It didn't take any form of restraint to get Komatsu to cooperate. He walked down the sterile, dimly lit hallway with the guards flanking him, their presence more of a formality than a necessity. The atmosphere was tense, but Komatsu remained outwardly calm, his mind working through the implications of the deal he had just struck.
Their footsteps echoed off the cold, metallic walls, a stark reminder of the controlled environment he was now a part of. The metal doors leading into the Animus chamber slid open with a sharp metallic hiss, revealing the room beyond. The interior of the chamber was a stark contrast to the sterile, modern exterior. It resembled an ancient temple, steeped in tradition and history. The tatami floor was adorned with intricate patterns, each one telling a story of its own, woven into the fabric with meticulous care. The central area was wide, open, and imposing, encircled by sliding paper doors that lined both the ground level and a second, elevated level above. The arrangement of the doors and the subtle shifts in the lighting created an effect reminiscent of a labyrinth.
Sunlight filtered through the paper windows, casting a warm, diffused glow that merged with the soft light of lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The two sources of light intertwined, creating a serene yet haunting atmosphere within the chamber. As Komatsu walked further into the room, his gaze was drawn to display cases lining the walls, each one housing artifacts from ancient times.
He caught blearily glimpses of these relics as he passed: a katana with a blade that seemed to hum with a history of countless battles, a yumi bow with a worn grip that hinted at years of use by skilled hands, and a tanto, its small, lethal blade gleaming ominously in the subdued light.
Off to the sides that surrounded the open space in the center, the contrast between the ancient and the modern became stark. Despite the traditional architecture and historical artifacts, the chamber's periphery was dominated by sleek, contemporary technology. Screens embedded in the walls flickered with strange, cryptic symbols, their meaning elusive yet mesmerizing. Blinking lights pulsed in rhythmic patterns, giving the impression of some complex, unseen system at work.
An orderly hurried over to join the two who now grasped Komatsu firmly by each arm. This new arrival wasted no time in securing a heavy canvas belt around Komatsu's waist. As the buckle clicked into place, Komatsu's eyes narrowed as he recognized the unmistakable shape of the letter "A" – the stylized insignia of Abstergo.
"Are the blades prepared?" the guard asked, his voice calm but commanding. Komatsu knew the question wasn't directed at him but at one of the attendants stationed by the collection of monitors and keyboards in the alcove.
"Right here," responded a young bearded man, his focus momentarily shifting from the screens in front of him. He moved from the twenty-first century back to the sixteenth with a single step, crossing from the sterile glow of technology to the reverent aura of history. Approaching one of the display cabinets, he carefully retrieved an item, then handed it off to two orderlies—or lab assistants, or whatever the hell they were.
"Provenance?" the guard continued, his tone firm and focused "Belong to Yagi, recovered from the burial site."
"These relics and your DNA will allow us embodied access to your ancestral lineage," the guard replied calmly, his tone reflecting a detached professionalism.
The orderlies, with practiced efficiency, began strapping the hidden blades onto Komatsu's wrists. As they secured the gauntlets, the hidden blades clicked into place with a satisfying, almost reverent sound. Komatsu's wrists were bound tightly, but not painfully, ensuring that the blades would remain accessible yet concealed.
"Assume final preparations. Our regression: Kyoto, 1611. Record everything."
Screens sprang to life, casting an eerie glow across the dimly lit chamber. Flickering images and cryptic symbols danced on the monitors, their chaotic display adding to the surreal atmosphere. Komatsu's eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the shifting blueprints and streams of data. The symbols seemed to merge and separate, creating a dizzying mosaic of ancient and futuristic elements.
"Arm's ready,"
The ominous sound of machinery whirring overhead filled the room, its rhythmic pulse adding to the tension. Suddenly, a massive mechanical device began its descent from the ceiling. It moved with deceptive grace, unfolding itself like a giant metallic serpent stirring from a long slumber. The device's intricate gears and hydraulic limbs clicked and hissed as they extended, casting long, shifting shadows on the floor.
The mechanical arm clicked into place behind Komatsu with a precise, metallic snap. His body tensed involuntarily at the contact, a reflexive response to the cold, unyielding grip. The arm's clamps tightened around his wrists and upper arms, securing him firmly in place.
"Insert epidural,"
Before Komatsu could react, an excruciating pain shot through the base of his skull. Ten sharp, metallic points descended upon his neck, each piercing his skin with the precision of a mechanical insect's legs. The pain was sharp, relentless, as if his spine was being invaded by cold, invasive tendrils.
"Alright," the guard's voice came from behind Komatsu, cold and detached. "As per our agreement, we won't interfere with your choices in the Animus."
There was a pause, the hum of the machinery filling the silence before the guard spoke again, his tone sharpening with a subtle warning. "But let me give you one piece of advice: don't get too carried away in there."
Komatsu's body remained tense as the metallic device clicked and whirred, his senses on high alert. He wanted to fire back with a remark, but the searing pain in his neck kept him silent.
The guard's voice took on a more ominous tone as he continued, "If you become too absorbed in the Animus for a long period of time... your ancestor's memories will start to mix with your own."
"We call that the bleeding effect," the guard explained, his voice taking on a cold, clinical tone. "In severe cases, it leads to confusion, insanity, hallucinations. Eventually, you won't even remember who you are. And if you stray from your ancestor's path, the effects will only intensify."
He paused, leaning in slightly. "So if you want to make it out of here alive, I suggest you—"
The guard was abruptly cut off by Komatsu's sudden, sharp laughter. It echoed in the sterile, tech-filled chamber, startling the orderlies and momentarily silencing the guard. Komatsu shook his head, still chuckling darkly.
"You really think I'm scared of that?" Komatsu said, his voice thick with mockery. "I've been fighting with myself my whole damn life. Hell, maybe losing who I am is the best thing that could happen."
The guard's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "This isn't a joke."
"Neither is my life," Komatsu shot back, his gaze fierce and unflinching. "You want me to fear losing myself? What makes you think I haven't already lost pieces along the way?"
There was a tense silence, the whir of the machine above the only sound in the room. The guard's face remained stoic, but Komatsu could sense the slight shift in the air. His outburst had thrown them off balance, if only for a moment. But in a place like this, moments were precious.
The guard straightened, his composure returning. "Your bravado won't save you," he said flatly. "Once you're inside, you'll see just how fragile your mind really is."
Komatsu met his gaze with cold defiance. "Guess we're about to find out."
The air was thick with mechanical whirs as the arm moved Komatsu into place, responding seamlessly to the guard's commands. A cluster of lenses pressed against his face, scanning his memories with clinical precision. Other strange, insect-like devices lowered around him, their eerie, rhythmic clicking adding to the disorienting atmosphere.
"Status?" the guard asked, her sharp gaze never leaving Komatsu. Despite the cold detachment in her voice, he felt an odd connection—like she knew what was happening to him in ways he couldn't yet comprehend.
"Monitoring blood flow and neural activity… DNA match confirmed," one of the assistants replied, the sterile glow of monitors reflecting off his glasses.
"Scanning DNA chains, searching for the relevant timeframe," another voice added, as more data flickered across the screens.
The arm's grip on Komatsu softened, gently guiding him through the elaborate machinery of memory extraction. The sensation, once foreign and unnerving, now felt oddly familiar—like an echo of something deep within him.
"First memory match locked," an assistant announced, their voice crackling through the machinery's hum.
"Ego integrity?" the guard asked, his tone calm but expectant.
"Optimal," a female voice responded, cutting through the tension.
"Attempt synchronization," the guard ordered, her eyes narrowing in focus.
"First ancestral link confirmed. We've found Yagi," another voice chimed in.
Before he could react, Komatsu's wrists flicked instinctively. Hidden blades shot out from the gauntlets strapped to him, gleaming in the dim light. He stared at them, bewildered by the ease with which they responded to him. This was no mere simulation—he could feel the weight of centuries coursing through his veins.
"Ego integrated," the female voice confirmed, distant and mechanical.
The urge to close his eyes tugged at him, an inexplicable pull toward calm. Reluctantly, Komatsu surrendered to it. A strange sense of peace washed over him, silencing the noise, the machines, the voices—all of it fading into the background.
"Synchronization achieved," a voice declared, but it barely registered.
"There!" someone exclaimed, but Komatsu's mind floated above it all, serene in the stillness.
Slowly, he reopened his eyes. The fear that had gripped him before was gone, replaced with something else: anticipation.
"Commence regression," the guard's voice sliced through his tranquility.
"Regression in progress," came the reply.
And then, without warning, the world around Komatsu dissolved. The sterile environment of the Animus chamber melted away in a whirl of light and shadow. In its place, a sprawling cityscape emerged, every detail rendered with astonishing clarity—more vivid than any memory he had ever experienced. The streets, rooftops, and alleyways stretched out beneath him, an intricate maze of life and movement. He glided effortlessly over the landscape, carried along as if by an invisible current.
As he soared, a peculiar sense of familiarity washed over him, as though he'd seen this city before. It reminded him of an eagle, circling high above, watching from an omniscient distance. The rooftops seemed to beckon him, the shadows of ancient temples and narrow passageways whispering secrets long forgotten.