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An island, the sun, the waves.
In any other circumstances, Desmond would have been delighted to end up on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere to do nothing more than tan on the beach and frolic on the surf. After all the bullshit he went through, he definitely deserved a good week or so of holidays, getting drunk on sangria.
There's no sangria around though. No wind. No warmth. The short waves reaching his ankles are neither cold nor wet. Desmond knows that damn feeling, his senses contradicting each other. What his eyes see his hands don't feel, what his mouth feel his tongue doesn't taste. His brain always has to do the work all by itself to fill the holes of the Animus's code.
It's no memory though, this beach, so the hypnotic sensation that usually helps fill the blanks doesn't come forth to help him. He just stares at the water licking his ankles and scowls at the absence of feeling.
What the fucking hell is he doing in the Animus ? Last thing he remembers, that golden bitch took possession of him and had him gut Lucy. It's like a sick, twisted joke. Good job killing your one friend, here's your sensational holiday on a false island in the confines of a prison that was specifically made for you.
Had Desmond any less patience, he would've blown the Animus to pieces days ago. He'd find a way to make it up to Rebecca, but at least his brain wouldn't cave in on itself.
It's a strange thing, feeling his brain physically collapse under the stress. That Isu’s grip was so strong, Desmond’s brain felt like a messed up prize to claim from a claw machine, except the claw turned the prize into a bloody pulp instead of letting go almost immediately because those things are just legalized scams.
The only good thing with the Animus is that he can't feel his body any more than the water at his feet. If his brain has turned to soft pudding, then Desmond couldn't tell because he is only empty polygons.
That's a nice break. Desmond hasn't woken up from either sleep or an Animus session without feeling some kind of sick or hurt in days now. That's not even counting the ghosts - hallucinations - Bleeding effect - whatever name the others felt like using to pretend Desmond wasn't slowly developing some intense schizophrenia. Homemade mental illness, how sweet. It doesn't even come with a receipt.
They're so lucky Desmond has too much patience… A doormat, his father used to call him. Would still call him if he were here. Whatever…
Desmond kicks the water, unsurprised when it doesn't even splash around. That's almost disappointing. Well, he's not yet on holidays anyway, he's got the end of the world to stop or something like that. Time to scout the island and check out just what those black pillars he can see uphill are.
He doesn't make three steps in the slope that something fizzles to his left, an obvious glitch taking form right above a rock. Desmond has seen those before. Subject 16’s glitches.
This one is a bit different though, it's not a pocket within the code that Desmond needs to crawl through. It takes shape little by little, line of code by line of code, until a man appears out of thin air.
It's not the best rendering, as far as Desmond has seen. Or maybe it's because Desmond is not under hypnose. Either way, it doesn't feel like an actual human, but a cardboard cutout of a man that Desmond has never once seen before. Dirty blond hair that might have looked disheveled if the rendering was just a bit better, pale sunken skin without details, empty blue eyes, brown leather jacket and nondescript jeans on a frame that's probably a bit bigger than Desmond, both in height and width.
There’s something familiar about that man, but Desmond just can't put a finger on it. As far as he knows, that's a total stranger who's somehow stuck within the Animus with Desmond.
The stranger snorts a laugh.
“You talk lots of shit for someone who can't even code Hello world ,” he snickers, and Desmond freezes. One, because that guy can hear his thoughts. “Duh, we're inside your head,” the guy says as if it explains anything.
Second, because he knows this voice. He hasn't heard it in what feels like forever, but he could recognize it everywhere. It got ingrained in his brain, the desperate tone, the pleading, the screams, the incoherent mess of thoughts Desmond never managed to understand.
Subject 16, in the flesh.
“Well, in codes, at the very least,” Sixteen drawls, one shoulder rising up in a mockery of a shrug. “Uncanny valley much ?”
Very much so. That happens a few times when Desmond is lost in memory-land while the hypnosis hasn't yet kicked in properly. That uncanny valley, where everything feels real but is very much not. Dead mannequins surrounding him with empty eyes and mechanical movements. Desmond hates that feeling.
“What's happening ?”
Sixteen pouts as he looks elsewhere. “Can't ya guess ? Do I have to hold your hand the whole way ?”
Asshole .
“Yeah, I know.”
Desmond really hates his thoughts not being private. He rarely had any privacy in his life, whether at the Farm or stuck in Abstergo or on the run with Lucy and the others, but at least he could curse everybody in his mind and tell his father to go fuck himself with a cross shaped dildo. Nobody to read his thoughts despite him being spread open on the dissection table.
Sixteen not only reads his thoughts plainly, he also answers to them and laughs darkly each time Desmond thinks something messed up. He really doesn't like it.
“Who cares ?”
I do .
“I don't. Anyway, congratulations ! Your brain collapsed !”
Desmond gives him a flat stare, not finding the situation quite as laughable as Sixteen seems to find it. “Did you program collision physics here ?”
Sixteen laughs, though this time it sounds a bit sad. “Oh, how I wish.”
He fizzles out of existence, only to reappear right in Desmond's face, his hand backing up to slap him across the face.
Desmond doesn't react, lets the hand faze into his head until it leaves it. He doesn't feel even a breeze.
Sixteen looks very upset to see his hit not doing shit.
“I should have, if only for the satisfaction of kicking your ass,” he mutters, face scrunched up weirdly, the low count of polygons not showing the grimace properly.
“Shared sentiment. Now, could you please tell me what's going on ?”
Sixteen huffs and takes a step back. “Your brain collapsed, so the Animus is acting as your new brain. Welcome to Animus Island !”
Sixteen spreads his arms and turns on himself to show off the little hill coming out of the ocean. It's little, badly rendered, the sun feels like a projector set right into Desmond's eyes-
“Oh, shut up. I coded this while bleeding out,” Sixteen grumbles. “In at least two different ways, if you get what I mean.”
Yeah, he does.
“And anyway, this island is just a loading screen. Get up there.”
And Sixteen fizzles out of existence.
Desmond looks around, tries to splash some more water around without any effect, and follows the slope up to the top of the hill.
He doesn't have many choices. He'll have to make his way out of here at some point, to keep trying to save the world and all that, and he doubts the exit is situated in the ocean. Desmond isn't even sure there's swimming physics in there. He'd rather avoid falling in there like he did once in Altair’s life. Drowning without drowning is a terrible kind of feeling.
The top of the hill is a flat little field of green grass sprinkled with a few rocks that are just the right size to sit on. It could have used a few trees for decoration. Palm trees, since it's an island. Instead, ten dark pillars reaching up into the sky, further than the eyes can see, encircle the field to create five doorways to places just as dark as the pillars. On the opposite side stands two more pillars making another doorway, though this one is much bigger than the rest of them.
“Right. What now ?”
Sixteen appears on one of the rocks, head supported lazily by a hand. “You really need to be guided every single step of the way, doncha ?”
“My brain's gone, have pity on me.”
That gets a laugh out of the man. “K, ‘k. Do you know what happens to a computer when its memory gets saturated ?”
“It slows down ?”
“It slows, overheats, creates phantom errors.” Sixteen waves his hand around, miming more problems that he's too lazy to enumerate. “The human brain is the same. And you're - what ? - mid twenties ?”
“Twenty five…”
“The brain has a limit of memories it can store,” Sixteen keeps going. “Especially so when it hasn't reached full maturity, which happens mid to late twenties. If you wanna store more memories, ya gotta make some space.”
“What ? I need to clean my room ?”
Sixteen chuckles. “More or less. Our dear Precursors made it that we can't forget the memories we get from the Animus, y’know, to help with the Apocalypse and all. So you have a grand total of three lifetimes in your head. Far too much, you'll agree.” Desmond nods. “We can't just clear the cache of the superfluous memories, so we'll have to tidy up all those memories into neat little piles, all the while training your brain to create more space.”
Desmond looks around. The doors must help with that somehow.
“Bingo. You'll get in those little doors to retrace your own memories,” Sixteen says, pointing toward the five doors in front of him. “That'll tidy things a bit. While you do that, you'll keep going through some of Ezio's memories.” And Sixteen points at the gigantic door. “That'll trick your mind into doing the same with his memories. Once you're done with all the memories, you'll be good to go back to the real world.”
Somehow, Sixteen makes it sound like a threat more than a deliverance.
So Desmond only needs to watch his own memories ? That sounds easier than he expected. He waited for Sixteen to tell him he'd have to go through some kind of terrible mixer worse than the Animus to pick his brain back up from the mud. If it's just his memories and some of Ezio's, it should be fine.
Sixteen smiles dangerously. Desmond guesses it won't be as easy as he thinks.
“And you ?” Desmond asks.
“I'm the computer's core. I make sure everything is stable while you're down in the Black Room.”
“Thanks for the assist.”
“Fuck you.”
Well, that's his cue to leave then. First door it is.
____
Desmond has known his life was a fucked up mess for a very long time, but with what he knows now, he realizes it is even worse than he thought.
He really grew up as a cult kid, didn't he ? Shielded away from society, with no means of contact to the outside, indoctrinated with violence, taught a grand conspiratorial kabbale was trying to take over the world.
From a standard human point of view, the Assassin Brotherhood was nothing but a particularly fucked in the head conspiracy theorist group that has long since tipped over the line to become domestic terrorists. No matter how just their reason was, they were still an unauthorized private military that murdered people.
There's something disturbing to watching this, his own fucked up life, from a third person perspective. Even Ezio wasn't raised to become some over the top murderer. His later life was a big mess of death, murder, betrayal and sex, but at least he had a nice childhood. Desmond somehow manages to have a worse childhood than that guy who lost everything.
The island is just as empty as before. The sun is still as high as before, the weather is exactly the same. As if no time has passed at all.
Desmond is used to hours, if not days, passing in a flash while he lives months, if not years, in the Animus. Now, time has stopped. Desmond isn't sure which one he prefers.
“So, where are you ?” he asks aloud when he doesn't see the other presence on the field despite walking all around it. Not many places to hide, unless you're some sort of glitch that can fizzle out of existence in a snap. “I know you can hear me, Sixteen ! Come out !”
“Don't see how that's gonna help, but if you really need to know, I'm bi.”
Desmond looks around, confused. The voice is there, but not the body. And the answer is nonsensical, of course.
Desmond is not one to lose patience with anybody, he could stand all the drunk assholes that came to the bar regularly and tried to scam him out of free drinks. Sixteen somehow manages to fray his patience pretty badly though.
“Just get here. Talking to the wind isn't exactly my idea of a good time.”
Sixteen scoffs somewhere above his head. “Talking to you isn't my idea of a good time either. Some of us have to work the codes while you hallucinate your own life, y’know.”
“Just- ugh… Gimme one second of reality check, ok ?”
Desmond sees something flash across his eyes. No. Within his eyes. He turns around to glare at the man who just attempted to slap him again, only to have his hand cross Desmond's empty skull.
“Would that be enough ?” Sixteen asks, cheeky smile laughing in Desmond's face.
Fuck you .
“You're welcome !” Sixteen’s face turns bored suddenly, smile falling so fast Desmond is surprised he doesn't hear anything hit the ground. “Just because we're stuck here together doesn't mean we have to communicate. There's no reality check within the Animus, just suck it up.”
“You are very helpful.”
Desmond has seen his fair share of dangerous bastards and predatory assholes, whether it was in his own life, Altair’s or Ezio’s. He's used to how quickly their expressions can change, how their eyes turn cold in a second, how the whole atmosphere fills with arsenic the moment they drop their game.
Sixteen, despite being flat polygons that can't even convey a grimace properly, sucks all warmth from the absent air and manages to look dangerous without changing his default expression. It's like a chill in Desmond's own code.
“I am, aren't I ?” Sixteen says, voice devoid of any inflection. “I painted the walls of your future room with my blood to give you warnings, I patched glitches into the Animus to tell you the Truth, I created this whole place to momentarily become your brain when yours inevitably collapses, I killed myself to upload my consciousness into this shithole so that I can oversee the tidying of your stupid memory library, I waited in the goddamn dark for you to put this place back up together, and now I have to make sure your code doesn't break down and kill you. I'm very helpful, ain’t I ?”
Desmond keeps quiet. He isn't sure what to say, he's not even sure he should say something. Instead, he takes a step back. Sixteen takes a step forward to stay in his face.
“Ain’t I ?” Sixteen’s voice is so cold Desmond thinks he managed to code temperatures in the Animus while he was looking at his own memories. “I've done all that for you . I killed myself for you . I could have gone to rest and left you to your bullshit, and instead I'm here for you , listening to you whine because your life is oh-so hard. Poor boy, does losing your mind feel bad ? Should I feel bad for you ?”
Desmond did feel bad for Sixteen when he heard how far his head had gone, back when he found the glitches. Desmond even asked Lucy whether she knew that unnamed voice, whether he was still alive or not.
Had he been, he might have tried to save him. Desmond still had a bit of hope back then. From Sixteen’s sudden smirk, he finds it as funny and absurd as Desmond now does.
“Suck it up, Seventeen,” Sixteen murmurs dangerously. “I'm already using every bit of myself to make sure your life lasts just a bit longer. Don't ask me to enjoy it.”
“... Alright.”
Sixteen blasts into lines of code, and Desmond is left alone once more.
____
Desmond feels as old as Ezio currently is. As tired. As done with work, with Templars, with Precursors.
It's easy to get back into the man's skin, despite the hypnosis being less competent than Rebecca’s coding. It's harder to get back in his own skin. His own code.
Desmond looks at the empty field, at his hands, his clothes. The void he feels within himself is the only thing grounding him into his own code. Ezio is empty code too, but he doesn't feel like it. When Desmond leaves the door, while half of his mind is stuck in Ezio-mode, the other half realizes none of this is real. It's hard to settle, but it is also easier.
All in all, Desmond loses his mind, and he knows there's some voyeuristic creecher that can see how badly he handles the transition. At least with Rebecca, Shaun, and Lucy, he could pretend he was fine, as long as he didn't wake up thinking he is Ezio or Altair. No such luck with Sixteen.
He's nowhere to be found on the field, not that it surprises Desmond. This time, he is wise enough not to call for Sixteen to come. It's now obvious that his predecessor hates him. Between the slaps, the mocking, the seething-
Just why did Sixteen bother doing all that for Desmond if he hates his guts so badly ? Just let him die, he wouldn't have had to keep his suffering going on if he just didn't build a backup brain for Desmond.
“You're being cute,” a disembodied voice resonates around Desmond. “You think I had a choice ?”
Who forced you ? Lucy ?
Sixteen snarls a laugh in his ear. “A golden bitch you've already met.”
Minerva ?
“The other bitch.”
Desmond doesn't know who the other bitch is, but he remembers her crystal clear. She felt like the Apple of Eden in Al Mualim’s hand. The amount of pressure she exerted on Desmond reminded him of that terrible, terrible time he had, trying not to desync as Altair ran all over the place to get back at his traitor of a mentor. The moment her grip was settled on him, he could do nothing but watch his own body obey her wishes.
“Juno,” Sixteen says. “Her name's Juno. She was in my head too.”
Shit…
“Oh, she didn't control me. You had it easy, really.”
Desmond's eyebrow twitches as annoyance settles in his guts again. Had it easy ? I already have no fucking saying in what I do or say, and now my body is not even under my own control and you call that having it easy ?
“Hm. I'd have preferred that. Who cares about bodily autonomy ?”
Desmond scoffs. Talked like someone who hasn't had his whole life decided by others. I'd kill for just a bit more privacy and autonomy.
“...”
Desmond settles on a rock. He needs a break from memories, his own or Ezio's, whatever, he's annoyed.
He had no damn privacy at the Farm, at Abstergo, on the run. He had no damn autonomy at the Farm, what with his parents deciding every single thing for him, from the food he ate to the training he received to the bedtime to how he was supposed to think. He had no damn autonomy at Abstergo, Vidic deciding everything for him. He had no autonomy on the run, Lucy, Rebecca and Shaun deciding everything for him while he was unconscious.
He barely even has any autonomy in his ancestors’ memories. He's always only here to serve a purpose for others. Keep up the perfect Assassin bloodline of his parents, find Vidic’s fucking Piece of Eden, become a perfect Assassin for Lucy to use, hallucinate ancestors’ memories to save the world in some grand plan the Precursors built hundreds of thousands of years ago.
It's his only purpose, isn't it ? Serve others. Serve the Precursors’ will. Just like Ezio, whose life got planned from start to end by those golden assholes. Just hurt him as much as possible, yeah, kill everybody around him, render him alone and powerless to the wills of gods, so that he can become the perfect Prophet.
He can't just do something because he wants it. Even his leaving the Farm, he starts to believe was part of the Grand Plan so that he could become incompetent and get captured by Templars years later.
Fuck it all.
Fuck everything.
“I meant…” Sixteen's voice startles Desmond out of his own thoughts. He sounds a bit unsettled, though with his access to Desmond's thoughts, it's not very surprising, is it ? “... she controlled you physically, but at least she didn't crush your mind and soul on the pavement to have you obey her… so, it could've been worse.”
… Right.
“...”
…
“For what it's worth…” Sixteen murmurs sheepishly. “I'm sorry. I know it sucks.”
Yeah…
…
You really just hear all my thoughts, uh…
“Yeaaaaaaah, sorry ‘bout that. I don't want to hear them any more than you want me to, but I couldn't program it otherwise. We're inside your brain, after all.”
Desmond sighs. He guesses it's ok. As far as it could go, he's just glad the ones reading his thoughts aren't Vidic or his parents. Sixteen laughs at the thought.
“Same.”
Desmond huffs a laugh too. Who would want their own parents to hear their thoughts ?
____
Second door down. Only three more to go, and Ezio's door. It's slower than Desmond expected. Waddling through the Black Room is difficult while falling from the polygons is easy. Desmond doesn't have the luxury of having a body within the Black Room, it's only raw code and basic shapes. Touch doesn't exist, sight doesn't exist. The body and the mind, the self and the outside, it's all muddled together.
Desmond doesn't know if Sixteen designed it like that on purpose, or if going through his own broken mind just makes it harder.
“A bit of both.”
Desmond looks around. Uselessly. Sixteen just doesn't appear anymore, only his voice rings in the false air of the island.
“I thought you didn't want us to communicate,” Desmond wonders. For someone who doesn't want to have anything to do with Desmond, he sure starts conversations a lot.
“Oh, shut it. I hear your thoughts and you make it hard not to contradict or correct you.”
“Just call me dumb, would you ?”
“Dumbass.”
Desmond laughs under his breath. Damn asshole.
Desmond didn't have the luxury to go to school in his youth, everything he knows is merely practical learning from firsthand experience. He has no doubt he is some ignorant idiot in the eyes of the likes of Shaun, Rebecca and Sixteen.
“The Black Room is your mind transcribed into code, that's why it's chaotic,” Sixteen explains, surprising Desmond. “If I made it too easy, it would've been more of a hindrance for you. You would have to pull in the effort to construct the whole place. This is as raw as it gets.”
“I see… What about the bodiless experience ?”
“Well, your mind's in your body, not the other way around. And, uh…” Sixteen coughs. “Twas already hard to code bodies for the island that has a semblance of physics. I mean, look at me-”
Sixteen appears in front of Desmond and turns on himself, arms spread to show himself out in all of his polygonous glory.
It's not PS2 level, but it's not HD quality either. Sixteen looks quite good, in some way, the uncanny valley is the only thing making it awkward. With just a bit more details - life in those eyes, little flaws and blemishes in his skin, more strands of hair- he would look nice.
“That's-” Sixteen stops turning and coughs sheepishly. “That's not the point. What I mean is, it's hard to code bodies with good physics, so imagine with only minimal physics.”
“Mh… I can't say I understand, but I'll believe you.”
Desmond can only open his computer, start the antivirus, and open either the internet or a video game.
He's never been a techie, especially when he was on the run and couldn't afford to leave any traces. Computers leave traces. Social medias. Mails. Desmond only got himself a shitty thing just in case but barely used it. He only ever had throwaway phones too. The only kind of electronics he allowed himself to get was a few consoles to play. There aren't quite as many tracking on those.
“Man, you're really a farm guy through and through,” Sixteen comments.
“I'll blame my parents for that one.”
Sixteen laughs. Desmond feels immediately better for it. Reality check complete. His ancestors’ lives are so damn miserable, a good laugh out of the Animus usually puts his head back to where it is supposed to be.
It's easy with Rebecca, Desmond and she get along just fine, and she's more inclined to discuss with Desmond. Sometimes, when Lucy is in the mood, Desmond gets to have a good laugh while he trains his body with her, a good combo when his body is usually just lying and taking it in the Animus.
It's balm to his mind. Nice, genuine laugh. The moment he can't get a laugh out of himself or others is the beginning of the end for Desmond.
“You're corny,” Sixteen huffs. He walks trenches around the field, looking like he doesn't know what to do with his body, now that he has appeared.
“Gotta do what it takes to not go crazy,” Desmond says with a shrug. “And if it's grabbing at the people around me against their wills, trust me that I will.”
“You've got no shame.”
“You have no leg to stand on.”
Sixteen snorts another laugh. A new victory in Desmond's books.
“Yeah. Wish I could've done that,” Sixteen hums quietly. “Didn't have quite as much support as you do though.”
“I thought Lucy was with you.”
Sixteen looks up at him and Desmond wonders if the island's quality got better suddenly.
He can see such obvious pain and sadness in those eyes, in that smile. He thinks he could see it even if the quality suddenly turned glaringly poor.
Desmond doesn't like that. The laughs were much better. That expression, Desmond sees it all the time. In the mirror, on Ezio's face, on the people around Ezio, on the people around Desmond. Pain, pity, betrayal, sadness, abandonment. Fuck, that hits too close to home.
Sixteen fizzles out of existence in a bright flash of code. Desmond has no doubt he won't be seeing him in some time.
What the hell did Lucy do ?
____
Desmond’s body is only twenty five years old. He was only allowed to drink four years ago, not a long time in the grand scheme of things. Voting was only seven years ago. He's just a bit older than Altair, half as old as Ezio.
Desmond's mind though - who has lived through twenty five years of his own life, almost a year in Altair's life, about fifty years in Ezio's life, and again several years of Altair's in Ezio's memories - is now the proud and far too old age of eighty to ninety years old.
Desmond looks at his hands, plays with his fingers, and finally understands why he feels so much closer to that older Ezio than all his other incarnations.
There comes a time as you age when you are just done with bullshit. Your body hurts all the time - something Desmond is also familiar thanks to the combination of days in the same position in the Animus and Lucy’s tough training - you are tired, you just want to go to bed and forget about the shitty day you had-
Well, that was Ezio's vision of growing old, at least. The man fought his whole life, never had any fucking answer for that godly apparition he once had, could tell he was being used by forces beyong his understanding.
No wonder he grew rancid.
At least Sofia’s light warmed his cold heart a little bit. Here's to hope they had a nice ending, unlike Altair and Maria.
Desmond doubts he'll have a nice ending. He had a bad feeling the moment Minerva spoke to him through Ezio, and it only grew worse as time went on. Now, with Juno’s addition to the mix and only one month left to go, Desmond feels dread settling in his guts.
He won't survive this fucking mission, will he ?
“Dying’s not so bad.”
There he is… “I don't wanna die,” Desmond hums without looking up from his hands. Knowing Sixteen, he didn't bother to appear.
“You will, in a month.”
Desmond gnaws on his scarred lips. “Did you want to die ?”
“... I want to be left alone.”
Well, go on then.
Desmond doesn't want to die.
He's tired. He's done with Precursors, the apocalypse, the Templars, his memories- but he doesn't want to die. He just wants to be left alone too. To be on an actual desert island and rest.
Desmond wants to rest. No pressure from gods or Templars or Assassins, no fast approaching deadline. Just calm and quiet.
What he wouldn't do to achieve that.
Anything but dying.
If he has any say in the matter - which he rarely has - then he'll survive just to spite gods and detractors. He'll push through, survive, and then raise big fat middle fingers to the world before disappearing in the woods. Fuck them all, he'll save them once, don't count on him to do it again. Assassins and Templars can fight it out amongst themselves, they just better not drag Desmond into it. They won't like the kind of man Desmond will become once he has no fuck left to give.
Desmond isn't violent, he isn't even the angry type. If he gets angry, he doesn't externalize it. He can handle a lot without snapping.
Well, being dragged everywhere by gods, Templars, and Assassins, and having his mind thrown in a mixer to the point that he falls comatose counts as much more than a lot .
“Y’know,” Sixteen voice rises again, and Desmond huffs a laugh at his incapacity to keep quiet, despite saying he wants it. “I had in mind to turn the Animus into a bomb and take Vidic and Lucy with me. Well, I couldn't do it obviously, kind of made the whole work on Animus Island useless, but it crossed my mind. Afterward I thought I would knife them and then myself, but by that time I was so weak physically that I could barely draw anything properly on the walls. I guess that's one of my regrets.”
“Well, that's one in two dead now.” Not that Desmond understands what the deal is with Lucy. “If I ever get the chance, I'll kill Vidic for you.”
“Ah, a man after my own heart !” Sixteen chuckles. “I wish I could be here to see that.”
Desmond frowns. “Right… what happens after I wake up ?”
“Dunno. Save the world or something ?”
“No, I mean… you ? What happens for you ?”
It's impossible to tell the time on the island. The sun doesn't set, the weather doesn't change. Plus, the Animus tends to meddle with one's perception of time. A minute lasts six hours, a year lasts six seconds. There's just no telling.
So there's no telling how long it takes for Sixteen to answer. Desmond just knows it's a rather long time.
“Well… the moment your brain activity gets back to normal, this place is programmed to implode and disappear,” Sixteen says slowly.
“And you ?”
“I'm part of this, so…”
So Sixteen will disappear too. Die for a second time. For Desmond. Again.
Desmond knows he doesn't have any sense of taste here, it hasn't been programmed, but he still catches something sour in his throat.
Of course . There's no universe in which Sixteen survives, is there ? No universe in which Desmond survives either. It wasn't written that way.
Desmond wants it to be written that way.
“Don't bother,” Sixteen tells him, voice carefully void of emotion. “I don't wanna live on.”
“... k. If it's fine with you…”
Desmond will just have to live on. He's used to it by now. His ancestors survived and Desmond lived through it. Desmond survived Lucy. Desmond will survive Sixteen. That's just his life.
He'll mourn again and live on. He's spent his lives mourning and living on. Just living on…
Fucking hell.
____
He's out of the Farm, freezing his ass in New York before he finds himself a job at the bar. That's how far he is in his own memories. The worst is behind, and the other worst is to come. It's the holidays of his life.
The good time was hard but still better than cult-mentality and kidnapping. Desmond's boss was strict but a good man, his coworkers were fun to hang out with after hours, and most of the clients were fine and tipped him really well.
Desmond isn't stupid. He knew he looked rather good, still having his Assassin training on his shoulders and the added tattoo on his arm, it made clients tip just a bit more to get a nice smile just for them. Desmond has never been against using his body to get what he wanted, much like Ezio.
Desmond settles in his body again with difficulty. It's much easier to go from embodied to bodiless, than from bodiless to embodied. His fingers stretch weirdly, his feet feel like they should touch the ground but they don't, it's just… weird. No matter how many times he does it.
What's weirder is Sixteen, rolled in a ball on the ground, looking into nothingness. So far, he hasn't shown up unless Desmond explicitly asked him to. For some reason, the man prefers to be some ethereal presence overlooking Desmond's thoughts.
Sixteen jumps to his feet the moment he realizes Desmond is back. He gets into Desmond's face, eyes wide, hands attempting to grab at him without managing to and distressing him even more. Desmond does his best not to take a step back.
“Seventeen ! Seventeen… You- How ‘bout- How ‘bout we get out of here together ? Uh ?”
Desmond blinks, trying not to panic himself at Sixteen's oppressiveness. “What ?”
“I could- I could package something tiny ? We settle it-” Sixteen presses a finger into Desmond's temple. “-here. It's just a bit of information, a- a copy. Like that I get out too !”
Desmond opens and closes his mouth. Sixteen's frantic attitude is scaring him, worse even than Juno using his body to commit murder.
That's the Subject Sixteen Desmond witnessed in Ezio's younger days, pained, unintelligible, going from screaming to sobbing in a second. It was probably too much to hope that the construct Sixteen made could be any more stable than the real Sixteen. It was only a matter of time before he broke down again.
Desmond attempts to put a hand on Sixteen's shoulder to calm him down, without success.
“Sixteen… My brain, um… It's not exactly a computer. You can't just throw in a bundle of info and hope to live in there.”
Sixteen’s expression morphes from desperate to completely hopeless. His big eyes leave Desmond’s face to land on his feet, shoulders sagging despite the absence of weight.
“Right… you're right. That's… not feasible.”
Sixteen goes back to lie on his spot on the ground and hugs himself tightly. His empty eyes turn even more void as his stare settles on nothing.
Desmond feels bad. It's not like he's against taking Sixteen with him to leave this place, but his brain isn't exactly the best way to. Not when it's at risk of collapsing at any time. Should Desmond have a breakdown while Sixteen is hiding inside his head, he's not sure just how much damage to his predecessor he could do.
Desmond goes to sit in front of Sixteen. He desperately wishes he could touch him, for once not to hit him, but to reassure him.
Desmond can only set a hand into Sixteen's.
“Say, what's your actual name ?”
Sixteen shows no sign of having listened, and thus doesn't answer. Desmond strokes into Sixteen's hand with his finger, knowing full well he couldn't even feel it.
“I'd love to know more about you, you know ? Things that aren't about… your pain only.”
He's got an empty shell next to him, Sixteen has long since hidden in his codes, but Desmond stays. He stays and he strokes his hand softly.
____
Constantinople is quite the fucked up place to be, right in the middle of a power shift. Ezio has a way to find himself in the worst places possible, at the worst possible times. It's an Assassin instinct. They are only as strong as the dangers they have to face.
Sixteen has disappeared from the field.
Desmond abandoned him there after what seemed like hours. He was on timer after all, end of the world and all that. As much as he wanted to stay with Sixteen, saving him would mean jack shit if he couldn't save the world afterwards.
He thought about it a bit. Hijacking Desmond’s brain is not a very good solution, especially not in the long term. How is he supposed to get him out after he gets in ? It's not as easy as plugging a USB key and getting the data on and off.
They're in the Animus, aren't they ? Maybe they can add the data to another corner of the Animus ? Desmond knows jack shit about all those technological bullshits, he would need to ask Sixteen himself, once he gets back.
“Sixteen ! Get your ass here !”
He's not quite sure if Sixteen has recovered yet. As far as Desmond knows, only three minutes might have gone out since he went into the door. He could go into his next memory door, if it wasn't enough. As long as Sixteen was there when he came back…
“Sixteen ?”
…
Well, fourth memory it is.
____
A new door greets Desmond when he settles back into his body. It's tiny, sits next to Ezio's door. Desmond can't see anything but dark static between two dark pillars.
“Sixteen, what's that ?”
Silence answers him.
Desmond is starting to need his reality checks. He doesn't have anybody to get his mind off of Ezio's bullshit and his own shitty memories.
He went through his last memories of Bad Weather, until his kidnapping behind the trashes of the bar. Desmond doesn't know who kidnapped him precisely, he just knows the hit behind his head was enough to send him into a half-comatose state. He's been dragged to a car, and next thing he knows, he's in a bed, in Abstergo tower.
Was this even real ? He only has projections of images on the dark walls of the Black Room as memories. As far as he knows, Ezio's memories are more real than his own. Even the Farm is just a dark picture in the back of his mind now.
Fuck. Ok. Yeah. If Sixteen doesn't come to help him, he'll just keep going in the memories. The less he thinks about them afterwards, the less he feels his own mind slip.
Desmond crosses the new door’s threshold.
____
“Clay.”
Desmond looks around the field. He can't just keep going into the memories, he's been himself, Ezio, Clay, his head hurts despite it not being physical, anxiety rises in his throat.
Who the fuck is he, exactly ? Desmond Miles, the assassin that ran away and whose only memories consist of dark projections on darker walls ? Altair, who was arguably his genetical twin and whose memories cement centuries of connections between three assassins ? Ezio, who Desmond has followed for fifty years, whose memories are now twice as long as Desmond's ones ? Clay Kaczmarek, who dropped his whole life on top of Desmond's and whose experiences are so close, hit home so perfectly that Desmond can't help but shake.
Clay's death felt too real despite the Black Room’s shitty polygons. Lucy’s betrayal, Bill using him to get to his objectives, Vidic’s abuse, Desmond knows it all so well. It's like he lived it himself. He did live it himself. Didn't he ?
“CLAY !!!”
“Clay… That's my name…”
Desmond turns around wildly. Clay isn't here. Stupid disembodied voice !!
“GET THE FUCK HERE YOU DAMN ASSHOLE !!!”
Clay fizzles into existence in front of Desmond. He looks better, the fucking bastard ! Left him to break his own mind alone without any support. What was he supposed to do ? What did Clay want ? To let Desmond become like him ?! Sure, he'll lose his mind quickly too if he doesn't have anybody around helping him make the difference between reality and memories !
What are memories but old realities ?
Memories aren't even real most of the time. Just fucked up perceptions of things that do happen. Al Mualim’s memories would be very different from Altair, despite them living the very same event.
Perspective. It's all a matter of perspective.
Memories aren't trustworthy.
What's trustworthy ?
Nothing.
“Desmond. Focus on me.”
Desmond's eyes snap open. Clay has walked right into his space without him realizing, shitty physics that don't help at all.
“Desmond. Focus.”
“You- You just left me completely alone, you bastard !” Desmond yells. His hand goes through Clay's torso when he tries to push him. “What ?! Want me to become like you ?! That's why you made that fucking door ?!!”
Clay's face closes suddenly. “You said you wanted to know more…”
“Fuck ! Not like that !!!” If only Desmond could hold his own hair and pull on it. At least physical pain helps ground him. “You of all people should know how it's like to- You- You couldn't just talk to me ?!!”
It's too close. Far too close. Desmond. Clay. Seventeen. Sixteen. It's just one number.
“Desmond.” Clay snaps his fingers in front of Desmond's face. “I'm sorry, ok ? Twas you breaking down or me, and considering I'm holding this place up, we might both have died in the collapse if I got fucked up.”
Desmond snarls. “Well, that's fucking easy, isn't it ? Drop everything on me, makes everything easier for everybody else ! Who cares- I'll die in a month anyway, might as well have me lose my mind as much as possible if it helps the goddamn world !”
“Desmond-”
“Fuck you !! Of all people- you- you-”
Well, it's always like that, isn't it ? Templars throw him in the Animus, Lucy insists he goes back in to “help him learn” as if she didn't know the kind of side effects it had. Oh, but she's actually a Templar, of course she'd do that. What about Rebecca and Shaun who never told him to step away from the Animus, if only just for a few hours, despite seeing him wake up thinking he is goddamn Ezio ? Nah, it's too convenient to have him inside. Fuck his mind. Fuck his health. As long as he gets them informations.
And now Clay, who experienced the awesome effects of Bleeding, decides to add another layer-
“It's not like that-”
“Shut up !!!”
Why did he have to see himself die, uh ?! He knows he's gonna die soon, he doesn't need to see it in preview ! Doesn't need to feel himself break down and hurt himself and bleed all over the floor, he knows ! He knows, he knows-
“Desmond-”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP !!!”
He doesn't want to die !
“YOU WON’T DIE !!”
Desmond blinks. Clay gets closer, body almost touching Desmond. In real life, Desmond would be feeling warmth coming from him, some kind of pressure.
It's not real life.
“You won’t die, Desmond,” Clay says quietly. He lifts a hand up and leaves it hovering next to Desmond's cheek. “Those were my memories. Not yours. You didn't die. You won't die.”
“I'll die in a month…”
“Who knows. Maybe the gods will feel benevolent for once.”
Desmond snorts a laugh at the absurdity of it all. Those golden fuckers ruined lives after lives of Assassins, Templars, and who knows who else got stuck in this mess. They weren't kind to Altair in his last days. He doubts they'll be kind to Ezio.
They weren't kind to Clay. He doubts they'll be kind to Desmond.
“We'll just have to punch them a bit,” Clay hums. His fingers cross Desmond's skin. “I'm sure there's a way to ruin a ghost's life.”
“Turn their harassment against themselves ?”
Clay laughs quietly. “That could work. I got good at that in my last days.”
Desmond leans his head into Clay's hand.
Of course, their polygons merge together without a single touch.
“I'm used to them,” Clay reassures him. “I can handle Juno. It'd give me my revenge too.”
“We'd have to get you out of here first…”
“Hm… I'm working on it. Coding new stuff while making sure your own code doesn't collapse isn't the easiest. It's useless for me to survive if you don't make it.”
“Right. I'm the Precursors’ special boy.”
Clay wheezes. Desmond wheezes.
Soon, they are both laughing like two madmen.
____
Desmond is done with his own memories. The only thing he has left to do is rushing to the last of Ezio's memories, and he'll be out of there. Out of the Animus. Back in the real world.
What's the real world but a place to suffer ?
“You're doing it again.”
Desmond sighs and sits on a rock not far from Clay.
Clay likes this spot on the grass to lie down and stare at the sun. It doesn't hurt the eyes to look at the sun here. It's blinding, but it's not dangerous.
Desmond much prefers the rock right next to the spot. He's too used to lying down on half hard surfaces by now. He'd rather sit instead.
“So,” Desmond starts without knowing what he wanted to say. “Last memories and all.”
“You just need to speedrun the whole thing and you're out,” Clay hums.
“You know I'm a slow guy,” Desmond laughs.
“Right. The completionist. You're gonna hundred percent Ezio's life ?”
“Like I did for Altair.” Desmond shakes his head and lowers it in his hands. “It was just an excuse to make Vidic wait as much as possible. Turns out it's a habit now.”
Clay rolls his eyes obnoxiously. “You idiot. I'd rather speedrun the process and be done with it. Fuck this place.”
Desmond laughs. Yeah, that's a very sound argument. For all that Clay's crazier, he somehow still makes more sense than Desmond.
He's always been stupid in some way. Run away from a safe space that trained him to survive. Get complacent and buy a stupid moto he didn't need. Don't fight back against Vidic. Agree to go back in the Animus after he finally runs away.
Desmond is just an idiot. He's conveniently dumb for gods to use.
"You're doing it again."
Desmond sighs. It's getting more and more difficult not to get stuck in his own head, to hurt himself with his own thoughts, to lose all hope little by little-
"Desmond," Clay warns, elongating the -o for good measure. "Stop that."
"Sorry…"
"Just finish Ezio's memories, you little shit. It'll do you some good to get out of here."
He's not wrong, but also Desmond really doesn't want to leave already.
If he leaves, he doubts he'll ever get to come back to this island. Not that the island itself will be missed. Fuck this place, as Clay said.
It's Clay he's worried about.
"I swear, Seventeen…" the concerned man groans tiredly. "What, gonna stay here until the end of the world ? Good way to save ourselves from dea- oh wait, no, that won't save us."
"Cheeky asshole."
Clay grins.
Well… he said he was working on something…
"Aight, I'll get going."
"Hm hm."
____
Disappointing.
Ezio’s life is nothing but a succession of trauma and disappointment. The Precursors never even thought about giving Ezio the faintest bit of answers. They left him with nothing but corpses, golden atomic bombs, and a mountain of questions that would never get any answer.
It's disappointed, it's annoying, it’s frustrating, it's- it's-
It's raging. Ezio vents his anger out at the Apple, at Desmond- Ezio has never been one to keep his anger hidden. He spent twenty years exerting revenge until he realized it didn't make him feel better. He poured all his frustrations on Cesare Borgia the moment he had the opportunity. Now it's Desmond-the-pseudo-god and the one artifact that ruined his life that find themselves the targets of Ezio’s ire.
Maybe venting his anger would do Desmond some good too… It's the one thing on his mind while he gathers himself back to his imitation of a body.
Anger sounds good.
And the Island is collapsing.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck. Where's Clay ?!
The empty but nonetheless relaxing hill gets disintegrated slowly, the rocks and grass dissolving into lines of codes that disappear into the sky. The endless sea no longer looks like water, instead showing nothing but white emptiness so dreadful Desmond can't help but make sure he is still on solid ground.
The pillars have long disappeared. Only the black door behind him remains, shaking ominously as the environment around evaporates.
If he jumps in it, he will avoid the entire collapse of Animus Island, of that he is sure.
But-
"CLAY !!!"
The island fizzles out, but a form fizzles into existence in front of Desmond. He needs nothing more to calm down from his bubbling, growing panic.
He mindlessly tries to reach for Clay's arm, a useless attempt to push him to safety.
His hand lands.
Desmond stares dumbly where his hand and Clay's biceps connect. He feels it in his palm, not heat exactly, not even an actual sensation, but there is a weight. He can't clip into Clay anymore.
Clay shows a cheeky grin at the accomplishment. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't much, but they could touch.
They could touch .
Desmond crashes into Clay to take him in a choking embrace. He's been wanting to do that for… however long they have spent stuck on this island. Desmond is a social guy, despite it all. He needs to speak, he needs to touch, he needs to remind himself he is alive by interacting with his environment and the people around.
He barely could do any of that since his brain collapsed.
He can now. Holy shit, he can feel Clay against him .
Clay chuckles, puts his hands on Desmond's shoulders and squeezes, nuzzles softly against Desmond's temple. "Ready to leave ?"
"No…"
He knows the whole place is collapsing, there's barely any actual footing but the place they are standing on and the door behind him. He knows staying here means death, and he doesn't want to die.
He also doesn't want Clay to die.
Clay hums, definitely having heard his thoughts, but he doesn't gratify him with an answer. Instead he presses his lips where his nose just was, tickling Desmond in the process.
"See ya."
Desmond is falling into the dark abyss of Ezio's door before he realizes it. The last thing he sees is a little door of light, Clay standing in the middle of it, waving a hand at him, a huge smile adorning his face. His legs turn into codes and everything turns black.
____
Desmond has mourned many times in his life. He's mourned people, places, events, himself- He's mourned a lot.
He's mourned Altair, Maria, Sef. He's mourned Ezio, Giovanni, Federico, Petruccio, Maria, Leonardo. He's mourning Lucy. He's mourning himself.
He can't mourn Clay.
He's never been so lost in his life. Not even when he fled his home to discover what the real outside world was. Not even when he was thrust back into this weird, shitty life over which Precursors have omnipotent control.
If Altair is his genetic twin, and Ezio his spiritual one, then Clay is just an actual copy of Desmond's brain. Same trauma, same memories, same pain.
He hasn't had anybody to share his broken thoughts with… ever. Clay's the only one who could understand anything about Desmond's experience.
And Clay is gone.
Desmond wakes up to three faces above him, none of them he actually wants to see. Maybe it's a bit cruel to Rebecca, who has been nice to him this whole time despite recreating the devilest machine ever made by humankind, but Desmond can't be bothered.
While Shaun and Rebecca both look half worried and half relieved, the third person - who isn't Lucy but someone arguably worse in every sense - frowns in deep displeasure at Desmond.
"Not a word," Desmond mutters before anybody can so much as open their mouth, either to enquire about his well-being or berate him. He's really in no mood to humor any of them.
He knows he's crying. His vision is blurry, his cheeks are wet, his nose is stuffed. That explains Rebecca and Shaun's worry.
He also knows where they are supposed to go next, thanks to Jupiter.
He can't be bothered.
Real life sucks as much as Animus life.
"Let's get back to work."
Desmond closes his eyes and smothers a groan. Trust Bill to ignore his warning and kick him while he's down.
Kick him back .
Maybe he should… Maybe he…
“Not yet,” Desmond groans, immediately earning himself a strange incredulous look from his father. He ignores it in favor of sitting up, passing a hand on his face to chase the sleep and some tears who just refuse to stop running.
Of course , Bill still opens his mouth. “We don't have time for-”
“Shut up and wait !” Desmond all but orders, voice echoing all around the back of the van he finds himself in.
That has the merit of shocking Bill into stillness. Rebecca clasps a hand on her mouth with a gasp, though whether it's to hide her surprise or a misplaced grin Desmond can't tell. Next to her, Shaun looks like he all but wants to throw himself from the van not to assist to the aftermath of the bomb Desmond just threw.
Desmond cuts Bill as soon as his lips part to throw another complaint. “If you give me Clay’s treatment, I can - and I will - punch your face.”
Clay’s life never mattered in Bill’s books, Desmond knows him well enough to know that. Sometimes suicide missions are necessary, that’s just how it is- How damn easy to say that afterwards. Clay’s mission wasn't supposed to be a suicide one and Bill knows it. He still pushed to have Clay complete it and didn't look twice into the reasons the guy died in the first place. No doubting Lucy. No throwing Animi away.
Even with his own son going through the same, he still pretends everything is fine. He still pretends he has everything under his control.
He has nothing under his control.
Desmond snorts a laugh, something not quite sane if Rebecca and Shaun’s expressions are any telling. “You have no idea what you're doing, you never had !” Desmond cackling at the sudden realization.
“That’s enough !” Bill groans low in his throat, what was once a tone that chilled Desmond into immediate obedience. Now he can’t help but laugh harder.
Then his expression chills down just as fast as he remembers Clay’s one doing. “Yeah, that's enough, alright.”
He offers a smile void of any kind of feeling to his father. Maybe he is still in the Animus. The real world doesn't look any more real than in there. People still feel empty, like chess pieces grander entities use to play. And isn't that what the world is ? The Isu’s overly complicated chess game against the sun ?
“I know what I’m doing while you’ve been left on the benches, dad ,” Desmond says slowly. “So stop treating me like some stupid toddler and let me handle things my way.”
Bill snorts. It's strange, Desmond’s memories are nothing but pale holograms displayed on dark walls, he barely has any actual memory of his father from before the Animus, still he knows that attitude.
Bill still very much sees him as an incompetent child who needs to be kicked into doing his exercises.
“Recent events obviously show you are handling things catastrophically,” Bill disapproves immediately, because of course he does. He always disapproves everything Desmond does. “Do we really have time for you to complain right now ?”
Desmond can feel his lips tug upward. “By all means, we share at least half of my ancestors, why don't you go in the Animus for answers while I recover from my brain caving in ? Or would you rather tempt fate and risk sending me back in a coma as soon as I emerge from one because you have no patience whatsoever ? Even Templars let me catch breaks.”
“You-”
Desmond knows.
Desmond knows his father. He knows how far he can push until his father stops arguing. And once he stops arguing, either because he has no more arguments or because what little patience he possesses has disappeared, he just resorts to fists.
Desmond might have just woken up from a coma, his body is not rusted at all. It's just easy to avoid the punch and fight back with a well placed kick in Bill’s spleen.
Shaun is bodily stepping between them with his arms extended before the fight can get any worse in the little space they have around. “Alright, how about we stop there ? I don't see how any of this is going to help us.”
“Venting a hundred years of anger helps me,” Desmond argues.
“Have you gone crazy ?” Bill roars at the same time, bent over himself and holding his side in obvious pain. “What's with your attitude ?!”
Desmond shrugs lazily. “Haven't you answered your own question ?”
It's many more minutes before Shaun and Rebecca manage to break off any kind of remaining fight and Desmond agrees to share the location of what Tinia called “The Great Temple”. After that Shaun drags Bill away until they are both sitting in the front seats of the van while Rebecca takes her time verifying Desmond’s condition.
It's not quite the burst of anger Desmond expected. It's not the way Ezio got angry, it's not even the way Desmond himself got angry. He all but yelled and broke down in front of Clay when he finally couldn't keep his feelings in check, a far cry from the cold anger he just displayed.
No, it's not how Desmond gets angry.
That's how Clay gets angry. Cold voice, empty smile, and a way with words that just begs for the other to get angry and start the hostilities so they can finally throw hands.
Desmond absentmindedly brushes his fingers against his temple, where Clay nuzzled and kissed him. It has been tingling ever since Desmond woke up. Arguably, that's what had him start crying before he even realized he could move his fingers.
Such an odd display of tenderness from Clay. Desmond isn't sure how long they have stayed together in the Animus, but he can't say Clay has really struck him as the tender type.
I'm working on it . Damn liar. That was just so Desmond would shut his trap and stop asking about the future, wasn't it ? He would get back at Clay in the afterlife. How could the asshole only leave him with that as a parting gift ?
“Becks.”
Rebecca almost startles where she is checking Desmond’s brain wavelengths. “Sup Des ?”
“Do you have a loading screen I could move in freely ?”
Rebecca blinks at him owlishly, stunned into silence until she looks at Desmond’s brain scan again. “I… suppose ? Are you sure you're alright though ? You could rest some more, catch a nap- We’ve got snacks, you haven't eaten in days-”
“It's fine Becks,” Desmond hums, an actual smile forming on his lips instead of the mimic he displayed not half an hour ago. “It's just for a couple minutes.”
“Well… alright then.”
_____
“Des, don't move for a moment, there's something going on with the Animus,” Rebecca’s voice rings in the white room of the Animus loading screen.
Desmond can see it. There's static plaguing what should be the easiest screen to load. So he waits until it all settles, until the only thing left beside the rendering of his own body and the white void is a dark glitch Desmond has seen one too many times.
And if he's smiling like a rightful idiot, then nobody but Rebecca can comment on it.
“What is that doing here ?”
Desmond huffs. Fine, maybe it wasn't all a lie. “Don't worry about it. I'll check it out, be ready for some update on the Animus.”
“Des, what's happening ?”
“Who knows.”
From a white room, he ends in a dark one. Rebecca is still there with him, able to see and hear everything he himself does. It's all very reminiscent of Clay’s usual glitches, the ones he used to hide and connect Animus Island into the new Animus, except there is no puzzle to solve here.
There's a single white button that Desmond presses without thinking.
He's ejected from the Black Room, the whole simulation around him breaking down and building back up just as fast while Rebecca mutters anxiously about added lines of codes that flash across her screen too fast for her to read.
Desmond can feel his whole face breach into what probably was the largest grin he's ever sported. In front of him, the slowly building form graces him with a grin of his own.
“So, am I a genius or not ?” Clay cackles in front of him.
He barely has time to finish his sentence that Desmond jumps on him and finishes the embrace Clay so rudely interrupted before.