CHAPTER 2:

Down The Rabbit Hole

A gurgle of painful groans escaped Vivian's mouth as she woke up with direct sunlight striking her eyes and she raised a hand to cover them instantly with a wince, "Damn, where did dad take me? A doctor's backyard?"

The bright intensity of the light hurt her vision and she kept her eyes closed for a few moments to gather her bearings. Her fingers skimmed her forehead and hairline for the bump or cut she expected from the hard impact but found none. That. . .was. . .eerily strange. By all medical logic, she should be suffering from a concussion at least from the blunt strike to the temple. Her leg didn't even hurt and she was sure it had bent at a pretty bad angle when she fell over her gaming console. Damn standee. She blinked repeatedly to bring her current surroundings into focus and found an arch of brown stone above her head that was attached to a wooden door to the left as she lied on the place's doorstep. What the-?

Green eyes narrowed as her palms lied flat on the floor and felt the graininess of stone as well under her fingertips. Okay, now things were getting even stranger. Most doorsteps nowadays were made of cement. Was that the case then? Had she unknowingly been dumped on some random person's doorstep? She knew her sisters liked to pull pranks on her but even this was too extreme for her siblings. If at all, they should've been nearby with questions about it. Propping onto her elbows to manage a steady sitting position, her back rested on a wall and she carefully gazed at where she currently was.

At that moment, she actually wished her sisters had dumped her at a neighbor's house because this was completely impossible. People in linen and cotton robes of neutral/brown shades that were similarly worn in the parts of the Middle East walked by about their business as horses- real horses- carted materials or their owners on their backs. Men in old fashioned dusty armor with sharp swords strapped to their waists wandered between civilians and their frowning faces said they meant nothing but business.

This was not Berkeley.

Oh crap, I hit my head harder than I thought, Vivian thought miserably as horror struck her about this impossible sight before her. There's no way I got dumped in a place of reenactment. . .do we even have those here? We don't even have horses!. . .So the only logical answer is that I'm stuck in a coma in. . .the Middle Ages?

"Is this what my mind wanted?" she muttered incredulously and brushed her unruly hair back as she scanned the crowds with disbelief. The people simply went by about their business without a single stare her way and too natural for her liking. They weren't even acting as if this entire setting was out of place or even gawked at the farm animals like she was. If this was fake- she wasn't ruling reality out either- why did her mind stick her here of all places? She heaved a miserable sigh as her bangs covered her eyes with a slouching posture and grumbled, "Because if so, we're running on two different wavelengths. The 1940s in the US or the Medieval Age in Europe, Classical Greece or the Renaissance, all of that to choose from and I get this? What the hell is this?"

She managed to get a few stares from passerby's for her loud words but she didn't care. This was a fabrication of her imagination, right? To protect her mind from possible physical trauma she had endured from the fall? Whatever she did would have no effect on her real body and if she was indeed stuck in a damn coma somewhere, she would explore this make believe world. What else could she really do? If her mind created false characters here, whoever lived inside the house would give her rear end the boot.

With a grunt of irritation, she stood up from whomever's doorstep she was on and dusted off her pants. . .wait, why wasn't she wearing pants anymore? Her throat muffled a whimper when she saw her clothes weren't her own and donned a familiar set of white robes. White robes that could only belong to a certain assassin owned by a company called Ubisoft whom probably created that blasted standee that scared the hell out of her and put her here in the first place! Vivian ran her hands over the pristine white cloth that draped over her legs instead of the familiar feel of blue jeans and noticed that her bangs were covered by that damn white hood. So this was where her subconscious sent her?

"Oh my god, I'm in Assassin Land" she sighed in dismay as the sudden shock almost knocked her off balance and ran a hand down her face to hopefully fade away the sight before her. It always worked in dreams. Closing her eyes, she waited a few seconds before fully opening them to. . .the same old-fashioned town. Damn it! She almost cried in self-pity and fear for being lost in who knows where and why she was even there in the first place. Comas didn't blast you into game worlds or times of the past, they. . .actually, she didn't know what happened but she sure as hell knew this wasn't supposed to be Alice in Wonderland time!

Her fingers wringed the crimson sash on her waist as she blubbered inaudible gibberish under her breath to the situation. The whiny of a nearby horse broke the woman from her frozen stupor and she gulped nervously to what awaited her in this strange world. Would she remain stuck here forever or until she woke? Was she even in a hospital?

"I highly doubt this is heaven" she muttered dryly and nabbed another batch of stares for her private ramblings. Okay, the staring was growing incredibly annoying and she shot them a glare for it but the hood covered up most of it. She pulled it down to demand sharply, "What? You've never seen a woman talk to herself? It's therapeutic."

They scuttled away with more hushed whispers and she stepped onto the dirt path to join the people walking throughout the city. Merchants called out from their wooden stalls to draw in potential customers as she passed by but kept her head down while wondering if she had money at all since her clothes weren't really hers. If she was expected to go all assassin on someone, they were horribly mistaken. A horse trotted by and she smiled at seeing a real life- well, conjured- animal and walked towards it with blind curiosity. Being a city child, she'd never seen live animals unless they were in a pet store or the zoo. She could see the glossy short strands of the stallion's brown hair and the air it whiffed around when its long black tail flicked the air towards her.

Aren't you pretty, she thought kindly and wanted to sneak in a pat to the animal's coat but before she could lean forwards, the horse crapped a load onto the ground below.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in horror as she jumped back before she got any of that on her clean clothes and watched in shock as people went on their path, not bothering to look if they were stepping in horse crap. Wasn't the owner supposed to pick that up?

This world is all kinds of crazy, she thought in disbelief and headed in the opposite direction as she checked her robes one last time for any splatters. Note to self, don't touch anything.

She wandered the dusty streets with frightened eyes as people preached on a nearby platform about Saladin this and Saladin that while crowds dispersed deeper into the city (was it a city?) and others remained to trade with merchants. Vivian decided to stay in the open because anything could happen in the dark recesses of any rough-edged place. Soon, she found herself before a child being hassled by four guards and found it very cowardly for the obvious disadvantage. Being the headstrong person that she was, Vivian sauntered over to demand, "Why are you bothering that boy? Don't you think four grown men against a kid is a little. . .oh, I don't know, spineless?"

One acting as the macho headman spit on the floor next to her as she frowned distastefully at his appalling mannerisms and the man snapped, "The kid stole, he will pay the penalty with death."

She balked to the statement and laughed sardonically to mock, "Seriously? A kid steals and you end his life? What the hell kind of law is that? Haven't you people heard of rehabilitation-"

"You are a peasant and a woman, you have no say in the matters of men" he cut off sharply and unsheathed his sword to point it at her throat. His dark and bushy brows furrowed as he ordered threateningly, "Move along, wench."

She snorted dryly to his sexist remark and pointed out bluntly, "Right, like I'm really going to let you kill the kid. Besides, this is all crap in my mind so your stupid little toothpick sword can do nothing against me-"

Vivian batted the sword away like a mosquito but the man pointed it back at her again. She grit her teeth in annoyance and stated irritably, "I keep telling you that stupid thing won't do anything-"

The sword cut into her right shoulder and she cried out in surprise to the sensation of actual pain. Wasn't this place supposed to be protecting her psyche? As the guards turned their attention to the woman, the little boy used his small and thin size to escape into the darkness of the alleys behind him while Vivian faced all of them.

She placed a hand over the throbbing gash and bit her bottom lip in pain when her fingers came back with blood. Real, red liquid blood. That was not supposed to be happening. Trying to gather her wits about her, she negotiated nervously, "Why don't we forget the whole thing? I left some socks soaking in a bowl-"

"Infidel!"

"Ah, damn it!"

From above on a nearby rooftop, a white clad figure observed the incident below as he wondered if the person scrambling for cover really was an assassin or an impostor. . .a really, really stupid one. His brown eyes watched as the figure, obviously female from the length of hair, grabbed nearby rocks and fruits to hurl at the guards chasing her instead of using an actual weapon. Was it really that hard to pick up a sword and stab the men?

Definitely an impostor, Altaïr thought assuredly from his perch in the shadows and crossed him arms to watch the rest of this play out below him.

"Assassin!"

"I'm not an assassin!"

Why am I even bothering yelling back? I'm giving away my position!, she chastised herself for the stupid maneuver and practically pushed herself through the crowds that for some annoying reason, had gotten three times heavier.

The cut in her shoulder burned but she paid it no attention as she tried to find a ladder or stairway- anything to aid her escape! A sprint over a man's orange stand later had Vivian climbing the ladder next to the stand as people gawked at her and brought more attention to the escaping woman. Practically tripping over her own white robes, she made it to the rooftops and hightailed it to the most concealing area- a nearby haystack. If she was dressed the part, why not act the part? Quickly, she dove into the plush hay and almost groaned aloud in distaste to the thick smell as she settled inside to hide.

How the hell does Altaïr handle the smell in these things?, she thought disgustedly as she pinched her nose to cover the heavy scent inside and held her breath when footsteps and black shadows hovered over the lucky haystack.

Vivian held her breath for the life of her and watched the yellow hay as the distorted shadows passed by with angry mutterings about her disappearance. She managed a faint smile when they left the vicinity and relief flooded her body as she was in the clear, almost imagining that little green triangle that popped up in the game. In hindsight, she should have waited a while longer just to make sure she was safe up there but the awful smell was bringing tears to her eyes in the hot afternoon sun.

"Blech!" she coughed aloud as she burst out from the hay, sprawling clumsily onto the floor to take deep lungful of clean odorless air. Shaking her head, she dusted off her clothes as she stood up to shudder visibly with a frown, "Ugh, I'm never going in one of those again."

The area before her was perfectly clear of any guards and she smiled triumphantly to herself, "Vivian- 1. Idiotic cliché guards- 0."

Unfortunately, she didn't see the impassive form of Altaïr sneaking up behind her and mindlessly turned around to meet the assassin face-to-face. Instantly, she put her hands up in defense and blurted in fright, "Oh, shit!"

Vivian blinked wildly to the familiar man before her that was everything she wasn't in official assassin garb and she gasped to exclaim breathlessly, "By Zeus' beard, it's you- Altaïr Ibn-whatever the rest is! You're in my fantasy land, I knew my mind wouldn't screw me over like this!"

"Have you been out in the sun too long? Who are you?" he asked forcefully with that cold bite of his and Vivian had to admit her crafty mind had him detailed perfectly down to the last note in voice.

"Is this where you interrogate me like all the other fan girls?" she asked with a cheeky grin as her attitude changed from frightened to amused. The man's expression remained indifferent and she scoffed confidently, "I can take whatever you dish out. You're just a figment of my rampant imagination."

"Did you get dropped on your head?" he asked awkwardly to the wild expression written all over her face and wondered if it was too late to back away from this interrogation. No! He needed to know how she knew his name and why she held assassin garb. She could be a Templar in disguise!

He grasped her arm tightly, cutting off the circulation from the grip, and demanded harshly, "Answer me."

"What are you going to do me?" she scoffed haughtily to his threat and giggled mentally in teasing afterthought, "What are you going to do to me?"

No, just because he's fake doesn't give you fan girl power to seduce the poor assassin, her conscience advised sternly and her immature side pouted to the enforced rule.

But it's my world and shouldn't you be looking for a way out?, she shot back defensively while Altaïr stared at her varying facial expressions with a boggled mind.

I think she's a little touched in the head, he thought irritably and hoped this woman wasn't more trouble than she was worth.

He waved a hand before her glazed eyes and snapped his fingers to order, "Wench!"

"I'm not a wench, I'm a woman with god-like authority in this place" she snapped sharply and jabbed a finger in his face. How she hated bigoted men that lived in the social beliefs of the past. . .even though he was a man of the past. Either way, she wasn't about to let him get away with sexist comments. She leaned forwards with squared shoulders and to muster a decent threatening voice, "I could snap my fingers and turn you into a frog-" she snapped her fingers and chided, "-like that!"

A look of wry amusement passed over his face and Altaïr sneered dryly, "Then why am I not a frog?"

Vivian blinked to her inability to change her surroundings (like in most crazy dreams) and rationally justified, "Because my mind never lets me have fun in dreamland. I always get hurt or maimed and fun is completely out of the question. Beats me on how the inner workings of my psyche work."

Altaïr seriously considered the woman was off her rocker and expected her to start foaming at the mouth with crazy outbursts but first, he wanted answers regarding his identity. He grasped the front of her robes and demanded tightly, "Give me the truth or I will cut you down."

"You're in my world, buddy, I own you" she grinned slyly towards the aloof man and tilted her head amusingly to taunt, "I can do anything and you can't do squat. Here, watch."

She proceeded to grab one of the attached knives at his waist but he dodged her, extending his hidden blade to cut her right forearm. Vivian cried out to the burning sensation and stared as crimson blood coated the white of her torn sleeve, eyes staring at the very real injury in disbelief.

"Ookay, by all retrospect in imaginary land, that shouldn't have hurt!" she exclaimed and nursed her bleeding arm as rivulets of blood trickled between her fingers. Great, now she had to add another wound to her growing collection. The vibrant blood seemed very real and that in itself made her feel lightheaded. She uttered a faint whimper of surprise and groaned exhaustingly, "This time I really am going to faint."

She fell backwards as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and the assassin mentally winced when her head slammed against a wooden beam behind her, "Ow!"

Yep, she was definitely out for the count.

Altaïr surveyed the area as he thought on what to do with the woman and nudged her side with his foot to make sure she wasn't faking. By all standards, she would be declared insane with her bold assumptions and blatant disrespect but questions needed to be answered. If there was one thing he was good at, it was interrogating. That and killing exceptionally from the shadows.

Good thing the Bureau is close by, I don't have to lug her around for long, he thought distastefully and leaned down to hoist the woman over his shoulder like a meaningless bag of rice. It would be best to depart before anybody noticed his presence and after the number of guards that had chased the woman, concealment was best.

Vivian woke up with a pulsing pain in the back of her head and smiled happily, believing that all that Assassin's Creed make believe had finally faded away. The thought that she was finally back in the land of the living with her family overjoyed her and she opened her eyes to stare at stone rooftops that overlooked Jerusalem's horizon.

Crap. Double freakin' crap.

Am I really stuck in this place?, she thought worriedly and realized her feet weren't touching the ground. Her hands were dangling over white cloth belonging to another person, a real person who's back kept slapping against her face as they ran.

She opened her mouth to spit out lint caught on her lips and hung her head as everything that had transpired within the last hour flashed through her mind. The fact that she was thinking so clearly in what she believed to be the imaginary wasn't settling very well in her stomach.

I need answers, she thought determinedly and felt nausea rising in her stomach from the angle she was being carried by. Great, her head throbbed, her shoulder stung, her arm burned, and she felt the need to barf all over Altaïr's clothes. Am I actually trying to admit this is real?

The assassin didn't seem like the kind of person to dish out answers for nothing in exchange (if at all, he killed people he questioned) and after being slashed up, she wasn't looking forward for a Q&A session. Instead, she did the quickest and probably stupidest thing- bite him hard on the side of his torso.

His running stopped instantly and he broke the silence over the rooftops with an incredulous voice, "Did you just bite me?"

"Well, it seemed like the best- hyah!" she started to catch him off guard and kneed him in the gut to loosen his hold. Wriggling with the craziness of an eel, she fell out of his grasp and hit the stone roof on her spine. Withholding a painful groan, she crawled on all fours to escape him and felt the grainy stone scratch her palms. Ignoring the burning sensation, she scrambled towards the end of the rooftop to find a ladder and grinned in relief when one lied less than ten feet away.

"Haha!" she cheered aloud and ran over to the wooden ladder to climb down quickly as the assassin made a grab for her head. She narrowly dodged his skillful fingers and felt several strands get pulled out which involuntarily caused her to release her hands from the ladder. Her eyes widened as she fell back into the air and flapped her arms like a bird as she prayed for some serious air resistance. Frantically, she cried aloud, "Someone fat get in my way!"

Altaïr could only gawk in surprise as the woman landed facedown on the dirt below while the dark recesses of his mind laughed evilly at the humorous scene. Was she even alive? He could hear faint murmurs from below and people glanced up to where she'd fallen from, prompting him to bid adieu to this place.

He would catch that target if it was the last thing he'd do.

As the assassin faded into the afternoon shadows of the rooftops, Vivian groaned into the warm dirt as it entered her mouth, "This looked way easier in the game."

An hour later had Vivian with dirt covered assassin's robes and she took a tip from the AC manual by sticking to any nearby scholars so she could remain unnoticed. That soon blew over when the guards started noticing her crazy appearance and lack of navigation which referred her straight onto the rooftops again for security.

Climbing was practically impossible for her so she stuck to accessible rooftops on the second story level than the high peaks she usually made Altaïr climb. That in itself begged the question as to why the assassin was here. Had her subconscious created him? Was he actually real in this dimension? There were so many questions she wanted answers to but had no idea how to go about it.

As she sat on a rooftop, she wiped the dirt off her smeared face as her cheekbone hurt from the previous impact to the floor. If her mind wanted her to remain alive here, it was easier said than done, especially with all the gashes and bruises she'd gained. Her throat was parched from both the dry air and lack of drinking water which had her asking aloud, "How can I be thirsty? I don't drink or eat in imaginations."

"I mean I'm talking to myself so that's crazy in itself" she mumbled flatly to her rationalizations and grabbed a hand full of hair into both of her hands. It was already damp with sweat from all of her running and she sighed tiredly, "The sun's heat looks real enough and dreams don't last this long."

. . . "What if I really am trapped in this place?" she whispered despondently and her shoulders slumped at that horrible possibility. "Is this the game itself? My mind's reenacting? A real time shift? A parallel dimension?"

She buried her face into her hands and muttered woefully, "I really need some answers. Whoever's out there in this crazy world, help."

A pair of hands yanked her from behind and she struggled instantly, trying to call out for help by yelling rape since no one wanted that over their heads. Instead, a rough hand clamped over her mouth and she tried to bite but the person pinched her nose to make it even harder. Damn kidnapper was crafty.

She kicked wildly but her yells were muffled as she was dragged away from the rooftop and towards an open metal rimmed skylight littered with green vines. The rough stone was giving her poor butt rug burn as she was dragged carelessly and she yelled curses at her captor as she tried to take a swing at them.

"I will knock you unconscious if you don't stop thrashing like a snake" a cold voice warned her and she stopped when the familiar voice struck a memory chord in her head.

She tried to say 'Altaïr' but it came out, "Aghair!"

Her eyes saw the inscribed Assassin's Order insignia pass by on the rooftop and before she could ask, she was thrown back without warning. Her lungs didn't waste time in shouting as she fell through the air again and landed roughly in a pile of maroon pillows that decorated the floor. If he thought that was making the landing any easier, he was dead wrong. Fearfully, she scrambled to her feet as pain shot up her lower spine and she saw no way out as the familiar sight of the Bureau greeted her in perfect detail except now the view was easier to stand. The door that usually led to the rafiq's main room was locked and her hands banged on it desperately but the wooden door didn't budge.

She heard feet land behind and turned around to see the man most fans cheered for but who she was seeking to escape as her heart beat wildly. Was this how a mouse felt before it was ripped to shreds by a hungry cat? Her back pressed against the door as if it would offer refuge and she groaned weakly, "Oh no, he's come to finish the job. This isn't the way I planned to die. I just wanted to play a game!"

The door she was on burst open and she fell onto her butt for the second time that day causing her to cry out, "For the love of God, you're going to kill my coccyx."

"You really lack the subtlety of drawing a woman" another voice joined the fray and Vivian's jaw dropped as she stared up at Malik from her disheveled upside down position. His eyebrow rose to the unkempt woman with dry blood caking her robes and he asked warily, "Did you attack a fellow assassin?"

"She's not an assassin, more like trouble in disguise" Altaïr informed sharply and shot her a distasteful look. Involuntarily, she scooted closer to Malik since he actually was the nicer guy in the game as the assassin explained simply, "She's been causing chaos in the streets, I don't know where she has attained our garb from but she risks exposing our Order. Frankly, I think she's touched in the head and should be put out of her misery."

Vivian sat up instantly to his wrongful accusation and shot back, "I'm not crazy. You're in my head- not real! This whole place is fake, nothing here belongs to the 12th century- there's no logical answer to why you should even exist. You're a game character, I'm real. If at all, I should be able to kill you but no, you had to freeze in my gameplay and got me into this coma."

Altaïr remained silent to her ranting and after a few seconds, stated simply, "See? Completely delusional."

Her cheeks reddened in anger to his claim and she stood up to face the dai who remained baffled on the entire matter. Calmly, she spoke to him to make him understand her side of the story, "I'm talking to you because you're way cooler and nicer than him. This city can't be real-"

"But it is, why would you believe otherwise?" the white robed assassin intervened and she shot him a glare.

"Is your name Malik? No? So go away" she snubbed irritably and turned back to the other man who had become amused by the brash woman. He decided to lend an ear to her plight and she explained quickly, "I am from the 21st century where this is nonexistent. I mean, the 12th century and the whole Crusade era with Richard vs. Saladin happened but you, Grumpy over there, and everyone else here has no record of ever existing unless it's of a fictional nature."

She ran a hand down her face to sigh tiredly, "I was playing the damn game including you and knocked myself out in the process. This is just a figment of my unconscious mind to preserve my wellbeing until the doctors wake me up. Do you understand?"

Malik gave her a sympathetic look and spoke gently, "You need to rest away all of these wrong assumptions."

"But it's the truth, there's no way you can exist. . ." she protested adamantly and slouched as the energy to fight left her. Her eyesight caught onto a bookcase inside the room rafiq's always occupied and she ran inside quickly as Altaïr shouted for her to stop. Desperately, she grabbed the closest book on the middle shelf and popped it open as the two men looked ready to restrain her.

Quickly, she pointed out confidently, "If this is real, then these books will be filled with gibberish because there's no way the human mind could fill all of them in such tricks of the mind."

Vivian awaited a victory in her favor but her face paled when she saw Arabic writing littering each page and illustrations flashed by to aid what the author had written. Her hand dropped it in shock and she grabbed the next book, opening it to skim through the pages and found the same thing. The frightful part that dried her mouth and froze her mind was that she was able to read every word of it which was not possible. She did not know a single word of Arabic, except for maybe hello, so how could her mind translate such a broad subject? It was impossible!

I should've realized that the second someone spoke in this place, she thought quietly and her shaking hands shut the book as her stomach clenched. But it can't be. . .

"I-I don't know a single word of your language but I'm speaking it clearly and you're understanding. . .how can that be?" she asked faintly, searching their faces for an answer as her mind tried to grasp such a concept. The game used the English language for the fans but in reality, Altaïr and everyone spoke Arabic during these turbulent times which would be impossible for someone like her to know them. Quietly, she pointed out weakly, "Languages this old require translators, what is going on?"

She shook her head in skepticism to what Altaïr kept snapping the whole day regarding her presence there and asked nervously as she dreaded the answer, "This is the year 1192?"

"Yes."

Malik's answer made her stomach sink as every bruise she endured felt twice as painful to the stark realization that this could really be a reality. Bile rose in her throat as her skin became clammy to the warm temperature and Vivian groaned weakly, "Crap, I'm going to be sick."

A/N: Just to point out, Vivian will NOT be an assassin or attempt the Jedi path to being one. I refused to make her into a Mary Sue creature. She just got the clothes to fit into the same setting she had been playing prior to her accident and the real time Jerusalem. I feel sorry for Altaïr having to deal with a woman who thinks everything there is fake but then no humor would be involved. The whole existence for her being there actually relates to a piece of Eden since I've been reading up on their abilities in the AC Wiki. As for the language, I always read stories where the people hurled into the AC world knew the language perfectly even though in true reality, Altaïr wouldn't know English fluently. Thanks for reading and please drop a review, it helps me decide which stories to update sooner.