The corridors of the Abstergo facility were bathed in harsh fluorescent light, the hum of machines filling the sterile air. Tadakuni Sousaku, the lead guard, marched with a quiet resolve, his grip firm on the sleek frame of his Heckler & Koch VP9. His eyes, sharp and calculating, remained fixed ahead as Sofia Rikkin strode gracefully beside him, flanked by two armed guards carrying Howa Type 20 rifles. The clicking of their boots against the tiled floor echoed in the emptiness, a sound that seemed to reverberate off the cold, impersonal walls.
Sofia's presence was as calculated as her every movement—her lab coat billowed slightly behind her, the glint of her glasses reflecting the overhead lights. She was lost in thought, her mind no doubt consumed by the latest developments, the data streaming through her ever-curious mind. Despite her apparent calm, there was an undercurrent of tension in her posture, an edge to her steps that only Tadakuni noticed. She had been like this ever since the recent Animus sessions—distant, almost unreachable, even in their moments together.
Tadakuni's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed her. There was something about her—something beyond the scientific zeal she wore so proudly. Something unsettled him about the way she approached her work, the unyielding way she sought to erase violence from humanity. He had once admired her ambition, but lately, it had begun to feel less like an ideal and more like an obsession.
The air felt heavier the closer they got to Komatsu's room. Tadakuni couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the cusp of something... unnatural. The most recent Animus session had left him questioning everything. The way Komatsu had reacted—his body desynching so violently, as if torn between worlds—was more than a mere glitch. No, it was something deeper, something beyond the scope of science.
He shifted his weight, his fingers briefly brushing against the VP9, a tactile reminder of his role as protector. He wasn't just guarding Sofia and the facility; he was guarding the cause—the Templar cause, the very foundation of order. But something about Sofia's work troubled him. The supernatural elements at play, the memories, the whispers of forces beyond their control—it all left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Dr. Rikkin," Tadakuni spoke, his voice low but steady, cutting through the sterile hum of the hallway. "I've been meaning to ask. What do you intend to do here? With Komatsu… and with the memories he's experiencing."
Sofia turned her gaze to him, her eyes cool and measured. "We're on the brink of a breakthrough, Tadakuni. You know that," she replied, her voice almost too calm, too controlled. "This could be the key to understanding humanity's violent tendencies. With the right data, we can change the world."
Tadakuni studied her for a moment longer, watching the faint flicker of something—doubt, perhaps?—pass across her face before it was quickly hidden beneath the veneer of determination. He knew that look. It was the same one he saw when she spoke of eradicating violence, of controlling human nature through science. But there was always a cost.
"You believe in this," he said, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief. "But you can't ignore the implications. You know the memories we're extracting aren't just from Komatsu's ancestors. We're seeing things—things that shouldn't be there. The Piece of Eden, the spirits, these... anomalies. What if this isn't just data? What if it's something more? Something outside our control?"
Sofia slowed her pace slightly, considering his words. Tadakuni noticed a brief flicker of emotion in her eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.
"I'm not ignoring anything," she said, her voice steady. "I'm doing this for humanity. For peace. If we can harness these memories, we can unlock the key to a better world—one where violence is a relic of the past. The Pieces of Eden are a means to that end, not a threat."
Tadakuni couldn't help but feel a tightness in his chest as he listened to her. He had always believed in the Templar cause—the pursuit of peace through order, through control. But Sofia's methods, her single-mindedness, were starting to feel... dangerous.
"And what if you're wrong?" he asked, his tone not judgmental, but searching. "What if this peace you're chasing isn't possible? What if we're dealing with forces beyond us, forces that no amount of science can tame?"
Sofia stopped walking and turned to face him, her gaze intense. "If we do nothing, Tadakuni, the world will continue to burn. We've seen it time and again. The Assassins, the chaos, the bloodshed. I refuse to stand by while humanity destroys itself."
Tadakuni met her gaze evenly, feeling the weight of her words settle over him. He had no doubts about his loyalty to the Templar cause. But this... this was different. There was something wrong with how Sofia was approaching this.
"Just make sure you know what you're doing," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a note of caution. "Because if something goes wrong, it won't just be the past we're facing. It'll be the future."
Sofia offered a thin, almost imperceptible smile. "I always know what I'm doing, Tadakuni. Trust me."
Komatsu slowly rose from where he had slumped on the edge of his cot, his body stiff and aching from the lingering effects of the Animus session. His movements were slow, cautious, as though his body hadn't fully caught up to his mind. His fingers tightened around the collar of his coat, the fabric rough against his skin as he tried to steady his breath.
The door to his room opened, and Sofia Rikkin entered. Her presence seemed to fill the sterile room with a chill, her eyes cold, calculating. Behind her, Tadakuni Sousaku lingered in the doorway, his gaze never leaving her, always watching. The two armed guards remained outside, the soft clicks of their boots fading as the door swung closed.
Komatsu looked up, his gaze flicking from Tadakuni to Sofia. There was an unsettling calm to her demeanor, the same sense of purpose she carried with her every time she entered the facility. But today, something was different. He could feel it.
Sofia's eyes swept over him, noting his disheveled appearance, the way his muscles trembled ever so slightly. But she said nothing, her lips curling into the faintest of smiles as she stepped further into the room.
"Tadakuni," she said, her voice smooth but sharp. "You may leave us."
Tadakuni's eyes narrowed as he gave a subtle nod, but there was no mistaking the tension in his shoulders. He didn't trust her, and it showed. With one last lingering look at Komatsu, he stepped out, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Komatsu's gaze never wavered from Sofia as she approached him. There was a quiet intensity in the room, as though the very air was charged with unspoken words. His mind was still reeling from the last Animus session, the visions of the past unsettlingly vivid, as if they had been lived and not merely relived. And yet, Sofia's presence felt somehow more oppressive than before.
Sofia stopped just a few paces away from him, her sharp eyes scanning his face, as if measuring his every thought. Her demeanor was cold, direct—no wasted words, no pleasantries. She was here with a single purpose, and Komatsu could feel it in the weight of her gaze.
"We're close," she said, her voice low, but laden with certainty. "We've analyzed your sessions, the memories you've relived. The Pieces of Eden, their significance—it's all becoming clear. We know what we're looking for, Komatsu." She stepped closer, her tone intensifying. "The Apple. We need you to find it."
Komatsu grunted as he slowly rose from his seat, the lingering effects of the Animus session still holding him in its grip. His body felt heavy, drained, and his head ached from the relentless barrage of memories that refused to let go. Each step he took was slow, deliberate, his movements sluggish as if the very air around him was thickening with the weight of the visions.
The bleeding effect still clung to him like a shadow, the remnants of the memories bleeding into his mind with disorienting clarity. He could feel the distant sounds of battle, the echo of voices long silenced, and the weight of ancient swords in his hands. But those were not his memories. He wasn't the one who had lived those lives—but somehow, they felt as real as his own.
Sophia stepped beside him, her presence unnervingly calm in contrast to the storm raging inside him. She didn't look at him with pity or sympathy—only cold, calculating focus. Her eyes searched his face, evaluating, measuring, as if she were assessing the state of a valuable asset rather than a person.
"If you'll allow me," she said, her voice soft yet unwavering, "I can teach you how to control them."
Komatsu's breath hitched at her words, and for a moment, he almost thought he heard a faint trace of sincerity in her tone—perhaps even empathy. But he quickly dismissed the thought. Just another Templar trying to sway me, he thought to himself.
He had heard it all before—how control, order, and peace could only be achieved through unwavering discipline and mastery. It was the very rhetoric he had been surrounded by during his recent captivity. They saw everything as a means to an end, a way to reshape the world according to their vision.
But Komatsu wasn't fooled. He wasn't a pawn to be moved on their chessboard.
"You think controlling this will make me a better tool for your cause?" Komatsu muttered, his tone tinged with cynicism. His eyes locked with hers, defiance radiating from him. "You don't care about me or my sanity. You care about what I can give you. What you can use me for."
Sophia's gaze remained steady, undeterred by his words. "It's not about using you, Komatsu," she replied, her voice still calm, measured. "It's about helping you. Helping you control the past that's bleeding into your present." Her eyes flickered briefly with something that might have been understanding. "The power of the Pieces of Eden—it's too much for any one person to carry alone. I'm offering you a chance to handle it, to wield it without being consumed by it."
Komatsu narrowed his eyes. He had no doubt that she believed in her cause, that she thought she was doing the right thing. But he had seen too much to trust the Templars. They wanted peace at any cost, even if that meant sacrificing individual freedom. It was a dangerous, one-sided vision, and Komatsu wasn't about to surrender to it.
He stepped away from her, his fists clenched at his sides, the weight of the Animus still dragging at him. The memories—the bleeding effect—still felt fresh, invasive, and suffocating. Yet part of him couldn't ignore the truth in what Sofia said. His body was fighting the memories, resisting them. And maybe—just maybe—control could offer him some semblance of stability.
But trusting a Templar? That was a step too far.
"I don't need your guidance," Komatsu growled, shaking his head. "I'll figure this out myself."
Sophia didn't flinch. She was as composed as ever, her calm exterior unshaken by his defiance. "If you don't allow me to help you," she said softly, "then you'll keep bleeding. And the cost of that might be more than you're willing to pay."
Komatsu felt a chill run down his spine. There was something chillingly prophetic in her words. He knew she wasn't threatening him—she was warning him. But the idea of relying on someone like her, someone who was part of the very system he opposed, felt like giving in. He wasn't sure which was more dangerous—the uncontrollable power threatening to consume him or the temptation to give in to her control.
"Teach me," he finally muttered, reluctantly. "But know this: I'm doing this for me—not you."
Sophia's eyes softened, just for a moment, before she turned to the console, preparing for the next step. "Understood. We'll begin immediately."