyes traveled along what seemed to be a bizarre and disturbing scrapbook of his life writ large: old Polaroids from when he was a little boy, their once-natural hues now faded oranges and yellows. Other pictures of a more guarded young adult from his ill-fated foster home years. A staggering array of his various mugshots. Newspaper clippings trumpeted his life in blaring, catchy headlines: "Fears Growing for Callum Lynch: Help Us Find Missing Boy." "Gang Raids Local Offices." "One Dead After Night Club Fight." "'Lynch Will Die': Jury Finds Pimp Killer Guilty."
There were small glass vials with color-coded tops in acrylic containers. The charcoal sketches he had obsessively drawn during his most recent incarceration were here, too. There was a fake passport, his fingerprints—and his name, etched into the glass—and finally what appeared to be a family genealogy that seemed to go back centuries. A genealogy that he knew nothing about.
Cal felt his gut grow cold. He felt… violated. Exposed. "What is this?" he snapped. "What are you, my stalker?"
"I know everything about you, Cal," Sofia replied. Her voice and manner were unsettlingly unruffled. "Your medical data, your psychological profile, the mutations in your MAOA gene, your serotonin levels. I know about the foster homes, the juvenile halls. The harm you did to others—and," she added, gently, "to yourself. You're living proof of the link between heredity and crime."
Cal was stunned and sickened, yet captivated. He moved down his family line, and the "scrapbook" was now no longer filled with news clippings and photographs, but yellowed old daguerreotypes and spider-scrawl letters. Teeth. Wrinkled drawings of hooded figures and gauntlets with blades strapped to them.
"How did you find me?"
"We found Leopold," she said.
The word—the name—was at once meaningless and full of portent.
"When you were arrested,"Sofia continued, "your DNA matched his."
"Who is Leopold?"Cal asked, although he realized he knew.
"Your ancestor."
Sofia turned and walked casually to another collection of images, her hands in her trouser pockets, her body language displaying no more distress than if they were walking together in a park on a summer's day. She nodded at an old sketch on yellowed parchment.
Cal's hands clenched as he resisted being catapulted back into the hallucinations. He breathed steadily through his nose as he took it all in. White quills of bird feathers—raptors, Cal knew, without knowing how—were sewn into the front of the coat. Cloth was wrapped several times around the waist, and bound on top of it was what looked like a leather belt, which upon closer examination was a whip. Daggers hung at both sides, and hidden blades were housed beneath the tooled gauntlets on the arms.
The face was mostly hidden in shadows, but it was a face that Cal knew all too well. For a wild second, Cal thought this was some sort of gaslighting attempt; that the people here were playing some sort of elaborate trick. But to what end? Cal hadn't played a video game since he was a kid. But he was damn sure that if anyone really had the ability to make him feel as he had felt in the grip of the giant arm, they'd either keep it a closely guarded secret or be making a massive profit on it.
"Leopold was a part of a lineage of Assassins. Originating from France, he was dispatched to Japan with a specific mission in mind: to aid the waning strength of the Tokugawa Shogunate."
"The Bakumatsu Era," Sofia began, her tone taking on a more scholarly air, "was a period of significant political and social upheaval in Japan, occurring during the final years of the Tokugawa Shogunate, roughly from 1853 to 1867. It marked the end of Japan's isolationist foreign policy and the beginning of modernization efforts spurred by contact with Western powers."
She paused, allowing Cal to absorb the information before continuing. "During this time, factions within Japan vied for power and influence, leading to conflicts between supporters of the Shogunate and those advocating for the restoration of imperial rule. It was a time of intrigue, assassination, and shifting alliances, with the fate of Japan hanging in the balance."
He continued to survey the peculiar exhibit chronicling the history of his lineage. Among the assortment were Japanese documents adorned with delicate brushstrokes and letters penned in French, adding an international flair to the collection.
His gaze descended to a monitor resting on the desk below the vibrant prints. Here, the palette was starkly contrasting: a black background against white lines. Yet, despite the monochromatic scheme, the images depicted were beyond his comprehension; intricate lines intertwining to form the intricate components of a mysterious contraption.
One element stood out unmistakably: the arm, its claw-like appendage poised as if ready to grasp something unseen.
"What is it? This machine."
"We call it the Animus."
"I know about the Animus. I thought it was a chair."
"Not anymore. How do you know about it?"
"Never played the games, but I shoplifted enough of them for quick cash."
She looked faintly amused. "Really? Then you know it allows us to observe, and you to relive, the life of your ancestors through the projection of your genetic memories."
Rolling his eyes slightly, Cal went to another display. "Do you get out much?"he quipped.
"More than you."
Her tone was light, almost friendly. Banter. How strange, to be engaged in it with Sofia Rikkin—his angel, his jailer.
She continued in that vein. "Do you ever wonder how a bird knows when to migrate south in winter?"
"It's all I think about."
A hint of a real smile graced her lips, vanishing almost at once. Her voice, though, held a trace of amusement. "It's genetic memory. As you recover those memories, you inherit something of their lives. If you allow me to guide you through this, there is no telling what you might learn or see."
Cal felt himself close off as he recalled Aguilar's presence in his room. "I've seen enough. And I don't like the idea of you stealing my memories to make a game."
All trace of lightness fled from Sofia now too, and she looked at him intensely.
"I'm not stealing. I'm utilizing. The memories are not yours. They belong to your ancestors. And believe me, this is not a game."
Cal turned a corner and sobered further as he looked at another wall, one that had nothing to do with him. It was plastered with colored sheets of paper, each with carefully typed notes on them. Attached to the papers were small, wallet-sized photos of a few of the other… people he had met here. Mug shots, he thought.
Cal's voice was hard and flat. "And the others in here? Are they lab rats, too?"
"They're Assassins. Murderers, like their ancestors." Sofia paused, thenadded. "Like you, Cal. All born with a predisposition to violence. Your DNA, like theirs, allows us to journey through your subconscious. To the root of yourvery being. All those hidden impulses that have driven you your whole life."
The realization and all its implications were ugly. Cal took a few steps back, tightly controlling his emotions, then turned to face her.
Sophia paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, then added, "There are also descendants of Onmyoji among them, a detail you're yet to grasp."
Callum's brow furrowed in confusion, the unfamiliar term echoing in his mind, "Onmyoji?"
Sophia took a deep breath, her eyes reflecting the weight of the histories she was about to share. "Onmyoji," she began, "were ancient Japanese practitioners of the esoteric arts, master diviners and exorcists. Throughout history, they've held significant influence in the imperial courts, using their skills to advise emperors, quell malevolent spirits, and even alter the course of political events."
She walked over to another panel, this one showcasing intricate symbols and older, grainy photographs of individuals dressed in traditional Japanese attire. "Like the Assassins, the Onmyoji had their adversaries, often clashing with other factions that sought to misuse the spiritual realm for their own gain."
Callum's gaze followed Sophia's every move, absorbing the new information, his curiosity evident. "And their descendants are here? In Abstergo?"he inquired, trying to piece together how this ancient order fit into the larger puzzle.
Sophia nodded, her gaze firm. "Yes. Just as we're interested in the lineage of Assassins, we've found value in understanding the Onmyoji bloodline. Their unique connection to the spiritual world is... intriguing to our research."
Callum felt a chill down his spine. The vastness of Abstergo's ambitions became clearer with every revelation. How many more secrets did this place hold? How many more lives were entangled in this intricate web of history and power? The questions continued to mount, and with every answer, he felt both enlightened and ensnared.
Sophia continued, her voice carrying an undertone of caution, "The Assassins, Cal, throughout history, have often taken a more... direct approach in addressing what they perceive as threats. Unlike the Onmyoji, who primarily focused on the spiritual realm, the Assassins have a predisposition towards violence. They've been known to eliminate those they judge to be 'corrupted,' often acting as judge, jury, and executioner."
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle as she looked directly into Callum's eyes, gauging his reaction. "It's a legacy that has consequences, and one that you, being of their bloodline, must come to terms with."
"You said I am a murderer," he said. "So that's what you think of me."
"You killed a man," she said without judgment. To her, it was a simple fact.
Sophia listened, her expression neutral as Cal recounted the grim details of his past. "A pimp," he clarified, his voice carrying the weight of memory.
The scene played out in his mind once more: the repulsive visage of the man who exploited women, the bruises hidden beneath layers of makeup, the forced laughter masking deep-seated fear. And then, the pivotal moment when the pimp's violence crossed a line, assaulting a vulnerable girl barely out of her teens.
It was a moment etched into Cal's memory, one where he made a choice fueled by a sense of justice and protectiveness. A choice that ultimately led to irreversible consequences, marking him as both protector and perpetrator.
As Callum remained silent, Sofia pressed further, her gaze probing. "Would you kill again?"
His response was a heavy silence, his attention drawn to a framed photograph nearby. Carefully, he lifted it, studying the image captured within.
The photograph depicted two figures: a vibrant, smiling woman with dark hair cascading over her shoulders, clad in a white blouse and denim overalls, and a toddler perched on an old-fashioned rope swing. The child's wide blue eyes held a curious intensity, a focus on something beyond the camera's lens.
There was a familiarity in the young girl's expression, a connection that stirred within Callum as he studied the photograph.
"Nice,"Callum remarked, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words. "Happy families. Apple of your mother's eye. She must be very proud."
Sofia's demeanor shifted, her lively expression softening into one tinged with sadness. A wistful smile touched her lips as she responded, "I wouldn't know. She was killed by an Assassin. Like your mother." She allowed the weight of her words to settle between them, inviting Callum to absorb their significance.
"Sorry,"Callum offered, his surprise evident in his tone as genuine empathy surfaced within him.
A heavy silence enveloped them before Callum continued, his voice tinged with the weight of his past. "My old man killed my mother." It was a truth Sofia likely already knew, but one that held significance nonetheless.
"And how does that make you feel?" Sofia's question was gentle yet probing, her transition from mourning daughter to analytical scientist seamless.
"Like killing him," Callum replied bluntly, his gaze shifting to the array of metallic spheres before him as he pondered their shared histories.
Sofia followed his gaze, her resolve unwavering. "Either we let this affect us for the rest of our lives, or we do something about it. You turned to violence; I turned to science."
Callum's attention was drawn to a series of notes affixed to the glass billboard, his eyes settled on multiple depictions of an ornate red torii gate. Each image seemed to emanate an almost mystical allure, pulling him in. The intricate details of the gate, contrasted with the vibrant hue of red, hinted at a place of significance and mystery.
Sophia noticed the focus of his gaze and approached the board, her voice imbued with a hint of reverence, "It's the land of Gensokyo, Cal."
Sophia continued, her voice steady and filled with conviction, "And we believe it exists." The declaration brought an added layer of intrigue to the room. The very idea of such a place, previously relegated to myths and legends, being rooted in reality was enough to pique anyone's interest. Callum's eyes darted between the images of the Tori gate and Sophia, trying to gauge just how deep this revelation went.
Dr. Rikkin paused, letting the weight of her words settle in before proceeding. The faint hum of electronics filled the silence, punctuated only by the distant murmur of activity elsewhere in the facility.
"Gensokyo," she began, moving closer to the display and pointing at the torii gates, "is said to be a sealed land, a place where myths, legends, and forgotten histories converge. It's a realm separate from our own, untouched by modernity."
Cal was fascinated in a way he couldn't understand, absently pulling up a chair and sitting as if he belonged in the room, rolling the thing around in his fingers. Sofia perched on the desk area in front of him, reaching around for a mouse and calling up something on the monitor.
"You're telling me that a place from fairytales is real, and Abstergo is interested in it?"
Sophia's expression remained composed as she nodded in response to Callum's question. "In essence, yes," she confirmed. "We believe that through your lineage, we can access memories that lead to or intersect with Gensokyo. We just need to trace the right memory strand."
Callum's brow furrowed as he considered the implications. "And then what? What do you hope to achieve by sending me into these memories?"
Sophia's lips curved into a faint smile. "Knowledge, Cal. Understanding. The opportunity to unravel the mysteries of Gensokyo and its connection to our world. Imagine what we could learn, what discoveries we could make."
"But beyond the corporate interests, there's more at stake. We intend to reveal its existence to the entire world, for all to see."
Sophia's declaration echoed in the room, its weight palpable. The idea of unveiling a hidden realm to the world was staggering in its implications.
Callum's eyes widened, realizing the magnitude of Abstergo's ambition. "Reveal Gensokyo? To everyone? Don't you think there's a reason it's been hidden for so long?"
Sophia's words carried a weight of generational knowledge, each syllable resonating with the echoes of centuries past. "For centuries, Callum, our predecessors have employed various methods — religion, politics, and lately, consumerism — to establish and maintain Order," she began, her voice a solemn reflection of history's enduring cycles. "Yet, the foundations we've built upon are starting to crack. People are growing skeptical, weary of the corporatization and privatization that has become so pervasive."
"We are in search of new paths, different solutions," she continued, her tone tinged with a sense of urgency. " Gensokyo represents an opportunity to break free from the constraints of the past, to explore uncharted territories of knowledge and understanding."
Callum's brow furrowed, processing Sophia's revelation.
Sophia nodded, her expression earnest. "Gensokyo remains untouched by our world's influences. It's a place of magic, tradition, and unique societal structures. By understanding Gensokyo, we might unearth insights into building a more harmonious world."
"In order to achieve our objective," Sophia began, her tone indicating the gravity of her next words, "we require the Apple of Eden."
As Sophia spoke, she clicked the mouse, and myriad blueprints of the Apple appeared on the monitor. They seemed to echo the intricate designs of the Animus, prompting Callum to wonder if they were based on the same underlying technology.
"The Bible speaks of the Apple of Eden as the catalyst for humanity's first act of rebellion. However, our research suggests it's more than just a symbol. We believe it to be a relic from a bygone civilization, a key that sheds light on the very nature of human violence. There are numerous such artifacts scattered globally, but the one we seek stands apart. While many of these relics have the power to subdue and dominate the human mind, the one we're after possesses a dual nature: it can both control and awaken."
Sophia leaned slightly forward, capturing Callum's attention. "Your ancestor, Leopold, was the last known individual to have held this unique Apple of Eden," she explained, "Its location has been lost to time, hidden away by him. We believe that, with your genetic memory and our technology, you can help us uncover its resting place."
He was oddly disappointed, though he knew he shouldn't be. Everyone had an angle, it seemed. Even angels. He kept his voice light as he said, "I thought I was here to be cured."
"Violence is a disease, like cancer. And like cancer, we hope to control it one day. We're searching for the root cause of what makes you sick. And we're seeking to control it. We're after the evolution of humankind." She swallowed. "So that what happened to your mother… and mine… will never happen again."
Quietly, Cal said, "Violence is what kept me alive."
She cocked her head and regarded him. Her black hair fell across her forehead. He wanted to reach and brush it back.
"I'm hungry,"he said.