Leopold found himself amidst a cluttered workshop, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of workers. The air was thick with the scent of metal and the sound of hammers striking anvils echoed throughout the space.
As he glanced around, Leopold noticed various parts of what seemed to be Lady Liberty scattered across the workshop. Crates stacked high against the walls hinted at the magnitude of the project underway.
Leopold felt the weight of exhaustion bearing down on him, his hair bearing subtle signs of aging amidst the weariness.
A man, a sculptor, entered the workshop, his footsteps echoing in the spacious room. Leopold remained silent, his face concealed beneath the shadowy depths of his hood.
"Assassins died for this," Leopold uttered firmly. The sculptor remained unmoved, standing quietly at the end of the table, as if acknowledging Leopold's authority. "Protect it with your life."
"I am a friend of the Creed," the bearded, slender sculptor assured Leopold.
Slowly, Leopold extended his hand. In it, he bore the Apple of Eden. The sculptor reached to accept it from him, but before he could do so, Leopold added, "Take it with you, hide it where none would think to look."
The sculptor paled beneath his beard, but he met Leopold's gaze steadily.
"I swear," he said, his fingers curling around it securely.
"The secrets of ages past, veiled in stone and liberty's embrace, shall whisper through the winds of time, concealed within the heart of this noble colossus," the sculptor intoned.
Sofia stood still, her stance unwavering, as Alex conveyed the sculptor's words. "veiled in stone and liberty's embrace," she repeated softly, the sentiment resonating deeply within her. It was as if a puzzle piece had fallen into place, confirming what she had hesitated to acknowledge. "It's Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi," she murmured, the recognition sparking within her with newfound significance. Aguilar's message to the sculptor unfurled into a profound revelation.
"The secrets of ages past, veiled in stone and liberty's embrace, shall whisper through the winds of time, concealed within the heart of this noble colossus," Sofia whispered in awe, the weight of history echoing in her words.
It didn't take long for her to connect the dots, realizing what they were looking for is in the Statue of Liberty, the monumental gift from France to the United States.
"The Statue of Liberty," she breathed, her eyes fixed on the images displayed on the screen. "We found it."
Moussa bounced the orange ball on the floor, his mind focused despite the casual gesture. Making a perfect shot, he scooped up the basketball, rolling it between his hands as he surveyed the room. Emir, busy repotting rosemary in the greenhouse area, gave Moussa a brief glance over his shoulder. Rosemary; a symbol of remembrance. The thought brought a fleeting smile to Moussa's lips.
At the tables, several others sat placidly, enjoying their meals. Behind him, Lin gracefully performed Jun's ribbon dance, her movements mesmerizing. Since the recent confrontation, more guards patrolled the floor than usual, but Lin's dance provided a perfect distraction.
Calling out cheerfully to two guards, Moussa suggested a friendly game. "Hey! All-stars! Care for a little two-on-one?"
In the past, guards would often oblige him, but today was different. Moussa sensed the tension in the air, a palpable anticipation of something significant. The guards, usually willing participants in his games, now simply stared at him, suspicion evident in their narrowed eyes.
Undeterred, Moussa displayed his mastery of sleight of hand, a skill honed long ago. Or perhaps it was Baptiste who had mastered it. It hardly mattered now. With a casual shrug, Moussa hurled a pair of smoke bombs he had pilfered from Sofia Rikkin's office onto the floor. The delicate glass shattered, releasing a thick cloud of smoke.
In the chaos that ensued, Lin leaped gracefully into the billowing gray cloud, her swift kick incapacitating one guard while Moussa swiftly subdued another with a well-placed blow from a fallen baton.
Emir positioned himself strategically near the main entrance of the common room, his plants forgotten in the urgency of the moment. The blaring alarms and harsh red flashes shattered the tranquility of the room, contrasting sharply with the serene blue lighting and the soft gray smoke lingering from Moussa's smoke bombs.
As the door burst open, four more guards rushed in, batons raised, eager to quell the uprising. Emir waited patiently, timing his move perfectly. With swift precision, he lunged forward, seizing the last guard by the nape of his neck and slamming him forcefully into the wall. The guard crumpled to the ground, leaving a streak of red on the concrete.
Unnoticed amidst the chaos and smoke, Emir swiftly made his way down the corridor towards the surveillance room, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit hallway.
Unlike Moussa and Nathan, Emir took pride in his Assassin ancestry. His forebear, Yusuf Tazim, had been a respected figure within the Brotherhood, known for his alliance with the legendary Assassin Ezio Auditore da Firenze. Emir admired Yusuf's legacy, especially his contributions to the Assassin cause, including the invention of the hookblade.
Emir's own upbringing had been marked by instability and neglect, shuffled between foster homes with no sense of family. In contrast, Yusuf had also faced adversity in his youth, growing up without knowing his father and enduring a challenging early life. However, at the age of seventeen, Yusuf's talents caught the attention of Ishak Pasha, the leader of the Ottoman Brotherhood of Assassins, setting him on the path to greatness.
It was more than just an organization; it was a family. Yusuf, as he grew older, became a mentor and almost a parental figure to the younger members he guided. Warm-hearted, with a keen sense of humor, Yusuf embodied everything Emir aspired to be and achieve in life. The Templars may have placed him in the Animus for their own purposes, but Emir couldn't help but feel that they unwittingly bestowed upon him a precious gift by introducing him to this noble man.
Yusuf met his end at the respectable age of forty-five, exactly as he would have wished: defending the innocent against the hated Templars. Emir, now in his mid-thirties, pondered his own mortality. He didn't know if he would live to be a centenarian or if his life would end within the next few minutes. Yet, if, as he suspected, this Pioneer was the one they had been anticipating, Emir resolved that if he were to die defending Cal Lynch, it would be as gratifying as Yusuf's noble sacrifice.
As anticipated, Moussa and Lin's distraction had succeeded. The surveillance room's door lay unlocked, and most of the guards had been dispatched, with Tadakuni conspicuously absent. The remaining three guards were absorbed in monitoring the various screens, oblivious to Emir's approach.
One guard finally noticed him and lunged forward, baton raised. Emir swiftly seized her arm, applying enough force to hear a snap. Despite her attempt to strike back, Emir swiftly subdued her, rendering her incapacitated. The second guard rushed at him, only to be repelled by a powerful kick to the chest. Emir swiftly dispatched him with a blow from his own baton, followed by a decisive strike to the final guard's trachea.
In less than thirty seconds, Emir had neutralized the guards and seized control of the Abstergo Foundation's security hub.
Emir's expression twisted with contempt as he set about his task. Those who had taken Yusuf's life had, at the very least, shown competence in their actions.
Bending over one of the screens, he tapped it to bring up a map of the compound, then navigated to the feed of the common room. With a determined resolve, he began the process of unlocking the cell doors one by one, starting with Nathan's.
Moussa and Lin found themselves in the midst of a chaotic melee, facing off against a swarm of armed guards who had charged in once the smoke bombs had done their job.
Lin moved with a fluid grace, striking her opponents with a lethal precision that belied her petite frame. She danced amidst the chaos, each movement a calculated strike against the Templars who dared to stand in her way.
Meanwhile, Moussa seized whatever weapons he could find from the fallen guards, swiftly redistributing them to his comrades in arms. With one eye on the main door, he waited for the opportune moment to make their escape.
As the door began to descend, Moussa shouted to his companions, prompting them to race through the narrowing gap. He waited until the last possible moment before diving under the heavy metal door, sliding through just in time.
With a triumphant grin, Moussa joined Lin on the other side, reveling in the futile attempts of the trapped guards to breach the door.
"Looks like the inmates are running the asylum," he remarked, his grin widening as they made their escape.
