Lin and Moussa sprinted down the corridors, pursued closely by armed guards. Without the smoke bombs to disorient their enemies, they were completely exposed and unarmed. However, the chaos of the situation provided them with some cover as they raced towards the Animus Room.
As planned, Emir had strategically trapped many guards in certain areas while releasing other inmates. Despite their varying degrees of lucidity, all the inmates were considered allies in their current plight. However, only their small group—Moussa, Emir, Lin, and Nathan—remained both sane and deeply connected to their ancestor's memories. Only they, along with Callum Lynch, understood the true nature of their predicament.
Without warning, explosions shattered the glass ceiling above, sending debris raining down into the corridor. The sudden blasts reverberated through the facility, adding to the chaos already unfolding. Figures descended from above like avenging angels, their movements swift and precise as they struck with the fury of a storm. Their hoods resembled the beak of an eagle, while their attire was cloaked in a combination of white and red, a striking contrast against the sterile environment of Abstergo.
Lin and Moussa stood frozen in disbelief as the real Assassins descended upon them. It was a moment they had only dreamed of—the Brotherhood had arrived.
The lead Assassin, their voice ringing out with authority, shouted, "For the Brotherhood!" Others joined in, their voices echoing through the corridors, "For freedom! For justice!"
With a primal roar, the Assassin lunged forward like a wild beast unleashed. Their movements were a blur of lethal intent, each step echoing with the ferocity of a predator on the hunt. As they descended upon the group of guards, the air crackled with anticipation. With a savage swipe, their hidden blade sliced through the air, tearing into flesh with a sickening crunch, sending crimson sprays painting the walls in a macabre dance of death.
As Moussa propelled himself forward, his strides fueled by urgency, he sensed a shadow converging beside him—a fellow Assassin, their presence a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. Lin, attuned to the subtle shift in the air, acknowledged their ally with a nod, her determination unwavering even in the face of adversity.
In the flurry of movement, a guard emerged, crossbow poised with lethal intent. Before Moussa could react, the Assassin at their side sprang into action, a silent yet potent force against the encroaching threat. With fluid grace, they intercepted the guard's advance, deflecting the imminent danger with a calculated precision that spoke volumes of their skill.
Lin, ever vigilant, seized the opportunity afforded by their ally's intervention. As the guard faltered under the Assassin's swift assault, she moved with lightning speed, disarming them with a well-timed strike.
Amidst the ongoing melee, Moussa's hand instinctively reached for the intercom, his voice cutting through the chaos, "We're here, Emir!"
"Opening now," Emir's voice responded, almost drowned out by the sounds of battle. The silver doors slid open, but Moussa hesitated, scanning the tumultuous scene for Lin, who was engaged in a fierce skirmish with a group of guards.
As bolts flew and blows landed, a sudden flurry of movement above caught Moussa's attention. With a surge of relief, he spotted Nathan descending gracefully from the upper walkways, swiftly dispatching any guard foolish enough to challenge him.
With their comrades-in-arms swiftly dealing with the remaining threats, Moussa, Lin, and Nathan seized the opportunity to make their move, sprinting into the Animus Room just as Emir slammed the door shut behind them, the clang of metal echoing amidst the din of battle.
Cal felt the weight of her words echoing within him, resonating with a familiarity that transcended the confines of the Animus. Though he knew this was but a simulation, her presence enveloped him with a warmth that felt achingly real, as if she had never truly left him.
"You're not alone, Cal," her voice, gentle yet resolute, reassured him. "You never were."
Her image continued to speak, each syllable a balm to his soul. Memories flooded his mind, mingling with her words, intertwining past and present in a poignant dance.
"The past is behind us… but the choices we make live with us forever."
Cal's heart clenched at the familiarity of her words, the essence of her being permeating every syllable. And then, she quoted, not the childhood poem, but the creed ingrained in every Assassin's soul.
"Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember... nothing is true."
His voice, raw with emotion, joined hers seamlessly, as if it had been waiting all this time to utter these sacred words.
"Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember... everything is permitted."
Pride and sorrow mingled in her gaze, a testament to the weight of their shared legacy. "We work in the dark to serve the Light."
As the weight of their creed settled upon him, Cal took a steadying breath, his resolve solidifying with each passing moment.
"We are… Assassins."
And then, another figure emerged, stepping forward into the circle, an embodiment of their shared purpose.
Cal felt a surge of conflicting emotions as the figure beneath the cowl lifted its head, revealing a face etched with the memories of both pain and joy. It was his father, but not as he had last seen him – aged, broken, and tormented. This was the Joseph Lynch he had always wanted to remember, before the darkness of the Templars had consumed him.
Desperate to cling to this fleeting moment, Cal watched as the Assassins began to depart, their silent presence fading into the shadows from whence they came. His parents were the last to leave, casting one final glance of love and assurance before disappearing into the darkness.
But even as they departed, Cal knew he was not alone. New brothers and sisters stood with him, their faces a testament to the struggle they had endured to reach this pivotal moment. With determination, Cal removed the epidural unit, severing the final tie to his captors, and felt a sense of liberation wash over him.
"What now, Pioneer?" Moussa challenged, his voice carrying the weight of their shared history. It was Moussa, but also Baptiste, and in a way, Aguilar.
Beside him, Lin stood silent but expectant, her loyalty unwavering. Even Nathan, who had once been a reluctant observer, now stood with Cal, ready to embrace their shared destiny.
"We fight," Cal declared, his voice steady with resolve.
Emir stood vigilant in the security room, his eyes fixed on the monitors displaying the unfolding chaos throughout the facility. The flickering screens illuminated his face with an eerie glow as he surveyed the scenes of conflict and turmoil.
Each blow exchanged, each daring maneuver executed, was scrutinized with keen attention to detail. Emir analyzed the tactics employed by both sides, assessing strengths, weaknesses, and potential opportunities for their advancement.
Despite the odds stacked against them, Emir felt a surge of confidence knowing that they had the Assassins on their side. These legendary warriors, with their unparalleled skill and unwavering dedication, represented their greatest hope for success.
His attention was abruptly captured by a startling sight outside the facility. Armored trucks, ominous in their presence, rolled up to the perimeter with an air of foreboding. The sudden appearance of these vehicles hinted at the escalation of the situation.
Emir's apprehension intensified upon realizing that they were not ordinary assailants but Animus-trained Templars. Clad in tactical gear, they presented a formidable sight, but it was their choice of weaponry that sent a chill down Emir's spine. Instead of firearms, they brandished katanas, spears, and an array of bladed weapons, evoking a sense of ancient menace. Amidst the Templars, Emir spotted figures cloaked in traditional garments, unmistakably Omnyojis.
The arrival of these Templars armed with traditional weaponry and accompanied by Omnyojis forebode a confrontation of brutal proportions. He could sense the tension escalating, the air thick with the anticipation of violence.
Emir's voice boomed over the intercom system, cutting through the chaos within the facility.
"Assassins! Listen to me!" he declared urgently.
"We face a new threat," Emir continued, his words carrying a sense of urgency. "Templars have arrived outside the facility, armed with traditional weapons. This is not a battle we can win with brute force alone."
His voice echoed through the corridors, reaching the ears of those engaged in the fight and those seeking refuge within the Animus Room.
There, in the dimly lit room, were artifacts of the Assassins' legacy. Weapons that had seen centuries of conflict, carefully preserved behind locked glass cabinets.
"Where's Emir?" Cal's voice cut through the tension as they approached the cabinets, each selecting their weapon of choice.
Nathan, his voice steady, replied, "Took control of the surveillance room. He's giving us time."
Cal understood Emir's sacrifice, knowing it was likely a one-way trip. He didn't dwell on how or when Emir would join them; he focused on the task at hand.
His gaze fell upon a Snider-Enfield rifle, an antique among the weapons. Without hesitation, he reached for it, feeling its weight in his hands. As he loaded it, a sense of purpose surged within him. This wasn't just a tool of combat; it was a link to the past, a connection to the long line of Assassins who had fought before him. With resolve in his heart, Cal prepared to join his comrades in battle, the rifle poised to strike against their enemies.
Nathan's demeanor seemed to shift entirely upon grasping the sword. He appeared consumed by the Bleeding Effect, the memories of his ancestor infusing him with purpose and strength. Cal observed this transformation with approval, knowing that Nathan's newfound resolve would serve them well in the coming confrontation.
Meanwhile, Lin held the crossbow she had acquired during their flight to the Animus Room, her grip steady and determined. Alongside it, she wore a short, double-edged sword at her hip, ready for close combat.
From the depths of the facility, a yawning chasm tore through the earth, revealing a gaping maw of darkness that seemed to swallow all light in its path. Within the abyss, ethereal eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity, peering out from the depths with an inscrutable gaze.
From the gaping maw of darkness, a figure emerged, clad in scarlet. Hong Meiling, green beret tilted low over her aqua-blue eyes, strolled casually out, rubbing the sleep from her eye with the back of her hand.
"Ugh, not again," she mumbled, yawning. "Figured I could squeeze in a quick nap before... whatever this is."
Despite the chaos surrounding her, Meiling meandered through the facility with a blasé air, like someone checking the mail. Occasionally, she'd stop, lean against a wall, and tap her foot impatiently, as if waiting for a particularly slow kettle to boil.
Suddenly, a guard lunged, blade bared. Before he could land a blow, a shadowy figure materialized, swiftly dispatching the guard with a silent flick of the wrist.
"Oh, hey thanks," Meiling said, stretching languidly. "Didn't see you there. You one of the good guys?"
The Assassin eyed her with suspicion. This woman, with her nonchalant attitude and unorthodox gait, didn't seem to fit the mold.
Meiling, sensing his doubt, shrugged nonchalantly. "Relax, I ain't with these goons. Just another bored gatekeeper stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time. But hey, at least it's not another paperwork drill, right?"
Another figure, another Assassin, materialized beside them.
"Templars and Omnyojis at the main gate. Headed this way," he reported, his voice devoid of emotion.
Meiling stretched again, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "Sounds like a rumble. Can they fight?"
The Assassin eyed her, assessing.
Meiling met his gaze, a spark of competitiveness flickering in her eyes. "Let's just say I haven't been napping all these years guarding this dump for nothin'."
She straightened her beret, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Lead the way, shadows. Time to show these folks what a 4,000-year-old history can do."
The metallic clang of blades echoed through the steel corridors as Assassins clashed with the facility's guards. The Assassins, their movements honed by years of experience, danced a deadly ballet against the overwhelmed guards.
Suddenly, a deafening boom shattered the rhythm. Metal doors contorted like twisted ribbons, showering the room with debris. The Assassins and guards flinched, a momentary pause in their deadly dance as the intercom crackled to life.
"Breach confirmed," a chilling voice announced.
Dust settled, revealing a chilling tableau. A battalion of Templars, their movements honed to a lethal efficiency by Animus training, marched forward like an unstoppable tide. Flanking them were Omnyoji, their hands weaving intricate patterns in the air, chanting ancient spells. Their combined presence filled the room with a suffocating silence, broken only by the rhythmic thud of boots against the floor.
The Assassins, weapons held tight, braced themselves. Each step of the approaching army resonated like a drumbeat of war, a solemn reminder of the impending clash.
Then, a figure sauntered from the shadows. Meiling, her green beret tilted at a jaunty angle, stretched leisurely. "Ugh, guess nap time's officially over."
The tension in the room shifted. The Assassins exchanged confused glances, while the Templars held their ground, their eyes narrowed at the unexpected arrival. Meiling, oblivious, grinned, her aqua-blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Alright, shadows," she drawled, addressing the bewildered Assassins. "Time to show these guys what 4,000 years of history can do!"
Before Meiling could finish, two Omnyoji surged forward, their eyes blazing with purpose. Recognizing her as a significant threat, they aimed to isolate her from the main fight. One wove intricate patterns in the air, chanting an age-old spell. A shimmering wall of energy materialized with a snap, cutting Meiling off from the main fight and creating a temporary barrier between her and the struggling Assassins.
"Oh, come on, is that all you got?" Meiling drawled, a playful yet annoyed lilt in her voice. "I was just getting warmed up!"
The other Omnyoji launched a barrage of shimmering talismans, aiming to distract and weaken Meiling. With a playful twirl of her wrist, Meiling channeled her qi, focusing her life-force energy. The air crackled as emerald orbs, imbued with qi, materialized around her - her danmaku.
Her movements, though casual on the surface, were honed by years of practice. She effortlessly deflected the talismans with her danmaku, her playful taunts ringing out even through the energy barrier.
"Come on, is that all you got? You guys need some pointers from a real master!" she called, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Despite her laid-back demeanor, her attacks were precise and devastating. Yet, the energy barrier and constant volley of talismans frustrated her attempts to rejoin the fight and support the Assassins.
Meanwhile, the battle between the Assassins and Templars raged on outside the energy barrier. The Assassins, outnumbered but determined, fought with unwavering ferocity, their blades finding their mark against the Animus-trained Templars.
Seeing the Assassins struggle, Meiling knew she had to find a way out of this temporary confinement. With a surge of qi, she focused her energy on the energy wall, searching for a weakness.
Emerging from the Animus room, Cal and his companions were armed to the teeth, each wielding a weapon of choice with a fierce determination etched on their faces. Cal himself held a Snider-Enfield rifle, its barrel gleaming in the dim light of the facility.
Beside him, Moussa brandished a most unusual gauntlet, its sharpened claws poised for combat. Nathan, with a sword in hand, exuded an air of confidence, his movements fluid and precise. Lin gripped a crossbow, her eyes sharp and focused as she scanned their surroundings for threats.
An Assassin swiftly approached them, urgency etched in every line of his face.
"We require your presence at the main hall," he exclaimed, his voice carrying the weight of imminent danger. "The Templars have breached our defenses. We need every able fighter."
Cal and his companions exchanged quick glances, their resolve unyielding despite the escalating turmoil. With a nod of acknowledgment, Cal spoke, his tone unwavering.
"We're ready," he declared, his grip firm on the rifle. "Lead the way."
As they raced into the battlements, the scene was nothing short of frenzied chaos. The clamor of battle grew louder with each step, echoing through the corridors like a relentless drumbeat of conflict. Templars clashed with Assassins in a whirlwind of steel and fury, their movements blurred by the urgency of the fight.
Cal and his companions moved with purpose, their eyes fixed ahead on the main hall where the clash between Assassins and Templars raged on. Dodging past skirmishes and debris strewn across their path.
The air crackled with magic as spells were cast, illuminating the darkness with bursts of arcane energy. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the acrid scent of smoke, assaulting their senses as they pushed deeper into the heart of the fray.
Cal squeezed the trigger of his weapon, sending a bullet hurtling toward one of the Templars. The shot struck true, but instead of piercing flesh, it ricocheted off the armored plate carrier worn by the enemy, sending sparks flying as the Templar stumbled back from the impact.
His heart raced as he barely had a moment to react. Before he could fully process the situation, another Templar descended upon him from the air, brandishing a deadly katana with lethal intent. Time seemed to slow as the glint of the blade caught the dim light, casting a menacing shadow over Cal's form.
Instinct kicked in, and he instinctively raised his weapon, using it to deflect the incoming strike just in time. The force of the blow reverberated through his arms, sending a shockwave of pain coursing through his body.
Lin moved with deadly grace and precision, seamlessly transitioning between her traditional weapons with unparalleled skill. With a swift leap, she executed a powerful kick, the concealed blade in her boot springing forth to impale a Templar under the chin with ruthless efficiency.
As her opponent staggered back, Lin landed gracefully, her jian flashing in her hand as she deftly parried attacks from all sides. With each fluid movement, she seemed to dance through the chaos, her body a blur of motion as she expertly dispatched her adversaries.
In the heat of battle, wielding her jian felt like second nature to Lin. It was as if the ancient weapon was an extension of her own body, each strike executed with deadly precision and unwavering confidence. Amidst the chaos and danger, she felt a sense of belonging, a feeling of being truly at home on the battlefield.
However, a sudden resistance found itself retaliating back at her, like hitting a wall of iron.
The Templar's arms moved with astonishing speed, intercepting her strike with precise Wing Chun blocks, each movement calculated to deflect her blade and disrupt her rhythm.
Caught off balance by the unexpected resistance, Lin stumbled backward, her footing uncertain. Before she could recover, the Templar surged forward with lightning-fast strikes, their fists and elbows a blur of motion as they unleashed a torrent of blows. Each strike landed with bone-jarring impact, sending shockwaves of pain through Lin's body.
Desperately, Lin sought to defend herself, her jian flashing in a flurry of parries and counters. But the Templar was relentless, pressing their advantage with ruthless efficiency.
Blood trickled from a cut on Lin's cheek, her vision blurred with sweat and exertion. But she refused to yield, drawing upon every ounce of determination and skill within her. With a fierce cry, she launched herself back into the fray.
Moussa's inner turmoil mirrored the chaos of the battlefield. Despite the fury that drove him forward, he found himself grappling with the same challenges that beset his comrades. Every swing of his staff felt heavy, every maneuver hampered by the weight of his emotions.
His rage, once a potent force propelling him into action, now threatened to consume him from within. It clouded his focus, dulled his reflexes, and left him vulnerable to the relentless onslaught of the enemy. Each strike he landed was met with fierce resistance, his opponents proving to be formidable adversaries.
Nathan engaged in combat with a Templar whose expertise in kenjutsu was evident in every fluid motion. With a flicker of steel, the Templar parried Nathan's strikes with practiced precision, seamlessly transitioning between defensive maneuvers and counterattacks.
The Templar deftly sidestepped Nathan's slashes, his footwork reminiscent of the graceful dance of a seasoned swordsman. With a swift draw of his own blade, the Templar executed a flawless Iaido technique, delivering a lightning-fast strike aimed at Nathan's exposed flank.
Despite Nathan's best efforts to anticipate and counter the Templar's moves, he found himself struggling to keep pace with the masterful execution. Each clash of their blades echoed with the resounding clash of steel meeting steel, but it was clear that Nathan was outmatched by the Templar's unparalleled skill.
As the duel raged on, Nathan's movements grew sluggish under the relentless assault of the Templar's prowess. With a decisive maneuver, the Templar executed a precise Niten Ichi-ryu technique, disarming Nathan and leaving him vulnerable to a final strike.
The sudden, searing pain that erupted from the blade's entry caught Nathan completely off guard. It penetrated deep, striking true and sending shockwaves of agony through his body. With each labored breath, Nathan felt his strength wane, his limbs growing heavy and unresponsive.
Staggering, he turned frantically in all directions, his vision blurring as he struggled to maintain his footing.
As his legs finally gave out beneath him, Nathan collapsed to the ground in a heap, his body trembling with the effort to stay conscious. Through the haze of pain and fading consciousness, a single thought echoed in his mind like a bitter curse.
"Damn you, Duncan, you arrogant prick," Nathan thought bitterly, his words a silent condemnation before he succumbed to the enveloping void of unconsciousness.
As the Templar danced around Cal's clumsy swings, Meiling stretched elaborately, yawning so wide it seemed she'd dislocate her jaw. "Morning exercise already?" she mumbled through the yawn, her voice heavy with mock surprise. But a mischievous glint flickered in her eyes, betraying her casual demeanor.
Then, she saw Nathan. The playful facade vanished, replaced by a steely glint. A low growl rumbled from her throat, sending shivers down the spines of any nearby Omnyojis who dared to meet her gaze. In a blink, Meiling transformed, her movements blurring as she unleashed a whirlwind of t'ai chi ch'uan. Her kicks exploded with channeled qi, each blow sending an Omnyoji flying like a ragdoll.
"Yo, fancy folks!" she called out, her voice dripping with mock cheer. "Having trouble keeping up with an old lady's morning workout?" Her words, laced with playful arrogance, were a stark contrast to the desperate shouts of the other Assassins.
Suddenly, a realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. The Omnyojis weren't fighting, they were merely dancing a distracting jig. A smirk tugged at Meiling's lips, a hint of grudging respect flickering in her eyes. "Clever, dolls," she chuckled, drawing out the word with a playful lilt. "But this old lady naps with one eye open!"
With a burst of qi-propelled speed, she tore through the Omnyojis, leaving them scrambling in her wake. However, her usual nonchalance almost tripped her up as her foot caught on uneven ground. With a yelp, she tumbled headfirst into the dirt, the impact echoing across the battlefield like a misplaced drumbeat.
Meiling, ever the quick learner, dusted herself off with a disgruntled grumble. "Note to self," she muttered, her voice laced with mock seriousness, "morning stretches are essential, even for seasoned warriors like myself."
The air crackled with arcane energy as the Omnyojis, emboldened by her fall, unleashed their assault. Unfazed, Meiling rose, her red hair a defiant banner against the swirling chaos. Lin and Moussa stumbled for support, gasping for breath amidst the battlefield littered with casualties – a grim reminder of the stakes involved.
Cal, witnessing the growing number of fallen comrades, counted a dozen, maybe two. He knew it wouldn't be long before that number doubled. But then, a new sound pierced the battlefield – the unmistakable thrum of approaching helicopters. The chilling words of Alan Rikkin echoed in his mind. Sofia was gone, the Apple in danger.
Cal looked at the other Assassins, their faces mirroring his own rising panic. They needed a plan, and Meiling, despite her laid-back nature and occasional blunders, just might be the key to stopping the Templars.
The panicked call sliced through the chaos, a desperate plea amidst the clash of steel and screams. "HEY! PANDA BEAR! WE'RE MAKING A BREAK FOR IT! COVER US!"
Meiling's lips quirked into a wry smile at the familiar nickname. With a resolute nod, she acknowledged the urgency, her eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation.
"Got it!" she bellowed back, her voice a beacon of confidence amidst the cacophony. "Go! I'll hold the line!"
Cal, Lin, Moussa, and the remaining Assassins seized the opportunity, scrambling for the nearest exit. Their footsteps echoed through the corridors, adrenaline coursing through their veins as they sprinted towards freedom.
Meiling, a lone warrior standing firm against a tide of enemies, met the Templars and Omnyojis head-on. Her movements, a graceful dance of martial prowess, weaved through the chaos with practiced ease. Despite the overwhelming odds, she held her ground, an immovable force against the onslaught.
"Alright, let's see what you got," she muttered, a playful challenge in her voice. "I'll show you what happens when you mess with a panda!"
With a fierce battle cry, Meiling launched herself into the fray, a whirlwind of precision and power. Each strike resonated with unwavering focus, her martial arts expertise on full display as she fended off attackers relentless in their pursuit.
Reunited in the Animus room, Cal's instincts surged, propelling him into action. With the agility of a seasoned acrobat, he leaped onto the towering mechanical arm, a symbol of both torment and revelation. Lin followed suit, her movements mirroring his like a practiced dance.
Their mission was crystal clear: stop Rikkin. The fate of the world hung precariously in the balance, teetering on the edge of destruction. As they ascended, determination fueled their climb, each step a resolute march towards their ultimate goal.
Reaching the apex, they encountered an obstacle – the imposing circle of the skylight. Frustration gnawed at Cal as he activated his hidden blade, delivering a forceful blow to the glass. It shattered with a deafening roar, showering them in a rain of glittering shards.
Ignoring the sharp sting of pain, Cal gritted his teeth and leaped, finding his footing on the curved dome above. Reaching the rooftop, however, a cold realization washed over him – the helicopters were gone.
Desperation fueled his steps as he sprinted across the rooftop, his movements a desperate race against time. But it was in vain. The helicopters, laden with Templars and the Apple of Eden, had vanished into the vast, cloudy expanse, leaving him only with the echoing silence and the sting of defeat.
Alone on the rooftop of the Abstergo Foundation Rehabilitation Center, Cal stood in silent frustration, watching the distant specks of the helicopters fade into the horizon.
