Komatsu Dokuohtei's experience in the Animus came to a jarring halt as the system desynchronized him from his ancestor's memories. The sudden shift was like being ripped from a dream, his senses abruptly returning to the stark reality of the Abstergo facility.
The Animus arm, a sophisticated piece of technology, slowly retracted its grip as it gently lowered Komatsu onto the floor. The arm itself was a marvel of engineering—gleaming metal interlaced with sleek, articulated joints that allowed it to move with fluid precision. The device, anchored to Komatsu's waist, featured an array of sensors and support structures designed to stabilize and support him as he experienced the simulation. It was a departure from traditional designs, eliminating the need for a chair and instead providing a more immersive experience where users could physically interact with their environment.
As Komatsu's body hit the ground, his limbs began to spasm uncontrollably, a stark contrast to the controlled movements of his virtual experience. The technicians and paramedics, alerted by the sudden alarm, rushed into action with practiced precision.
"Get him down now!" one of the technicians shouted, their voice cutting through the rising din.
Two paramedics quickly moved to restrain Komatsu's thrashing limbs, each taking hold of a leg to stabilize him. Another paramedic knelt beside Komatsu's head, gently but firmly holding it in place to prevent further injury. A fourth technician prepared a sedative, their movements quick but deliberate.
"Hold him steady!" the lead paramedic instructed, their voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. Komatsu's eyes rolled back, revealing only the whites as his body continued to convulse.
One of the paramedics reached out, grasping Komatsu's hand and holding it tightly in an attempt to provide some form of human connection amidst the chaos. Another technician ran soothingly along his chest and shoulder, trying to calm his frantic movements.
"We need the sedative now!" the lead paramedic called out, as the fourth medic arrived with a syringe filled with the calming agent. With a practiced hand, they inserted a needle and administered the sedative.
As the sedative began to take effect, Komatsu's spasms gradually slowed. The paramedics and technicians continued to monitor his condition, their faces etched with concentration. A clear mask was placed over Komatsu's mouth and nose to assist his breathing.
"Look at me, Dokuohtei," the lead paramedic urged, keeping his gaze steady. Komatsu's eyes, now less frantic, locked onto the paramedic's.
The tension in the room began to ease as the sedative worked its magic. The paramedics and technicians exchanged nods of relief as Komatsu's body finally relaxed, signaling that the immediate danger had passed.
The sounds of gunfire amidst the snowy backdrop of Kyushu Island were the first things Komatsu Dokuohtei heard. At barely five years old, his small frame barely registered against the white expanse. The Great Purge had descended upon the Assassin training camp with ruthless efficiency, transforming his once-familiar world into a scene of chaos and destruction.
Men clad in black tactical gear, their faces obscured by masks and helmets, stormed through the camp. The snow, once pristine, was now marred with the blood of fallen Assassins. The air was filled with the staccato of automatic gunfire, punctuated by the screams and cries of the camp's defenders and trainees. Hooded figures in their distinctive robes fell one by one, their bodies crumpling into the snow, lifeless and abandoned.
The camp's training grounds, usually a place of discipline and focus, had become a battlefield of terror. The once orderly rows of practice dummies and training equipment lay scattered and broken. The Templars, relentless and methodical, moved through the camp with deadly precision, ensuring that no survivor was left untouched by their wrath.
In the midst of this turmoil, young Komatsu ran for his life. His tiny legs carried him through the snow, his breath coming in frantic, shallow gasps. The cold seemed to pierce through his clothing, but the chill of the snow was nothing compared to the icy grip of fear that clutched at his heart. He darted between fallen bodies and broken equipment, his eyes wide with terror as he tried to make sense of the nightmare unfolding around him.
The sounds of gunfire grew louder, more insistent, as if mocking his desperate attempts to escape. He heard the shouts of Templars ordering each other to secure the perimeter, their voices cold and devoid of empathy. His small hands clutched a worn wooden practice sword—more a comfort than a weapon—as he stumbled through the chaos, looking for any sign of safety.
The young boy's survival instincts took over. As the camp's defenses crumbled and the Templars closed in, Komatsu fled into the dense forest bordering the camp. Snowflakes clung to his hair and lashes, melting into tears as they mixed with the sweat of his fear. The silence of the forest seemed a cruel contrast to the cacophony of destruction he had left behind.
The camp's last vestiges of order were soon swallowed by the darkness of night, and the sound of gunfire eventually faded into an eerie stillness.
As Komatsu's eyes slowly opened, he was greeted by the spinning blades of a ceiling fan. Their rhythmic rotation was a stark contrast to the chaotic memories that had surged through his mind. The steady hum of the fan was a reminder of his return to reality, a reality that felt eerily calm compared to the violent flashback he had just experienced.
The ceiling above was white, marked with a few water stains—details that seemed insignificant but oddly comforting in their mundanity. He shifted slightly, feeling the soft texture of a bed beneath him and the crispness of a hospital-like sheet draped over his body. The room was bathed in a dim, clinical light that revealed the stark, utilitarian furnishings: a metal nightstand, a small desk, and a chair pushed against the wall.
As he tried to make sense of his surroundings, the door creaked open, and a figure entered—a technician with a clipboard in hand and a look of clinical detachment on their face.
"Welcome back," the technician said, their voice flat and devoid of emotion. They moved to a console near the door, tapping on a few keys to check the readouts. "You've been unconscious for a while. We'll need to run a few tests to ensure there's no residual effect from the simulation."
Komatsu tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and his voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "How long…?" he began, but the words trailed off as he struggled to regain his composure.
The technician glanced up from the console, offering a brief, almost indifferent smile. "A few hours. The simulation was intense, but you're stable. Just take it easy for now."
As he lay there, trying to steady his breathing and focus on the present, he couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped between two worlds: the harsh reality of his current situation and the haunting echoes of his past.
The door opened again, this time admitting a team of armed escorts clad in tactical gear, each bearing the Abstergo insignia on their arm patches. They moved with the precision and authority of seasoned operatives, their presence instantly transforming the room's atmosphere from clinical detachment to tense vigilance.
One of the armed escorts, a man with a stern expression and a no-nonsense demeanor, approached Komatsu. "Our facilities aren't what you'd consider hotel standards. Having said that..." His voice was gruff, carrying the weight of implicit threat and authority.
Another escort, slightly more relaxed but no less imposing, sat down on a stool chair, fixing Komatsu with a piercing gaze. "We could make things more comfortable depending on the choice you make, slugger." His tone was almost casual, but the underlying menace was unmistakable.
Komatsu, still disoriented from the flashback and the aftermath of the Animus session, tried to sit up, only to be gently but firmly pushed back down by one of the escorts. "Take it easy," the seated escort continued. "You've been through a lot, and we wouldn't want you to make any rash decisions in your current state."
The man who had spoken first crossed his arms, his posture radiating authority. "You see, we have a vested interest in your well-being, Komatsu. Your skills, your memories—they're valuable to us. And if you cooperate, we can ensure you're treated... well, let's just say, better than most."
Komatsu stared at the guard, his eyes narrowing with a mix of defiance and disdain. "From where I'm standing, why should I even consider working with you lot? You dragged me here, shoved me into that damn Animus, and I'm well aware of what you're really about... Templars."
The seated guard's smile didn't waver, though a hint of irritation flickered in his eyes. "Straight to the point. I respect that. But let's be clear, Komatsu. Cooperation isn't just a matter of choice—it's about survival."
Komatsu shifted slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Survival? You think I'm scared of you? I've seen the worst of what your kind can do. The question is, what's in it for me if I play along?"
The standing guard, who had been silently observing, interjected with a tone that dripped with condescension. "We're offering a chance, not just to make your stay here less... uncomfortable, but to be part of something greater. Your skills are valuable, and you have the potential to be more than a pawn."
Komatsu's expression hardened. "And if I refuse? What then? You think you can break me with your threats and mind games? I've survived worse."
The seated guard leaned back, his demeanor shifting to one of calculated patience. "Refusal has its consequences. However, we're not here to break you. We're here to offer you a choice: work with us and benefit from our resources, or resist and face the full brunt of our methods. It's your call."
Komatsu took a deep breath, the weight of his situation settling heavily on his shoulders. He had faced numerous adversaries, but the Templars were a different breed—relentless and manipulative. His mind raced, weighing the potential advantages of cooperation against the risks of defiance.
Finally, Komatsu spoke, his voice edged with a reluctant resolve. "Alright, let's say I play along. What do you want from me? And don't bother with vague promises. I need specifics."
The seated guard's smile returned, this time with a genuine hint of approval.
"That's the spirit. We need your expertise, your connections, and your unique insights. Since you're already familiar with the basics of the Animus, I'll skip the tedious explanations and get straight to the point."
He leaned forward slightly, his expression becoming more serious. "The memories of the ancestor you've accessed are from Yagi Toshimichi. He was a shinobi operating during the latter years of the Sengoku Period... and a member of the Assassin Brotherhood."
As the word "Assassin" hit Komatsu's ears, a pained wince crossed his face. His vision began to blur, and a sharp, throbbing pain erupted in his head, a visceral reminder of the traumatic memories he had experienced.
The guard's gaze remained steady, observing Komatsu's reaction with an unsettling calm. "Judging by your reaction, I assume those memories are coming back to hit you," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's not unusual for the residual effects of the Animus to resurface like this. The memories can be... overwhelming."
Komatsu clenched his teeth, trying to steady himself. "So, what now?" he managed to ask through gritted teeth, fighting to regain control over his senses.
The guard's gaze remained unyielding. "What we want is one thing: the memories of Yagi Toshimichi that are imprinted in your DNA. Specifically, we need the location of a Piece of Eden that he might have known about."
Komatsu's eyes widened slightly, despite his best efforts to maintain a steely demeanor. "A Piece of Eden? You've got to be kidding me."
The guard leaned back, crossing his arms with a smirk. "Not kidding at all. The Piece of Eden in question is rumored to be a powerful artifact, one that could give us considerable leverage. Toshimichi's memories might hold the key to finding it."
Komatsu's eyes flared with sudden determination. In one swift, desperate motion, he lunged from his bed, aiming to grab the guard and wrestle control from him. His movements were fueled by a mix of anger and urgency.
But the guard was ready. With a fluid, practiced motion, he sidestepped Komatsu's advance and used a jujutsu throw. He seized Komatsu's arm and, leveraging his own body weight, executed a powerful Ippon Seoi Nage—a one-arm shoulder throw.
Komatsu's world spun as he was thrown forcefully onto the floor, the impact knocking the breath out of him. The guard's precise technique left Komatsu sprawled on the ground, momentarily disoriented and vulnerable. Before Komatsu could react, the escort team closed in.
Two of the armored attendants swiftly moved in to restrain him. One pressed a knee into Komatsu's back while the other applied pressure to his shoulders, pinning him down with practiced efficiency. Komatsu struggled, but the combined force of the guards kept him immobilized.
The guard who had performed the throw crouched beside Komatsu, his expression unmoved. "Impressive reflexes," he remarked dryly. "But resistance isn't in your best interest right now."
Komatsu, still pinned to the floor, met the guard's gaze with defiant eyes. "If what you're saying is true," he interjected sharply, "then I have something you want, right?"
The guard raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And?"
"Then how about we make a fucking deal?" Komatsu suggested, his voice rough but resolute. "You want the memories of Yagi Toshimichi, and I want some leverage to keep myself alive. What's it going to be?"
The guard's lips curled into a thin smile. "A deal, you say? Interesting. And what exactly are you offering in exchange?"
The guards released their hold on Komatsu, and he gasped for breath, his body trembling slightly from the effort.
"I'll do whatever you Templars want," he growled, struggling to control his anger and frustration. "I'll go back into that stupid fucking Animus, whatever the hell it is... like you want me to."
He looked up at the guards, his eyes fierce with a mix of defiance and desperation. "Whatever you want is in my memories, right? I'll go in voluntarily. You don't have to force me!"
The guard who had restrained him regarded him with a measured expression.
Komatsu glared at the guard, his frustration boiling over. "Toshimichi, that ancestor of mine... he must have been out of his mind, and in many ways, he's just like me. I guess I really am his descendant after all. Truth is, I never gave a damn about my own heritage or the Assassins until now."
He paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "That's why I'm itching to find out... what the hell is wrong with my family!"
The guard's expression remained stoic, but a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. "You would have been forced back into the Animus and extracted the information, whether you like it or not."
Komatsu sneered, his voice dripping with defiance. "I hate to break it to you, but I'm a tough nut to crack. As you can tell, it runs in the family."
The guard's tone hardened slightly. "We'll see about that."
Komatsu's anger flared. "Go ahead and fucking try! I know how that bloody contraption works. If I do things my ancestor didn't do, it'll kick me out. Let's see how many times it takes for me to die! You wanna fucking test me!?"
The guard's gaze remained unyielding. "Testing you isn't the goal. Our aim is to get the information we need efficiently. If you choose to cooperate willingly, it will save us both time and... discomfort."
Komatsu fixed the guard with a steely gaze, his voice resolute. "What I want is simple."
The guard raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what might that be?"
"First of all, don't interfere with me while I'm in the Animus. I'll make my own decisions and do what I want."
The guard nodded slightly, a sign of begrudging agreement. "We can accommodate that request, provided it doesn't jeopardize our objectives."
"Second," Komatsu continued, "tell me what I want to know. No hiding behind bullshit or need-to-know basis. I want full transparency."
The guard's expression hardened. "We'll provide the information you're seeking, but it will be on our terms."
Komatsu leaned in, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "And third, once you get the information you want, let me go. No more games, no more cages."
The guard's eyes narrowed, assessing the weight of Komatsu's demands. After a moment, he offered a curt nod. "We can agree to those terms. You'll have your autonomy in the Animus and the information you seek. But know this: if you attempt to deceive us or break our agreement, the consequences will be severe."
Komatsu's lips curled into a wry smile. "Understood. Just remember, I'm not exactly your obedient pawn. I'll be watching my back."