Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Erik liked to test his limits sometimes. See how far he could go without a mess up. It was entertaining, if not a bit daring. His ambitions rarely allowed otherwise which might have been the reason things tended to end up like they did. The reason they had ended up like they had. He liked extending past his limits too much, and sometimes the consequences were those he wasn't even aware of when he thought of them, but something larger and more revoking than possible.

Well, it was too late now, but it didn't hurt to ponder it.

…................

-16 Years Old-

His foot slipped as he hopped onto the wire.

"Too close," He thought, whistling to himself at the rough 40 feet below that could have crippled him if given the chance.

Maybe crippling was putting it lightly.

He shrugged to himself, not really caring for the technicalities of it. It didn't matter now. In all honesty, it most definitely would have killed him, but best not to dwell on the consequences. They hadn't happened after all. He was good to continue.

He knew what he was doing. He wasn't going to fall. Not today. He hadn't failed yet, and he wasn't going to start now. He would be personally embarrassed for his skill if he did. Nothing short of success was allowed for him at this point.

Taking a leap, he rolled onto the next building and exhaled at the crash that met him. He wouldn't get bruises from it this time around, though. He had done this too many times to count. Jumping onto things he shouldn't be on. "Talking smack," as some like to say, to people he should probably avoid. Seeking the limits. Sticking a few fingers to test the waters. It wasn't anything new to him.

He liked pushing buttons and pushing limits. Today just seemed like the day to pull both.

The sun was just about to peak over the horizon. It was just about to push its way over, and he had a goal to be somewhere just before it did.

Sprinting across the rooftop, he jumped onto the wall of the bell tower to the local church he didn't even attend and proceeded to climb his way up. He knew the stones like the back of his hand. His hands knew where to dig into and which to only land on for a second. Perhaps the reason some of the bricks stood out so easily was because of him. The way his nails dug into the dirt and dust crusted stones, chipping them by the end of his trek if he didn't cut them on a regular basis. The momentarily way he felt as if he was flying when he leaped from one to another, sliding, skipping, reaching until he got to the top.

It was amazing if you wanted that fresh rush of the morning. Perfect if you were solitary.

That being said, Erik Lehnsherr was and wanted both so this suited him wonderfully.

Once his hands reached the shingles, he did the mental prayer he murmured every morning that they didn't slip from his weight. In all the three years he had been doing this they never faltered, but he'd be damned to test it now. He had nightmares that one of these days they would, and his mother would scold him even after death for his idiocy.

Having your mother, who was usually all smiles and sunshine, suddenly turn into a force to reckon with, a wooden spoon in one hand and a stern face? It was a rather frightening image. He should know. He had tested it many times.

But the shingle remained, thank God. Sturdy as ever. Whoever did this was a good worker that Erik could probably praise if he was even alive now. Thank him for his work that was able to keep the boy from an intense scolding later on.

Everything was forgotten when he felt the difference.

It all began with how the wind would sort through his short hair thoroughly as he stood.

Wasn't that a feeling: standing on top of the world and watching as the earth gave a slow, silent breath of life as it decided to turn over.

It felt like a moment of power, of knowing a hell of a lot more than he probably did. It was exhilarating, and Erik loved it every morning he felt it. It was, after all, the reason he came back time after time for three years straight.

His mother would have a heart attack if she knew. His father might actually hold some pride in him but would ultimately side with his mother because no one liked being on the angry, mother hen side of her. Not even his father who was significantly taller and stronger (Erik really had no room to judge there when even he would cower if he saw her scowl.)

But they didn't know so all was well. It was fine. The less they knew the happier everyone would be.

His eyes watched over the sleeping town, seeing how very little had changed since he went to bed and how very little continued to change when he was wide awake.

The shadows that hadn't yet shifted. The way the grass barely shuffled unless by luck of the draw. How no person, animal, thing dared to stir or even show its presence. It was magnificent. Glorious.

And something he had been experiencing for as long as he was able to climb these walls.

He sat on the edge of the roof, facing the town and watching as the sun rose on the horizon. No cloud in the sky. No storms either. It was just beautiful and alone. Erik wasn't one to be poetic or nearly so metaphorical in his descriptions (it seemed to avoid the topic too much. Bluntness was more effective) but he probably could excuse his girly wording for the time being.

Hours might have passed. It didn't really matter if they did. He didn't have any chores to attend to, no work to help with. This was a quiet town. Nothing really happened here.

It was when things actually did happen that it stuck out like a sore thumb begging for inspection.

The "sore thumb" of this day was when he saw men in four groups of five split up from the church he was at. He found himself a little curious as anyone would be.

Who were these people? They definitely were not part of the town. Their clothing was too clean and pristine for this place. They had a sort of haughty, "I-Know-What-I'm-Doing" walk that claimed they were there for a reason. But this only made more questions occur. Why were they here? What was the purpose? Were their intentions good or bad? Should he rush home or should he remain here and wait it out?

He didn't like these at all. How questionable the people were. It was always best to assume negatively unless proven otherwise. If Erik were to assume they were "bad," then he could proceed from there.

But for all their mysterious appearance gave, they didn't look anything more or less than neutral. They didn't look any different than most posh people except for the red crosses that were on every single one of their jackets. Now, that was something to remember. Something to note for future reference.

What did the cross signify? A clan? Gang? Cult? A religion even? Either way, it wasn't good. The only reason any of those people would be here would be to convert, and not nicely mind you, or to look for someone.

So they were bad. They had to be at least "wrong" to some degree certainly.

He was about to jump down the tower when he thought he heard a faint scream in the distance and a single gunshot.

The cold dread escalated to freezing when he heard screams and shouts from the direction of his home.

Suddenly the image of his stern mother with a wooden spoon didn't make her look threatening but vulnerable. You shouldn't bring a knife to a gun fight as they say and kitchen utensils were given the same treatment here if those people were anything to go by.

She was in danger or at least she was going to be if he didn't get there as soon as he could. His father should be there, but he didn't know if his father had any inkling of defense for these sorts of people. How could you expect this to happen? In a small town like this, nothing ever happened.

It was supposed to be quiet. It was supposed to remain quiet.

Faster than he thought he could move and with more accuracy than he was ever graced with, he climbed down the tower and began jumping from rooftop to rooftop. His shadow chased him with as much desperation as its legs would allow, the sun making them longer but no faster. He needed to be quicker.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

There was a certain clenching in his teeth his mother liked to chide him for, claiming it would ruin his lovely teeth, but it hardly mattered with the tension. There were more screams now. And smoke. Smoke in all directions and while he would love to help everyone if he could, he had his priorities.

He felt that gave him an excuse. It had to give him one.

But speed didn't matter. It never mattered. What mattered was timing and speed could never predict that.

…..............

-12 Years Later-

The lights were way too bright. The kind of brightness that came with drinking twice your body weight in liquor (or attempt to anyway) and then realize the next morning just how much you screwed up. A piercing, scream-worthy light that made Erik Lehnsherr want to cringe into the stretcher that was dragging him across some hallway he had never seen in his life.

It was a modern hallway. Glass windows adorned one side from floor to ceiling and on the other side were a few doors, all that seemed to either use a card or had a keypad. It didn't make sense why the lights had to be so bright when there were so many damn windows, but then again there wasn't anything that was making sense in this place.

Things like why he was here or how they knew where he was or if they were here to get him because of some things he did in the past. He had already tried asking – three times for equal measure, of course – and all he got was a few grunts and an applaudable backhand when he decided to give a little more cheek than was necessary. Their lack of an answer wasn't reassuring. Clearly, this place was meant to keep people in – never to let them out. A place that erased you.

Well, it wasn't like Erik had much left in his life anyways. Perhaps this would bring some excitement. Though being tied down and hostage wasn't exactly his forte but beggars couldn't be choosers. This was significantly more interesting than lingering in his flat any day – even if the people were terrible company and he was in the worst mood of his lifetime.

You're wasting time, Erik. Thinking too much. You'll miss something. The gruff voice of his father echoed in his mind and he sighed, relenting his unamused, borderline sarcastic mood to his old routine. His father was correct after all, even if the man wasn't around.

He had to gauge his situation. See if he can make an estimate as to how long it would take to get out of this place. Perhaps he should even place a bet against himself. If he was correct by a margin of an hour he would treat himself to a nice glass of scotch when he got out. The good stuff, too. None of that Bruichladdich X4 shit but the Glenmorangie 10-Year-Old.

If not, well, then he had whatever cheap stuff was in the cabinet.

… It was the small things in life that gave him joy.

But that was beside the point. He needed to focus.

So, let's see what we have here, he thought to himself, glancing at the men with an eagle's scrutiny.

They were armed soldiers. Well, he said soldiers but they looked more like little boys who played far too much Call-Of-Duty and therefore deemed themselves worthy of the real thing. Of course, Erik didn't say this out loud. He knew not to judge someone by their looks – mostly from experience in the consequences, really – and he didn't quite want to test these men out (one backhand was enough thank you very much.)

A hum rang throughout the place. Not a human hum but the hum of electricity. The kind that came with having technology so intense that a sound had to be made. It vibrated through Erik's being and a part of him was antsy from it.

Despite what he said earlier, he wasn't excited about this place. In fact, he was more than a little agitated that for some reason soldiers barged into his quaint apartment and decided to drag him here – drug dosage included.

He hadn't done anything illegal. At least, nothing that anyone could trace. Sure he took a few odd jobs here and there, but he was a fairly "nice" citizen. The typical "nice neighbor" kind of guy that occasionally helped fix the flat if asked or bought groceries for the elderly when he had nothing better to do for the day. Nothing like the man that went on a vengeance spree almost 3 years ago. He had a somewhat life, a somewhat home, and a somewhat average sense of living. Nothing menacing and criminal.

But by the looks of these men, all armed far more than the others he had seen, they had caught wind of his past and were prepared for it. Everything from masks to body armor. It was equal parts hilarious and concerning. Hilarious because when Erik tried to imagine them running after him, all he saw was a confused jumble of misplaced steps as they balanced both weapon and the weight on their bodies. One misstep and timber.

It wasn't all humor, however. Even if the men (or women. He didn't know with the masks) were slow and steady with their armor, that didn't mean they were any less a good shot. He could run, but if any of them were a marksman, his chances were as good as gone. Shot. Literally.

So playing nice was the best way to go for now. Act all innocent and non-threatening and wait for the opportune chance to strike. The "it wasn't like I was going to do anything" routine. It had a 23 percent chance of working because of his build and intimidating form, but those were chances he could work with.

Erik was in the middle of considering escape routes when he heard another set of shoes – heels specifically if their piercing taps gave anything away.

A female was walking up. A little too prissy for Erik's tastes, but he wasn't necessarily trying to swoon her. Pinned up blonde hair, pursed-up lips, a walk that made it known that she owned the place without actually owning the place – Erik didn't really like her. Not immediately. She had the "I'm the head of an organization but not the head" vibe that made Erik's hands twitch for a knife that wasn't there. She was off. This entire place was off.

If only he knew why he was here, then maybe he could talk his way – or rather show his way – out of here.

But in his history with these type of people, they didn't give any information away unless they were going to give the typical villain monologue before disposing of you.

Waiting was the best option, but damn it did he hate it.

"Hello, Erik. I see that you are awake. Good."

Would be better if I wasn't in this stretcher I assure you. Erik wanted to say but decided to ask the usual questions.

"Who are you?" The woman smiled at his words as if she had heard this multiple times. She probably had. It wasn't exactly encouraging to his situation. "How do you know my name? I don't remember our introduction though maybe it's because we never had one. I think I would remember a fake-blond haired woman who looked like she took a bite of a lemon and kept it as her face. You know. Just saying."

The soldiers moved (probably to knock him unconscious) but she held up a hand and they stopped. The smile was still on her face but it was strained. She didn't like him. Good. He didn't like her either. Glad they could come to an agreement in this place.

Her words were clipped the next time she spoke. "You are not in a position to be asking those questions. Just know that you are safe and that you should comply with our demands. Everything will go smoother then."

"What is your definition of smoother?" Erik couldn't help but ask, eyes narrowing as she just laughed and motioned the guards to continue moving him along.

There was a door at the end of the hallway. The woman swiped her card and it opened, revealing an expansive room. Windows covered half the room from floor to ceiling – an impressive almost 2 stories in height – though they didn't show some stunning skyline or the even the sky period. No, all that was seen were more buildings with more windows.

So this wasn't just one building – probably a corporation. Erik could deal with those if time permitted him. This wasn't the first time.

But he wasn't focused on getting out. Not yet. That was what they would be expecting of him. For now, he would comply, see what their angle was, and then continue. Wait.

The woman walked ahead of the stretcher to a bed-like machine. It had strong lights aimed at the curved surface above it, and a tablet was attached to the far corner – to which the woman had quickly adjusted to. The thrum Erik felt earlier surged from this machine, and he had to blink the pain away that came to his head when the soldiers led him to it.

As they got nearer, he was able to hear her a little. For the most part, she was pressing buttons or swiping something or another, but after a while, she muttered a few words that sounded like "Not Desmond this time. Later on."

Who was Desmond? Another person here? From the sound of it, he sounded like another victim. Good. Maybe if he had the same ambition as Erik, he could find him and grill him on everything he knew. He could be a potential informant or even a potential "friend" in getting out of this place.

With a final swipe, she motioned at the soldiers. "Please place Mr. Lehnsherr on the Animus if you will." Something hard was slapped on Erik's wrists when they freed him from the stretcher. They were something not quite like the cuffs he was used to. They were steel that had the same logo he kept seeing throughout the building, a triangle shaped icon but made out of three bars not quite connecting to the other. A light kept blinking off and on through the symbol. Seeing how high tech this place was so far, he wouldn't be getting out of those.

He had to make them trust him. Which also meant he would have to actually stay here a little longer than he planned.

Wonderful.

The soldiers lifted him and placed him on the machine rather gently. Special treatment? Doubtful. The machine must cost more than whatever paycheck he or they could get from odd jobs or hits.

"Why am I here?" Erik asked but the woman didn't even give him a glance.

"All in due time, Mr. Lehnsherr. I just have to adjust a few things. Usually, we have our subjects non-confined on the Animus, but it is clear to both of us that you are not one of those privileged subjects." She hummed to herself and then typed something on the keyboard. "You will have to answer a few things for me. Clarification purposes."

"Clarification purposes?" He repeated and sighed. "I don't give answers to those who won't answer my own questions."

"Well, then I guess we will be here for a long time, now won't we?"

Erik didn't say anything, working against his body wanting to relax on this "animus" thing.

He shouldn't relax. If he was to relax then he would be at a disadvantage. His father's teachings came back to him. Having him climb, fight, counter, simple tactics that were tested to the extreme with real weapons and full force. None of those allowed him to rest for a second. This should still be the case now.

Maybe if he answered their questions, he could get out of this machine quicker. It would keep him from getting too comfortable.

"Fine. Shoot."

"Wonderful." She hummed to herself and swiped something on the screen. "Your name is Erik Lehnsherr. You are approximately 31 years old. You have been in 5 different foster homes in the course of the 2 years before you became of age – three of them involving you being in juvie due to theft. A troublesome child indeed."

"I'm not sure your definition of 'questions' and mine are the same thing here," Erik retorted.

"If I am correct, I never said I was going to ask you questions. Just that I wanted you to answer a few things. There is a difference, Mr. Lehnsherr. It could just be confirmation, not information gathering, you see." There was an attitude in her voice. Lovely. Erik found another reason not to like her. That would make things easier when he would have to escape this place. "Now if I could continue."

She took a breath. "At the age of nineteen, you went off the grid. No one knew where you were or what you were doing. Ten years later you resurface and are suddenly a nice man without the same attributes as when you were younger."

"What can I say? Maturity definitely changed a few things. Hit me like a bullet, and I corrected my wrong ways to make up for the injury."

"I'm sure you did," she droned, obviously not believing his words at all. It was worth a shot. He wasn't going to give her the actual answer, after all. "What actually happened in those ten years?"

"I thought you already knew judging by the men around here. They are surely not dressed for the typical subject. Kind of like you expect a criminal, wouldn't you say?"

"People like you are criminals, Erik. Violence-driven men and women who can't seem to keep innocent blood off their hands." Erik found his teeth biting his tongue as memories of his not too distant past resurfaced. A 9 millimeter. Two men gagged and bound to a chair. The hatred and fear in their eyes. The crosses around their neck. It set a metal taste in his mouth. "Doing things that this society doesn't need. One day you are a troubled kid seething on some topic psychiatrists couldn't force out of you, and the next you are at peace and one with society. Something happened, Erik. A catalyst erupted and started something. What you are now is simply the ending of that fuse."

"What makes you think I would want to tell you if I didn't want to tell even those who mentally dissected my head? You're just looking for a past that doesn't and shouldn't exist. As far as you're concerned, I changed. That is all that happened. Nothing more."

The look she gave was vicious and if they had powers of spontaneous combustion, he would have been reduced to ashes in a heartbeat. Erik had a feeling she was used to getting what she wanted when she wanted it, something that Erik surely wasn't used to or about to conform to. So far she hadn't impressed him enough to even give a percentage of his past. The clasps and soldiers were not helping either. It didn't take a genius to see that he may suffer from trust issues.

After a minute, she sighed and pressed a few buttons. The clasps holding Erik were released but being the good little puppet that he was, he decided to stay put. He was curious why she stopped whatever she was going to do.

"Tests are going to be delayed. Take Mr. Lehnsherr to his new quarters."

One of the men hesitated as the other two forced him up. "What of Mr. Rikkin's orders?"

"Tell him that I will perform a session later on today. We need a compliant subject. I have a plan. That's it."

"Yes, ma'am."

Waltzing over to him, he offered her a crooked grin. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Didn't get what you asked for?"

"Oh, I always get what I intend to retrieve, Erik. It's all in a matter of time, and quite frankly I'd rather retrieve evidence from you living than from a one-time deal corpse." Pulling out a syringe from the white lab coat she had on (and when had she put that on? He was getting rusty it seemed) she inserted the needle in his neck and pushed the plunger.

It was a sedative. He knew it was going to be the second they didn't strap him down to the stretcher again. There was little he could do to stop it from affecting him since he was better at physical action than building an immunity to drugs so he just waited it out.

The woman sighed at him in disappointment. "I have great things in store for you, Erik. Great things and it could benefit you too if you would only let them." She patted his cheek fondly. He would have flinched but his vision was already becoming a pin prick. Whatever was given to him was definitely fast acting. "But I have all the time in the world so take your time to see that. In here, you are valuable. A gem really. Out there? You're nothing. Might as well try to become something while you still can."

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

What was the electricity bill in this place? Millions? Billions?

It had to be something large because having lights this bright took a lot of power and money most people didn't have. They were a torture device on their own. Closed eyelids couldn't keep back the intensity nor did any pillow he wanted to throw over his head when he first woke up. Erik hoped they turned them down when he tried to sleep because if they didn't, he was going to make some noise and no one was going to like that. But, hey, perhaps they would sedate him again?

It was one way to sleep.

The room he was held in was boring to be blunt. There was little to look at, even less to observe, and nothing to use for an escape plan. All he was met with was three white walls and one wall that was 3/4 opaque and allowed him to see soldiers watching his every move behind desks with computer monitors. Well, wasn't that something new?

Not really. He rolled his eyes. Congratulations. You have all successfully hit a new level of creepy. The type of stalkers that park in white vans whispering at children that you have candy. Or potential psychotic kidnappers. Either way, great career choice. Really stepped up in the world.

The rest of the room was the typical suite given to lab rats. A double bed that was probably made of actual down feathers and pure silk by how comfortable it was. The old "false security" tactic in one piece of furniture. There was a closet in the corner, but all it offered was a wide selection of the same white t-shirt and white pants. Every so often he would find a white long-sleeve shirt. He liked the variation. Class at its finest.

Erik didn't even have his own clothes on anymore. Instead, one of the white outfits were snuggly placed on him. If he looked in the mirror on the door of the closet, he caught a glimpse of a "Subject 19" on the back in black, bold letters. They were either quick to move him into the system or they already planned for this.

More than likely the latter choice if how he came here was an indicator.

Erik didn't know how much time he spent in that room, but he kept himself busy. Going through sets of sit-ups, push-ups, the works to keep himself in shape. He was probably going to be kept here for a bit, and he would never forgive himself if he got weak in that time. His father would be cursing wherever he was at the moment. Dead or alive or whatever the case may be for the man.

He didn't even know the door to his room opened until he saw the familiar pair of heels in front of him as he counted out his last push-up.

"Yes? May I help you?" He huffed, standing up and stretching out his muscles. "Let me guess, more questions?"

"Actually, no." She smiled and walked around him to the door, motioning at him to follow. "I'm well-aware that you are not going to cooperate with our demands right now. So I'm going to give you a tour of this place, allow you to get a bite to eat and even meet the other subjects. Maybe if you're nice I'll even answer a few of your questions."

Erik didn't like the sound of being a "good boy" to this woman, but it was better than being restrained to a stretcher for who knows how long so he nodded.

"Good. Now, follow me. I'm going to take you to the cafeteria first of all. You've been out of it for quite a while, Erik." She hummed and proceeded down the hallway outside of his room. He trailed after her at the same pace but mentally pictured his route in his mind, taking notes of any air vents or faulty wiring in the technology that he could hack. "This place is always under high security, by the way. The vents are seamlessly shut that not even a needle could get through and any attempts at messing with the keypad will deliver an electric shock worthy of rendering you unconscious." They passed by a few guards to which the woman nodded. "Oh, and there are guards in nearly every room and hallway. Just wanted to inform you of this in case you were having any… reckless thoughts – you know, with your hidden history of being violent and all."

Well, there went his plan. His respect for the woman went up a little, though. He didn't hold any remote likeness to her, but the difficulty was appreciated he supposed.

He didn't have to see her face to know she was smirking. Women like her did that often when they knew they guessed right and she, admittedly, had.

Erik lost count how many time she had to either swipe a card or enter a code, but eventually, they left the tiny corridors into the large, expansive hallway he had arrived in. More scientists in immaculate white coats scurried around like mice, muttering results and experiments under their breath with the occasional "Subject 18" or some other subject number.

It was like a little hamster cage and they were all stuck on the wheel that kept spinning at their pace. Erik didn't even know where they came from – it was almost out of nowhere. They didn't even look where they were going. They just naturally drifted around the woman and himself like the two of them were rocks in a river, not letting their route deter the destination. Well, with how much they probably got paid here, they probably didn't have the luxury to lounge around and take their time.

There was little to look at as they made their way to the supposed cafeteria. Just more windows and walls and locked doors with the occasional bustling scientist. He didn't even see any of the other subjects. He assumed when he saw the 19 that there would be 18 others like him, but perhaps they disposed of them as soon as they were useless to their purpose. The woman did say he could talk to the other subjects, but she could mean those in the same boat as himself or those in a whole other sector. With this many scientists and researchers, there was probably a dozen different experiments going on at once. Each with their own subjects and whatever dark secrets that loomed in the closet.

Would the red cross cult be one of the groups who experimented in this place?

Maybe. But his ambition didn't go on what-ifs. It went on certainty and there was a very small chance they would be here. Wasting the energy looking for them wasn't worth it when it was similar to looking for a tiny needle in a large haystack.

The woman had stopped moving.

"We are here." Here turned out to be a large room. No counters adorned the place or even a kitchen of any degree. He tried to peer around but there wasn't any food strewn out for them either. There were people, however, and they seemed to have trays so more than likely the meals were brought to them. First-class treatment and overly-cautious all in one. "I'll pick you up in an hour. Have fun."

Sighing, he turned and walked into the room that held long metal bench tables reminiscent of his school days except for full grown adults. Every single one of them was full of loud conversation except for one in the corner. Erik wasn't fancying making friends just yet, considering it would be useless until he singled out those in the same situation as him, so he drifted to that table. He needed to think anyway.

Sitting down, he closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair, trying to access his situation.

It wasn't a good one for certain. He didn't know exactly what he did, but he did something to make someone of a higher power want him. Not for his good deeds either, which was interesting on its own. Not many people knew about him or his past, so this corporation was pulling all stops to retrieve him. The only question he had was why?

To anyone else, his position in all this could look dire or futile. He might have thought the same thing if his father had not instilled in him that there was always a way out, and if there wasn't then make one. That being said, it was too early to make any sort of escape. It would fail definitely.

All he could do was assess. Assess and observe and figure out how things worked around here. Give a little and take a lot if he was lucky.

Sighing, he pushed away any intruding thoughts and focused on the now. The present. What was important currently. Right. Let's get down to business.

He was in a building more than likely owned by a corporation with a lot of money. The accents going around were American. Going off that, this place must be under a political exception or under cover since human experimentation was not even allowed unless in very rare circumstances (or consent of the person) in the United States. He had high doubts that all of these people would be okay with being experimented on this easily.

Additionally, high technological advancement seemed to be their advantage with an even higher security control. It was going to take a larger amount of cunning and manipulation than physical brute force to get out of here.

In front of him, he heard someone sit down but decided to ignore them. It was an empty table and therefore fair game to whoever. Just as long as they didn't expect him to talk they would be on good terms.

Let's see… The reason he was here was unclear. They knew enough of his past to be prepared for him, but not enough to know his whole life story. Still, the fact that they were able to get as much as they did proved they have either hackers to some degree or political pulls in other countries. Great. He wasn't just dealing with a one-time corporation but one that could potentially ruin his life if he pulled the wrong strings.

He asked for excitement but he didn't want this much.

Erik didn't even know the basic information of his captors yet. He needed to gather names, faces, and as much history of this place as he could without looking suspicious. Knowing a name could go a long way here no doubt.

Wait. His thoughts came to an abrupt halt when he felt eyes on him.

It wasn't just the occasional polite stare, but the feeling of a chill running down your spine. It had the hair on his arms stand up because it felt too analytical. He was being scrutinized surely with a level of intensity similar to being under a microscope at the highest setting. It was definitely unnerving to put it lightly.

Opening his eyes, he was about to tell whoever it was to stop when he came in contact with some of the bluest eyes he had ever seen. At least some that he had seen on a man.

He was kind of on the leaner side of things and more of a pretty boy than an actual threat. He had the same white uniform on as Erik did so definitely a subject of some kind. Clean-shaven, pale complexion, and the type of hairstyle that made you wonder how much he spent in front of a mirror. He almost had the boy band look going for him (were lips allowed to be that red?), and Erik might have concluded as such if not for his face.

While it did hold curiosity, there was also a certain scrutiny in those eyes. He wasn't someone to judge by his cover. He knew something if the telling sly grin on his face was anything to go by. Knew more than what should be granted to subjects more than likely. Nevertheless, the staring treatment he had received was not entirely appreciated and had to stop.

"May I help you?"

The man blinked and then grinned, not looking the least bit guilty at having been caught in his act of staring. "Hello. I'm sorry for watching you so fixedly, but I couldn't help but notice that you are new here, correct?"

Observant, isn't he? Erik narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

"Oh! Pardon me. Introductions, yes. That would be best, wouldn't it?" He laughed like it was the lightest conversation topic in the world, and Erik found he couldn't keep glaring at him for the life of him. It had to be his happy attitude. "My name is Le-" he paused and blinked, a blank stare taking over.

For a full five seconds, he sat like that before the smile came back. "Charles Xavier, or more accurately known as Subject 18. And you are?"

Erik didn't miss the little mess up in his name but decided to keep it to himself. "Charles," if that was even his name, didn't seem aware of it which was odd in itself. Something was wrong with him but it was best to play it off for now. "Erik Lehnsherr. Subject 19."

"I knew it!" He beamed, giving a little bounce as he exclaimed this. A few people from the other tables gave them weird looks and Erik was about to mirror them because who was this man? He was more puppy than an adult. Happy and actually content. It was weird but not potentially dangerous. Just odd for a prisoner.

Charles leaned in and continued to murmur excitedly. "You see, I heard rumors from the scientists that a breakthrough was going to be made today, but since Subject 17 hasn't been too open lately, it meant they either found a new subject or they had forced another one into actually playing into their hands."

Playing into their hands? The fact that not cooperating with this company's demands was definitely something to note. It could help him if he chose to upscale his escape to a full on riot.

But who was this Subject 17?

"Who is Subject 17?" he asked, looking around the cafeteria and failing to see a bold "17" anywhere in the crowd.

"Ah…" Charles hesitated. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, my friend. He's a little secretive that one and likes people to know him when he decides they are harmless enough."

"Like you."

"Like me," Charles confirmed. "Anyhow, when did you arrive? Yesterday? The day before? Oh, and when the waitress comes around asking what you want to eat, I recommend the steak and potatoes. It's the specialty here."

Not a second later a woman in a white dress and apron came around with a fake smile and all. "Hello. What can I serve you today? I recommend the steak and potatoes. It's the specialty here."

Erik gave Charles an odd look before saying, "That's fine" to the woman. She bustled off as quickly as she came and Erik was left wondering what exactly just happened.

Charles had a knowing smile on his lips as he watched Erik. He was enjoying this. "You're probably thinking I have been here for far too long I bet."

"Or you are insane," Erik agreed.

The man shrugged. "Maybe I just happen to like it here."

Liar. "Why would anyone like it here?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but they promised me a second chance. A new life."

Erik rose a brow. "Why? What happened to your old one?"

"Unimportant," Charles brushed aside though there was a certain tightening around his eyes. Not entirely happy-go-lucky it seemed. Someone else with a bad past. Erik wondered if that was going to be a trend here. People who had done terrible things, lost people, said a few things that caused havoc.

Erik tried to picture the man in front of him doing any of these things and found it near impossible. He seemed to sort to have them done to him rather than him taking the action. There was a story to him for certain, but if Erik wasn't keen on sharing his own past, then he wasn't going to prod into Charles's.

"You never answered my question as to when you came here."

Right. "Yesterday I believe," Erik answered smoothly, finding no harm in talking to him now. He seemed harmless enough. Likeable in all reality and perhaps someone Erik would go for if he wasn't in this type of situation.

"So they brought you in for the new upgrade. Interesting."

Erik stopped thinking when he heard that. An upgrade? Of what degree? He didn't like the sound of it. "What new upgrade?"

"Oh, right, you wouldn't know. By the looks of it, you still haven't even been in the first version yet." Charles hummed to himself before folding his arms on the table, going fun and playful to serious in almost an instant (A façade or not?) "There is a machine here. You will be put in it whether you like it or not. It's called the Animus." Now that sounded familiar. "I will let you see how it works for yourself, but recently they have created a newer version of it. More immersive. It's supposed to allow the scientists to get a better view of… whatever they are seeking."

"And I suppose I'm the guinea pig?"

"Essentially? Yes." Charles offered an apologetic smile before leaning back up with his happy expression once again. Erik was confused until he saw the waitress return with his meal. Erik picked at it and was surprised when it actually wasn't that bad. As he chewed, he kept an eye on the other people in the room. All white uniforms but not all with subject numbers on their back. The ones that did have them were keeping an eye on him, though. Gauging him. He wondered why that was.

"They want to see what you're going to do. What you're capable of," Charles murmured, though he was picking at his fingers now and refused to meet Erik's eyes. "They want to see if you're worthy of their Creed so-to-speak or if you're a threat. Or," Charles looked up though there was no smile. Not much of anything really. "If you are absolutely useless. Like me."

Like you echoed in Erik's thoughts as he watched Charles slowly look back down at his hands. He found he had nothing to say to that - nothing that would be of comfort anyways. He was an outsider viewing an insider's world.

He finished his meal soon after and the woman returned almost immediately after that like she was waiting.

As he stood, he found the Creed or whatever they were, watching him.

He didn't know what to make of them. The word used for them sounded familiar – like something his father would say – but it could all be a coincidence. They had the same analytical stare Charles had. The very same blank expressions, though these were definitely on purpose rather than some mental dysfunction. Nevertheless, Erik decided to avoid them for the time being.

Before he walked around the table to follow the woman, he felt a flitting presence on his wrist that made him look back. Charles retrieved his hand and gave a small wave.

"It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Erik. I hope we get to talk some more."

"Sure," Erik responded but he wasn't so sure about this Charles person either. He was screaming "wrong" and not in a good way. He wasn't bad company, nor was he in any way threatening, but he was definitely here too long.

When Charles turned his back to him, Erik caught the glimpse of his number, "Subject 18."

Shaking his head, he decided to think about it later and followed the woman into the hallway.

"Next I am going to take you to your little area. It's kind of a room where all the subjects go and do their own thing or make their own connections as they go through the Animus. Nice space really." Erik didn't give a response and she stared at him from the corner of her eye. "I see you have met Subject 18. He's a special case, you know. An attempt at a short cut."

Erik hummed but didn't give any acknowledgment. "You said you would answer some of my questions if I was good. Have I been good so far?"

"Enough for one question, I suppose."

Finally. Erik could finally get some of the answers he was needing. "What is this place?"

"This, Erik, is Abstergo Industries. We aid in the contribution of technological development for society. Our goal is to ultimately eliminate violence in the world. You may find that hard to believe," Erik was already laughing. "But it is possible if you fix a few things. Famine, hunger, those type of ailments."

"Using human experimentation."

"Whatever means necessary. Erik, you will be making the world a better place. It should make you feel rather special."

"Oh yes I am all kinds of warm and fuzzy inside right now," Erik muttered.

Nothing else was said until she came to a door. This one didn't have a keypad or a card reader, but Erik could spot the multiple cameras that made up for the lack of security.

When she opened it, there was a small, naturally lit room. He said small but that was in comparison to the majority of the rooms in this place so perhaps the size of a classroom was the best way to put it. Windows covered one wall floor to ceiling as was typically seen around this place so far.

There were multiple desks lined in rows with transparent boards separating them. They all had things written on them, documents pinned up and messily scattered on the desk. Small trinkets, pens, everything you'd expect to make a space your own.

The woman led them to the back of the room where he turned to see a desk with "Subject 19" written at the top of the transparent board. Below it was pictures upon pictures of his past and present. Pictures of him when he was younger and first entered the system. A few from when he went to juvie. A lot from when he showed up after 10 years: walking outside his flat, smiling at something his neighbor must have said, or even having a smoke on the balcony. At the bottom was a single picture with him perched at the top of the building, resting on his haunches as he stared at the sunset. A gorgeous picture if not for the creepy aspect that it was even taken at all.

"What is all of this?"

"We've been watching you for a long time, Erik. We had the full intention of bringing you here of your own accord, but when you disappeared and reappeared much later, we realized that the chance for friendly negotiation was not available anymore."

Negotiation? He doubted there would have been much of a negotiation. Even if they had appeared to him, he was too solitary and mistrusting to accept an offer so easily. Their explanation of their purpose was too fake for any sort of agreement. It would have ended just as well as what happened to him in the past two days.

"Things didn't work out so you moved to more drastic measures," he turned to face the woman, leaning against the desk that told his story with pictures, medical records, obituaries, and birth certificates. He didn't like looking at it. At the picture of his mother smiling in one of the few family portraits, they were able to afford.

"We did what was necessary," she shrugged. "We never intended to be forceful with you, but now you give us no choice."

"Oh, are we bringing in the new subject?"

A new voice. Male. Erik turned and was met with an older man with graying hair and the beginnings of a beard. He had stern eyes and a permanent scowl on his face that told Erik he was constantly disappointed unless things went his way.

"Vidic, I had it under control," the woman immediately told the man. Her hands were clenched at her sides as she talked to him. Not a good relationship then between them two then. Erik decided to remain quiet and see how things panned out.

"Ah, yes. If that was the case, then we would already be hands deep into that head of his. We don't have time to make him comfortable or to like us. We need the information now. You know Dr. Rikkin's orders."

"I do but we will have a malfunction and potential fatal un-stabilization if we force him into that thing. We do not want another event like what happened with Subject 16."

"Subject 16 was bound to be a failure. His psychological profile destined what happened to him. Ms. Stillman, you are aware that the time we waste waiting for cooperation is the time that they will use as material to cut the funds for the project. They already think it's a futile experiment. We have to act now."

The tension was so thick a knife would bounce off its surface if it tried to cut it. Erik decided to break it. "Who was Subject 16?"

"Someone like you." Vidic scoffed. "Assassins. A bunch of reckless imbeciles who ruined history if you ask me."

Assassin? That was what the woman and those soldiers thought he was? It didn't make sense. What they knew of him didn't allow that accusation and while the years they had missed were questionable, they were running off with someone's imagination if they thought he had trained for that kind of occupation.

"I'm not an assassin," Erik said slowly. "I never was."

"Perhaps not anymore, but you have information we need. Information we can't wait for, I'm sure you have understood now." The man folded his arms.

"What do you want from me? You apparently know my entire life story, except for a decade, so you should be fine as is."

"It's not your current life we want, Mr. Lehnsherr. We want your past lives. Your ancestors' memories to be precise. The Animus will allow us to locate what we need. Once we have it, you'll be free to go."

"I bet you tell that to every subject and never mean it," Erik retorted.

Vidic clenched his teeth. "If you won't go into the Animus, we have other ways to get what we want. Ms. Stillman has just been rather kind to you so far. We could induce a coma and continue our work. When we are done, you'll be left to die." There was a cold laugh that made Erik anxious. "Truth be told, the only reason you're still conscious is because this approach will save us time."

Erik didn't like this. He was getting a bad vibe from this man. The woman looked like mere kitten play compared to him. There was power in his words, a good threat that he would make do if need be.

"So what will it be? Will you go along or do you wish to stop your life now? The latter would save us a lot of trouble I assure you."

"Vidic!" The woman seethed but the old man merely shrugged.

Erik clenched his teeth. Obviously, he didn't want to die, but he didn't want to go along with their plans either. What this man, and whoever Mr. Rikkin was, wanted was something they were willing to raise hell to retrieve.

And what of this whole assassin nonsense? He was never an assassin! Sure he did some parkour here and there or even took part in a few choice jobs for his father and for his own vendetta, but nothing to whatever these people were implying. He was just a man with a little more than an average sense of living.

A conclusion had to be made now. Either he was going to have to enter the Animus, a machine he didn't even understand, or he would be disposed of.

The choice was obvious.

He had to cooperate. There was no other choice for the time being. He was new and still settling in so that's why they were giving him a choice, but in reality, they probably wouldn't have given people like Charles a second glance.

Damn it.

"Fine. I'll get in."

"A wise decision," Vidic complemented, turning to make his leave. "Ms. Stillman, I expect Mr. Lehnsherr to be in the Animus after you finish with him here. The other version. Not the one you placed Subject 17 in. I'll be waiting for you there as will Mr. Rikkin. I heard his daughter might assist in the experiment."

With a hiss of the door, he was gone.

Ms. Stillman gave a long sigh, muttering a few choice words under her breath.

"Not a huge fan of him I take it?"

"Something like that." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, I'll grant you three questions. I know you have plenty because of Vidic."

He was surprised at the sudden compliance but didn't push it. "Fine. First of all, what is your goal?"

"To stop the violence of the world. Your people hid the item that we need to make it a reality. We just need to find it."

If "his" people, the assassins, hid it then it was probably for a good reason. He was neutral in this small hatred for them, but he probably would have done the same thing going off the intentions he was receiving from Vidic and the woman. Yes, it was for the greater good, whatever that was to them, but at what cost would it be achieved? If an item was all they needed to stop violence and everything else they hoped to achieve, it must be a rather powerful artifact. Something that should remain hidden.

"It was probably hidden for a reason," he said slowly but the woman didn't look happy with that statement.

"Next question, Erik."

He expected as such. "What is your name?"

She smiled. This one wasn't cruel and menacing but normal. It made him wonder if her cruel side was a façade to get information. Vidic certainly didn't seem to find it believable. "Lucy Stillman."

"Okay, Lucy, Char- Subject 18 told me that you apparently offer subjects some kind of bribery to enter the Animus of their own free will. Why should I be a part of it? What can you offer me?"

There was no hesitation. "I can tell you the name of the organization who killed your mother. The full organization. Not just the people who were assigned there, but the head who gave the word go."

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

The Animus Erik was taken to was definitely different from the one he saw when he first arrived.

This one was larger and looked like it fit the entire room rather than a small bed. More expansive and less compact to one spot. It felt as if it was everywhere but then not. More immersive as Charles put it.

The entire room was dark except for a few minor spotlights focused on glass cases. Each of the cases contained some kind of weapon from daggers to gauntlet-like armor. Sometimes he thought he caught a glimpse of something that shouldn't be there – a trinket or some small item that was certainly not a weapon – but perhaps it was for a different reason. Erik didn't know and, to a point, he didn't care.

He didn't like being in here. It had an aura that made your skin crawl, teeth chatter, and paranoia spike up to potential new heights of anxiety. A wonderful combination really that made Erik immensely glad that he was good at keeping things in check. If it was up to him, however, he wouldn't even be here. He didn't know how many times he had to say it until they actually got the damn hint, but he did not like this in the slightest.

But he agreed. He agreed for a reward that seemed to be almost impossible to fulfill. It was too late to say "never mind" now.

When he looked up from the machine, he saw a small room. It was isolated and well-lit compared to this area. Inside was a slim, older man. He looked like he was expecting something. Expecting something from him.

Well, get in line. It seems that there are quite a bit people wanting a little piece of me. Erik thought, watching as the man seemed to eye him carefully.

One of the things Erik's father taught him was how to tell dangerous men from the non-threatening kind. There were key aspects you keep out for, the small tweak in their personality that gave them away.

Of course, it was hard to tell some of these from this distance and without actually talking to him. It was all speculation. All guesswork. Erik didn't like working with guesswork – it was going to lead to problems. But he had to know what he was working with, who he was working with, and figure out his goal.

In Erik's history, a corporation didn't always have the same goal as the head of the corporation. Just a little manipulation to make things appear so.

This man gave that aura just from the look about him. It made Erik wonder if this was potentially Mr. Rikkin.

"Did you bring Subject 19?" Someone asked, British accent this time, and Erik turned to meet another new face around here. She had short black hair and a slightly rounded face – a very similar face to the man in that room, actually, but not the same aura. She felt safer somehow.

Without an answer, her expression shifted to him and there was a moment of revelation in those eyes. Oh, he knew that look. In fact, he had seen that look yesterday on a different face with bluer eyes.

"Yes. Can you retrieve the hidden blades?" Lucy replied tersely and the woman nodded, rushing off to one of the glass cabinets.

Well, wasn't that a little interesting? Erik watched as Lucy's back, previously ramrod straight in the presence of the petite woman, go relaxed when she walked away. Aversion? No, that wouldn't be it. Erik had been around enough women to know that when they disliked each other, it often wasn't quietly.

But whatever the emotion, for lack of a better word, was, it was the reason that Ms. Stillman seemed to be on edge. Erik had an inkling of a feeling on their way here that she wasn't as stone-hearted as she wanted to give off. He knew cold-hearted. He knew that quite well because that was what people tended to call him on his best days (often a bastard or son of something or another on his worst). This woman, while she tried her damnedest, was not what she pretended to be.

There was a reason she was trying, though, and the curious woman who bustled off to fetch the hidden blades was the core of it. This Erik was absolutely sure of.

But thinking on it now was useless. Perhaps if he was granted a question after all of this he could pressure her. He would have to win a lottery to get an answer, of course, but it was worth a shot. Maybe the odds would be in his favor – even if they hadn't been so far.

"Erik, follow me if you will. I have to get you set up before we immerse you into the system. Seeing as you are new and have never even entered the Animus, old or new, I wouldn't be surprised if you became unstable almost immediately." She led him to the center of the room, directly in front of the Animus. Around him was metal arms and claws that probably aided in whatever this thing did.

"Do most of the Subjects go unstable in this type of thing?" Whatever this thing is?

Lucy shrugged which, again, was not very reassuring. "It depends on the person and the circumstance. We introduced Subject 17 to the Animus while he was still unconscious and he turned out fine. We placed 18 on it when we first shipped him here and he had some problems…" She drifted off, a brief look of guilt on her face before she cleared her throat and continued on. "But. Usually yes. Think of it as a Rite of Passage."

If I remember right, a Rite of Passage was marking an important stage in someone's life. I don't see how this is important in mine, darling. Was what he wanted to say but he kept quiet and nodded. If he wanted to get far in this place, he was going to have to cut back on the sarcasm and tongue in cheek comments, sadly.

"Stop here." His feet stopped exactly after the first word. "I'm going to attach a few things before we put on your blades. It's both precaution and obligatory. While this machine is an upgrade, there are additional factors that could cause a few problems should things take a wrong turn. If we make any wrong adjustments before you enter, it could spell disaster by itself."

Wasn't that a lovely word choice: Disaster. Well, that was an upgrade from the threat of being killed off earlier, so perhaps he shouldn't be complaining, but disaster sounded pretty damn fatal to him. Disaster caused injuries and problems. A problem was repairable (mostly.) A disaster was not.

"What happens if I become unstable? What then?" Erik asked curiously, watching as she snapped a belt around his waist. He called it a belt but it was more like a steel ring that kept him in place. No wiggle room either. It was as tight as possible without causing bodily harm. The same Abstergo logo (or so he assumed the triangle icon to be) blinked at him brightly.

"We will pull you out immediately and perform whatever aid is necessary. You may suffer from a migraine or you could go as far as a seizure or heart attack. It depends on how strong your body is and how healthy it has been kept." She must have seen the doubting look on Erik's face because she offered a smile and pointed off to a shadow that showed nothing. "If you want an insurance of us saving you, there is a first aid kit over there and then some. We have seen everything here, quite frankly, so I doubt anything could surprise us. You are in good hands; despite whatever you may believe, we don't want to kill you."

It seemed like quite the opposite to him. The opposite and the most cliché lie in any sort of captive scenario. The "We don't want to kill you but we might have to" kind of ordeal. Which basically told him no promises were going to be kept on keeping him alive – not that they made a move to make any anyways. If he was going to die, they would try to help, but they weren't going to go as far as most medical personnel might. After all, they have Subject 18 and 17 at their disposal still.

So, that was a lovely thought to have.

Truly a way to make his day brighter.

Soon after the belt was attached, Lucy nodded to someone and the next thing he knew, he was being held in place by the both of his arms.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"With this process, we need to be inserted into your central nervous system, or as close to it as we can be without it being risky."

"Isn't affecting anything of the spine already risky enough?" Erik retorted but Lucy continued on like she hadn't heard him.

"Seeing as it is a painful process, the reinforcements are just a precaution to make sure you don't flinch and become paralyzed. Please try not to move if possible. It won't end well."

"Paraly-" He didn't get a chance to demand what else could potentially go wrong because a blinding pain pierced his back and, after that, all thought was lost.

It wasn't just pain that he felt. No, it couldn't just be described as pain because pain was a little paper cut on an index finger. A twisted ankle from landing wrong on a jump. That was pain. This? This was pure agony, and it didn't just remain at the neck but decided to shoot everywhere around his upper body. It was excruciating – like they decided to send a powerful volt of electricity directly into his body and seared every nerve in the process. He might have yelled but if he did he couldn't hear it.

When the pain (agony) eventually subsided, the people let him go and he fell to his knees, seething at the inflamed skin that centered around the nape of his neck.

"It's going to hurt for a while, Erik. Until you get used to it at least. I'm sorry." And she did sound sincere when she apologized. He imagined anyone would feel sorry if they watched someone die on the inside and then be reluctantly revived. "But we can't let you sit here and get used to it. We need to get started."

"What Ms. Stillman means to say is that you have no choice on the matter. Get up. Once you're in the Animus it will dull and you won't feel a thing. We don't have time to wait for you to be good and ready." Vidic's voice was quickly becoming one of those voices that grated on your ears. It made Erik want to say to hell with it and throw a punch – just to see what would happen.

But he didn't. He had quite a few eyes on him - at least 15 guards from what he was counting. They would shoot him before he even got close. It wasn't worth the effort.

Sighing, he stood though his legs were a little weak now. "Has anyone ever told you that you have the voice that makes people want to punch you? I was just wondering because maybe their deaf or I have a problem. Both are possible, really." Erik, shut up. What happened to less sarcasm? Damn it you're going to have him sic the guards on you and then where would you be? Six-feet-fucking-under.

It didn't matter, though. Vidic's eyebrow twitched for all it was worth as he said, "No. I have never been informed." But a glance around the room showed a few shifty people who looked twenty seconds from doing just that.

Erik wasn't wanting to pick a fight. It was just the pain talking, the annoyance at having just been invaded by whatever they put in him. He quickly got a hold of his tongue before the man did steal a gun and shot him in the head. "Just an observation, I guess. From an outsider's point of view. I hear they can be quite reliable, but by all means, let's cut the chit-chat and begin this ceremony." He didn't feel steady, but he wasn't about to give Vidic any more material to land on him than necessary.

"Perfect. Ms. Rikkin? The blades if you will." The woman from before scurried back from the cabinets, quiet but clearly observing every detail she possibly could. She was a scientist. More a scientist than whatever these people were, anyways. She just wanted a result to analyze. Something to learn.

In other words, basically harmless.

"Please hold out your forearms for me, Mr. Lehnsherr." He did as he was told, and she slapped on the hidden blades, pulling at the clasps on them until they were tight and refused to move. As she rotated the leather and checked a few gears, he heard her mumble. "You're lucky you know. Back then they cut off one of your fingers when they gave you these. The one we have was modified to make sure it wasn't necessary. Too bloody if you ask me."

I wasn't but okay. Was all Erik could think as he watched her. She was another weird one. Not Charles-weird, but she was definitely a type of weird. Weird didn't define danger though so still harmless he hoped.

As she backed away, there was a strong something (Impulse? Muscle memory reaction? He didn't have a single clue) in Erik that made him give an immediate jerk downward with his arms. Metal scratched against the leather until he saw the clean sheen of the metal blades at his side.

They were truly a piece of art. The gears of the instrument being seen on the inside of his wrist were his favorite. With a small experimental jolt of his wrist, he saw the gears turn and a small click was heard. Interesting. He wouldn't mind remaking this when he got out.

On the other side was a symbol he had never seen before, but both Vidic and Lucy assured him he was clearly of assassin blood (somehow.) Could this have been their symbol? Their mark? It felt like it and he hadn't even "met" one of them yet.

"Set up the subject," Vidic announced loudly and the men reacted quickly. A large metal arm was attached and secured to the belt with a loud hiss. Erik felt like he was being trapped in a prison and knew that any disregards of this entire thing would go unheard this point on.

"Lucy, is Subject 18 in the other Animus?" Subject 18? Charles? Was he also going to be in one of these? Why?

"Yes. He has already entered and is ready for observation."

"Fantastic. Let's get the ball rolling, people. Time is of the essence." And of course, he had to clap, too. Emphasize his "chop-chop" attitude. Erik resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Lucy and Ms. Rikkin fell back, drifting to one of the control consoles and pressing a multitude of buttons. Vidic leaned against one of the beams, watching Erik closely. It made him uncomfortable but that was probably the purpose. To settle discomfort in him.

Slowly, he noticed there were a significant amount of spotlights focused on where he was. They were not on, not yet, but he had a feeling they would be soon.

As quick as he thought it he saw them turn on, one by one. They all focused on him and Erik had to squint as they all were adjusted, rotated, tilted.

He didn't even know he was lifted off the ground until he looked down. He wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. It was supposed to be a hard concrete floor, however, it was beginning to look more like a rooftop than a floor. In front of him was the open skyline of a city he had never been to but felt like he should recognize. He kept having weird moments of déjà vu for reasons that he really shouldn't be having them for at all.

It didn't make any sense at all.

"What is this?"

"This, Mr. Lehnsherr," Vidic stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest in solemn satisfaction. "Is the Animus. The newer version in all actuality. You are our first Subject."

"And what of Subject 18?" He didn't know why he cared for Charles at that moment, why he even bothered mentioning him, but he was getting a feeling that the man probably shouldn't be in one of these. Not with what Erik saw of him and the weird feeling he was getting from the man.

"What of him?" Vidic rose a brow. "Did you two make friends? Well, it doesn't matter really. He's already in the simulation. We are going to enter you both into the system at the same time considering your ancestors apparently knew each other at the same time frame. Lucky us."

Erik was trying to focus on what he was saying, he really was, but he was quickly losing the battle. His conscious was being torn from his body and placed in another. That was what this felt like. As if he was watching something from a glass wall. Was this what it was supposed to feel like being in one of these? Was this normal? He didn't know.

Before he could try to stop it he felt the battle immediately end in his lost with black gracing his vision.

…..

What is this?

"Sorella! Wait. Please!" He shouted out desperately at the girl in front of him. She let out a laugh and, if anything, seemed to move faster and with more grace. He was going to lose her at this rate. "Si sta muovendo troppo in fretta!"

He jumped across the rooftops, slipping every so often and having to catch himself on the edge on the latest one in the nick of time. He winced at the jerk that shivered through his body as he pulled himself up slowly, sitting down against the wall and heaving loudly. His heart was pulsing in his head. His fingers were scraped a little and his legs felt like they had been turned to mush.

He would have made it. He definitely knew he would have made it. If only his legs were longer or if he was stronger. If only… if only… if only.

The girl let out a laugh as she appeared close by. She was older than he was. Short hair pulled up barely by a piece of thread. There was a sense of superiority to her. Tough and quick, but not the typical around here. Not the usual type of girl. The fact that she wore trousers and a tucked in cotton shirt made it that much more obvious.

"Ah, fratello," she cooed softly, waltzing back and stopping in front of him. "You're too slow!"

No, you're just too fast! He wanted to retort. This was only his third time at this, after all. Like hell was he going to actually know the right distance and how much force to put in! He should have expected his sister to taunt him so, but it was taking a lot out of him not to "start something" as she put it.

He never started anything he didn't finish, though.

"Tra-traquillo. Be quiet. I am not too slow," he huffed. "You're just more used to these rooftops than I am."

"Are you sure, Nicolo? It sounds like you are making excuses again to me."

Nicolo?

"That is your ancestor's name, Erik. Nicolo de Altimari. Though it seems you were thrown into his younger past than where we needed you. We will have to wait it out. There is probably a reason," Lucy's voice interrupted, entering his thoughts.

Well, there was little he could do but wait now. He wasn't in control. This wasn't his life. Just a part of one he happened to be related to.

The girl extended a hand to him, and he took it gratefully. "Grazie, Corina."

"Keep up! Father wants us back by the time the sun sets. We still have a ways to go," Corina grinned and placed her hands on her hips. "The only way you will get quicker is if you practice constantly, fratello. Don't let exhaustion claim you now. Affrettatevi!"

"Yes. Yes, I know," Nicolo laughed, "Go. I'll be right behind you this time!"

His sister took a head start, hopping from the roof onto a clothesline. She was already running across it, arms out to balance her from the barely noticeable wind.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up. "Okay, Nicolo. Let's do this." He tied the belt around his waist tightly before taking to a sprint, leaping from the roof. He didn't let the height bother him as it usually did. In fact, he didn't even look down. Looking down would make him mess up, get self-conscious, or even worse. He was tired of failing just because he couldn't make a silly leap.

So he kept his eyes ahead and watched as his older sister pranced through the buildings and grasped at anything like it magically popped out of nowhere just for her. It was amazing! Seeing his sister leap and run and fly like she was meant for this kind of thing. Nicolo wanted to do that. He wanted to be able to fly with her. He wanted to feel the wind rustling through him – not trying to make him fall. He wanted to see the sun and be able to have it there without blinding him.

He knew he had a long way to go, but he wished he could master it now.

The edge of a roof was coming up fast. He could make it. It was the same distance as the last one that made him stop. He just had to push a little harder or maybe jump a little later. Whatever it was he had to do, he could do it. He would do it.

Picking up his speed, he took a deep breath and leaped.

For a second, he was flying. He thought he could feel what he sister told him about. The feeling of libertà. Freedom.

Knowing that you were on top of the world that was quietly living under you and unsuspecting of your observation. Having the advantage of being a shadow or a glimmer of something that no one would ever be certain of. The mystery and the pure puzzling fact that he could be everywhere and then not so because of his own choice. The final powerful reminder that he could act anyway, say anything, or think whatever he wished of the people below and of the remainder around him because of his ability to fly like his sister.

It was amazing. He had no other word for it. He wasn't a poeta or someone granted with words.

But, this gave him happiness not being enslaved to the ground and face value. The self-given definition of freedom.

He should have paid attention, though. He should have known that something was going wrong when he jumped.

Did he slip? Did his foot catch on something like a sparse vine or even a chip in the wall? Was he still exhausted from his previous jump? Did something go wrong that he didn't pay attention for?

It had to. Things shouldn't have gone like this.

It took him a second too long and his sister's terrified yelp to realize he had missed the edge of the other roof and was falling down to the cobblestone below.

Nicolo closed his eyes and held his breath.

…..

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. So wrong, in fact, that Erik almost wanted to shout out in pure hysteria a loud, "I told you so" to himself about the fact that he was right to not trust this thing. And, damn it, yes, Lucy warned him – but this was far worse than he imagined. He didn't even have any thoughts for how to describe this. It felt like his thoughts were strung out in front of him, trying to be reeled in from the experience he was forced to go through, yet they couldn't find the button to do so.

And it wasn't just that. Having his thoughts scrambled? That wasn't anything new to him. He could handle that because that basically was his life right now.

He did not like this.

He did not like this at all.

But, because of his deal with the devil, as he was thinking of it now, he was getting a little bit more than he could chew. Perhaps he asked for it. Wanting the information he wanted was like finding a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Something that didn't seem ever likely to him. Something that still didn't seem likely to him. Yet it was and he was now facing a consequence he should have kept an eye out for.

There was once a quote he found at one point – for no reason in particular really.

"Every sacrifice is another colour to your rainbow." It may not apply to what he was going through, but he had a feeling that he would have to do this until he got enough "colors" to find that damn pot of gold he desperately wanted.

He really needed to shut up and focus. Rambling wasn't going to solve anything.

At least it was staying in his head. He had a feeling he would have been long sedated if he said all of this aloud.

Would that be a bad thing?

Erik was having problems distinguishing where he was. Not because he couldn't focus but because there was nothing to focus on. The lights were flashing around him and there was a strong shaking consuming him or at least he thought it was shaking. It didn't feel like anything. How could something not feel like anything?

The world was constricting too tightly. He couldn't breathe. I cannot breathe. Was that his heart in his head? That fast pulse that sounded like it was going too fast to be normal? That wasn't good. In fact, it was definitely not good.

Does this count as a disaster? Am I repairable? He thought in wicked hysteria.

It was too hot. Too hot and too everything. He didn't even know what he was staring at. He felt in his bones that he should be seeing cobblestone, feeling cobblestone piercing his bones and breaking something. But he was whole. He wasn't bleeding or even remotely hurt and he couldn't understand why.

Maybe that was why he was unstable. His brain was confused. His body was even more confused. Mentally he knew that he was perfectly fine. He wasn't going to smash into the floor and bleed out for all to see. He was fine.

His body, however, couldn't fathom this. He should be broken. He should be dead. He should not be alive to wonder all of this.

"He's unstable. Get him out!" He thought he heard someone yell.

"Give him a minute, Ms. Stillman. He will be fine. He has to adjust."

"No, Mr. Vidic. With all due respect, he is having a seizure. He is not going to be okay. Take him out now," A different voice pitched in.

He felt hands and a part of him wanted to fight back but his arms were too sluggish. They refused to move like they had been petrified in place.

Next thing he knew he was lying flat on the floor. Lucy and Ms. Rikkin were around him. Ms. Rikkin shouting at someone or another while Lucy looked like she was about to tear Vidic to pieces. Erik might have laughed if he could get the air to do so.

Something was jabbed into his chest and he was able to breathe. The room changed from a pin prick and slowly got wider.

He felt nauseated. Sick to his stomach. There was a certain fragile-ness about his bones. He felt like one of those porcelain dolls made so that when they dropped to the floor they shattered. He had fallen. He had been effectively, metaphorically, almost literally dropped.

God, he felt embarrassingly weak. Weaker than he had felt in a long time.

"Will this happen every time?" Erik wheezed out, "If so, I might have to do a rain check."

Lucy gave him a smile that said this was worse than what she expected. At the same time, Ms. Rikkin smoothed back his hair to check his temperature, murmuring, "Shush Erik. This was an anomaly."

"Anomaly how?"

She hesitated. "Most subjects don't seem to react with a seizure the first time they are placed into an Animus, Erik. It just doesn't happen."

So that was what happened to him. It didn't feel like a seizure. It didn't feel like anything really to him.

Additionally, he wasn't even supposed to have one. Wasn't that something? Looks like he was special.

The urge to laugh was so strong that it was in itself laughable.

Perhaps he needed to sleep. That was what he needed. A night of sleep without creepy guards watching over his every move like it was somehow an important plot device in some story they had to take note of. A non-sedated rest preferably.

But he had to make due of his promise so he could get the information he wanted. Damn it. If the information wasn't so priceless, he might have given up and just concluded his experience here with a huge disgraceful sticking up of a finger or two.

"He's done. We can't put him back in there. Go get Subject 18-" He placed a hand on whoever was talking, stopping them. Closing his eyes, he opened them and took a deep breath.

"I'm fine."

"Erik, remember what I said about becoming unstable? That was what happened to you. We can't put you back in there."

"I am fine. Just need to get used to it." He sat up. Or at least he tried to. He had to catch himself otherwise he would have crashed back on the floor.

"You physically can't go back in," Ms. Rikkin warned him.

"If he wants to go back in of his own accord, I don't see why we shouldn't let him."

Everyone turned to see the man from earlier walk in. Erik didn't know when he left the observatory room, but he was certainly not watching anymore. His hands were in his trouser pockets, a slow, lingering walk as he stopped at the edge of the spotlight lit area of the Animus. His expression was carefully blank as was the way he said his words.

He was definitely a powerful man now that Erik was allowed to get a closer look at him. He was relaxed compared to the others. He didn't see this as detrimental as the others did then, just a small set back. Erik wasn't blind to the room around him either. The second he spoke, everyone went quiet and listened. He was a quiet man then. Quiet and careful so that his words would always be heard.

This man was definitely Mr. Rikkin.

"You know-" Ms. Rikkin started but her father lifted his hand to silence her.

"I am aware of the health difficulties that may arise, Sofia. That being said, we will allow him to go back in if he wants. The second you see any changes in his status, we will pull him out." He looked at Erik and Erik felt the need to sit up straighter, to not look weaker. "Is that clear? We will not risk the Subject's life. Not just yet."

That yet at the end put Erik on edge but he said nothing as the man retreated out the doors once again. Erik didn't see him enter the observatory again. It seemed he was done seeing whatever he wanted to see.

"Well, you heard Mr. Rikkin. We need to get started," Vidic clapped his hands and the crew from before helped Erik up and attached the arm to his belt once again.

Erik didn't feel one hundred percent. Hell, he didn't even feel fifty percent okay at the moment, but he could do this.

"I can tell you the name of the organization who killed your mother. The full organization. Not just the people who were assigned there, but the head who gave the word go."

Well, when that was on the table, it was fine.

"We are starting the Animus. Clear the area!" Shouted Lucy. Everyone backed away into the shadows, buttons being pressed and the lights being refocused.

"Sofia, I'm going to need you to watch Erik for me."

Erik didn't know how he heard it over the loud machinery and vibrations of technology, but he focused on the conversation. Something to keep him grounded and not going completely wrong in an instant.

"Why?"

"Subject 18 has been in the Animus for a while. Someone needs to be on standby should things go wrong. You remember the last time we left him in too long. We can't allow any more damage."

He tried to hear more of the conversation, but before he could catch an inkling, the images were being broadcasted once again, throwing yet another scene in front of him he hardly knew.

…

Nicolo woke up in a room. It was quiet except for the occasional rustle of wind whistling through found cracks in the wall. A faint scent of a lot of things he wasn't used to smelling filled the air. Parchment? Some kind of oil? He couldn't tell. It was a new experience. A new place. He was in a room he hadn't seen in his life, and that was saying something considering he has seen plenty with his youth.

His boasting rights aside, none of them were like this place.

It was an average sized room, but all the tables, scrolls, and scattered canvases made it appear more compact. It was barely lit and carried an almost disused scent to the air, but it also had the paradox of presence. Someone definitely lived here and made this place their own. Nicolo just couldn't think of anyone he knew who would live here.

Well, whoever did live here, he really shouldn't intrude more than he already had. His mother was going to kill him. No, she would scold him and screech at his reckless habits, maybe mention how that girl he fancied two months ago still was una puttana and he should leave her (he already did but his mother liked bringing up his failed attempts at a love life more than he liked), before murdering him.

His father would turn the other cheek. Nicolo shuddered at the thought of what his father would say to him. Probably something along the lines of disappointment or just silence in all its unjustified glory. Nicolo dreaded that far more than what the man would actually say.

Even though he was mentally reciting the Sign of The Cross in his head and muttering additional prayers – Nel nome del Padre, e del Figlio, e dello Spirito Santo. Mi permetta di vivere per vedere un altro giorno. Amen. – to allow him to live, he still felt he needed to get home.

Groaning, he attempted to get up.

Mio Dio, he almost choked up as the strains came back to him in a ten-fold. It was incredibly, embarrassingly difficult. There was an aching in every single one of his bones but, luckily, nothing was broken.

Perhaps he shouldn't use luckily. He was certain this went far past luck. Luck would have just left him alive in some form. No, this was farther than luck. It was more like a miracle. A miracolo if he ever believed in such possibilities (and he usually didn't.) He always liked to think his successes (rarely his failures) as his doing – nothing that sounded like someone else had a hand in it. It wasn't nearly as impressive sounding. Didn't make for any good stories, either.

Whether this was due to luck, a miracle, or some other divine intervention, Nicolo was thankful. Death had greeted him coldly but only glanced off his heart. It didn't seep in and consume him, nor did it leave any reminders. Though he was certain that the cobblestone streets rushing up to his face would give him terrifying nightmares until he saw them as old enemies, he was happy to be alive because in all reality he really shouldn't be.

Nevertheless, moving hurt like a demon clawing at his back, and he had to bite his lip to keep from making too much noise. God, how badly had he fallen?

Just because he survived, didn't mean he survived without injury.

It didn't matter. Not at the moment anyhow. He could survey the damage when he got back home. He didn't want to stay here long enough for whoever brought him here to come back. He knew that he probably owed the man or woman his life since he thought he was as good as dead with the fall, but remaining in this place was almost too much.

Scooting off the table he had apparently been placed on, he gripped the edge with every finger and nail possible as he waited for the world to stop spinning.

He thought he was doing a good job until the world decided to tilt suddenly.

"Careful now!" He heard as strong hands grabbed his waist to keep him steady. "You've had quite the fall. A bit daring if I would like to point out – judging from your stature. It's a miracle you're even alive now. Un benedizione."

And who are you? Nicolo wanted to immediately say in his defense. He didn't like his actions being questioned. He didn't like anything he did being questioned. They always had a purpose. He never made mistakes and this man shouldn't be judging someone he only just met!

But the man meant well, and, well, Nicolo was being a little bit of un monello, as his sister loved to call him on a daily basis.

"Grazie," Nicolo huffed, his arm around the man's neck as he lowered him back to the table. This time he opted to just sitting up. Perhaps he wasn't ready to walk yet. He kept his eyes closed for safe measure, waiting for the headache to subside. He felt like the world had decided to try and drop him and he held on by the tip of his finger.

"Prego. Now that you are awake, maybe we can have proper introductions, yes? I believe I deserve to know who I am talking to."

"Introductions?" Nicolo opened his eyes and was met with curious blue ones. They were wide and seemed to be asking a million questions and then answering them all in the same moment. He couldn't tell how old the man could be. His face shouted that he may be closer to himself but those eyes spoke a different story as well as the beard that had begun to grow down his chin and along his jaw line.

"Wait a second. I know this man." Erik thought for the first time since he entered the Animus. "Subject 18?"

He got no answer to his question and watched through the eyes of Nicolo as he was trying to decide if he wanted to tell his name. Eventually, the boy decided there was no harm in trying.

"Nicolo de Altimari," He spoke, lifting his head and straightening his back. With a name like Altimari, you didn't bend your back and mutter it. It was a name and a strong one. A good name. A proud name that he carried with as much satisfaction as physically possible from a name.

"A pleasure, Nicolo." The man smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. It was an infectious smile and Nicolo found himself chuckling a little. "My name is Leonardo da Vinci."

Wait a second. Nicolo backed up and focused on the man. He had heard of a Leonardo somewhere. Bits of the name and some rumors surrounding him from around Florence. "Da Vinci…. Like the magnifico painter?"

The man grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. "Ah… well, the same da Vinci, however, I must assure you that my work is not as great as you may hear. Not yet. Still a work in progress. But one day it will be better than magnifico!" He winked at him and Nicolo laughed at the gesture.

"Whether you are or are not it doesn't matter. I must be on my way home. La mia famiglia will be worried. As is, I'm not sure how long I've been here."

Leonardo tilted his head. "Your sister should be returning soon. She left to inform your family. She said for you not to leave until she returned." Which roughly translated to, "I'm not letting you leave under my watch. I'm sorry." Which was fair he supposed when he considered that he almost died as well as the wrath of his older sister that he wouldn't place on any unfortunate soul.

Nevertheless, Nicolo's face warmed when he heard this. He was basically being treated as a bambino, a boy, by a man who can't be that much older than himself – maybe 4 or 5 years at most!

Leonardo didn't sense any of the discomfort and continued on. "The both of you are very good at what you do."

"Scusa a me?" Nicolo asked, furrowing his brows at what the man could be talking about.

The man waved his hand in a vague gesture. "The way you both travel. Through the sky. It is a breath-taking sight to witness. You both perform it wonderfully in my opinion."

That was a first for Nicolo to hear. "Ah… mi sorella is the better one. I still have a ways to go."

The man hummed to himself and leaned against one of the other tables, arms crossed over his chest. He seemed to be mulling over something, and Nicolo didn't have any need to disrupt whatever it was. He wasn't exactly desperate for a conversation with this man. He seemed far above the boy by a wide margin that Nicolo couldn't begin to understand. Probably an intellect or someone of that degree. He wouldn't be surprised.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the man spoke once again.

"Your sister – Corina, am I correct? She told me her name before she left, you see – is a natural, but you have your own advantages, too. She moves like she was made to fly. Like the sky is the limit. You move like you're rebelling against a rule – granting yourself your own wings. Am I making any sense?"

"Not really," Nicolo admitted, but Leonardo waved his hand.

"Ah, well, needless to say, the way you moved… It was beautiful, Nicolo. The strength and skill you already exhibit can only get better, yes? You shall fly yet! I still have only sketches and parts of a puzzle to give me the same effect." His eyes grew distant for a moment before he shook his head and smiled at the boy pleasantly.

Who was this man? He couldn't place him. The boy didn't exactly not like him, but he wasn't sure if he liked being in his presence for extended periods of time either. His voice begged for people to listen. The way he watched Nicolo was like he was picking at a puzzle. It was intriguing and a little bit disturbing for a night of almost-death from a fall and potential-death from the family.

Nevertheless, the still liked what the man said. The way he worded it. You move like you're rebelling against a rule – granting yourself your own wings.

Well, when put like that, Nicolo couldn't help but grin. He liked Leonardo. He was a little weird, a little eccentric maybe, but his heart was in the right place.

"It is probably best that we get you walking as soon as you can. Your sister doesn't seem the type of carry you around, I'm afraid."

He laughed at the truth of the statement. "No. She would rather let me crawl and poke fun than do such." Testing the waters with one leg, he slowly lowered himself to the floor. He kept a tight grip on the edge of the table until he was certain he could stand on his own two feet. It hurt moving his legs, or using the muscle in general, but it was possible.

He gave a few stuttered breaths and met Leonardo's eyes. The man looked ready to catch him again if need be, but he was fine. At least he thought so. "I think I am well."

Leonardo gave a sigh of relief. "Bene. I'm going to go fetch us something to eat. I think I can say for the both of us that we need it. Make yourself at home and move around. Movement is the best cure to soreness, Nicolo." Without any agreement, the man wandered off. Nicolo didn't know how he would be able to find anything in this place, but let the man be.

Meandering around the room at a slow pace he disliked heavily, Nicolo observed the place he had landed himself in. The multiple shelves with an assortment of books and pottery were a huge part of the room and most of the books didn't even stay on the shelf it seemed. More books were scattered across the few tables Leonardo had around the room, some of them open and heavily written upon in a scrawl the boy couldn't translate for the life of him. Parchment scrolls were stacked in a small alcove, some of them dusty and others new. It was like the man didn't know what to do with his life but… whatever it was he did.

Speaking of which…

Nicolo walked over to the far corner. There was an easel up but no canvas. They all seemed stacked and covered in the corner.

Curiosity got the better of him and he lifted one of the cloths hiding the picture.

"Mi dio," Nicolo swore under his breath as he flipped the cotton cloth behind the canvas completely.

"Nicolo, I don't have much, I'm afraid, but I do have-"

"Did you paint this?"

Leonardo stopped speaking and Nicolo heard the sound of him putting whatever he had down as he walked over to see what he was talking about. When he finally the picture, he tightened his lips.

"Yes. I did paint this, but it's not finished."

"You're a maestro."

"Oh, no. I assure you that I am not." He let out a laugh that sounded almost embarrassed for his work. "The woman it's off of didn't even return for me to finish it."

"Then she must be blind."

"As are you, fratello."

Nicolo cringed as he heard his sister's voice. She had definitely inherited the stern voice his mother liked to use often when he caused mischief, that was for sure.

Turning around slowly, he gave a sheepish grin. "Ciao, Carina."

"Don't you 'Ciao Carina' me, stupido. Do you realize what happened?"

"I missed a ledge and fell."

"And almost died!" Carina screeched and both he and Leonardo winced. "Since you're walking now, let's go. Mama was about to have a heart attack when I told her about la tua caduta. I doubt she's going to let you out of her sight for a while, fratello."

"Fine. Can I say my goodbyes first?"

She let out a low suffering sigh. "Yes. Say goodbye and then we must leave. Papa is furious right now. With you and me." With that, she walked out of the door with a slam.

"Definitely a force to be reckoned with, isn't she?" Leonardo mused quietly.

"You don't know the half of it," Nicolo sighed. "But if she says I must go then so be it. Thank you for saving me, Leonardo. I owe you my life. Should you need anything…"

Leonardo waved his hand. "I don't help in terms of bribery, Nicolo. As long as you are able to attempt your flight again, I think that is all the thanks I need. Now, be off. I fear for what your sister would do to both of us if you take too long."

Nicolo laughed and with a wave, left the room of the maestro.

…

"His vitals are a little off. We are cutting the simulation."

Slowly, the landscape around Erik drifted off, and he was released of the arm and the belt. The hidden blades were pulled off his wrists.

"Are we done?" he stated. His breath was haggard and for a moment he thought he was seeing Leonardo still standing in front of him, smiling with a knowing look in his eyes, before he blinked and the maestro disappeared. "Because I'm not going back in there for a round three. Despite popular belief, I don't believe 'third times a charm' applies here." A few chuckles rang out before being silenced by someone.

When he got no answer (which he was really beginning to grow tired of) he turned to Sofia and Vidic who seemed to be having a mental glaring contest. Erik briefly wondered who was winning when he repeated himself, "Are we finished?"

"Hardly," Vidic retorted but Sofia sent him a glare. Point for Ms. Rikkin. Zero for Vidic.

"For now. Since this was your first time, it makes sense that we would get more of your ancestor's early life before he became… well, we are going to have to do it again needless to say. Hopefully next time we will be further ahead."

So, in other words, this time was useless. He was no step closer to the information he wanted than when he first went in. Damn it. "Great. But the man, Leonardo Da Vinci" And he couldn't really believe he had really spoken to the man. He was a genius, and Erik had spoken to him, or at least vicariously, through Nicolo. "He looked like Charles. Almost exactly like him except for perhaps the hair and beard. Why?"

"He's an experiment." The same answer he got last time. He was seriously beginning to hate that answer.

He understood well enough that Charles was an experiment. In fact, Erik could have figured that out instantly after the first minute he talked to the man. Shit, at this point even Erik was an experiment. Shouldn't that give him a "plus one" advantage over being kept in the dark in all of this? Especially about a man who was apparently involved in his past life?

His most logical answer was: yes.

But it didn't seem he was going to get anything out of those sealed lips. He needed to ask the source. That was if he wasn't as tired as Erik felt. Erik felt like he went to hell, got torn into pieces by the Devil himself, put back together all wrong, and then blind-folded on his trek back. He did not feel right in any sense of the word.

He couldn't even begin to fathom what Charles would feel like.

After they deemed him healthy to walk on his own, they released him to leave the room. He was allowed to go anywhere that was authorized to him – so basically his room, the connection room (he needed to get the actual room name next time he talked to Lucy) or the cafeteria. He didn't feel like going to see pictures of his mother nor did he want to sleep after what happened (what kind of dreams would that produce? He didn't want to find out. No thank you) so he found himself drifting to the cafeteria.

There wouldn't be many people in it, considering how late it was. The sun was completely down outside the windows which meant it was probably well past dinner. That was fine. Erik didn't really feel like talking to anyone after what he had just been through. Especially the Creed should they choose to make their appearance.

Erik felt like hell. The same feeling he got after he had gone through one of his father's training sessions. Arms and legs so sore that moving was similar to conjuring a demon to push its claws directly into every single one of his muscles. The burning sensation in his lungs. The way a pulsing headache was vibrating in his temples from either lack of sleep, food, water, or all of the above. It was torturous but he managed. This was nothing. That was what he kept telling himself. It was nothing compared to being dead or worse.

When he got to the cafeteria, it was expectedly empty. Falling into the first seat available, he pinched his nose to try to alleviate the headache that was making itself comfortable and very known in his skull. Damn it.

The same waitress came by, and he told her the same thing. He didn't feel up to trying new things.

Screw new things. New things were going to lead to him getting killed. A seizure? Really? He had never had one before this… whatever this was. He had actually been quite healthy, despite the popular contradiction of his home in which alcohol, hot pockets, and the multitude of ramen cups rested.

New things were not going to end well for Erik. So he would just stay with their specialty meal. He wasn't picky. It was food all the same.

For a while, it was just him and the silence. Nothing more than that. His breathing broke it up occasionally, or the muttered curses he swore up and down to whoever created that machine. Damning them to the pits of hell. Hoping they kicked a wall with their little toe or stepped on a fucking lego (because those things were the creations that hell spawned and laughed at the fates of millions of living people and their screeches of pain.)

But then he heard a soft shuffling followed by a tapping of heels. The heels were familiar, the shuffling, however, was not.

"Careful now, Charles. You've been through a lot. We shouldn't have kept you in that long."

"…I'm fine. Used to it. It's nothing new." They were most certainly Charles's words but they were heavily slurred and exhausted.

When they came around the corner, Erik saw Charles and was one second from getting up to help the man from the state he was in.

Charles looked pale and not just the normal pale that came from being in this place too long but pale in the sense that he was whiter than a sheet. He looked like someone took bleach and rubbed his skin until there was no color left or any strength. His arm was thrown around Lucy's neck as they shuffled forward, but he wasn't watching where he was going. His head was down and his eyes, from what Erik could see, were closed. Completely so. Maybe even squeezed shut as if he was trying to fight something.

"No, Charles. It isn't fine. Erik!" Lucy gave a sigh of relief as she saw him. "Fantastic timing. Can you please help me bring Charles to the table?"

Erik hesitated for a moment before nodding, walking over despite his soreness to help Charles. He wrapped an arm around his waist and slowly walked over to the table he was at before.

Once they had successfully seated him, Lucy let out a nervous sigh and ran a hand through her hair. By this point, Erik was certain her mean side was a façade. She looked nervous but not the same nervous that came with losing potential results. The nervous you got when someone got hurt under your watch. "I'm going to have to leave him here with you for a moment so I can retrieve a first aid kit. I need to take his vitals. He needs to eat something. Just a little bit. I'm not sure how the machine affected him. Can I trust to leave him in your care?"

Erik watched the man sway as he fought to stay upright. There was no question he needed aid and Erik, despite only meeting him that day, liked him enough to hold a pinch of worry. Enough in his books for his eventual answer. "He's safe with me. Go."

She hesitated, looking at them as if under the debate that determined the fate of the universe, but nodded and left, heels clacking against the floor in a quickened pace.

Once they were alone, Charles seemed to sag against Erik's side on the bench. His head rested against Erik's shoulder, and a part of him wanted to push him off because no. He had space and he liked keeping said space, however, one look at Charles told him that if he pushed the man then he wouldn't be catching himself should he fall so he bit the retort on the tip of his tongue and sucked it up.

Like he said: He liked Charles a pinch enough to not be a complete prick.

"Do you want anything to eat? You probably should eat something."

"Should and want are two completely different things, Erik," Charles mumbled against his shoulder, taking deep breaths. "I should eat, yes, but I currently feel as if the universe is tilting upside down, so I'm not sure if it would be any use."

"Okay," Erik said slowly, tapping his foot anxiously. What was taking the lady so long? He swore they were quicker last time with his meal. Probably texting or doing whatever they did here on their spare time. Flappy bird or some stupid game like that perhaps. "What happened in there?"

"The same usual routine. Placed me in an Animus and left me in there a bit too long. It wasn't their fault. It usually isn't."

Liar. He wanted to call out but he bit his tongue again. "Shouldn't they be monitoring you?"

Charles shrugged. "Probably, however, I'm not quite as important as you and Subject 17. An experiment."

There it was again. An experiment. What Erik wanted to know was why he was an experiment and what of. Everyone was being so hush-hush about it that it was almost as intriguing as the item they were trying to retrieve in order to breach "world peace" or whatever nonsense.

He tried not to sound interested. His… friend? Accomplice? Well, whatever he was, he was hurting and Erik wasn't the type of prey on the weak in their most vulnerable. "I heard something about that. Care to explain?"

There was a laugh so he must have failed. "Maybe another time, my friend. I don't feel quite up to thinking if you can understand."

Yeah, he got that. He didn't really want to do anything really. Charles looked as if he was feeling that on a magnified scale.

Eventually, the food came over (thank God.) Despite Charles's complaints, Erik forced him to eat something. He kind of liked the guy which came hand in hand with not allowing him to starve, okay? Just a little bit of the meat and potatoes to make sure he had something in him. Charles didn't seem too happy but only grumbled between bites. Something about Erik being an "insufferable, mothering prick" which made Erik chuckle to himself.

Soon after Lucy returned with the first aid and took Charles's vitals. Once she was finished, she concluded he was suffering an intense round of physical and emotional exhaustion and needed to rest for a few days before they placed him back in the Animus.

"Erik, I'm going to return Charles to his room. I doubt he's going to be able to get there himself. Considering they are relatively close and you need a code to get into the corridor, do you mind coming with? It would make things so much easier. You're stronger, and I don't think I can carry him should he pass out."

Erik watched as Charles rested on the table, pillowing his face in his arms as his chest lifted and fell. "Sure. I'm leaning that way, too. Might as well hit two birds with one stone, right?"

Lucy offered a small smile at his words as he moved to pick Charles's up. As much as he just wanted to be the cane for him to somehow walk to his room for, the man was absolutely out of it. There was no way he was walking. They'd have better luck dragging his body around like he was a corpse.

Erik winced at the term (probably the wrong word choice, Erik), jostling Charles a little as he fixed his arms to carry the man close to his chest. Charles mumbled something and turned into Erik's chest, saying something about "It being bloody cold in here" or another. He didn't let it get to him and simply shrugged when Lucy looked ten seconds from apologizing. He kind of got the feeling Charles's was a touchy-feely kind of guy and had prepped himself up when he was forcing him to eat.

They walked in silence to the corridor with their designated quarters. He heard Lucy mumble a goodnight as he lowered Charles on the bed, untangling his hands from Erik's shirt with little effort. They threw the comforter over him and turned off the lights before closing the door quietly.

The route to his room, though not that much farther away, gave off an awkward silence. Erik decided to fill it. "So what happened with him? Or are you not going to tell me either?"

Lucy sighed. "I don't know. We never really know. All we do know is that he unstabilized, and we were not there to catch him as soon as we should have. We don't know the damage that happened if anything did happen at all. Nevertheless, he's not going back in there for a while."

"Why didn't you know?" Erik asked, seeing his room coming up slowly.

"Charles is a special case. When he unstabilizes, you truly do not know unless you watch him closely or he tells you. It's not as easy as if you were to have the same happen to you. His vitals don't jump and his brain shows very little change. Unless you know the brain of his like the back of your hand, knew when things went wrong, it's incredibly hard to pull him out of the Animus when he goes unstable. There is little we can do about it, but hope that he doesn't one day have a stroke or a brain aneurysm."

"You make it sound like it happens often." Erik thought over his words and amended as an afterthought. "How often he goes unstable, I mean."

Lucy typed a few buttons in the keypad, and Erik's door slid open. "More times than I would like. That's for sure, but we can't prevent every bad thing. We can only keep it to a minimum."

Erik hummed in agreement. As soon as he entered the room, Lucy murmured a good night and the door slid shut. Once Erik hit the bed, he was out cold with Charles's words, Leonardo's words, and his ancestor's words chasing each other in circles he couldn't begin to understand.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

The next week was not one of Erik's top ten. Hell, it didn't even make the top 365 for that matter. It didn't get first, second, or an honorable mention.

And it wasn't that they were awful.

Well, actually, that was it. They were awful. There wasn't a moment in the next few days that Erik didn't want to just go on a murder spree and say "to hell with it" when he is settled with a death sentence. Between Vidic's obvious methods of being completely unsubtle of exactly what he thought of Erik – that being the same feeling you have for someone who broke into your house and shot your dog, keyed the side of your one-of-a-kind Mercedes 300SL Gullwing, and proceeded to walk away like they do in the movies when your house explodes behind you – and the way everyone seemed to gradually get more agitated with Erik's "slow pace" ("Then you all get in this damn thing if you want your Apple of whatever so badly," He retorted the third day in when Vidic was arguing with Lucy of her incapable tactics and said he could do better.) in the Animus, everyone was going a little stir crazy.

Needless to say, nobody was on good terms. Except maybe he and Sofia, but Erik had long distinguished the woman as weird on a different scale so it didn't count.

It probably didn't help anything that his mornings were the opposite of peachy when he actually woke up.

Every morning he woke up ridiculously early and not because he wanted to. There was someone in his room. He was almost one hundred percent certain that there must be someone walking around his room at night and whispering something into his ear. Or at least doing a good job of making it seem like it.

The only reason he knew it was a person at all was because of the one time he woke up and caught a hand ghosting away. Of course, when he sat up to tackle whoever it was, he was met with an empty room with guards watching him through the almost opaque walls with a weird look.

You're paid to watch me. Don't fucking judge me in the process. Erik wanted to bite out at them but he was always too tired and just grumbled curses under his breath and burrowed himself under the blankets again.

But it always kept happening like that. When he felt like maybe, just maybe, he would get an actual decent amount of rest – despite his reflexes trying to keep him from getting comfortable in an obvious ploy for his trust and what have you – it would always be dashed aside by a brief whisper of Italian in his head. Repeated again and again until he was aggravated enough to wake up.

Of course, whoever was bothering him didn't seem to realize that Erik actually didn't know Italian compared to the popular opinion of his ancestor. He knew English, German, and maybe enough French to get him by in a pub of some degree and a catch on his arm, but nothing more than that. Sadly, Italian doesn't fit into this repertoire.

He didn't think he would regret it until his beauty rest was on the line.

Erik didn't mention this to Lucy or Sofia and certainly not to the prick of a scientist Vidic. It was his problem, and he would deal with it. His whole life had been one huge problem, and he had done splendidly living through it so far.

But… that wasn't the whole reason for his typical brand of stubborn. There was also the concern that if he told them that they would tell him that it was all in his head and there was no way Erik was going to get that answer because it wasn't in his head. It was a tangible person with a tangible voice. Maybe Vidic decided to sic someone on him after all just to mess with him after his little spout in the Animus. It could be true – could be possible.

It seemed more possible than him going completely mental at least.

Whatever the reason was, it was never mentioned and he would go about his day. Exercise in his room, grab breakfast, be very aware of the Creed watching him (but only watching – never more), leave and go back to his room until he was called for the Animus. It was always the second one. The second version. Erik was really beginning to miss the first one. At least that one was comfortable, and he could actually relax and rest in it.

He would leave the Animus drained and feeling like he had been forced through a training regimen directed to win a revolution, somehow stumble his way to the empty cafeteria that made his day somehow brighter, make a motion when the fake-smiling woman walked over and that was basically the extent of his niceties. After that was just dinner and sleep.

That was his day.

What kind of offset it, despite the fact that he only knew him for a day or two maximum, was the fact that Charles was nowhere in sight.

It wasn't his business. Erik was very aware that it wasn't his business to get into Charles's affairs. He didn't get into his, after all, which is more than can be said about most people around this place. But it was a little off-setting. Charles was the only subject Erik had met and actually liked to a point since the other subjects seem to be doing some cult thing or whatever that specially kept 18 out of the loop (and personally, cults and Erik kind of had bad blood anyways.)

So the fact that he wasn't at the table or walking down the hall or doing something was a little weird. Not that he was worried or anything. They had just met. It was just… amiable concern.

A week had passed like this and Erik was really beginning to feel antsy as he sat at the table in the lunchroom. The lady didn't even bother coming by his table anymore since he always said the same thing.

The "Charles Effect" as Erik was beginning to dub it was bothering him more than he liked to admit. He had only known the man for a day. Yes, they were in the Animus and shared some weird historical bond of some degree, but that was the extent of their relationship unless you counted him getting to his room that same night. Yet here Erik was, glancing at the door for what must have felt like the umpteenth time now just in hope of seeing the bubbly, borderline puppy of a man. It was ridiculous – even for him.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't register that someone other than Charles sat at his table.

It wasn't until he heard his voice, a low, southern drawl of a tone, that he looked up. "You're Subject 19, correct?"

"Depends on who's asking," Erik spoke slowly, watching the man carefully. He was pale, like most people around here, and clean shaven. There was a certain scrutiny around the eyes that most people also carried around here and the hard line that gave no smile or frown. Blonde hair and cut messily so probably done by himself.

Just business was the vibe Erik was getting immediately. Nothing more than business.

"Have a few trust issues, don't you?" The man relaxed against the table, laying his arms against the table. "Not the only one around here."

"Then you probably know that talking to me is useless unless you got good info around here to earn that trust." Not that it would work. It took a lot to earn a Lehnsherr trust, but he decided to keep that part out. Instead, he leaned his face on his hand, lazily watching the man. "You never did answer me. Who is asking?"

The man shuffled in his seat. Clearly, he wasn't comfortable giving his name before Erik gave his. Tough luck. Erik wasn't the type of person to share names immediately (Refer to: Charles Effect for the exception to this rule) to complete strangers who had nothing to give. It wasn't his style.

There was a stare off before a hand was extended reluctantly. "Tate Harvey. Subject 20. Member of the Creed."

So today was their day to strike, huh? Erik thought as he said. "I've heard about your kind a bit. From Charles, actually. Subject 18? He said-"

"We know of him," he was interrupted quickly, the glance turning shifty.

Well, well, well. Not a huge fan? Erik thought to himself with amusement. He understood Charles's eccentric attitude was hard to get used to but there was no need to look like mentioning him would magically summon him. He wasn't the devil. The mere thought that Charles would even hold a pinch of that truth made Erik want to laugh.

It wasn't until he heard the rest of Tate's explanation that he realized he wasn't that far off.

"He's not the same as you and I. He's not an assassin."

Erik didn't like this man. Or, at least, he was disliking him a lot more. He already didn't like him the second he sat down in Charles's spot like he owned the place. "If we are all in the same experiment, as I am assuming we are, then shouldn't we try not to isolate someone? Strength is better in numbers and all that."

Tate shifted his expression from paranoia to resolute in almost a blink of an eye. "Perhaps in most cases, but not for him. He's not the same. He's wrong. Damaged goods."

Okay, Erik really didn't like where this was going. "Tate, it was nice having a chat with you. You can go back to your table. I think my food will be coming around soon and if you remain here, I can't quite promise it will remain in my stomach."

Tate's mouth settled into a hard line. "Just think about it, eh?"

"No. No, I think I'm fine. I'm thinking about it. I've thought about it. I'm pretty damn sure I don't want any part of your Creed or whatever it is your cult does. See that spot you're sitting in?" He pointed to the seat Tate was invading. "That's Charles's spot. My friend, Charles. If you think you can tell me he is wrong," Something I'm sure of already and find no problem with so far. "and then continue to insult him in front of me, well, I don't think we are going to get along quite frankly."

"You don't know who you are messing with. You need us." Tate stood at the table, causing the table to screech a little against the flooring in his attempt to look taller, bigger and more powerful. People around them were beginning to whisper.

Erik had to hold back the urge to laugh. "Do I now? As far as I know, I have trust issues, and so have only relied on myself and the occasional one, singular person. I know that I am reliable and trustworthy, and I've already found my plus one which apparently you have a problem with. So." Erik stood slowly, causing a few more curious glances to be sent his way. "Leave my table. And do us both a favor and don't come back. I've also been informed that I am quite violent, so I can't promise the next time you decide to be a pest that I will let you go unharmed. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Tate huffed and left the table, stalking back to the Creed which seemed to shift from surprise to annoyance and back to their usual blank stares. Did they seriously expect him to join?

Idiots He scoffed mentally, sitting back down in his seat and running a hand through his hair.

It took him a second for him to realize that he called Charles his friend. He had said it. Not acquaintance or accomplice or even a small one-time chance meeting. No, he had called him a friend.

God, it almost made Erik desperate looking when he called someone he just met on a whim (for a day!) a friend. Anyone else would be weirded out by that, Erik included.

Perhaps he was desperate. He sure hoped not.

A few minutes later someone else sat in Charles's spot.

"Look, for the last time, I do not plan on joining your-" When he looked up, he saw a familiar pair of blue eyes. They looked confused by Erik's tone, and he had to backtrack and realize that his fr- Charles was sitting in front of him.

"Joining my what?" He asked.

"Nothing," Erik said quickly, taking the tray from the woman when she finally came by with his food. As he began picking at his meal, he shook his head before pointing an accusing fork in Charles's direction. "Where have you been?"

Charles rose a brow. "Why? Did you miss me? I wasn't aware I had to send a letter to let you know I was okay." His eyes glimmered and Erik had to fight not to stare at them (how could they be that blue?)

Yes, I missed you. "No. It was just weird not having you around, and I prefer text or email actually. Get with the times, Charles. Apparently, emojis and fifty million exclamation marks are the "thing" right now."

"Aw! You missed me," Charles cooed, laughing when Erik simply rolled his eyes. "It's fine, Erik. I missed you, too if that makes you feel better. Even if you're a little… scary in some ways."

"Scary?" Erik scoffed. "I am not that scary."

"Darling, there's a reason why not many people talk to you around here. But it's fine," Charles beamed. "I'll just make up for them since I am your friend."

"Who said that I am your friend?"

"Well, you did from what I heard before I sat down, but maybe I was just hearing things?"

Erik shifted his gaze. He had him there. But it was just his anger talking! He didn't like people being bad-mouthed because of what they are. It was ridiculous and childish and gave a new low to the aristocracy. If someone was wrong, then you don't just abandon them. Humans weren't made to be heartless creatures. There is a fucking reason we evolutionized instead of died off.

Of course, he didn't say this very valid argument. Instead, he just remained quiet and did not mention that he was sincere when he called him a friend. It was peacefully quiet and normal as Erik scraped at the meal until Charles decided to pipe up again.

"So I take it they came up to talk to you finally?" Charles gave a brief grin but there was a look in his eyes. He looked sad and Erik was really beginning to not like that face on him. "Did you…?"

What do you take me for, Xavier? Erik wanted to retort in exasperation. "What did I say to you before you sat down? I wasn't going to join. What you didn't hear was that I wasn't going to join their Creed. They are basically a cult if you ask me. They said you were wrong-"

"They are not wrong themselves," Charles began but Erik wasn't finished.

"And I basically told them to fuck off. You're definitely weird, Charles. Don't get me wrong. I have never met anyone weirder than you, but that doesn't mean you're wrong. Just different. Hell, I'm different, too. Trust issues. Sarcastic. A natural born asshole in some sense of the word. I'm not right either. Perhaps us weird people should stick together. It sounds like a much better plan than abandonment at the first go."

Charles was speechless for a second but slowly a grin began to spread on his face.

"And I may or may not actually like your presence and think of you as a friend even if I have only talked to you for all of a day really," Erik muttered additionally and that was it. Charles was practically beaming at him now and it was a losing battle on Erik's part to not smile back at him.

After breakfast, Erik stood to go to the Animus. At this point, he didn't need to be lead. They trusted him to get to where he needed to go and there were enough cameras and guards to stop him when he wasn't where he was supposed to be (he didn't push those buttons yet but they were very tempting.)

He turned to say goodbye to Charles when the man stood as well, smoothing out his uniform out of habit probably.

"Where are you going?"

"With you, apparently," Charles replied with a cheeky grin. "It seems that they want to put me back in with you. I didn't know our paths crossed. It seems almost like fate that we meet now."

"I don't believe in fate," Erik said matter-of-factly.

"I do," Charles, "And I strongly believe that our chance of meeting is supposed to happen. Who knows what will come of it?"

There was more weight in those words than Erik was comfortable with so he changed the subject. "I can't believe you were Leonardo da Vinci."

"My ancestor is Leonardo da Vinci, Erik. Get it right. I'm nowhere near as brilliant or artistically inclined as the maestro I assure you. Just a little weird as you put it." He winked at Erik. "Well, looks like this is where I leave you. I guess I will see you in 250 years from now to the past, yes?"

Erik laughed. "Sure. See you then, Charles."

The man gave a happy wave before turning around the corner at the end of the hallway. Erik stared at the spot for a minute too long then he should have before shaking his head. Yeah, he was definitely weird that one, but not in a bad way.

Knocking on the door, he waited for a second before Sofia met his vision.

He looked around her. "Where's Lucy?"

"She decided to stay with Subject 18 today since things didn't go so well last time, and this is his first day back. She wants to make sure he stays stable this time. Especially since we think there is a chance that we may get to the part we have been waiting for today."

"Really now?" Erik prompted, automatically making his way to the Animus. By this point, the pain was gone, as Vidic said (though he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being correct), and the moments of unstabilization were limited to none. He wasn't perfect. Every time he was pulled out he always was a little off, a little unsteady, but he wasn't as bad as the first time he was forced to enter.

"Yes. Our patience will be awarded today."

Erik waited for the belt and hidden blades to be attached and took a deep breath as the lights began to turn on, closing his eyes on habit and counting backward from ten.

….

All he saw was red.

Red. Crimson. Rosso. The color of life.

He was seeing too much of it. Too much of it too early in his life. He was only 19. Barely old enough to account for anything according to a lot of people around the city. He shouldn't even be experiencing this until he was older and maybe prepared for it. That was all he asked really. All he wished he was.

Prepared for it.

Because he was far from it. He was far from ready to walk into this blood bath of a welcome.

Nicolo was a storm waiting to break down over the city.

If they had been hung, perhaps he could have stopped it. He could have done something for certain.

He felt a choke of a sob turn in his throat, churn in his lungs, and settle to a low whine on his tongue. He fell to his knees and banged his hands against the stone floor of his family's living room as the anger and anguish caused him to shake violently. The carpet was stained and no amount of washing would get anything out of it. Water couldn't wash out memories.

Erik could feel something consume him. Déjà vu. He didn't like this, how his heart seemed to beat in tune with Nicolo and that he kept switching faces. Switching places. Switching memories.

"Erik, focus. This is an important memory. We will pull you out if need be, but we won't get this exact moment twice. Focus on Nicolo." Sofia's voice drifted through, a small echo of tapping in the background.

Erik mentally closed off his emotions, shut them in a room, and locked it. She was right. He shouldn't be comparing the past to its even more distant past. Even if the mirror was almost identical.

Nicolo eventually allowed a shudder to go through him as tears fell down his cheeks. He got up slowly and with no certainty as he made his way over to his mother who was lying on the floor near the fireplace.

"Mama?" he asked tentatively as he approached her slowly. She looked like she was sleeping. That was what got to Nicolo first. She was… sleeping. His hands shook as he checked for a heartbeat and found she was sleeping permanently. The red that dripped from her throat was the finality.

He almost had to stop there. His legs almost couldn't carry him when he walked over to his father.

"Papa?" His hand wouldn't lift to do the same to him, though. It couldn't be raised. He couldn't find the strength to do it. He couldn't after seeing how his father's eyes were open and looking straight at him. They were empty, though. So empty like the soul in them had been stripped away. More rosso. More life pouring out of his throat, like his mother, and his heart (the same heart that told him he could do anything if he had his heart set on it.)

God, what was this?

This was murder. Omicidio.

Who did this?

He couldn't begin to fathom, but then again he wasn't even in the right state of mind to think.

A laugh choked up his throat as he scooted away from the form of his father and mother, their throats slit and his father's heart pierced through the symbol he had seen his father wear so often nowadays, the red blooming on his white blouse.

He could feel the memories being stained into his head like the glass in the churches around him. He could feel the image of his mother's permanent sleeping face form delicately in his mind along with the open and empty eyes of his father as he seemed to be staring at him in a way that screamed, "Why weren't you here to stop this, mio figlio?"

He was so blinded by their forms that he almost forgot that he was missing someone. There were his mother and father but… but…

Where was his sister? Where was she?

"C-Corina," he whispered as he struggled to get up. Once he was up, he fought up the stairs, hugging the banister as his legs seemed to stutter under him. "Corina! Di dove sei? Wh-" He felt a sob beat him to the full word. "Where are you?"

He stumbled up the steps and opened the door that would have been his sister's room. "Please be alive," he begged to no one in particular as the door revealed nothing.

She wasn't there. She wasn't here. He rummaged through her room in frantic disarray. Under the bed, in the wardrobe, everywhere to where she could be hidden. After he realized she was nowhere in her room, he spent what felt like hours going through the other rooms. Where was she? Where was she?

His mind was going through circles. Circles chasing other circles. Did this mean she was alive? Was she overwhelmed? His sister was a good looking woman that men chased after. Could something worse have come to her? He couldn't think of it. Couldn't afford to or his sanity would be spent.

When at last he retreated to his own room, he felt his legs finally end their trek and he collapsed to the floor in a fit of sobs. His mother's sleeping face came to him faster than he could blink. His father's eyes which saw nothing. The way they were cold. The way their hearts had stopped. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh and not because it was funny because this wasn't funny for him. This wasn't funny for anyone, however, it felt like the funniest thing in the world because of course, he would survive that one fall long ago, almost a year now, with a debt over his head that had to be paid.

Il diavolo ha ricevuto il suo pagamento. Whispered in his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut to keep it out as it repeated softly in the back of his mind. Il diavolo ha ricevuto il suo pagamento.

He clutched his head. Nicolo felt his head want to split in two and Erik wanted to follow suit.

This was too close to home. Too close to what should be distant. Erik didn't like it. He didn't like how there were parallels.

Nicolo didn't remember passing out, but he did remember hearing steps walk cautiously up his steps and a presence above him.

He felt like he didn't care. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to do a lot of things and none of them involved confronting the person towering above him.

…

When he woke up, he felt murmurs going on around him. A female and a male voice. They seemed to be arguing but too low for him to be able to hear it. The female was hushed and harsh, but the male seemed to be pleading, begging for something. Nicolo would have been curious on any other day, but this night (he assumed it was still night) would not be one of them.

He groaned and the talking ceased. The female said something and then a door was slammed shut.

Nicolo rubbed his eyes that were crusted and tired.

"Nicolo? Are you awake?"

He knew that voice and opened his eyes to see a familiar face. The face was carefully closed off, however, and revealed nothing but the utmost concern. But Nicolo wasn't blind. He knew that the maestro was fretting over him and, to an extent, must have known what had happened to him.

The blank looks. The cold skin. The lack of a heart. The missing smiles and laughs. The disappearance of family. There was a lot of simple sentences, stringing together to get longer and longer until it seemed they circled him. Images of not only his father and mother, but of the living room in general. How it was thoroughly ruined and bloodied and not at all as warm as it once was. The missing wood engraving his father liked to keep above the fireplace that carried a symbol his father swore to tell him about one day.

And now he wouldn't.

A hand gently shook him from his reverie.

"Are you with me? Mi senti? How are you feeling?"

Nicolo sat up slowly, and placed his face in his hands, rubbing his face and giving a few shuddering breaths. "B-Bene."

He thought he heard a faint prayer under the maestro's voice before he spoke up. "Nicolo, what do you remember?"

He looked at Leonardo but he felt like the dead. "I remember my mother and father dead. I remember the fact that they were murdered in our home. I remember how cold they were and how my sister is either missing or dead along with them. I remember… I remember…" He felt a warmth glint behind his eyes and he scoffed, turning away and fiercely rubbing his eyes

A hand hesitated before patting his shoulder. "I'm not going to say it's fine, Nicolo. Those words won't help you. I'm sorry that I cannot be of more use. Mi dispiace."

Nicolo just shook his head and fought to control the emotions whirling in him.

They were churning, fighting to control him, fighting to make him fight.

He was no longer sad. He was grieving but that grief was quickly turning into anger. Raw anger that made him want to chase after the men who killed his family.

A knock at the door interrupted the awkward silence.

"I will be back." Leonardo excused himself and walked to the door. When he returned he had another set of footprints following with.

"Be careful, Ezio."

"You forget that I went through the same thing, Maestro"

"I'm just saying," Leonardo began but he must have been given a look because he was silenced and walked away. Probably to fetch something to eat somehow in his mess of a place.

The new set of footprints stopped in front of him. They were boots and seemed to be well-worn. This man did a lot of running, was probably used to it. Not that it necessarily mattered anyways.

"Nicolo de Altimari." Unlike before, his shoulders hunched at the name. "Look at me. Guarda a me."

He did and he was immediately met with a pair of calculating eyes. This man was definitely older than him by as much as Leonardo at least. He had some facial hair growing and a very noticeable scar on his lip. The hair was parted and pulled up into a ponytail at the back. He was dressed oddly in enough clothing to make Nicolo almost ache from where he sat.

"Who are you?" Nicolo asked cautiously.

"Ezio Auditore." Was all he said as he sat on the table next to Nicolo. "I have heard from the maestro that your family was killed."

"So much for being careful," Leonardo muttered as he walked in. "Sorry, Nicolo. This is my friend, Ezio. He is… someone who can help you I believe. I am merely a painter and inventor at my best of days, and I think you are due better than what I can offer."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nicolo, do you know who killed your parents?" Nicolo shook his head. "I think I might but I'm going to need you to come with me and follow my rules. Before I continue, have you seen these symbols before? Anywhere?"

He held out two symbols. One was a cross and the other a vague v-shaped symbol. Both Nicolo had seen.

"Yes. This one," he pointed to the the v-shaped symbol, "was embroidered on my father's coat on the inside of his collar as well as on his shirts when he went to his… meetings as he called them. We also had an engraving over the fireplace. The other I have seen on several men who came to visit my father for advice considering his position and who he knew."

Ezio nodded, placing the two charms somewhere in his armor before hopping off the table, motioning for Nicolo to follow.

Nicolo hesitated for a moment and looked to Leonardo for help. The maestro simply shrugged with a knowing smirk like he was used to it by now. He probably was if they were friends like he said.

Well, it wasn't like he had anything else to lose – other than his life that is.

Sliding off the table, he watched as Ezio pulled at a few straps and adjusted a vambrace-like device around his wrist. "Where are we going?"

"To get you the vengeance you rightfully deserve – tactfully, of course. The men who killed your father were part of a group called Templars. They are the same group that killed my own family except for my mother and sister." There was a dark look when he said his mother. "If you value your family name, then follow me. I assure you that their deaths won't be without vengeance."

Nicolo turned to Leonardo who had a faint smile on his lips. "Don't be as reckless with him as you were yourself, my friend."

"That was rage and pain, maestro. I don't plan for him to make the same mistakes." Ezio rolled his eyes, but smiled nevertheless at Leonardo like it was an old joke between the two.

After a few goodbyes were sent, Ezio walked out the door, Nicolo on his heels. Almost immediately, the man took climbing the walls, getting to the roof with ease. It only took Nicolo a second to register it before he followed suit. His legs had gotten longer as did his strength over the year, so he was significantly better now.

His sister was right. Practice makes perfect.

It didn't seem to matter if he could fly now if his sister wasn't around to see, though.

Ezio took to a sprint, dashing over rooftops and onto clotheslines. He had the same grace as his sister but with danger mixed in. The kind saved for prowling felines looking for a kill. It was breath-taking and admirable, but also set a chill down his spine. Nevertheless, Nicolo kept in step with him, not being longer than a few feet behind him.

They eventually stopped at the rooftop that had a bell tower stacked on top. Ezio shared him a look before taking to a climb. Nicolo swore under his breath and followed his newly-adopted mentor up the tower.

"You've been taught well," Ezio shouted below.

"Mia sorella taught me for a year now. I learn quickly."

"That's good because with what I will have to teach you, you will have to take it in a lot quicker. I don't repeat myself, Nicolo."

"Understood."

They spent a few more minutes climbing up the tower until they got to the top. Once there, Ezio pulled Nicolo up and motioned for him to stand next to him.

The city lay out below them. The night sky hiding almost everything in a quiet shadow except for a few sparse lights. He felt like he was supposed to be up here. Watching. Observing. Seeing the city pause in its life and take a moment of just breathe.

"You feel it."

He turned to Ezio who had a smile on his face. It was a gentle one which was odd to see on a man so threatening as he. "Feel what?"

"Like you are witnessing the city take its final breath before slumber."

Nicolo said nothing. After a minute, he looked to his mentor. "You said you would help me find vengeance for my family. When do we start?"

A small quirk of the lip. "Tomorrow. You're still grieving. Acting now would be risky. A night's rest and then we begin training tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Nicolo quoted as he watched Ezio step up to a perch. He turned to Nicolo and rose a brow.

"Have you done this before?" He was precariously close to the edge that Nicolo was beginning to wonder if he was suicidal. "Oh. You haven't. Well, then take this as your first lesson. It's actually easy if you have faith in yourself."

"Faith in myself?" Nicolo whispered, well aware of how high this tower was.

Ezio laughed and turned around to face the city and jumped. Nicolo rushed to the edge and saw his mentor hold his arms out and legs together as he fell deafly into a hay pile conveniently placed below.

Nicolo laughed out loud, a wide smile of pure disbelief gracing his features.

In an instant, Ezio hopped out and motioned for him to follow.

There is no way I was doing this. "I'm going to have to follow."

I don't want to do this. "I need to have vengeance for my family."

I'm going to die if I do this. "I just need to have faith. That's what this was. A leap of faith."

Nicolo took a deep shuddery breath and sent a mental prayer to whoever would bother listening to him before he walked slowly to the edge, closed his eyes, and jumped.

….

All was quiet as he was pulled out of the simulation.

He didn't know if Nicolo made his jump successfully. All he was aware of was the fact that he was crouched on the ground as if he had jumped like the boy. His body sure felt like it as did his racing heart that pounded in his head a hundred miles per hour.

"He did it," whispered Sofia quietly before she shouted in a clearer voice. "Get him out, please. We are done for the day."

"Did you get what you wanted?" Erik asked, dusting himself off and holding out his arms for the woman to take off his hidden blades.

"More than what we wanted. You're more valuable than we thought, Erik. Not only did you know the artist, but you also knew him."

"Him?"

A wide grin split across her face and he knew she was ten seconds from jumping in excitement. "Ezio Auditore, or from around here, Subject 17, Desmond Miles."

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Desmond was a name he heard too frequently to not be curious about at this point.

Subject 17 this. Desmond Miles that. You knew him. Subject 17 hasn't been too open lately. Not the one you place Subject 17 in. There were too many times this Subject 17 – aka Desmond Miles – was mentioned for it not to seem like he was the standard around here. The phrase that meant if you were useful or just rubbish waiting to be thrown out.

He's a little secretive that one and likes people to know him when he decides they are harmless enough.

Well, that sucked for him then, because Erik had more than enough memory to look for the man even if he didn't want to be found.

After all, Erik had a good memory when he wanted to remember certain things. In fact, it was probably one of the few aspects he prided in himself most. It was a skill forced upon him to learn. Take notes, Erik. You can never be at a disadvantage if you pay attention and note everything. His father liked to point this out every time he trained him. Repeating this when Erik forgot something tiny and unimportant.

Because, to his father, especially after his mother's death, everything was important. Nothing should be disregarded. Everything was a potential.

Hence the reason why he knew how to incapacitate a man in half a minute but also knew the first paragraph of The Hobbit (a phase in his life he didn't regret) or the red crosses that adorned those who stormed through his quiet town like wildebeests only focusing on their rampage.

Desmond was the name Lucy mentioned when he was about to be placed in the first Animus when he arrived. Of course, when Erik tried to ask for more information, all Sofia said was that, "It is Lucy's story to tell. I just know of him."

I just know of him. Bull shit. Erik wanted to call out but decided to hold back. Just barely. If Desmond was such a "Golden child" or whatever he was here, then everyone knew more of him than just a little mentioning of his name. There was a reason that his name suddenly made Sophia excited.

There was a reason it apparently lengthened my life span.

But the look in Sophia's eyes clearly told Erik that she wouldn't be revealing anything to him even if she did know more.

So, he scoffed and walked to the Connections Room. Lucy said all the subjects went there to make connections of what they saw in their Animus adventures. Erik just hoped Desmond didn't use the room as little as Erik did otherwise he felt today was going to be a field day trying to figure this out.

Not that it was necessary to know this instant. It just gave his new prison life a little more meaning.

He wanted to send a prayer of thanks or something of equality when he happened to run into Lucy in the room, typing something up in the back.

Why a prayer? Because, as stated before, this information was Lucy's property. Something you had to fight tooth and nail to get from other people. In other words, it was Her story to tell. Erik didn't know how or why, but it was a stroke of Lady Luck that he was able to run into her now. Maybe he wouldn't have to run around as much as he thought (though even if he did, he would only be allowed into three places at most so perhaps running around wasn't even accurate of his potential struggle.)

Erik knocked on the door, but she didn't seem to hear him.

Well.

Pleasantness went out the window as he knocked again, a little louder in hopes that she would hear this time. No such luck. Whatever she was doing, she was completely immersed in and had no cares in the world for anything happening around her. That was fine. Erik was always told his presence filled a room. Time to put that into action.

Walking up to the desk, he sat on his table that was conveniently in front of her own. For a few minutes, he waited for her to notice him, but when it was clear she wouldn't, (and at this point Erik was growing curious of what exactly she was doing) he cleared his throat loudly.

She jumped and then laughed a little when she seemed to realize who it was. Erik didn't miss the brief "deer in headlights" gaze she shot. "Erik. You scared me a little. Knocking never hurt anyone."

"I did," he said. When she furrowed her brows in confusion, he shrugged. "You didn't seem to hear me. It's fine. Lost in thought I take it?"

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "You could say that," she rubbed her eyes. There was exhaustion lingering in the shadows under them. Workaholic? Maybe. "Look, I know you're here for a reason. You're always here for a reason. Is it Subject 18 again? I can't tell you anything-"

"No. I'm not here for Charles," He interrupted quickly before she could go on a rant about something else that irked him. "I was actually curious about Subject 17. A… Desmond Miles?"

Immediately – and he literally meant immediately. There was no phase in between – her eyes shifted and that was what he was waiting for. That little shift that proved this was the little tidbit of information he was destined to have.

Oh, and was there a shift. It was so noticeable, even in the haze of her obvious exhaustion. They went from defeat to guarded. A foe who was resigning to their fate of being prey to standing up again snarling with a hell-bent determination of not being put down. It almost screamed protection.

Mine.

And wasn't that interesting?

Of course, it could also be a touchy subject. A button pusher. A temptation. Erik almost wanted to smirk at the taunt that little change in her demeanor gave. He did love to push buttons, after all. One of his hobbies if he were to be honest with himself. He missed it terribly.

Finally, it was its time to shine.

"See, Sofia just informed me that I am, apparently, more valuable than I was before. I know you won't tell me anything about Charles. Nothing new from what I already know, at least. That being said, I think I deserve to know the man who apparently has given my life more value. Or at least wonder why I haven't seen him since I've been here, and I have run into almost every subject for this quest of yours." He crossed his arms expectantly. Lucy tapped her nails rapidly against the desk as he finished, "So who is Subject 17?"

Lucy bit her lip for a second, her blonde hair unusually out of sorts today. He was catching her at a bad time, but this was the prime time for intervention. For information. Usually he would just drag the informant to a bar and make him or her drunk enough to spill whatever he so wished to know, but that wasn't going to be possible here. Erik couldn't remember the last time he had been sober this long.

It had been a while. It almost deserved the phrase "too long."

Erik wasn't known for his patience, but he decided to exercise it here. Pressing Lucy would make her shut up like a clam, and he would be left to his previous investigation of the man.

At last, she sighed. "Shut the door and lock it."

He rose a brow. "Are there not cameras in here?"

She scoffed. "Of course there are. This is where they get most of their information on their subjects. Still, I managed to turn them off for now."

Erik hummed in appraisal, doing as she asked and sitting back down on the table. "You have a lot of talents, Ms. Stillman."

Lucy just shook her head and pushed back the pieces of hair that kept getting in her face. "Subject 17 is my Subject. As I'm sure you've seen, there are a lot of subjects around here. More than we can keep tabs on. Subject 16 was Vidic's for a while. I watched him from time to time to make sure Vidic didn't run him into the ground, but…" She drifted off and he noticed a grimaced. He didn't need to ask what happened to him.

"Anyways, when Subject 17 came around, I was the one to set him up, and I still am the one under that jurisdiction. Vidic accompanied me at first, however, Desmond Miles – Subject 17 – holds as little like for the man as you do." She pressed a few buttons on her desktop and pushed away from the desk to focus solely on Erik. "For a while we were making great progress. We thought we could actually find the item in under a month if we worked diligently enough."

There was a "but" in there. Erik could hear it.

"But?" he prodded.

"Well, Desmond doesn't like being here. He hates it as much as you do, again. You two would probably get a long splendidly. He stopped cooperating a month ago. We still place him in the Animus for a while, but he either somehow hides the information we need or completely desynchronizes and goes unconscious – which places him and us in a compromising position considering he is the sole ancestor who was in charge of the pieces of Eden in his time and…" She sighed angrily. "Needless to say, he hasn't been much help so that's why we began pulling other subjects in. He's too valuable to "kill off," as Vidic would say, but we can't just wait for him to come around."

"Where do I come into play in all of this?"

Lucy shrugged. "Well, I wasn't with you today for your Animus session, but if Sofia," she grimaced at the name, "says that you're in congruence with Desmond, then that means you may be able to help us just as much as him if not more because of your closeness – this again being an assumption – to his ancestor."

"So I'm like an insider source to your goal. An agent meant to sneak out information."

"Essentially," Lucy replied with a nod. She placed her elbows on the desk and rested her chin atop her hands. "That's all I can tell you about him, Erik. The rest is for you to figure out if you can get anything out of him, but if there is any other information you want to know, I will tell you to the extent that I can."

Wonderful. Change of heart? Or in a good mood?

"You're not as cruel hearted as you like others to believe."

She narrowed her eyes. Careful, Erik. You're treading on thin ice here. "That's not a question."

"I'm getting there. Calm down," Erik retorted before continuing. "You're not a mean person, but there is a reason you have to be and it surrounds Ms. Rikkin. Why?"

"Any reason why you need to know?"

Erik shrugged. "Not really. I was just curious since I'd personally like to be warned if you ever do pursue to kill her with your glare. I'm not entirely sure myself, but I think I can assume that murder would make the Animus session a little awkward."

Lucy laughed at that. It wasn't a funny one though. It sounded exhausted and a little annoyed though strangely enough not at him. "I don't know why I am telling you anything. Why should I again?"

"Because you have nothing to lose telling me. What am I going to do? Run and tell everyone? You are kind of the person who cemented the bribe you told me of. I can't exactly get rid of you when I have that over my head."

"Point taken." She thinned her lips before she spoke. "It's a bit of a story but I'll see how much I can shorten it. Earlier this month, before you arrived, Mr. Rikkin arrived with his daughter. Apparently, someone informed him of Subject 17's unwillingness to help us and was concerned if it was his personnel giving him too much leeway. His daughter, as far as I knew, was attending graduate school to get her masters in Biology as well as several other science fields I cannot remember at the moment. When she arrived, Mr. Rikkin introduced her to myself before pulling me aside. He suspects me being too nice to the subjects."

"Are you?"

She shrugged a delicate shoulder. "I act like myself. Whether that is "too nice" or not is for someone else to decide, I suppose. Basically, he informed me that if I do not start enforcing approvable behavior and cooperation from the subjects I will be removed from the program and his daughter will take my place."

"Ouch."

"Thanks for the sympathy," she said bitterly. "I know she is a nice person and means well but if my job, my entire career, hell, my life is on the line because of her introduction, I can't help but despise her a little. It's why I had to act the way I did when you were first brought here. I'm usually not like that."

"I knew it."

She backtracked. "What? When?"

"I suspected it when we talked in this room before I met Vidic. He didn't look scared of you and if you were as vicious as you made yourself out to be, then he would have at least been wary. Secondly, the way you were with Charles the night after my first introduction to the Animus."

Erik leaned back against the wall. He heard a few papers rustle under his weight. "I have a feeling that normally people just throw us on our beds and hope we sleep it off."

"You're not wrong," Lucy seemed to look above his head for a moment before leaning over her keyboard, pushing a few buttons on the desktop. "As much as I would love to talk to you about your adventures in the Animus, Erik, I have some work to do regarding a few of the subjects." Hint: I turned the cameras back on so be careful of what you say.

Erik got the hint and stood, stretching his aching muscles from the Animus before making his way to the door. He unlocked it and pulled the handle.

He turned around and sent a wave to Lucy to which she returned half-heartedly, a tired smile on her face.

When the door closed, Erik began to make his way to the cafeteria.

Well, I didn't expect that. He thought, looking out the windows as was accustomed to him now.

As he got closer to the cafeteria, he began to hear something. It was loud and there was a lot of screaming and yelling and more than a few bangs. The nurse that usually served them ran past Erik, probably to fetch security if the noise was an indicator of mayhem that was in creation. It sounded like the definition of chaos just about. Erik almost didn't want to deal with it but his curiosity got the best of him.

When he turned around the corner, his blood went cold at what he saw.

The Creed, or more specifically Tate and a few of his cronies since most were still seated (but waiting he noted), were surrounding Charles in a corner of the room. One of them had him lifted against the wall, hands close enough to his neck that he could almost get away with strangling the man.

"You've been nothing but a problem, Charles," Tate seethed and Erik felt his hand twitch to throw a punch but remained quiet as he waded through the small crowd encircling the event. "Always interfering. Why can't you just stay in the background like your ancestor?"

Erik clenched his teeth, close enough to hear everything crystal clear.

Charles had a smile on his face but it was strained. His eyes, however, were stone. "I didn't realize it was a crime to make friends, Tate. Perhaps that is why you don't have many? Followers do not count as the same thing I must inform you." Erik had never heard Charles talk this way. It was unnerving seeing the usually happy man mutter these words coldly. "And, for the record, my ancestor didn't just 'stay in the background.' He was the reason your ancestor could keep all his fingers on those hidden blades. He helped Ezio Auditore in his revenge as well as his quest thereafter. What did your ancestor do? I don't remember hearing about him in history."

There was the sound of air leaving someone's chest and when Erik looked up he saw Charles's face thrown to the side, the corner of his mouth trickling blood. He was grimacing but still conscious.

"It is best if you shut your mouth, Subject 18."

"Ha… who's going to make me? Doesn't America sport freedom of speech and all those amendments? You can't keep me quiet if you tried."

Another punch was sent somewhere Erik couldn't see.

"Shut up. You're not even an American. You don't count in these promises granted to those who deserve it."

That was when Erik had enough.

Stepping away from the crowd, he casually strolled until he was between Tate and Charles, the former having his fist already pulled back for another throw. The man holding Charles's up looked confused as he glanced between the two of them.

Erik smiled. "Hello. It's best if you let go of my friend now."

Then he threw a punch straight into Tate's face.

…

Everything after that was a bit of a blur if he was to be honest with anyone.

All he knew was that afterward the Creed looked ten seconds from jumping off the bench and ganging up on the man who punched their leader. The member who had Charles pinned up, dropped him in favor of checking Tate and Erik was left shaking his hand out. He hadn't had a good solid punch in quite a while.

Erik. Focus. His mind scolded him and he shook his head to clear the thoughts of wondering if he could somehow land another before being tackled. Right. Charles.

Erik rushed over the Charles who had collapsed to the floor in a heap of heavy breathes and a few hisses of pain.

Checking for anything major, he noticed a few bruises from before he came here. "Are you okay?"

Charles laughed. "Define okay." Erik gave him a look and he relented. "Yes, I'm fine. Just trying to scare me. Nothing new around here but they especially didn't like how I have you "wrapped around my little finger," darling. Apparently, that was a big mistake on my part."

Erik ground his teeth together. "You don't believe that do you?"

He should have known better than to ask such a question. Charles clearly wasn't the type of back down so easily and it was made clearer by the fire in his eyes. "Of course not. I'm not going to let a few blokes decide my fate and my friendships. They can sod off for all I care."

A grin began to form on Erik's face. "This is why we are friends, Charles." He stood and stepped in front of Charles as Tate staggered back up from his collapsed position on the ground, his hand clutching his nose that was most definitely broken if the loud crack when Erik's fist landed was anything to go by.

"Subject 19."

"Subject 20," Erik greeted accordingly.

"You're on the wrong side." This was clearly a goad but it sounded pathetic with the black eye beginning to form on the man's face and his nasally tone. It was almost laughable.

Screw that, it was completely laughable and Erik allowed a smile to grow on his face at his handiwork.

"Am I now? On contrary, I think I may be on the right side for once. The wrong side, as you put it, would beat up other people a-la-high school-style for who they hung out with and who they were. Sounds a little like prejudice to me. And, additionally, you have a whole gang against one. What does that make you, Tate? It makes you look utterly pathetic. You can't take a man by yourself so you need to have backup? Really? And on a man so weak?"

"Hey!" Charles tried to say but Erik continued over him.

"That shows how "strong" a leader you are, doesn't it? What is he really going to do to you, Tate? I've been here for a while and I didn't see him throw any punched. Just words that, as far as I am concerned, are correct. Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but I don't follow pricks who can't lead much less deserve the title of leader. I didn't think you would stoop so low."

"And," He started before Tate could say anything. "For the record, I'm not entirely American myself. Born and raised in Germany as a matter of fact so don't you dare use your racial patriotic views as an argument in this case because I assure you that you will lose that battle very quickly."

"Why you-" Tate began, taking a step forward to throw a punch.

Erik was ready to block it but it never came.

The faint mutterings and loud yells from the upcoming security had quieted down to a hushed tone as someone else came to stand next to Erik, his hand catching the punch by the wrist.

"Do you really want to do that, Harvey?" The man said, and Tate hesitated, looking between Erik and the newcomer anxiously before retracting his fist quickly with a scoff.

"It isn't worth it," he muttered, turning around and stalking off to the table. Security was beginning to make their arrival, Lucy and Vidic on their heels.

While Vidic seemed to be focused on the Creed – more like yelling at their idiocy to pull a stunt like this – Lucy walked over. She exchanged a look with the newcomer before resting next to Charles. When she saw the bruise beginning to darken on his cheek, she hissed and sent glares at the table who seemed to have the least amount of interest possible in Vidic's scolding.

Erik decided to fill her in. "The Creed didn't seem to approve of his friendship to me. Took it personally."

"Well, he seems out of it now. Was he lucid when you got here, Erik?"

"For the moment, yes. Lucid enough to backtalk their leader for a minute. I don't know when he went unconscious."

Lucy sighed and looked to Erik imploringly. "Look, I understand if you want nothing with this, but I would really appreciate it if you can get him and follow me to the Medical Ward. We have to make sure he doesn't have a concussion or broken bones." She sent a glare to the Creed who were muttering something that Vidic didn't like or want to hear. "Charles is not having a good week."

Erik agreed as he bent down and picked up the man for the second time that week. He was limp in his arms as he followed Lucy to the Medical Ward. The newcomer on his heels.

When they got there, she directed him to a room and motioned him to put Charles down on one of the cots and leave the room so she can do a quick examination. Seeing no harm, Erik left and waited outside the room, arms crossed as he anxiously tapped his foot.

"You're friends with Charles?" He stopped tapping his foot. He forgot the man was there.

"Kind of. Still figuring it out. I like him enough to not allow him get beat up to a pulp." He narrowed his eyes at the man. "Who are you?"

The man offered a cheeky smile for a second before letting it falter. He was dark skinned and had a thin layer of black hair on his head. A scar cut through his lips. "I believe you've heard of me. Actually, I heard from Lucy that you've been looking for me."

It took a second for Erik to realize what he was hinting at. "Subject 17?"

"I prefer to go by names. Desmond Miles," he extended a hand and Erik shook it. "I'm a friend of Charles as well. I thought I was the only one to avoid the Creed's advances."

"Far from it. They scream cult and I'm not too fond of those."

"You and me both," he let out a breath and rubbed the back of his head.

"So what were you doing in the cafeteria? I've been keeping an eye out for you, since you're so infamous here, but I haven't been able to catch a glimpse of you. I was beginning to wonder if your entire existence was a running joke around here."

Desmond shrugged. "I heard a commotion and it sounded exciting so I got curious. Checked it out. Didn't expect Charles to be the sole reason for it. Surely didn't expect someone else to stand up for him. Bystander effect and all."

"I've heard. He talked about you when I first got here but wouldn't tell me anymore then a name."

A quirk of the lip. "My doing there. I'm not too fond with people knowing of me. I'm the company favorite. The Golden Ticket to this factory. Everyone wants a piece of me. The less who know of me the better."

"Wish I could do the same. Since you've gone rebel mode on everyone I'm their new guinea pig."

Desmond grimaced. "Fun."

"Yeah. So, what is with that? Your sudden disassociation."

Desmond looked around to the cameras in the room. "Later." Erik got the hint and the two of them broke from the heavy conversation, going through things like where they grew up, their families (something Erik spoke little about), and their ancestors for the hell of it (something Desmond was strangely tight lipped about.) It was just small talk. Talk to get the time to go by while they awaited the verdict of Charles's misfortune.

"So what are you to Charles?" Erik finally asked, the question burning in him for a while now.

Desmond seemed to smile, arms crossed across his chest. "Like I told you before, a friend, believe it or not. Actually, please do believe me here because the odds of me lying about loyalty is slim to none. I wouldn't lie when it comes to where I place my trust. I'm not the most trustworthy guy but Charles is definitely one of the few people who deserve it. Probably one of the only ones I have in this place when you think of all the idiots and power-hungry bastards we have running around the place."

"But I didn't see you with him ever."

A sheepish grin that soon faltered to a heavy sigh. "For the reason that they started bothering him today. I was there before most of the Creed. In fact, I was there before it even became a group, but then Subject 20 came in and, well, everything changed quite frankly and not for the better." He ran a hand through his hair. "Kept going on about how we are better than everyone else and kept attempting to kiss my ass to get me on their side since I'm the cream of the crop around here, you know? Of course, by then I was good friends with Charles because it's-"

"Physically impossible to not like him?" Erik added and Desmond let out a wide smile.

"Exactly. Hating him is like kicking a puppy over a cliff. He was nice and talkative and weird, but he was also respective of space and not pressing buttons. We just clicked. But the second the Creed caught wind of our friendship and, more specifically, what Charles was in the experiment – though who told them I will never know, they began harassing him. Telling him he was a hindrance, annoying, a bastard child in the experiment list that should be kicked off."

Erik felt his lips pull back in a snarl and Desmond outstretched his hands in a placating gesture. "Trust me, I know. That was exactly my reaction. Thank God the man is stubborn as a damn mule otherwise he would be fish chum by now with their remarks." He shook his head. "Anyways, I tried to tell them to back off. That getting physical with Charles would not help anything or change my mind but they are idiots through and through. When the bullying continued, I simply didn't go to the cafeteria anymore. I rarely see Charles except for a few times when I stop by his room and we chat but even that's limited since we need a keycard and any employee here has a A-plus in being suspicious of everything."

Erik liked Desmond. At least, that was what he finally concluded. Not in that "you're my informant and I will use whatever I can to get what I want to know" way. But in the "I would go to a bar and drink with you" way.

It was nice.

The door opened and both men stood straight. Lucy walked out with a slightly shaky Charles, but the man, of course, had a smile on his face.

"Desmond! I haven't seen you in ages. Have you met Erik?" He laughed and Erik couldn't hold the grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Don't be warded off by his shark teeth. He's really lovely once you get to know him."

"Shark teeth?" Erik asked but Charles simply spared a cheeky grin.

Lucy looked like she wanted to just sit down and not be running around for once. Erik really couldn't blame her when he remembered her state earlier today.

"I would love for you all to get acquainted, but this is kind of putting a dent in all the work I have to get done. So, you three ladies pick a room, and I'll let you stay in there. Erik, your Animus session is canceled today. So is yours, Charles."

"Is he hurt?" Erik immediately asked and Lucy gave him an odd look. Desmond merely chuckled under his breath. What? What was wrong exactly with him asking about his friend? Did he sound too eager? It was a perfectly reasonable question thank you very much.

Lucy poked Charles on the side of his head and he playfully stuck a tongue out in retaliation. "Besides a lump on his head and a few bruised ribs, he will be fine. Really, Charles, I thought you were the easiest to care for among the group."

Charles shrugged. "What can I say? Apparently, I'm a Casanova for violence without even trying to. I guess my smiles are not as enticing as some would say."

Both Erik and Desmond snickered while Lucy stared at the ceiling as if asking for strength. "Please pick a room."

Nobody said anything for a while.

"How about mine?" Desmond said at last, much to everyone's surprise and no one's objection.

They made their way over and when they got there Lucy tapped a few numbers and dumped the three of them into the room, muttering a "I will be back in a few hours" before leaving.

Erik noticed the differences in Desmond's room almost instantaneously. For one, there wasn't a wall at one end with guards peaking in. In fact, there weren't many security protocol at all around here.

There were also pictures. A lot of them. Pictures of Desmond and drawn images that seemed familiar and not so at the same time.

"Enjoying the show?" Erik was startled but training had kept the jump from showing. "It's basically everything you would see if you went to the connection rooms, you know. Pictures of our past recorded and somehow retrieved. Things I've taken note now. Things like that. But we can talk about that later. Charles keeps looking at us like a puppy being kept out of attention."

Erik turned around to see exactly what Desmond was describing. Charles was leaning against the headboard, watching them with a confusion found when you're out of a loop. It was a little adorable, not that Erik would ever fully admit that. He had a bruise forming on his face which showed significantly against his usual pale color. It made Erik wince just looking at it.

"See? How can you ignore that face?" Desmond whispered before walking back to the bed, lying along the foot of it and getting comfortable.

Erik was going to remain standing, maybe lean against a wall or something, but Charles's fixed gaze on him made it very clear that he did not want that. So, without much ado, he walked over to the bed and mirrored Charles, extending his legs until they overlapped Desmond's. He didn't seem to mind.

It took a second for Erik to realize that they didn't have the slightest clue as to what to do now. All the lingering excitement was either gone or dripping out of their veins and a certain restlessness was beginning to settle.

"So, what now?"

Desmond shrugged one shoulder. "Well, considering entertainment is definitely lacking in this place, I assume conversation. I have a conversation starter in mind." He turned his attention from the ceiling to Erik. He felt his muscle stiffen at the look in the man's eyes. It was a skeptical look. He was being tested. "How about you tell us about yourself? You throw yourself in front of the Creed and neither Charles and I know much about you."

"He doesn't want to speak-"

"Charles. If he truly was your friend, then he wouldn't mind," he rose a brow at Erik. "Now would you?"

Well, there went any hopes of getting comfortable.

Erik clenched his teeth, two seconds from getting off the bed and doing something to get himself out of this room. He wasn't the sharing type. He didn't like telling stories around a little campfire and complain about the woes bestowed upon him. Silence was the best he could manage and now it was being threatened.

A hand touched his arm and he flinched. Charles recoiled the hand so fast it was like he was burned. There was a flitting emotion of hurt in his eyes, but it passed too quickly for Erik to be certain he even saw it.

But those eyes were forever burned into his memory and he found himself feeling guilty.

Guilt. Of all things, he had to feel guilt.

He sighed and forced himself to relax against the headboard. "My name is Erik Lehnsherr. I am 31 years old. I was born in Dusseldorf, Germany, but after an incident I was moved here and remained in foster care until I was of age. I have a flat in Queens, New York, though I'm not sure how much longer that will be a fact if I am here before rent is due. I don't have much from my past, little of my present, and have too little care for the future to plan for it. I've been here for about a week and I've made enemies of every person I've met save for one person." He refused to look at Charles, but he could feel the man beam beside him. It was like a lightbulb that was beckoning his attention.

Instead, he kept his eyes on Desmond as the man seemed to be looking for something in his face. He knew that he was aware of the gap but if he had any interest, he didn't express it.

"Well. How hard was that?" Desmond asked and Erik watched as Charles kicked him playfully in his stomach.

"Stop it. This is why people don't like you either."

"Except you."

He shrugged. "I have low standards. I like almost everyone if they prove to be lovely to be around."

"I can tell," Desmond and Erik responded in time before blinking at the other and breaking into a few chuckles.

After the laughter fell away, Erik looked between the two other men. "I've shared my life story-"

"If that's what you call a life story," interrupted Desmond.

"But I've heard little about you both. Care to share?" Erik finished.

Suddenly, they weren't laughing anymore. Now that the tables had turned they had suspiciously gotten quiet. Wasn't fun being on the other side, was it?

He looked to Charles but the man refused to meet his glance.

"My name is Desmond Miles." Erik's attention fell over to Desmond but the man was glaring at the ceiling, a hand running across his head. "I'm 25 years old. Born and raised in Black Hills, South Dakota before running off and doing my own thing. Break away from the family image and all. Lived in Turnin, New York before I was taken from my bar to this place. I'm constantly being called an assassin even though I've done no more flipping and jumps than what the mixing canister might do in a little bar trick. So. I'm the key to what this place wants and I quite frankly don't feel like opening the gate."

Erik blinked at Desmond. He was about to ask a question when the door at the room opened. Sofia was on the other side, looking a little out of her element.

She glanced from her clipboard to them and offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to interrupt, however, just because Erik and Charles are not going into the Animus doesn't mean that it includes you, too, Desmond."

The man in question moved Erik's feet off of him as he jumped up and smoothed out his pants. "It's no problem. Can't be helped."

When he left, it was only Charles and Erik in the room. It was a little strange that Sophia didn't take them out of the room (considering this was Desmond's room) but it was too late to question it. They were stuck here until either Lucy came back or Desmond finished his Animus session. Either way it wasn't going to be soon.

Charles was messing with the hems on his shirt, twisting it anxiously. Clearly the question was still bothering him.

"Look, Charles-"

"My name is Charles Xavier. I was born in London, England, U.K. I'm 28 years old. I have a Ph. D. in Genetics, Biophysics, and Psychology. I moved after I finished my studies to New York City, New York. I was approached by Abstergo at my home and when I politely declined their offer to be in their cause, I was taken here. I'm different than you and Desmond in my purpose. I've been here for about a year now and I'm not sure how long I will remain here."

Well, he supposed it was too late to tell the man he didn't have to speak. He just wanted to make Desmond as uncomfortable as he had been in the interrogation.

Thinning his lips, he decided to press the ice a little bit and hope it didn't break. "You said you'd tell me later; you being an experiment and all."

"Yes, well," He laughed but it sounded strained. "I'm not normal. Everyone else here have ancestors who are assassins of some part of the creed. Not all from the same time frame. Some are from the French Revolution, the American Revolution, or even the conquesting days when America wasn't even discovered yet. But I do not have an assassin as my ancestor." He paused as if letting that soak in. "My ancestor, or rather ancestors, are historical people who have influenced or were great friends with Desmond specifically, and, apparently, yours, too. Because of that, I'm being used as a potential side door to where their artifact is located. So far they've been getting sneak peaks but nothing more than that."

"So when they meant you were an experiment…"

"They literally meant what they said. They don't know how well I'll do. They don't even know how long I will last because-"

He froze and Erik mirrored him immediately.

The change happened so quickly that it was almost eerily disturbing watching it take place.

Erik might not have been able to tell the difference if he hadn't noticed how Charles stopped everything he was doing in the process. Talking. Panicking. Everything.

It was like something was taken over.

Suddenly, there was a shift in Charles. A shift Erik wasn't so sure about and when he meant "not sure" he didn't mean he was uncertain it happened. When he said "not sure" he meant that he didn't know how to react to it. How does one react to this accordingly? Knocking the man out? Talking it calmly over a steaming cup of tea? Was there a way to talk about it calmly? That was what he meant about uncertain because Erik couldn't have been trained for what was about to happen.

Those blue eyes that were shifty at best were suddenly very confused and looking at Erik like he had grown a third head. The shoulders were hunched up and a hand seemed to come up and then drop.

Erik watched as Charles seemed to be trying to gather his wits.

It was almost exactly like when he first met the man except this one wasn't going away.

"My name is Le-" he paused and blinked, a blank stare taking over.

For a full five seconds, he sat like that before the smile came back. "Charles Xavier, or more accurately known as Subject 18. And you are?"

But that was then. This time that little mishap didn't fade out into his normal attitude. There wasn't a smile or even the lack thereof considering of what they were talking about. It was just a certain confusion that didn't seem to fit. More than five seconds had passed and it never dwindled.

Erik wondered for a moment if he was just overthinking things but that went out the window when the man spoke.

"Nicolo?" The voice hesitated and then he was scooting forward, reaching out to grab Erik's face but Erik grabbed his wrist on impulse, stopping the action. "Nicolo de Altimari? Che cosa stai facendo qui?"

That isn't an English accent. Erik thought immediately, but he did know that voice from somewhere. The vowels and pronunciation was strikingly similar to a man from another time.

But that couldn't be possible. There was a reason the word "impossible" was made and this should fit under that definition.

Not to mention that Erik didn't have the slightest clue what the man was even saying (he couldn't understand Italian. He didn't know how many times he had to repeat this. It was getting borderline ridiculous) but he had a feeling it was something along the lines of "what are you doing here?" or "Why am I here?"

Which wasn't good.

Strike two on sensing bad feelings.

"Charles?" He spoke cautiously and those brows furrowed so deeply that it was clear he wasn't playing a trick if it was ever thought so.

If this was the man Erik was fearing it to be, it was no wonder where Charles got his hurt puppy look from. The only difference was that it lasted longer.

"Who is this "Charles?" Do you not remember me, il mio amico?" When Erik gave no response, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair in agitation. "It's me, Leonardo da Vinci? The… the maestro that you and Ezio like to flaunt like a paintbrush on a fresh canvas? Please tell me your memories have not altered with your appearance."

Well.

This was a problem.

A problem that Erik was not cut out to deal with.

Strike three.

For one, he didn't even know when this Leonardo was coming from. When he first met Nicolo? Years after that? Either way, Erik was at a loss.

"I'm not Nicolo," he decided to say at last. He said it slowly, allowing it to settle into the maestro. "He's my ancestor, though. My… how do you say it." He groaned and wracked his brain for the term he heard around the place sometimes (back when the others thought he understood Italian). "A..Antenato?"

He knew he pronounced it wrong but Leonardo (Charles) seemed to have gotten it. "That isn't possible."

Erik laughed. "No. No it doesn't seem like it, but you are definitely here. In the 21st century. Look around and you'll notice that it's definitely different from your time."

Leonardo thinned his lips at Erik. He didn't trust him. He didn't even believe him.

Which was actually becoming really fucking hilarious in a not so funny way when thinking of the fact that all he had to do was realize what he was sitting on and what was around him. For being a miraculous painter and inventor, his observing skills needed some work.

Either that or he truly thought Erik, or Nicolo, was playing a trick on him. If he was, Erik would have gladly approved of his ancestor and snicker to himself, but he knew for a fact this was real. This wasn't a trick.

He supposed he didn't need Leonardo to believe him really. It wasn't a must. Just a nice thing to have. Oh well. Niceties were not going to work here, which was fine because niceties were not what Erik was known for.

Erik jumped off the bed and, thinking about it for only a second, picked up Leonardo from the bed and dragged him to the mirror that was on the closet, much like his own room. The man fought out of his grip but seemed to stop whatever retort was on the tip of his tongue when he looked into the mirror.

His hand came up and rubbed at his clean-shaven chin and fingered his hair.

It felt weird watching all of this. Like Erik should look away or something with how immersed the maestro was in this discovery.

"Impossible," he muttered, pulling at his clothes and rubbing the bruise on his cheek, wincing accordingly. "This isn't possible in the slightest. I should know. I've pondered it certainly, but…"

"It isn't what you pictured to be cemented," Erik finished and Leonardo looked up to him.

"Yes. Quite." He backed away from the mirror and looked around him, at the room and technology that was definitely not from where he was. You're a long way from home, Dorothy. He found himself thinking, mouth twitching upward with the random images of Charles carrying a dog and following a troupe of people to see a wizard coming to his mind.

Leonardo seemed torn between fascination and intense concern.

Finally, he narrowed on Erik. "You're not Nicolo, but you have his personality. I can sense it."

Erik shrugged. "If I do or don't is not up to me. Either way, I think he'd agree with me that you shouldn't be here. It's a mystery how you came about to begin with."

A pause filtered between them as Leonardo thinned his lips.

"This isn't Florence… is it."

It wasn't a question.

"No. It isn't."

There was a slow nod as Leonardo came to terms with this. He walked over and sat on the bed, briefly marveling over it. It was probably more comfortable than anything he felt back in his time. Erik gave him time, watching him think, but he had a feeling the longer Leonardo was here (however he got here) would not do well for Charles – wherever he went.

"Look, Leonardo," the man looked up to him and Erik hesitated at the sudden intensity of his stare. "You really need to get back to where you were at. I don't know how you got here, but you are kind of not supposed to be in the body that you are in, if that makes any sense to you."

"Is this," he motioned down his body. "The Charles you mistook me for?"

Erik sighed in relief. "Yes. He was normal until just the few seconds you appeared. I would really appreciate it if I could have him back."

"I would give him back if I knew how…" he drifted off.

"Erik."

"Erik, then. I would return him if I knew how I even appeared before you. I am truly at a loss of how I came about. One moment I am attempting to transcribe something for Ezio, and the next I am here and you are there. It's a conundrum to me." It was hard to be irritated with the man when he had mastered the apologetic puppy look Charles performed effortlessly. Apparently, it ran in his blood line, too.

"Um. Okay," Erik let out a huff of air and ran a hand through his hair, beginning to pace in front of the maestro. "How about you try sleeping? Maybe you drifting into unconsciousness will help."

Leonardo rose a brow. "Are you certain?"

No, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure at all. There was a reason he placed a maybe in front of that entire idea. But Erik kept the sarcasm on the tip of his tongue from becoming verbal and forced his voice to even out. "What's the harm? It's just rest. You make it sound like it is foreign to you."

"It's not like I indulge in it often," the maestro muttered but he laid down and closed his eyes. Erik sat in the chair, suddenly really tired like he had just babysat five toddlers at once who wanted nothing more than a pillow fight for six hours.

It took him a second too long to realize there was a presence behind him.

And not only that, but that the area around him was beginning to fade.

It wasn't the type of fading that came with losing consciousness. Erik was still free to think and he knew that if he wanted to move, there would be nothing to stop him from performing that action.

No, it was the type of fading witnessed when in the Animus and a desynchronization has occurred or when they decided to move forward in time. A type of limbo where the ground beneath his feet were nothing more than tiles that faded out the farther it got from him. The walls had disappeared and in the distance were pillars that lazily grew and shrunk. The only physical items and beings in the place was the chair Erik sat and the bed Leonardo/Charles was resting.

It was eerie and unsettling to say the least.

And the presence that was most definitely behind him was only a cherry on top of this sundae of discomfort.

Turning slowly, he saw a man that looked strikingly like him except he looked older, wiser in the sense that more hell has come his way than Erik could ever complain of. There was a hood covering his eyes, the assassins hood, but his mouth was still visible and there was a small knowing smirk showing from what Erik could see in the greying stubble.

He focused his attention on Erik, but he said nothing. Holding up his fingers to silence the him, the figure walked over to where Leonardo was resting (or trying to) and leaned over to whisper something in his ear.

Suddenly every part of Charles went limp and the man disappeared.

And almost just as fast, the scene dissolved back to reality. It was almost like it never happened at all, but Erik didn't have time to ponder why it even occurred. He was already up and rushing to Charles's side.

He placed two fingers to his carotid but he found no pulse. Something cold was slithering in. He leaned his head against Charles's chest but there was no heartbeat.

No. This… this wasn't possible. This couldn't be possible.

But for the life of him, Erik didn't have an argument as to why that was.

He felt panic settle in. Cold hard panic that he hadn't felt in over a decade.

She was lying on the kitchen tiles. Those same tiles that could never be completely cleaned and got everything in God's creation stuck between the cracks. The tiles she always complained about but never enough to change.

Crimson. Red stained. Blood filtering in the cracks and slithering towards him like a snake preying on his stricken heart.

He couldn't look.

"Charles?" He muttered, trying to shake the man. "Charles?"

There was nothing.

Why had he been so late? Why hadn't he run faster? Why did he bother going to that tower at all? He should have stayed home. He should have remained with his mother and, he didn't know, made breakfast or something. Done something nice for her. God only knew she had done so much for him.

Just… He should have just stayed there. At least he could have tried to protect her.

It was too late. He knew this. Too late and no amount of "should haves" would change that.

Damn it.

He stood there stock still for a full second before he began performing CPR. It was sloppy at best but he couldn't be neat and professional when he felt sand slipping between his fingers. Slipping and falling and not staying where it should be.

"Ein, drei, zwei…" he muttered under his breath, pressing down on Charles's chest. He felt the ribs under his palms. He thought he felt the heart, too, but he couldn't be sure. It was impossible to tell.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder he jumped so badly he swung his arm in a sharp hook on impulse. His father caught the fist easily and stared brokenly at Erik's mother, his wife. He looked lost. He didn't look like the strong man who taught him so much. He didn't look like his father at all.

He looked like half the man he was. It was frightening. This whole thing was frightening. The room itself was a scene out of Erik's hidden nightmares.

Erik almost felt like he couldn't handle it. Like a hole should be opening up below him and swallowing him whole without objection.

He lifted his hands and lifted Charles's chin, plugging the nose and hesitating for only 3 seconds, seeing those red lips slowly turn shades, before leaning in giving as much air as he could.

He knew he should be calling for help.

He knew he should be getting some sort of aid.

But he didn't know how. Weren't there guards watching this room? They were paid to watch them! He had no doubt that there were security cameras in this room! How could someone be watching this and not allowing anyone to help? To alert someone?

And where did that put Erik?

He couldn't have alerted anyone when his mother was being attacked. He couldn't have called for anyone. How does one call for help when he had never done so before? It was so foreign to him. So strange and yet he felt like he had missed an important milestone in not admitting this fault.

He was panicking over the potential death of a man he met probably a week ago. He didn't know much of his past. He didn't know his hobbies. He didn't know much about him and Charles could equally agree to that much about him.

So, why was he shaking so much as he jumped from compressions to breath.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

And every time he lifted his head up to look for some sort of camera, he thought he saw the glimpse of the hooded man that slipped past him.

But he said nothing.

In the course of Erik's haste, no one said anything.

The numbers had drifted to thought. The name repetition falling to mouthing anonymously. His own breathing building but not reviving. It was quiet in that room.

It was too quiet.

Erik never liked the quiet before.

He hated it even more now.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Eric didn't know how long he compressed that chest. Too long – he knew that with a numbing certainty. Too long for any kind of revival. Too long that the past kept meddling with the present and it felt like it was going to become his future. All in all, it was too long and Erik was starting to lose feeling as he continued to press that chest, lift the chin, exchange air and see the chest rise but not from the owner's respiration and then… repeat.

Repeat and repeat and repeat.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

But nothing ever changed.

It never changes.

Erik was starting to… he didn't know what he was starting to do. He was freaking out. He didn't-

Wait. No, he wasn't freaking out. That wasn't quite right.

Before he was. Before he was panicking and yelling and screaming and cursing every God forsaken name in this fucking place but nothing ever changed. Nobody ran through the door. Nobody came for them. If there were cameras trained on their form at that moment the guards either didn't care or just happened to be on lunch and dinner and decided never to come back.

It was… Erik didn't know how to describe it. But now… now he wasn't panicking. He didn't know what he was. He didn't know what he valued Charles as. I mean, I literally met the man a few days ago – a week ago actually – wow, wasn't that something? Felt like days with how everything had been moving.

But… He sighed.

He only knew him for the shortest amount of time but in that time frame, Charles had managed to sink into his heart, to cling onto him with some terms of friendship Erik had never fostered before.

Why would he have fostered them?

Because Erik didn't have friends. He didn't want any. He didn't trust anybody. He didn't have the trust to give. Perhaps if he in his past had been raised differently, given different outcomes, then maybe he would have a friend, but nothing could change the past and nothing would change his present personality.

So, why in God's name did Charles manage to make a mark when nobody else had?

Was it his niceties? His likeness? The fact that he pushed buttons but he didn't push the wrong kind? Was he, literally, the golden ticket to Erik's trust – the key to a gate that had rusted shut and remained cold to any outsiders all this time. Was he the exception?

God that sounded so sappy and cliché that Erik wanted to cringe into himself.

Erik didn't want to ponder it. Not right now. Not when he had given up at this point. He had stopped compressing Charles's chest at least 15 minutes ago – maybe ten minutes ago, maybe five minutes ago – he wasn't sure. He knew he had stopped, though. His arms ached. His hands were in fists and he was certain that if he unclenched his fingers, the nails would have left marks in his palms and maybe a few would have dug in and caused him to bleed.

But he didn't know what to do and that was what frustrated him. It irritated him and frightened him in equal measures.

After all, he always knew what to do. His father trained him to know what to do, but he couldn't do anything now. He couldn't.

Charles was gone and Erik didn't even know how that was. How it came to be. Why Leonardo came to the present and how he even left at the end. What the hooded figure in his peripheral even did.

All he knew was that Leonardo was here, the hooded man did something and then he took both of them away.

Erik was… tired. That was what he thought he was anyways. He felt tired but maybe tired wasn't the right word. He didn't know anymore. At this point he was waiting for Lucy or Sophia to come back, scream, and try to do what he had been trying to do for at least fifteen to thirty minutes (though time really was negligible to him now.) He was waiting for Desmond to come back and curse him out for being in charge of his friend and then losing him.

Permanently.

He was waiting for someone, anyone, who would come by and see what had happened and then feel the same emotions he was feeling. Or had felt before. Whatever the case really.

But he didn't know how long that would take.

He couldn't leave the room. There were no phones to call for help, no buttons or alarms. He was just stuck there, back against the bed, legs outstretched on the floor and head leaning against the edge, Charles stilled hand next to his head. His stilled hand that hardly moved.

It hadn't gone cold like his mother's had. It hadn't… he wasn't anything close to what she looked like when she passed away. It was still warm, still there, still present without any life running through it,

And if Erik had the energy, if he had the motive, if he had the belief that he could make a difference he would have immediately gotten up and started compressing that chest that had stilled and refused to move.

But he was tired. He was so, so tired. Tired to the point that he didn't care anymore what happened to him which was funny, wasn't it? The only reason he even cooperated was to get back at the men who had killed his mother. So, you would think that this wouldn't change things – that losing Charles was just collateral damage, a little fault, a little nothing that wouldn't change anything.

You would think, right?

He was just another subject. Just a weird person who had slithered into his heart with his friendship and his stupid crazy way of thinking and… Erik didn't know what to do. He hoped saying this a lot would spark something but it never did. He felt like he should brush it aside, like he should let this go and move on because Charles would probably want that but at the same time he couldn't.

He felt at fault. He felt that it was his fault that Charles was gone to begin with. That he didn't try hard enough. He didn't push Leonardo back quick enough. That he didn't do CPR well enough. He felt like he failed everything. That if he had done something a little bit different he could have saved him.

That he could have saved her.

If he had been quicker, if he had ran faster, if he hadn't even left home to begin with, he could have saved her. He could have kept his father from becoming empty. He could have kept his father from looking like a half of him was torn away and thrown into a pit of nothingness.

He felt if he had done something a little different…

He could have brought him back to life.

But, God, he was always too late. Always too late and it pissed him off beyond belief because no matter how much he fucking tried, he could never… he could never be on time.

"Damn it," he cursed, feeling a warmth behind his eyes he hadn't felt in a long time. It threatened, it chided and it made fun of him and he rose in hands in fair warning just to stop them, but they persisted and soon enough they fell. They fell and trickled and dribbled and dropped. He couldn't find the nerve to stop them.

He couldn't remember the last time he cried. Years? Decades? Ever?

It was… it was a mystery.

"Ha…" He didn't feel like laughing, but a small laugh choked out of him.

Look at me. Crying over a man I barely met a week ago. You let yourself go, Lehnsherr. What did your father teach you? To not get close to people. To not make acquaintances. To not make friends because they will always die in the end. You're not meant to have friends and this is more than enough proof to show you why.

"Ha ha…" he rubbed at the tears from his eyes, he rubbed at them but they kept coming back. "Damn it. So weak. If my father saw me here, he would… would he be ashamed? I don't even know. Hadn't seen him in a God..." he sighed. "Didn't matter. Doesn't matter. He's not here now. Can't picture a man I haven't seen in five years I suppose."

He brushed his hair back and stared at the ceiling, but his eyes were getting heavy. His eyes were getting heavy and they slowly fell. He tried to fight to keep them open. He tried to keep them open just in case someone ran through that door he could be awake and he would be able to tell them immediately what happened instead of them seeing and assuming that Charles was simply sleeping when he wasn't.

But he was so tired. He hadn't been this tired in a long time.

And his body shut down. It gave up on him. It turned him in. Placed him in a jail cell and told him that he wouldn't be released until he slept.

Well, what else was there to do?

This changed everything, didn't it?

When he woke up, he would be friendless. He'd have more enemies than he could count. He'd be thrusted into an Animus, into an ancestor's life he didn't want to see anymore if Charles couldn't be a part of it. And he would find their artifact, get his part of the deal, kill the men who were behind his mother's death, cast revenge, live the rest of his meaningless life.

Perhaps a rest was what he needed.

At least, it would be the last time he would be able to rest before everything. Before things fell apart. Before things went to hell – not that they haven't been already.

Erik allowed his eyes to fall shut. He allowed his hands to drop to his side before anxiously fidgeting and just resulting in crossing them across his chest. He fixed his position to where his head was casually against the bed but not in an awkward position that would leave a cramp in his neck in the morning.

Morning? Afternoon? Evening? Whatever time it was.

Then he slept. He slept but he didn't feel like he slept at all.

…

He woke up from his sleep because of an odd sensation. It wasn't from what he thought he was going to be woken up by. He expected screaming, yelling, punching. Some sort of pain stigma. He expected a good punishment. He expected Lucy crying, Desmond cursing, Vidic chiding him and telling him he was an assassin after all if he killed his best friend.

Best friend? When had it changed from friend in the first place?

But he didn't wake up from that. No. He woke up from something messing with his hair. It was a weird sensation and Erik didn't know how he felt about it.

It was… nice. It was really nice.

It reminded him of when he was younger and he was sick and his mother would comb through his hair and try to smooth it back, rubbing a cool cloth across his forehead in hopes of breaking a fever he was always too stubborn to let go. It reminded him of better times.

Then maybe that was why it woke him up. Because this wasn't better times. This was murder. This was loss. This was grief. This was not a good time to be thinking of how his mother used to… it wasn't a good time needless to say, but whatever it was that kept going through his hair and fingering every lock and spending more than enough time making sure his scalp was massaged as well for some weird reason. They didn't stop. It didn't stop and Erik didn't know if he wanted it to because he knew that the second he woke up, the second he thought about moving, the sensation would stop and he would have to face reality.

What would he do then?

So, he sat there and he let it happen. A part of him wanted to go back to sleep. Enjoy it while you can Lehnsherr. It's not going to come every day you know this. And then the other half wanted to wake up, confront the sensation, figure out who or what it was. Erik wasn't one to wait. Never was.

He opened his eyes.

He opened his eyes and he realized that in his sleep his head had tilted more so to Charles and it left a weird feeling in his neck despite what he hoped to achieve.

But that didn't matter when he noticed exactly what he was seeing.

Laying on the bed, face towards him was Charles.

Pale face. Blue eyes. Redder than normal lips. Hair that borderline spoke model, boy band, and some Justin Timberlake look-a-like all in one. And… his eyes, while they were an amazing color of blue – an amazing shade of blue – that wasn't what he meant when he mentioned his eyes.

He meant to say that they were open.

They were open and they were staring right at him. Directly at him with a sort of fond care that made Erik stutter, made his heart stop, and made tears want to come to his eyes all over again.

Charles was awake and he had a smile on his face. A sort of twisting emotion in his eyes that balanced fondness, a sort of affection, and some other emotion Erik couldn't place. And… it was…. He was… he was awake.

It took Erik a long time to figure that out.

It took Erik a moment shorter than that to realize that Charles was the one who was messing with his hair, that he was moving, that he was breathing, that he was alive.

Once he figured that out, everything seemed to return to normal speed if not faster.

In one swift movement, Erik jumped on the bed and placed his fingers against Charles's throat, checking for a pulse, finding a pulse, laughing, checking his heart, finding a beat, and laughing again. It was a crazy cycle that might have scared someone but Charles took it in stride. He didn't look weirded out. He didn't look like it was the weirdest thing that ever happened to him. He looked like he expected it. His eyes had that same look in them, that same happiness and as Erik felt the adrenaline drift off, he collapsed next to Charles on the bed but his hands still lingered on top of Charles's heart, feeling the heartbeat every time, feeling his chest rise every time, feeling life flow within him every single fucking time.

He needed that. Erik desperately needed that.

They were quiet for a while. Really quiet. Erik didn't know how to start. "Hey, you know, I thought you were dead for a second there. I mean, you actually did die. I kind of gave up with CPR a while ago because you didn't even respond thirty minutes ago I guess – and did you know that your ancestor came back and he's a really interesting guy. He kind of-" Yeah, no, there was no way to talk about it. There was no way to bring it up what had happened and Erik couldn't even begin to want to try.

But he didn't want things to be awkward.

In the end, he decided that it was easier to go the normal friend route – the route he had never taken before.

"How… How are you?" he asked.

Charles didn't speak for awhile and when he did speak his voice was a little scratchy. A little sore but otherwise fine. Very Charles's like with his usual awkward English accent. "I… I think I'm fine. At least, I think I would know if I wasn't fine, you know? I don't feel sick. I don't feel like I am dying. I am a little sore I admit. I think my mind is a little fuzzy and perhaps I'm due a couple of drinks, if you'd understand, but I think I am fine other than that."

He didn't ask why Erik asked that question. He seemed to know himself.

Erik pressured on slowly. "What happened? Why did that happen? Has this been happening for a while because when I first met you-"

Charles stopped him. "Yes, I know. When we first met I accidentally almost…" He sighed. "It's been happening for a while. There's this thing that goes around when you've been in the Animus too long. It's called the…. How do they say it… bleeding effect." He paused as if thinking hard about it before nodding firmly. "Yes, that's it. You know, usually it happens on the assassins because been in it so long but apparently I'm not excluded myself, either. For the past week, two weeks, probably a month – I don't quite know actually – I've been having this bleeding effect but it's not quite like the others. They don't… I don't bleed into my ancestor's life. He bleeds into mine and if I don't catch it quick enough, I'm pushed out of the controls and I'm forced to watch and see what he does. But, this time it was different." He took a deep breath and let it out in shuddery, shaky gasps. "This time it was very different. I assure you, Erik, this has never happened before. It never has, to my awareness. I'm usually able to get a grasp on him. I'm usually able to keep my body mine, but that couldn't- I couldn't do that this time for some reason. He took over and I was forced to watch and then as he kept remaining I felt my own consciousness falling back and I felt lost. I felt lost. I felt like… like I had been cast about and I couldn't find my way home. It was frightening."

Erik didn't like how his friend spoke. He didn't like how scared, how small the voice was. How he looked like a frightened child who had seen something he wasn't meant or ready to see.

Erik decided not to ask any more questions.

He decided that questions, an interrogation, was not what Charles needed after coming back from death. He needed comfort. He needed friendship. He needed…. A lifeline, an anchor.

Erik turned in the bed, rolled on his side, and beckoned for Charles.

The man looked concerned for a bit, a little hesitant. He seemed to know what Erik was asking but he was hesitant. Really hesitant.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Erik rolled his eyes. "If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't be offering, Charles. You clearly are shaken and while a part of me wants to ask you a million questions and one, this isn't the time I suppose. And I'm not good at being a comfort I guess. I have never had to comfort people I'm usually the one to… um… inflict pain so this is kind of the best I can do right now so."

Erik averted his gaze and opened his arms again.

Charles didn't hesitate this time and slowly scooted over until he was lying next to Erik but this time he turned on his side and threw his arm around Erik's midsection, hugging him close and pressing his face to his chest. Erik was slow to respond but he eventually enveloped Charles in his own arms, resting his chin atop his head. It took him a second to realize Charles was shaking.

"Charles?"

"I… ha," he laughed awkwardly though his voice was sick. "This is embarrassing, um, I swear I'm not usually this emotional. I, um, I guess it was a little bit of a traumatic experience, you know? I… I have never actually seen death before but I think I have and I don't know… I don't want to see it again. I don't feel safe in my own body and I think I just need a moment."

Erik understood that. Reminded him of when his father hugged him after he saw his mother. How he got on his knees and hugged Erik and when Erik asked what was wrong, his father shook his head and said he needed a minute. A minute to recollect his thoughts. Erik understood and so he allowed Charles to remain as he was.

He allowed him to shake and shiver and whenever he started to feel a certain wetness around his chest, he didn't bother to ask Charles why he was crying. He just let him cry because, after all that had happened, Erik couldn't seem to blame him. He wanted to cry himself, too.

Maybe everyone deserves a good cry now and then. Everyone from the nicest person physically in the world to a cold-blooded killer who had a vendetta that rivaled history.

Whatever it was, he thought they deserved a moment and that time, everything contradicted itself. Whereas before he wanted someone to come in, someone to help, now he didn't want anyone to come in at all.

It was clear Charles wasn't one to give into his emotions and cry so openly. He wanted to look okay. He wanted to look alright. He wanted to be fine.

Erik knew the second someone walked in Charles would put that face on and Erik would know he wasn't fine. Desmond might too if he came back.

So, Erik hoped no one came back for the time being because Charles wasn't fine and he needed a moment to accept that.

Longer than a moment.

Eventually, Charles fell asleep and Erik knew it was sleep and not death because his chest kept moving against his own. And he felt his heartbeat.

And something clicked in Erik at that moment. Something clicked but he couldn't put a name to it and as his hand rubbed Charles's back up and down in lazy movements, comforting movements, he realized that this feeling was something he never felt before.

And a part of him wanted to figure it out and a part of him was scared. And a whole part of him knew that it would change his life and perhaps this whole situation, the bribery, everything…

He didn't know how to feel about it.

But that was okay.

Erik sighed, prayed to a God he didn't believe in with thanks and gratitude, and closed his eyes, hugging Charles's tightly, and falling back to sleep with a lot less stress on his shoulders than he had before and more hope than he ever thought he was capable of holding.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

They decided not to mention it to Lucy, so.

Needless to say, Erik wasn't happy about it.

"Erik, I think you're overreacting a bit, my friend." And there it was. That soft tone that made him question if he was overreacting. A concerned tone that shouldn't be focused on him considering he wasn't the one who died and then, somehow through a god or some higher being, brought back.

With that in mind, was he really overreacting?

Perhaps but that didn't change the fact that it happened. It happened and Charles was pushing it off like it happened on a daily basis and he was just skipping through a field of fucking daisies.

It might A small voice told him. He said as far as he was aware it never happened. Who really knows?

Erik threw up his hands as he turned sharply to face Charles, previously pacing long enough that he was surprised not to see indentions in the floor. "Over- You think I'm overreacting?! You died, Charles. I checked your pulse and felt your heart and found nothing. The fact that you even came back at all is nothing short of a fucking miracle. Do you want this to happen again?" Do you want to do that to me again? "Lucy needs to know so it can be prevented-"

"Or I'm disposed of!" Charles interrupted, the fear cutting into his voice. "Erik, what do you think they do to subjects that are broken? Hm? What did you do when you broke your toys? You threw them away. You threw them into the bin and forgot all about them because they weren't useful anymore." Charles was twisting his fingers, and he couldn't seem to look Erik in the eye. "If we tell her, then it's like admitting that I'm broken. And I'm not! Broken that is."

"I didn't say you were-"

"But would they think or say the same? Can you peer into every single one of their heads and tell me with the utmost certainty that they won't think of me as a failed subject that needed to be taken care of? I can-" He quickly clamped his mouth shut, and shook his head as if dissipating the rest sentence.

Silence struck Erik as the roles were turned. Charles was now pacing, reaching up and yanking lightly on his locks and biting his lip.

Erik wondered what he was about to say. Wondered in that curiosity found when you know you were about to be let in on some huge secret no one else knew. It intrigued him, but at the same time, he knew what was going to be said. Flashbacks of Charles from the first day came to mind. The first day at the lunch table and there on (thought it happened rarely) when he spoke thoughts on a seeming lucky coincidence.

He had a feeling he was just throwing a guess into the dark, but he couldn't help but open his mouth to say, "You speak like you know what they think."

A shimmer of fear glanced off Charles's eyes.

Hit. Bulls-eye.

But that only lead to more questions in Erik's mind. Nothing was adding up and the answers were fraying in their connections.

As if a collar had been yanked by a leash, Charles stopped what he was doing. Completely. He had gone stock still and turned into a statue.

Then he laughed and, oh, was there a strangled note to it. Erik knew that note all too well, and he felt like he needed to sit down to take in what was to come. "That's ridiculous. Nobody can read minds, Erik. Do you realize how silly the idea is? This isn't a comic book, my friend. We don't have superpowers or any of that nonsense. We are human. Human and normal and with no sense of ability to it and-"

"Yet here you are rambling about something that you could have just said 'No' and moved on from. I only said it as a random suggestion and never truly believed it but now it seems I have to." Erik leaned against the wall, Desmond's papers crunching and rustling against the pressure. He thinned his lips and watched as Charles fidgeted under his stare. If he didn't want to look at Erik before he most certainly did not now. "You're getting defensive. Why would you get defensive about something not true, Charles? That's what is ridiculous here."

The man opened his mouth and closed it several times before settling on tight eyes and a locked jaw, unmoving to Erik's accusation.

Wasn't that funny? Funny in a "I probably should have expected this" kind of way. The way in which you knew something was wrong and, uncoincidentally, something was. Except in this case, it was not exactly wrong so much as off. Not normal. Different. Something that might have been nice to mention before he chose to instill a type of trust he rarely gave anymore.

Now, not being trusted wasn't what got to him. He didn't mind not being trusted. What he did mind was that Charles called him his friend and Erik to him as well, and yet he didn't think sharing this crucial fact that Erik's mind wasn't his around his supposed friend was necessary.

Funny, huh? Someone had decided to keep their cards close to their chest and, suddenly, it seemed like one of the aces were laid out for the open.

"Is there anything else I should know before we continue this conversation?"

Nothing was uttered so Erik continued.

"Fine. How long?"

Charles took a long-suffering sigh before muttering. "Since I came here. Or went into the Animus for the first time, anyways."

"Have you been able to tell what I have been thinking since I met you?" A redundant question but it needed to be asked. Erik needed the certainty. The validation at the least.

"Everything from the moment you met me." But Charles immediately threw out his hands and shook his head rapidly as if to dispel what he said, but was already Erik laughing humorlessly, rubbing a hand across his face. "But I choose not to on purpose! I only do it when I first meet people so I know their intentions. Please don't assume your thoughts haven't been safe around me."

"How would I know?"

And wasn't that the kicker? The question that brought down his friend's argument to its knees. Charles faltered, his hands lowering until they were hugging his sides tightly. "You… you wouldn't. Or couldn't – shouldn't, I don't know. It's… impossible for you to know for sure, Erik. You just have to trust me."

"Like you trusted me in the first place?"

He looked offended. He looked offended. God, Erik wanted to laugh so hard until his sides hurt but he was pretty damn sure he shouldn't be laughing at this unless he wanted to be diagnosed as clinically insane. "Hello, I'm Charles. I just want to warn you that maybe your thoughts might be read on occasion. It's kind of something I can't control and I don't want to lose you as a—" He stopped and bit his lip as Charles looked at him helplessly.

"Yes, Erik. Please. Continue that. How would I tell you this, exactly?" He was stepping closer and closer as his voice got lower. "From the second I met you, I knew about your mistrust. I knew how little you hold in others. Do you think I wanted to tell you the one thing that would more than likely pull you further from actually trying to hold a little bit of it? Yes, in hindsight, it would have been better if it was going to lead to this." He motioned between them and let out a sigh. "But while I can safely be accused of withholding information, I cannot, and will not, be wrongly accused of not holding your well-being as a person in accountability of my decision."

Erik didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything. He just stared at Charles as the man seemed to be looking for something in his eyes. He wondered if he sensed what Erik was thinking. If so, he would see that Erik was being carefully blank and there would be nothing.

But he couldn't hold the blankness forever. Especially when Charles reiterated, "You have to trust me."

There was that pleading look in his eyes. Pleading and guilty and Erik might be damned to hell if the Devil ever enticed him with such a look.

He could feel his resolve slowly crumble and he might have sighed and nodded his acceptance if the door hadn't hissed open with Desmond walking in, looking drained and irritated beyond the word. Lucy was trailing after him, hands pinching the bridge of her nose. Erik's focus on the previous argument drifted to the back of his mind as his curiosity was peaked.

It seemed like he wouldn't be told what happened, though, because Lucy was already motioning for the two of them

"Erik. Charles. Come on. I'll take you both back to your rooms."

"We don't get to talk to him, Lucy?" Erik asked with a raised brow.

"Yeah, they don't get to talk to me? Are you going to take that from me, too? Should I be worried about them? Huh? From what you told me, perhaps I shouldn't even let you take them from this room!"

Lucy sighed. "Desmond don't start with that-"

"Or what? What are you going to do? Are you going to dispose of me, too?"

"I don't know, alright? I don't know what I will do, but Erik and Charles, please come with me before I do lose my patience and use the drug and drag your bodies. Trust me when I say that I will use it if I have to and not at all happily before you decide to add that to your argument, Desmond." She sent a pointed glare at the man when his mouth clicked shut.

Erik shared a look with Charles that spoke "We are not done talking about this" and then shared a small nod with Desmond before walking out of the room, the door hissing shut. A second later, Erik heard a loud thump against the wall, shuddering a few things on the wall that weren't secure. Lucy just closed her eyes and sighed as she strode on.

Charles was dropped off in his room with little event, but before the same was done to Erik, Lucy grabbed his arm.

"We need to talk."

Erik rose a brow. "You don't say. What about this time?"

She ran a hand through his hair, and it was then that Erik realized that her shadows seemed darker than when he saw her earlier that day. In fact, she looked like death had rolled in. A death-like exhaustion that came with pulling all-nighters for something that had to be done and done correctly and done that very same day it was given. It was an exhaustion Erik recognized very well from when he was with his father.

The exhaustion of a workaholic.

He decided to tone down the sarcasm. "Is something wrong?"

A laugh. Humorless. Clipped. Strained as all hell. "Funny you should say that. Can't I just talk to a friend?"

"I'm a friend now?" His tone wasn't mocking. Not this time. It was genuine surprise. For all he was worth, Erik was a pain in the ass on his best of days so the fact that he earned the friendship from the lady he basically said looked as unappetizing as scum the first day he arrived was making him wonder what these people thought friends did. "I didn't realize I got the upgrade. Perhaps you should have sent me a memo."

He was trying for humor – something that really wasn't his forte really – but it had no effect. Lucy didn't even reply to this, but the pointed look she sent to the cameras was all he needed to be told the gist of the situation.

They worked their way through several hallways, all with a keypad or card swipe, before she got to a door that only had a simple door knob.

She opened it and Erik realized this must be her room. Or, at least, what should be a room. It looked more like a hurricane had been designated to this one area. Told to destroy, hurl and obliterate every single item it could get its hands on. The comforter was tossed haphazardly onto the ground. Papers littered whatever leftover flooring was left, centering around a clutter on her desk. The TV was on, the news muted with subtitles being the only hint as to what was going on in the world.

It was a controlled chaos if ever such a thing existed.

Lucy motioned in the general area of the bed. "Sit anywhere you like. I'm getting a bottle of water. You want one?"

Erik sat on the bed and nodded. Not a second later a bottle was tossed at him to which he caught with ease and twisted the cap. Taking a swig, he wiped his mouth, watching as Lucy plummeted in the only armchair in the room. No care was given to the crinkling papers underneath her.

"Cameras?"

She shook her head. "Not this room. As paranoid as the system is, they don't necessarily care about the rooms their employees sleep in oddly enough. They'll monitor what you watch and do on any piece of electronic equipment but that's it. They don't seem to think of us as a threat."

"Strange," Erik said. "What if you were conspiring a mutiny?"

A strange glint came to her eyes. "Then they would never know."

The atmosphere shifted. Erik leaned on his knees, placing the water bottle on the ground as he focused his attention solely on Lucy. The same person who earlier today (or maybe was it yesterday? Time was weird in this place) said that she had to be careful to keep her job here. Now she seemed to be going off the deep end. Straight into suicide with what Erik was gathering.

"I don't know what you're considering, but you should stop it." He said this slowly, watching as her eyes widened a fraction before narrowing in irritation. "You're in no position to get leverage here. Whether you have people on your side or not."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she hissed but Erik knew her better.

"You said we were friends. I think I can safely call you the same with how you chose to help Charles and myself today. As friends, care to tell me what the hell happened today? I am just wondering because from what I'm getting the hint of, I think something big happened and something that is going to change a lot around here. Something that may compromise yourself and those you… may be friends with or close anyways. So, tell me. You know, as a friend."

"As friends," she said slowly, and then she laughed as she shook her head. "I guess I have to tell you that it seems Abstergo no longer offers subjects to use the Animus voluntarily."

"Did they ever?"

She gave him a look. "Not for you, no. But for those who weren't stone-cold pricks with a sharp tongue asking for a punch in the face, then yes they were given the option to opt out, so to speak, for a time later on that day or even the following day if time permitted it. We want to reach our goal, Erik, but we don't want to run our subjects into the ground before we get to it."

Whatever. Erik waved his hand. "Continue."

"Something has shifted in the system, and they are now to run any and all subjects until they are physically and mentally incapable. By that, they mean that they will ruin the subjects to get the end goal. I'm suspecting a time constraint. The… higher ups were always on the fence about this program and they might be losing hope and threatening to shut this down."

"You keep saying they. Are you not a part of this?"

"If you decide to be a smart ass, then yes I am a part of it simply because I work here. But in my opinion? I don't approve of it, no. I didn't even know about it until Desmond was in the Animus."

Erik leaned back a little. "Yeah, what did happen with him?"

Lucy shrugged. "A lot needless to say but that's not the point. From the moment I saw what was happening, I no longer approved of their methods. I guess what I am saying is that from this moment on I am going rogue."

"Rogue?"

"I have some friends who are willing to help. They… never did approve of my career, but they are more than willing to help me personally and those close to me. I want to get you, Desmond and Charles out but in order for that to happen we need to find out how close to finding the artifact they are."

That sounded a little fishy. Erik didn't understand. "Why is that?"

"If they are closer, they will get cocky and excited, which will leave the possibility of them being a little reckless. We want that. Normally, I would sneak you all out the door with some stealth done on all our parts, but it's a bit more difficult with three people if you understand."

"Yeah, I get it." Erik finished the water bottle and capped it, throwing it to the nearest bin. It bounced off the edge and landed next to it. Well.

Ignoring the strange look Lucy was giving him, he decided to ask the most vexing question. "So, what are we going to do until then? Play the good little assassin and assistant? I'm not sure I can do that, Ms. Stillman. I'm still in my reckless teenage rebellion years, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know. Trust me. But that's what you're going to have to do until we know for certain. At least for tomorrow's session. They want to put you in again because of your breakthrough. I warn you, things may not go well."

"And if it does?" What then?

"Then I can't do anything except act as protocol is given to me. I cannot afford favoritism. I am allowed such for Desmond because he is my subject, but for you it will look out of place if I decide to show compassion. You're just going to have to soldier through it, I'm sorry to say."

That wasn't too much of a problem. Erik was used to that. Soldiering through everything. He had done so all his life so adding a little more strength to the mix would only just make things a pinch more difficult. No problem. He could handle that.

"Don't apologize. You have to do your part. I'll do mine. Just be sure that this is what we are doing. I'm throwing away what I wanted from you, the information you promised to give me, for this. I hope you know what you're doing."

Lucy said nothing and as she led Erik back to his room and the door hissed shut, Erik realized that she could have given him the information right then and there if she was truly going rogue. She could have told him the names when he was talking to her.

So, why didn't she?

…

"You ready, Erik?" Sofia asked from her station and Erik nodded, neck sore from the animus behind him. He had already been in the system once but they pulled him out because of a machine problem that almost slammed him into the ground. Apparently, that still wasn't enough of a sign for them to maybe shut the trials down that day, but that was fine with him.

Or, at least, it would be if his neck wasn't the main victim of the whole thing. It made wearing the machine at all painful as all hell and it wasn't like he could reach behind him and rub it with how his arms were already in place with the blades.

Cursing, he watched as the woman muttered a few things under her breath before sending a vicious glare to Vidic, who had a carefully blank expression on his face for once. Didn't hurt so much after the first time his ass.

"Okay. Initializing Animus. Everyone step back."

Erik stared at his hidden blades, wondering just how far they went back as the area around him shifted. Shifted and stuttered and, suddenly, it didn't feel like anything.

….

"You have got to be kidding me, insegnante."

"I am not. You know by now that everything I teach you is of use. You performed the leap of faith perfectly, Nicolo. I fail to see why you can't do the same here."

"Forgive me for saying, but this is ridiculous."

Ezio's lip quirked upward. "Your opinion is noted. Still, I expect you to perform this as well as your other tasks, il mio studente."

Nicolo stared anxiously at the building in front of him. It looked like any other building in Florence, and maybe that was what made him anxious. Even with how normal it was, he knew what type of building it was – what kind of business was performed here. As it were, he could see a few le donne out of the corner of his eye, watching them with curiosity and giggling. Ezio seemed completely unaware of their stare, but Nicolo wasn't so blind.

"Perform what? You never told me what we were doing here." Nicolo stared with exasperation at his mentor. "You scared the life out of me by jumping on my bed this morning with a knife that I was, luckily, able to deflect in time and then you had the nerve to just smile and say that colazione was ready and that we have duties to do. That doesn't tell me much, Ezio."

"That's because he's a man of little word and more action."

Nicolo jumped and noticed the small smirk on Ezio's face as he turned to face a woman who looked to hold as much authority as the word allowed. The head dress covered most of her hair and the long dress whatever left there was except for an obvious part of her chest.

Now, Nicolo wasn't the type of flush shyly at a little skin, but for some reason he felt like she was criticizing him as he did so.

"Paola," his mentor spoke, still smiling. "A pleasure as always."

"Likewise," a small smile adorned her face as she looked at Ezio, but it quickly fell when she looked at him. He could feel how her eyes lingered on every inch of him, assessing his worth like he was a possible threat. "Who is this? I was not informed that you have a son. You're barely old enough to be a father as it is."

A low laugh rumbled behind him. "No. No, you misunderstand. This is my... student. The same has occurred as what did to myself. I'm trying to teach him, however, there are some subjects that can only be taught by you and your courtesans."

"Ah, you flatter me. Still, come. Come along. I assume you have things to do, so I will make this as quick as I can manage. You are lucky that my girls are currently free."

"Thank you, Paola."

She hummed in response as they followed her through the door. There seemed to be more women than what was giggling outside, and Nicolo decided to resolutely stare at the ground, trying not to focus on where they were and what these women did. He wanted to avenge his family, not leisure in… this. Normally, he would be all grins with the maximum amount of charm he could muster.

But things have changed since those days and he was finding himself shifting uncomfortably to avoid their hungry looks and stravagante dresses that didn't seem to quite count as such in the first place.

A small hand on his shoulder stopped him and when he turned around, there was a girl no older than he was. Her hair was pinned up and the dress more than a little revealing.

"Hello, my name is Alina. May I ask what a handsome man as yourself is doing in this place?" She purred, curling her fingers around his chin and watching his lips with an intensity Nicolo wasn't sure how to react to.

"I-"

"Oh, you can't keep this one to yourself. He deserves all the attention he can get," Added a voice behind him, a slightly younger woman walking up with a smirk as she waved her curly hair behind her shoulder and grabbed his arm. "Julia is my name, darling."

"I really shouldn't-"

Before he knew it, he had at least six women – or was it seven? He kept losing count and was at this point staring at the ceiling as if praying for God to grant him mercy from this torture exercise he couldn't free himself from.

"Girls. That is enough." He turned his head to see Paola, staring at him with an amused expression as was his mentor. They seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. Of course, they would.

Gradually, the women left him with more than a few lingering touches and a lot of moans of regret.

"Nicolo de Altimari, correct? Follow me."

Nicolo followed her until he was outside, the girls from before staring at him once again. They were more like the women he saw around the city. Covered in thin fabric and light clothing.

"This isn't useful. Sofia, fast forward us, please. I fail to see how this is beneficial to our goal." Vidic muttered under his breath. Erik could imagine Sofia leveling him with a glare at this remark – probably with a look questioning either his sanity, his intelligence or both.

"But, sir, going further could cause him to desynchronize. We can't push him very far."

The tone was less patient. In fact, it was cold and precise in his argument. "Could cause. It doesn't mean that it would. I expect it to happen. We did not come here to watch a scene as this."

"But-" Sofia tried to say but something must have silenced her.

"Now, Sophia."

There was a certain bite in her voice, a crack of a whip, as she muttered lowly and with much regret, "...Yes, sir."

Erik came back briefly when his vision seemed to be watching a movie on fast forward. He had to force himself to breathe, had to remind himself that he had to keep breathing and not to worry. It was hard. Harder than it should be. It was breathing for God's sake. No one should have to remember to breathe.

"Vitals peaking."

Were they now? Well, he wondered why when he was pulled out of a simulator and yet not. His brain was probably wondering what the hell was happening to him. Was he in Venice or was he in the facility? Was he just talking to Paola or should he be focused on sending snarky comments to Vidic, as what had become accustomed to him. When taking in this massive conflict, it really wasn't that surprising that his heart was going a mile a minute and trying to catch up on this guessing game.

Breathe, Erik. Breathe. You can do it. One two three. One two three. Easy as… well, breathing.

"Just a little longer, Erik. Hold on."

Easier said than done. He bit in his thoughts, counting in his head. He wasn't going to desynchronize. He wasn't. He was stronger than that. He had been trained to be stronger than that.

"Miss Sofia." One of the techs were warning, his voice rising an octave too high for a man past puberty. It was the sound of fear.

Erik didn't like that sound. He didn't like what it could entail.

Sofia seemed to be feeling the same thing because her voice had drifted to frantic desperation, fingers flying across the keys judging from the top-speed clacking of a keyboard. "I know. One moment. We are almost there."

Almost where? Where did they want to go? Clearly not where he was placed before, or the time before that, or the time before that. At this point, he was expecting them not to be happy with the next destination. He was flying through time. It was like he was time-traveling but without the control he wished he had.

Flying through time was only fun when it didn't cost you your health and sense of willpower. Erik had figured this out quickly.

He almost wanted to laugh when Sofia let out a sigh of relief. "And… there! Start simulation!"

New images came to him and he was gone too fast to focus on their existence and maybe tell them this was a bad idea.

…

He was running. Running and climbing and that arrow had been far too close for comfort. When had they gotten good at their aim? Last he knew they were lucky to even land it within an arms-length of him. Somebody was taking lessons and they were, regrettably, paying off.

A laugh choked out of him as soldiers piled up at the ground below and yelled at him to get down. Really? Get down? Please. Nicolo wasn't so stupid as to believe they would just let him walk off. The second he jumped down they would be on him with swords and sabers ready to attack.

It wasn't that he feared them – because he wasn't. They were just a bunch of bambini with swords and unintelligible speech. Things he could get by and block easily had he the time and the strength.

But he couldn't fight at the moment. As it was, his leg seemed to be heavy and threatening to become nothing more than another leaden weight he had to drag around. Climbing in itself was becoming a tiring endeavor, even if the years of practice had aided in his growing strength. Resilience couldn't change the fact that he was bleeding and quite a lot at that. If he trudged home like this, Claudia would not be proud of him. He could hear her screeching now – "Are you getting sangue sul pavimento?! You better be ready to clean it up then, monello, because I know I am not!"

Pulling himself onto the rooftop, he made his dash from roof to clothing line to roof. He dodged any soldiers patrolling the top and ignored those who had more endurance than others and chased him.

It was quickly becoming tiring for Nicolo, though. He never understood how, after injuries far more taxing than his own, Ezio managed to still outrun everything and remain in full health. It was something he never taught Nicolo before he left. He hoped that when his mentor returned he could ask him, but it had been a few years now, and Nicolo wasn't getting any younger. He was already 25 now, six years since the mentor found him – and two since he had left –, and he still hadn't casted his full revenge.

But Ezio gave him a list. A list of people he was to go after to fulfill this urge.

He had just gone after Fiasco de Gretani, a short man with too much money and had enough guards to fuel a battalion. It was testing getting to him, but he was gone now. Dealt with. He wouldn't have to worry about him anymore.

His heart didn't feel that much lighter but maybe that would change when the list was completed.

There were only 3 names left at this point. Three names and then… well, Nicolo didn't know what he would do then.

An arrow flying by his head pulled him out of his thoughts as he hesitated before jumping into a pile of hay he spotted on the way to the assassination.

He cursed as he landed wrong, his leg pulsing with anger, but muffled it when he heard the men yell to find him. They checked around and poked at the hay, but they never poked him and, after a minute, they left. Nicolo let out a breath of fresh air.

Finally. That took a little bit longer to shake off. No doubt his animosity was compromised now. They would be looking for him everywhere – especially with who he killed and the status he had.

He rolled out of the hay and dusted off the strays that hung on his uniform. He didn't understand why they couldn't land in anything else. Ezio never explained and nobody else seemed to know the answer either. All he knew was that it was like sand and fine dirt – it got everywhere and stuck in every single hole it could find. Of course, if he mentioned this to his mentor, he would tease him for being a bella ragazza for needing the "nicer things life could muster" or something similar.

In his opinion, something nicer than hay might have saved his leg from landing wrong and then throbbing like it had a heart of its own that needed to be taken care of.

His leg was positively lead at this point. He felt like he was dragging a child hanging off him.

There was a headache brimming and the city seemed to be moving in directions that it shouldn't be doing. Perhaps his leg was worse than he thought.

Peering at it, he cursed as he noticed how his trousers were completely soaked. Soaked and stuck to his leg like a second skin he'd have to fight to get off. But it wasn't water that held it down, though that would have been nice. No, it was blood. His blood.

He glared at the injury but it didn't help at all. Why would it? Nicolo just hoped that the trousers would clog up the bleeding so he doesn't bleed out before he got back to the villa. Ezio and Mario both would scold him until his ears were red.

A sigh escaped his lips as he forced himself to move again. Whatever. He couldn't do anything about it now. He had to get back to the villa before anything could be done. Consequences and all.

Crossing into a street, he tried to force his leg to walk more normal like though he was still given glances. Murmurs spread around him and he wondered if he should just sit it out and wait, maybe finding a well or stream somewhere to clean this because it was getting ridiculous. As it were, he still didn't know how he got the injury. The adrenaline had been too strong for him to feel it until he was fleeing.

Sighing, he dodged a man carrying boxes on his shoulders and continued to trudge on, seeing the exit of the city in his sight. Won't be long now. He could make it. He had worse.

Things never went as planned, though.

"Please. Spare me! I didn't do anything!" A woman pleaded and Nicolo felt his feet come to a stop as he turned and was met with a woman being cornered by several men. "Mi dispiace. For what it is I did, I am sorry, signori."

Nicolo looked around at the people around him. Children were chasing each other and winding themselves through passing adults. Women chattered excitedly and men grumbled about hard labor and anything they found interesting. The crowds still moved. Nobody spared her a second glance.

"Mio dio," he cursed under his breath before making his way over casually to the men.

"Perhaps you should leave the woman be. What has she done to you?" Nicolo greeted when he was in distance before quickly jabbing his hidden blade in the side of the most threatening man – some brute who looked like he had done nothing but train all his life. The other 3, briefly stunned, quickly jumped into action, unsheathing swords and pointing them wearily at him.

Nicolo just shrugged and flicked his hidden blades, clenching his fists. He glanced at the woman who still hadn't fled. "Si prega di ascoltare me. Right now, you should be leaving. Your safety cannot be guaranteed here. I advise you to go home or somewhere safer while I deal with these farabutti."

The woman nodded, repeating her thanks several times before scurrying off.

Nicolo felt his leg throbbing below him. He wouldn't be able to move much. He would have to make the best of his efforts and hope that these men wouldn't alert any of the others.

The first man made his attack, jabbing at Nicolo. Side stepping, Nicolo watched the sword glide past him and spun, knocking into the man and smacking his wrist hard, causing him to drop the sword. He ended the combat with his blade slicing across the man's neck, his body falling lifelessly to the ground.

Nicolo stared at the man with a tinge of regret. He knew he couldn't revel in it long. Nevertheless, he found a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Usually, he wasn't the kind of man to kill the men after him unless they were the names on his list. After all, these men were just doing their job, but right now he wanted nothing more than to get back to the villa. That was all he wanted. He didn't want men chasing him. He didn't want any of that. They should have just let the woman be.

"Who's next?" He turned to the other two. They shared a glance and took a step back.

Can't have any of that now.

He ignored the pains in his calf as he made a dash to them, ducking as their blades both made an attack at him. Twisting his torso, he extended his arms outward and watched out of the corner of his eye as the blades connected with a shoulder and a neck. They both fell but while one died immediately, the other one was gasping and groaning. Nicolo rolled his eyes and kicked the man. "Stop complaining and I'll let you live. I'm not in the mood, bastardo."

"Help me…" he groaned and Nicolo delivered another kick, wincing at the vibration that rolled up.

"Essere tranquillo. You're really testing my patience here."

"Then perhaps you should have just left them to be in the first place, assassin. No one asked you to play the hero this day," a voice murmured behind him and something slammed down on his head. Nicolo only had a moment to mutter about his luck before he felt his vision being consumed by black.

….

He truly just wanted to go home. Was that too much to ask?

Well, literally, yes. Yes, that might be too much to ask because home had been stripped from him. Family being gone and everyone he ever knew being here and there or everywhere. Every valuable memory tarnished and each item that might hold a glimmer of happiness broken and lost. Home wasn't where it used to be for him.

But what of his little home? His adottato casa? The little home he made from the well-known truth of not having one? Was it too much to ask to return to that?

To that, he didn't have an answer.

There was a pulsing pain in his skull like when he landed wrong in one of his runs or the occasional moments incubi awoke him with the hard flooring forcing him back. It wasn't a new sensation Nicolo had experienced, but it was definitely an unpleasant one. It was unrelenting and the man wondered aimlessly if it would deter his fighting any more than before.

Perhaps he shouldn't be focusing on fighting when he didn't know where he was in the first place.

His mentor's voice drifted in the background. Focus, Nicolo. If you allow your emotions and pain to take a small portion of your attention, it will swallow you whole and everything will be blinded by assumed priority.

Groaning, Nicolo woke up and was met with nothing but black.

Nicolo expected this and presumed to test his bonds around his wrists. They were chains and clasps that Nicolo, sadly, couldn't shake himself out of. His legs, however, were free though that might be due to the injury he sustained.

Generous, he thought quietly, wondering if he even had a leg at all at this point.

His fingers itched to move around and see what he could find but a voice stopped him. "I would suggest you not move."

He rolled his injured leg out of retaliation and was surprised to find it still there. In fact, it felt as if it had been bandaged but that was impossible to tell without light.

Light wasn't necessary to talk, though. "Says who?"

"A woman in the same position," she grumbled begrudgingly, clearly not happy with her situation. "You're just lucky, il compagno. You were dragged in today. I am not entirely sure how lengthy my stay has been, but I imagine I have been here longer."

"Really?" He was interested in this stranger and tried to focus on her but the darkness was too strong for his vision to pierce. "I don't mean to offend, but women are rarely in here unless they are a threat or… used for other talents."

"Do you believe me to be a woman of the brothel?" There was offense in her tone despite what he said.

He fought a smile. "No. I was simply saying that you must be quite strong or good at your skill to be treated the same as I am. Makes me wonder who you are and what you were doing."

"You are good at mending your words I see. Nevertheless, I'm not so open. After all, the same could be said for you," she scoffed.

Nicolo shrugged. While he did have more than half a lifetime he couldn't reveal, he had nothing to hide if all she wanted was a name and his motives. "I'm more than willing to spare my name if you do the same, as well as what brought me here. But before I tell, what is our purpose here exactly?"

There was silence before she murmured softly. "Are you one of them?"

"Of them?"

"The assassins," she hissed, and he blinked before narrowing his eyes in the direction of her voice.

"Well, that depends. Are you?"

There seemed to be a tense, thick layer of glass between the two of them. It was thick yet if either of the two of them were to speak, it would break easily. Nicolo had been trained by one of the best that he knew. His patience, while nothing to marvel, was better than most.

The woman's, however, was not and she soon faltered. "Yes. Or, rather, I was. I've been… taking a break, if that is what you want to call it. I've lost family in my past and I'm trying to locate them if they have not yet passed."

Nicolo hummed. "I wish you luck on your endeavors should we get out of this place. I am also one. An assassin. I'm not here for the same circumstances, however. My family was killed long before I got here. I'm trying to cast my vengeance. It is a simple course of action."

"Simple?" She laughed and Nicolo chuckled with her.

All humor dropped as the door creaked open, revealing a silhouette of a man. With a snap of the finger, two men appeared behind him and proceeded to light the lamps. The room was cast in a yellow glow. It was enough to see who the intruder was (as well as to note that his leg was indeed bandaged, though for what purpose he still didn't know.)

The man seemed to be a captain of sorts. Someone with authority and power but not a leader he was after. There was a twitch in his brow as he stared at Nicolo, and Nicolo was almost tempted to smile and wave at the man if he could, even if it caused him to get assaulted in the process. Ezio had instilled in him his sarcastic attitude and taunts – something that didn't keep him out of trouble so much as got him into it.

He wasn't aiming to get into more trouble. Nicolo wanted answers and for that to happen he needed to play nice for the time being.

"Where is he?"

Nicolo rose a brow. Perhaps being nice wasn't one of his many talents after all. "Where is who? My father? Dead. My friend? Probably painting the meaning of life as we speak. You really must be more specific if you wish to know your answer." The woman snickered under her breath and the man in front of him seemed to be taking deep breaths.

"Where is Ezio Auditore?"

At this, the woman stopped. Nicolo wanted to look at her, see what she looked like, but he was too busy watching the man in front of him.

There was a certain strain in his eyes. His mentor has caused something. Of course, he did. Being around the man as much as he had, Nicolo would have been surprised if he did anything peacefully. It was why they got along so well. Both action takers. Rarely were they decent at waiting.

"I haven't seen him."

"You lie. You were his student. We've seen you trail after him. You know where he is."

"I wish I did, but I haven't seen him in 4 years. I truly have no idea where the man could be, but I am incredibly curious as to what he did to make you come all the way after me."

It appeared that was the last straw. Taking a step forward, the man lifted his foot and stomped on Nicolo's injured leg. He yelled out, vision going white with the flaring pain as the man twisted his boot directly where the cut was.

"See, you really shouldn't tempt me, Nicolo. I'm sure you wonder who I am and I will gladly give an answer because what are the odds of you leaving this place alive?" The man laughed. "Very slim I am regretting to tell you. Or am I? I don't think you can be regretful for an act you thrive to perform. Nevertheless, my name is Dante Moro."

He lifted his foot and air suddenly filled Nicolo's lungs as he could breathe.

"Damn you," he cursed before adding. "I don't know where he is. I speak the truth."

"Not all of it," the man seethed back, getting closer until he was in front of Nicolo. His fingers tilted his face up until he met the man's gaze directly. Nicolo was tempted to spit in his face and watch his reaction but he was still trying to get his breathing back to normal. "You know where his spots are. Where he hides and what he does. You know this. You lie if you say that you don't know where he is."

"He left the city," Nicolo uttered, breathing making his voice ragged. "He left to pursue a mission I do not know the details of. That is all I am willing to tell you. I will not betray my mentor even if it means giving up my life."

Dante tilted his face before dropping Nicolo's face. "That can be arranged. Men, inform the executioner that two nooses will need to be strung up by noon today. The both of you will be hung since I see no use for either. I hope you have prepared your place in hell." With that, the door slammed shut. The lamps were still lit, thank god, but Nicolo was too busy focusing on his injured leg.

The woman had been quiet since Dante came in but now she spoke. "You know Ezio?"

He sighed. "Yes. I know of him. Why do you ask?"

She huffed. "No reason."

The silence followed absolutely but before it finished she murmured. "You never did tell me your name and why you were here."

Nicolo leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "You're right. I didn't. Well, I suppose I should give introductions. Paola would give me her glare of disappointment if I didn't. Especially in the presence of another woman." He let out a breath of air, the thrumming in his leg pulsing to life every so often. "My name is Nicolo de Altimari. I was here because one of the men responsible for the death of my family was here, and I wanted to kill him."

"Did you?" She coughed. "What I mean to ask is… did you kill him?"

Visions of a man dying in his arms and glaring at the sky like it was its fault for his fate came to the front of his mind. "Yes. He's dealt with. Gone."

"I see."

He waited for her to speak her name but she never did. "What about you? Why are you here?"

She gave a strained chuckle which sounded weird. Like she was holding back something or like she was laughing at the irony of the situation. "Well, I was here because I caught wind my fratello might be here. Of course, with my relations to the man, I was ambushed and embarrassingly captured."

He opened his eyes and turned his head to stare at the woman but she wasn't looking at him.

"And you're name?"

At last, she looked at him and Nicolo felt his heart come to a stutter with the familiar determined stare he hadn't seen in years. Hadn't seen since… since the night before everything went upside down. "Corina de Altimari. You've grown since I've last seen you, fratello."

"How is this important? Can you go any further?" Vidic's voice interrupted with more annoyance than before. Clearly, he didn't find this as interesting as Erik was finding it to be.

"Sir, with all due respect, I guarantee that if we go further than this he will have an attack. We cannot risk it. We must wait it out. I assure you that there is something here. The coding potential of his memory showed that there would be something here." Sofia muttered and Erik thought that might have shut the man up – it would definitely get rid of any argument he had probably – but the man seemed to be thriving on an impatience few had and everyone hated.

"I did not come here to watch a family reunion."

"And you are not. Not for long. Just wait and see." Everything went quiet and Erik was finally able to focus on Nicolo again, though it seemed the man was having problems focusing himself.

It took Nicolo a few minutes to respond and when he did his voice had shrunk. It was small and weak and frail and lacked everything he had built up when he was certain she was gone. "You're alive."

"You never did see a body, did you?"

It wasn't the explanation he wanted. He wanted to know how she was here. He wanted to know why she didn't come for him sooner. He wanted to know so much, but he settled with one question. "But then what happened?"

She looked away at this. "When mother and father were killed, I was sleeping. We had practiced that day, remember? I was exhausted, but once I heard mother's screams I woke up. The men who had done it were gone and the deed was done. I fled to chase after them but they were gone. When I returned, you were in your room, unconscious and Leonardo was with you. I managed to ask the maestro to go to the house when I accidentally ran into him in my chase. We carried you back to his workshop and, well, you know the rest."

Anger was slowly simmering in his chest and Nicolo fought to keep it down. "Why didn't you stay? Why didn't you try to stay with me?"

She shook her head sadly. "I couldn't. You have to understand my methods now, Nicolo. You needed to be put under a wing that could make you stronger and better. If I was there, if I had stayed, you would have only grown in a world with paranoia and anxiety of losing your last living family. I needed you to take the anger, the fear and the grief and become what you were always meant to be."

"An assassin," they murmured together and Nicolo felt some of the weight shift off his shoulders but not all of it. It would never be all of it.

They had remained quiet for a long time that when Dante returned hardly a word had been uttered. Even less was murmured as they were both dragged away. The sunlight met their gaze with a sharp intensity Nicolo had to squint at. Ahead of them were the ropes meant for them.

He didn't realize until now that his hidden blades had been stripped from him. That he had no weapons. He could fight with his fists but with his leg as damaged as it was, he wouldn't get far.

"Do not lose hope, fratello." His sister had barely moved her lips but he heard this clearly. She was shorter than him now but the fearlessness of her nature was still strong as ever.

"I won't."

When the ropes were placed around their necks, Nicolo glanced around the perimeter. It felt fruitless. Felt like he was just looking for a little bit of hope. He didn't dare say that it didn't exist because it very well may and he just couldn't see it.

The man in front of him was dragging their names through the mud but he didn't care. Not at the moment. He never quite understood why they couldn't just talk as the ropes were placed around their necks or beforehand. Glares as they walked by would be a lot more intimidating than the second they start with the noose around their neck. At that point they were literally above them so how was that supposed to make them cower in shame?

Well, Nicolo wasn't about to give them ideas. That wouldn't do so well for himself after all.

At least this way it gave them more time.

For what? He didn't know.

"…may their souls follow the place where their deeds prosper." Those were the final words. Well. What was Nicolo to expect at this point? Finally, he found his sister – who wasn't dead by the way – and then be sent to a death sentence? Seemed more his forte than not.

His day was only getting more interesting. He wondered how it could get any better.

The man turned and nodded to the executioner. The man lifted his hand on the lever.

Nicolo closed his eyes.

He thought he heard Corina murmur a soft prayer.

The people were silent.

The city took a deep breath, like the first night Nicolo stood with Ezio – the mentality of vengeance still thick on his mind and the forefront of his endeavors.

He was waiting for it to breathe out.

But nothing happened.

Nicolo opened his eyes quickly as a scream rang throughout the crowd. He only had enough time to see that there was now a knife stuck in the executioner's neck before the man fell. Suddenly, there were two assassins behind them, each cutting off the binds on their wrists and the rope around their neck.

A familiar face met his with a smirk already on his face. "Did you really think I would leave my student to this?" A sword was tossed to him as he turned and quickly deflected the attack of a few soldiers. The other assassin turned out to be Mario, who, despite his age, was moving like he was as young as Nicolo.

"Fratello! Now isn't the time to exchange pleasantries. We need to help them." Nodding, he adjusted his hold on the sword and only had a split second to react before Dante had his sword on his own, anger flashing through his eyes.

He couldn't move as fast as he wanted. He knew he couldn't overpower Dante and his sister must have realized the same for she quickly situated herself beside him, her sword out.

A wicked grin was on her face as she whispered excitedly. "Like old times? Working together and testing the limits?"

He found himself not being able to hold back his own grin. "Of course."

They parried with Dante as his sword danced with theirs. When it seemed that Nicolo would be taken down, Corina would jump in and quickly avert the attention to her until he saw his moment to strike. Between the two of them, they were able to maintain their endurance fairly well. The same, however, couldn't be said for Dante.

"You… you…" he muttered, sending another attack that his sister easily blocked. Nicolo found his opening and sent a slash straight to the man's side. Dante was slow to act. Too slow. Blood was soaking into his uniform as he turned to protect his injury.

Carina retorted with another attack to his arm. Gradually, they traded off cut after cut, some small and some deep until the man was staggering.

Just when they thought they would get him, a group of soldiers jumped onto the stage, blocking their future attacks. Nicolo watched with frustration as Dante escaped with more than a noticeable limp and a vengeance in his words. If Nicolo was healthy and uninjured, he would be able to make it to him. If there weren't conveniently all these guards, he would have made it to him. If only-

"Nicolo! Focus!" Barked Ezio and Nicolo let the thoughts fall to the back of his mind as they finished off the rest of the guards.

When the last guard fell with a moan of help and plea, the four of them collectively sat on the stage where Nicolo was facing death not too long ago.

"Shouldn't we be running for the rooftops? That was what you taught me after all. The shadows being my greatest advantage and their reckless weakness."

Ezio let out a laugh and even Mario spared a smirk as he stared at the afternoon sun with nothing short of a man wanting to relax for a second and catch a breath.

"It is good to know you actually paid attention to my lessons, Nicolo. I had always wondered since your gaze always seemed to be elsewhere far away from my stressing lesson." Nicolo shrugged, not denying it and Ezio seemed in a good mood more or less – despite the fact that Dante got away so easily and at the prime moment as well. "But for the moment we rest. No more than a few minutes. We can afford that much. I am not quite sure about yourself, but dashing across rooftops to save one of my students is definitely taxing in excess. Even I have my limits, Nicolo."

"You speak like I try to get into trouble."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Mario spoke and Corina laughed when Nicolo nudged the greying man.

"Me neither. You know, he was always the more troublesome of the two of us."

"Don't listen to her lies!" Nicolo quickly cut in, sending her a baffled glare. "She was the more reckless one. If you only just saw what she did-"

"Oh? And who was the one to fall off the rooftop that one time and had to be saved by Leonardo? I don't recall that being me, fratello."

"Children, please," Ezio said, chuckling under his breath. "I'm sure you both have a lot of catch up on, but please let this man rest with a pleasant silence. We won't have much of it as soon as we start moving and, as I said earlier, I just ran across half of Venice to save you, too. I'm winded to say the least."

"Or you're getting old," Nicolo quipped and Corina snickered beside him. Mario and Ezio had mirrored expressions of offense that only made them laugh harder.

When the laughter subsided and a peaceful silence blanketed over them, Ezio finally spoke. His voice was strong and certain with a tone of serious and dire consequence. It was a tone not to be questioned. A tone that needed to be heard with one's full attention and determination.

"We have recovered an artifact."

Nicolo looked up to his sister but Carina seemed to be staring at her hands. "We? As in you and Mario?"

Ezio shook his head. "As in the brotherhood – your sister, Mario, and myself included. It's something that seems to be advanced in technology. We hope to bring it to Leonardo since he would be the most likely source on discovering its use."

"Do you have a name for it?"

Ezio thinned his lips before answering in kind, "we heard the soldiers' call it the 'Apple of Eden.' It's something the Templars have been wanting for a long time I'd say. We managed to get it out of their hands but for how long we can insure this, we do not know."

Nicolo was silent as he mulled this over before asking. "What do you know, then?"

"We know that it holds something that we cannot fully understand. Which in itself makes it as unknown as what we suspect of it. It's… strange. We can only hope that an equally strange man as Leonardo can connect the meaning and shed some light on this subject."

Nicolo hopped down, wincing as his leg made full impact. His sister shared a concerned look but he waved it off with a ,"I'm fine" being mouthed at her. She looked doubtful but sighed and said nothing as the four of them made their way across the rooftops back to the maestro.

And if he was limping on the way there, none of them noticed and he never said anything.

…..

Nicolo-

No. No he wasn't Nicolo. He was Erik and he was born in 19- no, 176- no, he was born in this century. He was born in Germany and no matter how many times Venice's gorgeous canals filtered through his mind with the proud smile of a sister he didn't have, Erik knew that wasn't his life. His life was Subject 19. His life was-

Was it subject 19? Was he subject 19?

He didn't feel like subject 19.

He felt like his skin was 32 percent on and settled and it kept rippling, trying to pull off his bones completely and show him a side of his past that he didn't know and wasn't a part of and, yet, at the same time was.

He didn't feel right. He felt wrong and incomplete and like he was caught between realities.

Was this what Charles went through when he fought against Leonardo?

He didn't know.

Vision was gone. Sight was perished and all he saw was black but maybe that was because he couldn't quite open his eyes. They were too heavy. Perhaps he shouldn't try to fight them just yet.

But he couldn't hear either and that was where the problem lied. He couldn't hear anything but this storm in his head. Thunder rumbling and wind howling like there was a hurricane coming directly toward him.

The winds howled and screeched and a part of him wanted to cover his ears with his hands but they were as useless as his eyes.

"Stop," he tried to say but there was nothing.

He decided to open his eyes.

It felt like it should have been a surprise when he was back in that Animus space where he witnessed Charles's brief death, but all in all it truly wasn't. He couldn't find himself to be anyways. For some reason, Erik had a feeling that if he had woken up in the infirmary ward, he might have been more erratic. Which didn't make any sense but neither did what was happening to him now.

The "wind" was carrying him now but Erik couldn't seem to see it. It felt like… pixels under his weight. Grainy in texture but too light and faint to be visible. He was being lifted by the hurricane as it tore everything a part around him – scattering images of both Venice and Abstergo to the far corners of its existence.

That being said, it was surprisingly gentle with his body, letting it float and breeze by like it was on a river just coasting down with the current.

If only the wind would quiet down. If only the "hurricane" of confusion would pass. If only there was silence. Then maybe he could think.

He was settled in the eye and his request was granted.

It was quiet.

There was no wind. No storm. No howling of nature. Just a sky above that was strangely white considering the heaviness of this strange event.

Metal kept being gathered in the storm and that was the strangest part.

Because where did it come from?

Not from any memory surely. Nicolo was still in a time where metalwork was not in its prime quite yet. Perhaps the present but with how this place was primarily technology, that didn't make any sense either.

Nevertheless, it swirled around him threateningly, even as he was gently pushed through the broken and shattered images of both ancestry and present, but it never touched him. It didn't harm him. It stayed at a safe distance but always around him.

He liked this. The eye of the hurricane. Where the quiet lied.

But, unlike before where there were winds screaming like banshees, there was a voice that decided to cut it off hesitantly.

"Erik? Can you hear me?" What was that voice? Leo-Charles. Charles. It was Charles but a part of him begged him to realize it for the maestro he saw just a few minutes ago.

Was it a few minutes ago? Or hours? Could it have been days? He didn't know. He didn't care to know. The eye was nice. The eye had no noise.

But the voice was persistent. "Erik, you need to listen to me. Please." And he did with minor irritation. "You can be as angry as you want after this, but please listen to me. The… Lucy told me you are in emotional instability. In fact, your brain went on complete shut down until it recovered. They pushed you too far."

Erik laughed and ignored the Charles that spoke to him.

He would have continued to ignore the man if he hadn't manifested himself and forced Erik to look at him. Before he knew it, a sharp slap rang across his cheek and he rubbed it.

Charles looked angry but mostly scared. Terrified and Erik didn't like his friend being terrified. He didn't like this at all. This was the man who was always optimistic and happy. The one who placed concern for others before himself. He had done nothing to deserve such fright and grief.

Erik stood slowly and faced Charles and he noticed that the man seemed to be crying silently.

"You need to wake up."

Erik shook his head. "I can't. It just isn't that simple. I don't quite have a manual, Charles. A step-by-step source."

"Yes, you do. It's your mind. Create your own manual. You're in charge of your mind. I may be able to filter in, but I can only do just that. You don't have much time," Charles seemed to be flickering in and out. "Your mind isn't doing too well. Vidic is threatening to just put you down since they think they've gotten all they want out of you. Please wake up, Erik. You. You're the only thing I have right now."

Erik sighed. "I'm only a friend. I've done nothing more than Desmond. I'm sure you can make more friends."

"It's more than that!" Charles shrieked before paling and taking a step back. "Please. Just...wake up. That's all I ask. Wake up. Don't leave me here alone."

And then he was gone. Just as Erik reached out to him, trying to grip his chin or his arm or something to make him stay.

Don't leave me here alone.

Erik felt the eye ending around him. The metal was almost at the edge, waiting to greet him. Erik had a feeling that staying in this eye was like accepting death. Accepting some kind of finality anyways.

He wasn't ready.

Wake up.

He couldn't accept it so easily. His father would never let him live it down.

Sighing, he took a deep breath and faced the impending storm head on. Metal surrounded him from buildings he had not seen and a land he couldn't remember.

….

He opened his eyes to a white room, the ceiling as bleached as the sky in the hurricane.

That was all he remembered. The hurricane. The eye. That was all. Nothing more.

His hand was warm. Quite warm, but either he was trembling or whoever was holding his hands was.

Peering over, he noticed Charles staring at his hands with a sort of crumbling determination.

Tears were still streaking down his face, his lip remaining stiff through either his nature or because he was biting it into place.

Erik didn't like him unhappy. He didn't like him sad. He wanted him… smiling. He liked him best when he was smiling. His eyes sparkled and there was genuine honesty in his cheeky grin.

After this whole incident, Erik would blame the drugs he must have been on. Blamed them for getting rid of any sense of rationality and anything that might have stopped him in his tracks. Because he really couldn't have told anyone what provoked him to extend a hand to Charles in the hope to stop this apparent grief.

Reaching out, Erik took a hold of Charles's chin and used his thumb to wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks. "Don't cry. Not for me. I don't deserve these."

Charles looked up in surprise so fast before a wide grin went across his face and he jumped into the bed Erik was in, hugging him until Erik couldn't breathe. He seemed to be rambling, half in thought and half in speech, but either way it was too fast for him to hear what he was saying.

All he heard clearly was, "Thank you for not leaving me here alone. I knew you wouldn't."

And Erik had no answer for that. What was he supposed to say to that? If he wanted to be a sappy, rom-com protagonist then it would be the thought that he couldn't leave the man here alone. He couldn't fathom it. He had grown too fond of Charles too fast and it was physically impossible to ignore the man.

But, thankfully, he wasn't a rom-com protagonist flower boy.

So instead of telling him this and looking like a pansy, Erik just smiled and awkwardly hugged Charles while he stared at the metal frame of the bed.

And if the metal seemed to relax and shift with his content, he pushed it off as nothing more than his brain doing weird shit and looked away.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Remember that "weird shit" from a few days ago?

The very same "weird shit" that caused metal to shift with Erik's breathing that he just assumed to be his eyes playing tricks on him? Hell, he even blamed his own brain since he had just completely gone AWOL, mentally speaking, and couldn't even remember half of what happened despite his praised memory. All he knew about the incident was that it scared everyone, but that didn't help in filling the blanks whatsoever.

And, well, without those blanks being filled, how was he supposed to figure out what was happening to him?

Metal shouldn't be bending as easily as Erik was making it be. It wasn't supposed to shift in form like a bunch of Play-Doh. It was concrete. Tough. Sturdy. Static.

But what Erik was making it do made a metal pipe appear like a bendy straw in a kid drink.

You know, perhaps his brain had somehow been messed up. Rewired itself strangely. Maybe connected the wrong things to the wrong sockets and hoped it ended up the same with the general "fuck it" attitude Erik sometimes got repairing cars.

Well, that didn't work now.

For one, his body was not a car.

Two, even if it was, he would be able to repair it with legit time and determination. This? This didn't seem like the same kind of problem. It just about rang the bell of permanent to him. Irreversible. Something that he must annoyingly get used to.

This "trial period" was easier to think rather than do.

Every morning when Erik woke up to the same damn man just out of his reach, he found the metal frame of his bed changed and malformed with his surprise and anger. It would always be curled and sharpened around him like a defensive cage.

As if he needed protection.

As if he called for it.

If he relaxed and took deep breaths it fell back to normal, but he couldn't help but see the obvious change.

Because he could never do that before.

At least, he was pretty sure he'd know anyways.

What was almost weirder than that was the fact that nobody had bothered to report this to anyone. Granted for the past few days the security guards usually posted behind the almost opaque wall had been suspiciously absent, Erik figured there were cameras everywhere. This kind of establishment would look out of place without a high-tech, borderline paranoid security system.

So, if he was literally doing these… whatever you call them, every single damn morning, then how come nobody had wheeled him away for either testing or to be disposed of?

It didn't make any sense.

But he barely had a day to worry about it before someone new had entered Abstergo. Actually, three more people and all of whom appeared to be subjects. Of course, how much of the news was actual truth was debatable. After all, it often came from the other subjects and he just happened to eavesdrop. He only caught wind of it from the other subjects talking about it and himself eavesdropping.

Still, Erik found this funny considering what was currently happening to the others, including himself, in their Animus abuse. Between being run into the ground, ignored the basic rights of human beings and just all-around neglect, "test subjects" were falling like flies around this place from either exhaustion or other.

So maybe that was why they were brought in – if there was truth in the rumor. To replace those who had finally kicked the bucket. It hadn't gone unnoticed the fact that Tate's cult had decreased by a quarter of its previous size. Everyone was on edge. Trying to keep on their toes and away from the word that took away their life.

It was this anxiety that perked everyone up when a girl walked in, Lucy talking to her quietly and motioning toward the cafeteria. She smiled, said a few things, and then left the girl to wander around.

She was a tiny thing. Not at all somebody who should be in this place. A kid, in Erik's opinion, who should be spending more time worrying about petty crushes and maintaining high GPAs for college. He could almost bet that she was no older than 16.

Erik didn't take Abstergo for child abductors, so why was she here? Certainly, she had parents and friends and some kind of life that would miss her in her disappearance. Thinking about it too hard was starting Erik a headache.

Charles at the moment was focused on Erik's problem because apparently Erik's head didn't have a volume control option, and he practically screamed at the man his manipulation abilities.

"Do you see what this means Erik? This machine is creating mutants! People with extraordinary abilities and isn't it amazing?" He said excitedly before adding with a wistful tone, "Oh what I would give to see the reason why. The replication of the genes and if it could potentially become inherited. What if we already exist outside of human gene tampering-"

"Yeah, Charles, that's all great and all but you do realize that it isn't exactly… natural, right? It shouldn't be possible." Erik was paying attention to his friend's excitement but his focus was on the girl who seemed to be intent on coming in their direction.

"It might be, though. We don't know for sure. That's the best part." Charles was grinning broadly, drumming his fingers quickly over the tabletop, food all but forgotten on his mind. "For all we know, it might have been dormant. A quiet change in our genetic code that wasn't active until something traumatic happened."

Then why didn't this happen to me when my mother died? Erik wanted to ask but kept his mouth shut. Charles didn't know and he wasn't about to bring down the man's knowledge buzz quite yet.

The girl appeared at the foot of the table and all conversation ceased as they focused on her. She had sharp eyes but not in the physical sense. They were just very observant and stated they would catch everything that happened then and on. An owl's level of scrutiny.

"Can I sit here?"

Charles, ever the respectful host, nodded though Erik could see his brow furrow at the girl. I only read their minds at first when I want to know their intentions. What was he reading from her? "Be my guest. It's just the two of us and how does that saying go? The more the merrier?" A smile but still uncertainty.

Erik would almost kill to know what he was seeing.

The girl smiled at him and sat down, causing Charles to scoot over in his seat.

Conversation was nearly impossible to pick up again. They didn't want to talk about the mutation, the trauma, The Incident that Charles was so very incapable of telling him apparently. None of it could be brought up with her present.

The girl must have realized the reason for this though because she exchanged glances with them wearily, red dusting her cheeks with what Erik suspected as guilt. "I know I interrupted something. You both are more than able to continue your conversation. I didn't mean to kill it entirely. I'm sorry."

Erik rolled his eyes but Charles simply laughed. "No. No, it's fine, dear. Honestly, it was just trivial matters." He waved his hand around. "But that's beside the point. Are you new here?"

Here we go again. Erik found himself thinking with a small chuckle escaping his lips. The Charles's Effect.

Except, it would have been had it worked.

The girl said nothing. She barely even shrugged, twirling her red hair anxiously around her finger. She looked uncomfortable which Erik could relate to since it seemed like they all were.

Erik had never seen Charles interact with any other new people, but he was almost positive the man was as taken back by her lack of response to his natural charm as he was. The man was impossible to ignore. A force of nature. Something to be reckoned with.

And she… brushed him aside. Completely. Utterly. She barely even murmured the word, "Yes" before slipping back to silence.

It was like she refused to say anything else. Name. Place. Reason. Just a quick affirmation and then she hid behind her red hair quietly and only nodded once when the waitress came over asking for what she would like to eat.

Charles on several occasions tried to start a conversation with the girl but she only seemed to seclude more into herself. Maybe it was her age. Perhaps it was just her personality. Either way, Erik could recognize the pinched look on Charles's face when he realized that he – for once – couldn't put everyone at ease.

At one point, the atmosphere was so tense that Charles dismissed himself. A bathroom break he claimed with a cheeky grin but Erik was suspicious. Nevertheless, he figured to give the man a few moments. He looked like he needed them.

The second he left, Erik focused on the girl, picking at her food and eating it in small morsels. She had hunched shoulders and every part of her screamed, "Leave me alone. I don't want to be here."

Well, too damn bad. Erik quite frankly didn't care when he wanted information. It was what made people call him cold-hearted.

He wasn't about to get warm now.

"So. I take it you were also dragged here without an ounce of consent." The girl flinched and looked up with the look of a deer in headlights reflected in her eyes. She was confused. She was wondering how he knew. She certainly didn't seem to expect him to speak. "Don't try to lie to me. I know that look of distrust all too well."

It was the poorest explanation he could give but the girl seemed to understand and gradually her shoulders shifted and relaxed. She brushed a part of her hair behind her shoulders and even straightened up.

"I wasn't. Going to lie to you I mean. I don't like to, anyways."

"Doesn't mean you won't," Erik said and she shrugged.

Erik found this interesting, how swift the change happened and without Charles's immense talent in charm at that. Here she wasn't a timid little thing. She wasn't small and needed to be cradled for her apparent insecurities.

Perhaps what she needed was someone to say that they weren't going to just coddle her. At least, that was how Erik saw it.

"What's your name?" he asked harmlessly enough.

"Elaine." She spoke this tersely, assessing him closely.

She didn't pause when she said her name but Erik was still suspicious. Perhaps it was his general distrusting nature to anything that moves, but he had a feeling there was more to this girl than met the eye.

This didn't help him when he couldn't prove it.

"Well, Elaine," he took a bite before speaking again, motioning at her figure with his fork. "I take it you're a subject here, right?"

"I am." She rose a brow and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charles make his way back. He looked refreshed. A little happier. Maybe he gave himself a pep talk in the mirror. Erik didn't know but he was glad to see his friend back to his usual self.

"What did I miss?" Charles asked as he sat down, eying Erik and Elaine curiously. There was a little spark in his eyes no doubt from the noticeable change in her demeanor. "I hope Erik didn't pester you too much?"

Elaine smiled at Charles and shook her head. "Not at all. Um." She paused and chewed her lip before continuing. "I'm sorry about earlier. I… wasn't… I'm not used to being in a room of strangers. It's a little daunting."

"I'd imagine!" And there went Charles with his endless compassion. "But believe me when I say that Erik and I are two people you can most definitely trust. May I ask how old you are?"

"And at that, can I ask about what you are here for?"

"Erik!" Charles hissed, sending a look of exasperation his way. "There are questions you should ask and those you shouldn't."

Erik shrugged. "If I remember right, you have no right to talk when you started pressuring me when I first arrived. Telling me about the Animus and all." Charles got flustered and tried to spout out something but it was clear he had no way to retaliate. Erik snickered and waved for Elaine to answer.

She gave the two of them weird looks before speaking slowly. "Um. To answer your question, I'm 16 years old." Charles let out an audible curse under his breath and Erik was about to do the same. Sixteen? And here? Shouldn't she still be in school? Reading Pride and Prejudice and all that shit? "And I was pulled out because of… some tests. They didn't tell me much."

"They never do," Erik mused. "Do you know the situation here, per chance?"

Charles sent him another look, this one more severe. "Erik. Don't."

"What? So, she doesn't have a right to know what she is getting into? I know I'd like to. Someone shouldn't be set out blindly in this place. We both know this." He leveled him with a look and with a click of his tongue, Charles broke the stare down. Shaking his head at Charles's sudden keenness for silence, Erik looked at Elaine again. "So? Do you?"

She shook her head. "No. Nothing was mentioned, but I can tell that everyone is on edge." She grimaced. "It's a similar atmosphere as when a big exam is about to be given. Dread."

"You wouldn't be far off. Abstergo is going to tell you a lot. I'll leave it for you choose who or what to believe, but at least humor me with some trust in what I am about to say." Erik made a motion around the room with his fork. "This place is more or less a laboratory. I don't know what everyone is here for, but Subjects like you, Charles and I are here for one reason. For them to get this item called the-"

"Apple of Eden," he and Elaine said. "I heard about that from Lucy. She said it helps with world peace but I don't think so."

"Then you are smart because I don't either. But they don't listen to us. I don't know if they will put you into an Animus, and if so which one, but be aware that lately, they have been pushing people past their limits."

"How far?"

"Let's put it this way, this room used to be filled with subjects. Of all types. Now," he looked at the sparsely filled tables, the most abundantly-filled one being Tate's and probably their own. "It's like this. I don't know if they promised you something, but if they did ignore it."

She flinched at that. So hard that it made Erik wonder what they told her they would do or give.

"I have good reason that they think they are getting to the end of their trek, and if that's the case I doubt they will remember the wishes of one girl." Erik sighed and ran a hand through his hair in aggravation as she stared at him with wide eyes. "That is all I'm saying."

Elaine didn't utter a word for a while before saying a quiet, wind-like whisper, "Thank you."

Charles let out a sigh. It was an unhappy one. Erik was probably going to have hell to pay next time they were alone. Let's just say he wasn't quite looking forward to that. "Well, you're probably really confused so we'll stop bombarding you with questions." He sent a pointed look at Erik. "But hopefully we can become friends eventually."

Elaine blinked and then let out a nice, genuine smile at this. "I'd like that."

When the lunch time ended, Elaine was the first to rise and began leaving. Before she turned from the table, she sent a small wave and murmured, "See you later Charles… and Erik. It was nice meeting you both."

She left quickly after, the blaring sign of "Subject 21" on her back.

Once the shock wore off, Charles and Erik exchanged looks.

How did she know their names?

They had never exchanged them in the first place.

….

Erik didn't have much time to truly think about what Elaine did or said to get their names so fast – meaning, who was giving her information – before he was bustled to the Animus.

Lately, things have been rather stiff with the group. Ever since "The Incident" as people called it, they have been keeping a closer eye on him than ever. At least 5 medics from the infirmary ward were present with each mission, monitoring everything from his heart rate to his blood pressure to the stupidest nonsense like if his pupils were dilated.

It was ridiculous, in Erik's mind at least.

Yes, so what? He had a little bit of a mishap, but it was bound to happen eventually. Well, maybe not the whole "I can suddenly bend metal at my will and emotional stress" but The Incident? Yes. Definitely. He had been having a good run for quite a while. There was bound to be a time when his body caught up with him, knocked him on his ass, and kicked him repeatedly for going along with this nonsense.

The other shoe to drop, so to speak.

Yet almost every single damn person in the Animus room were treating him like he was suddenly a delicate flower that needed to be treated with the utmost of care. Barely anyone wanted to touch him. His Animus sessions were usually very short and deviated almost zero percent of the time.

It was utterly patronizing to his "I'm bad news to anyone who opposes me" attitude. In fact, it was ruining his reputation with this necessity to be closely watched. Like, yes, "I'm a big, bad man who can break your neck with at least 10 different methods, yet I also have to be carefully spoken to and touched very gently because I'm secretly a patch of dandelions that will whimper and fly away with the smallest breeze."

Sorry, but he was no patch of flowers. He could take wind – hell, he could take on a whole hurricane if need be. He wouldn't be blown away so easily. He was steel. He was titanium. He was… whatever the strongest metal on this very earth was.

That was him. But God forbid the others even see him that way.

If their sudden treatment change didn't make things painfully clear that some kind of hell was freezing over, the fact that he was starting to agree with Vidic of all people certainly was.

"I swear to the almighty God himself. This man does not need to be tiptoed around like he's glass. Do I need to remind you that he is an assassin? Just look at him for fucks sake. He is armed and dangerous. If he so much as lifted a pinky, he could probably kill all of you somehow. Can we please move on like a normal day?"

Truer words couldn't have been spoken, but Erik wasn't about to agree with the man. Hell might become Siberia if he did and he wasn't fond of the cold too much.

What made things worse were the fact that it was clear that everyone wanted to get back to their normal methods, but somethings was keeping them back by the collars on their necks. Leashes were being tied so short that all they could do was whine and growl and wait with bated, aggravated patience to be let go.

Erik didn't know who made the call. He would guess Sophia – since she had proven herself to be quite moral in her standing – but even she was keeping to herself.

Very little progress was made on their supposed Apple of Eden this way. They only worked in hour long intervals compared to his old six hour trends. They didn't know where to start and with the "varying coding potential everywhere," as Sophia put it, "it was going to be hard to pinpoint exactly what is useful and what isn't."

Which was fantastic. Utterly grand.

That being said, with this ballerina show happening around him, tiptoeing and keeping their distance, it was only a matter of time until Erik met the man in charge. The main man. The highest order. The head of all this nonsense: Mr. Rikkin himself.

Now, Erik knew very little about the man, but what he did know made him quite the contradictory character.

After all, what kind of leader of insanity doesn't actually do any of the leading?

Oh, he knew he saw the man the first time he was placed in the Animus. In the observatory deck – as he was so kindly informed one day. He also heard the man's voice when he told the others to put him back in the Animus.

Nevertheless, he didn't make any of the orders. The moment that Erik was ordered to be put back in, he asked for it. Almost pathetically begged for it because he didn't want to look weak. Whether Rikkin was empathetic to that cause or he just used it to his advantage was completely unknown.

What the hell did he even do in his office? Spin in his unnecessarily-expensive chair and watch cat videos? Concoct meetings and plan world domination? Stare outside at the expansive view he paid to get and ponder the universe's most trying questions? Erik didn't know and that was what made him curious. Incredibly so.

As it turned out, the man himself must have reciprocated the curiosity because Sophia had informed him after this day's session, on top of the surprise that came from Elaine, that her father wished to speak with him.

Except, she didn't say "My father" but "Mr. Rikkin."

Formal. It was off. Erik didn't know much about how the typical child should be raised since he wasn't exactly given the best childhood – his mother being killed being the main dampener in this fact – but he had a feeling that calling your father by his name like that wasn't the usual.

Again, Erik was a class A delinquent, asshole and a hobbyist in the tampering of master plans and ruining said plans. He wasn't the typical child. He didn't have to impress anyone as a kid. His father remained absent until he was out of the foster care and even when he was in that god awful system of "Hm... maybe this parent would do well for you! No? Aw… abuse? Alcoholism? Potential rape? Sounds awful, dear. Oh, well. Let's try again with this one!" he didn't try to impress anyone. Mostly because he didn't have anyone to do that to. The other kids? Hell, they'd call him a smart ass amongst other names. The adults? They didn't give a damn so long as they got paid.

So, his history of impressing people was shoddy at best until his old man came and picked him up at the ripe age of 18.

But with Sophia he had a feeling that she didn't have the same nonchalant views. With an aspiring father figure who was 90 percent of the time tyrannical leader of a company hiding behind a false slogan and 10 percent caring only about success, Erik was highly suspicious that she was seen like as a show-dog that he could beam and say, "Look at my daughter. The same girl who had blah blah blah amount of degrees by the age of whatever."

It was painful to look at. Especially when he thought about memories where his mother would sing happy birthday terribly off-key but with a happy smile nevertheless. Or when he pictured his father showing him constellations in the sky, pointing out which were important and how to use them to know where you were going.

Important family milestones.

Why he was focusing on the lack of in Sophia's life was a complete mystery to him. Perhaps so he could try and further dissect the man she was taking him to. Maybe because he could somewhat relate.

"Is there a reason your father wants to speak to me?" Erik spoke nonchalantly, offering a smirk at the guard they just passed who's hand automatically shifted to his handgun. Glad to know he still had it in him to intimidate people. "It's a little weird he wants to see me now considering how long I've been here already. What? Did he think I wasn't going to last? Just realized that there was something shiny and golden to look at?"

Sophia stared straight ahead but even he could see her fidgeting with the cuffs of her shirt. Anxious little ticks. She was nervous. "Mr. Rikkin has reasons I'm sure. He's a very busy man, Erik. Conducting meetings and making sure everyone is appeased with our research… it isn't an easy job to keep up."

"If he's so busy, then why does he want to speak with me?"

"I don't know. I just know he needs to see you. He did not relay the reason as to why that is. Please stop interrogating me. I don't have any answers to your questions."

Erik blinked at the almost begging tone of her voice but subdued his curiosity. She did say please after all. Besides, she was nervous enough as it were.

"Hopefully your father will, then, because I do have quite a lot of them."

When they reached the door, Erik was almost baffled at the amount of security there.

Not because there was a lot, but because of how little there actually was present. No guards were waiting with suspicious reflective sunglasses and a "I'm a tough bouncer who will kick your ass to Sunday" attitude. The cameras that had been on every other door so far were nonexistent. There wasn't even a damn keypad. It was just a simple door handle that had the typical lock that could be picked in the same time it took to recite the ABC's.

It was suspiciously pathetic.

Like he didn't care for his well-being or trusted humanity way too damn much.

A minute passed by as they stared at the door. Erik peered over at Sophia curiously and noticed her sweeping her hair behind her ear and patting it down, running her hands down her uniform to wipe out all the wrinkles.

"Are you okay?"

She flinched and spared a tired smile his way. He couldn't blame her. All that nervous anxiety looked like it would retire him to an early grave with exhaustion. "I'm fine. Um. Let's… just get this over with, yes? I'm certain Mr. Rikkin will not keep you long, Erik."

"Sure," he said slowly, watching as she took a step forward and knocked on the door three times. A clear "come in" rang and Sophia opened the door, bowing her head in respect as she motioned Erik in and closed the door behind her. She quickly made her way behind her father's chair, hands clenched at her sides but still shaking.

Beside her, calm as can be, was her father. He had the most fake smile in the history of facades Erik had come to know. It was inviting surely to the most dense man to exist. Yet he looked completely at ease, definitely aware of his position and where he stood compared to the "lowly" place Erik had.

What a lovely family dynamic.

Rikkin (because calling him Mr. Rikkin was both annoying and tested his intense dislike for authoritative figures) took out two glasses from one of his drawers and scooped some ice from somewhere Erik couldn't see. Placing them on the desk, he took out what looked to be an expensive bottle of some kind of liquor. Maybe brandy. Or whiskey even. Hell, Erik wouldn't be too surprised if he turned out to be a Fireball kind of guy.

He pushed one over towards Erik and swished the other in his hand, taking a sip.

Erik took a few steps forward, resting his hands on the chair he was clearly meant to sit in and ignored the drink he was clearly meant to drink. He was distrusting by nature. Everyone certainly was aware of this by now. He wasn't going to just take a merry gesture of a drink from a man who looked like he wanted to dissect him.

But damn did it look so tempting. How long has it been since he had that familiar burn slither down his throat? Too long surely.

Rikkin noticed his pointed ignorance immediately. "Are you not going to drink? I'm sure you could use it. I've heard the Animus sessions can be rather strenuous."

Erik shrugged, drumming his fingers along the back of the chair. "It's not that bad. You should try it some time. As for the drink, I'm going to have to politely decline. I'm trying to stray from drinking, you see. A rather bad habit of mine."

"I'm sure one drink cannot hurt."

"Again. I must refuse. A man of your stature should respect the simple gesture of breaking alcoholism."

"Ah, but I've also heard a little indulgence never hurt everyone if in moderation." There was a glimmer in his eye as he watched Erik. He wasn't liking this one bit, being stood up by the lowly peasants of his company.

Erik offered a cheeky smile. "Oh, definitely. But as it is, I never feel one hundred percent after the machine. Tends to leave me a little nauseous and I'm not entirely sure how alcohol would react with that. Wouldn't want to ruin one of your test subjects again, hm?"

There was a twitch in Rikkin's jaw. His teeth were clenched. Eyes narrowed. Oh, he was absolutely furious.

A small part of Erik – probably the delinquent child in him – was immensely pleased with this.

The stand off was bound to happen eventually and it did once the silence settled in. It was interesting watching Rikkin as he tried to intimidate Erik. He seemed to think he was the only predator in this neck of the woods. He thought he was the king of the rainforest. He thought that Erik would be a little bit of prey that he could play with and watch squirm with satisfaction.

Oh, was he wrong.

See, Rikkin wasn't the only predator. Erik might as well be a wolf in nature. Lonesome out of choice and willing to ruin anyone who stepped in his path. He imagined Rikkin to be more of a falcon. A bird who watched everything with clear precision, much like himself.

Which made this standoff all the more interesting. A wolf in position ready to pounce and a falcon watching from its perch on a branch, wings outstretched and waiting to strike.

Poor Sophia. She might as well be a small snow rabbit that burrowed itself in the white, witnessing all of this out of confused obligation.

"I really must implore you to drink something, Mr. Lehnsherr."

"Oh? Are we using formalities now? Yet, I must, again, regrettably refuse your offer." Before the man could speak more pathetic words, Erik gave a small smirk. "While I'm certain we could be here for hours discussing the necessity of a drink, I'm sure that this is not the reason you called me here. As Sophia has informed me, you are a busy man. It would be… inefficient bickering about something as trivial as this rather than getting this small meeting out of the way so you could move onto more… ah, pressing matters."

Rikkin's feathers were ruffled. More than ruffled, they were almost ready to rise in flight and peck his eyes out for the words he spoke.

After all, he just looked like the more mature one of the two. A point had gone to him.

If Rikkin was the man Erik was starting to think he was, he would try to win it back.

Sighing, Rikkin muttered something under his breath before motioning for Erik to sit in the chair. "Fine. You are correct. Nevertheless, I will keep the glass there should you change your mind."

Erik found no harm in sitting in a chair so he helped himself. "I assure you. I won't."

The bomb in the room wasn't entirely diffused but it was definitely given more time before it blew.

"I called you in here because it seems that our progress, which has grown exponentially since your arrival, has now plateaued at the closest we have ever been in achieving our goal."

Erik hummed in affirmation. "Yes. Well, that isn't entirely my fault but whoever decided to start treating me like glass-"

"Though it was your fault for the incident last week."

Wait a damn minute. "Excuse me?"

Rikkin shrugged. "I'm speaking of your incapability to retain yourself in the Animus of course. If you had just done better, we might have gotten our information like we planned. We could even be finished."

While Erik was in the process of working through what nonsense he just heard, Sophia spoke up. "Mr. Rikkin, Erik was in no condition in the first place! We shouldn't have kept him in there as long as we had or at least shouldn't have shifted him so much through the timelines. It was a reckless act. The amount of stress he went through truly makes it a miracle that he came out as unscathed as he had. That would shake any subject's stability-"

"Shush now, Sophia. The grown-ups are talking."

Erik stared in complete bewilderment as Sophia immediately did as he was told, shutting her mouth with an audible pop and staring at her feet. "No, Sophia is right. I don't mind being treated like a slave but there is a difference between that and what I went through that day. They were shifting me through so much because Vidic wasn't appeased."

"Vidic is a good man and knows what he is doing. He had a right to question it. We are not here to see a movie of your ancestor's pointless life, Erik. We are here to get what we want and proceed with our plan."

"To bring world peace, you mean," Erik said.

A brief, almost minuscule moment of hesitation before Rikkin smiled sweetly. "Of course. What else would I possibly mean?"

Erik was starting to hold a dislike for this man and that was putting it lightly. Vidic held nothing to his superior.

"Anyhow, I've also heard rumors that you've been making acquaintances with a certain Desmond Miles. This is not good, Erik. Not good at all, I'm afraid. I'm sure you've heard of his… rebellious nature toward our cause. It would be wise to break off that connection before it could flourish – unless you had plans in the first place to make him more compliant, that is."

A laugh tore through him at the thought of him of all people changing Desmond's mind. You had to me outright mental to think that was a possibility. Erik was more likely to follow the man into his rebellious battle than stop him.

Once the chuckles subsided, Erik was finally able to give a response, amused by the annoyed look on Rikkin's face. There had to be a kink or something somewhere describing his kick for pissing people off. He'd love to know. "No, I don't plan to stop Desmond nor do I want to end that connection. Who knows? His rebellious nature might hold some fruit. It isn't like I have been proven to think otherwise, yet," Erik really couldn't stop himself from saying that just for the pissed off look he knew he would receive because when you considered this man was pulling the strings, well, Erik didn't really want to help either. "I mean, no man should have that much power. It isn't healthy and I know for a fact, going off common history knowledge that is, that this will not end well."

There was a frown starting to grow. "I believe that could be safely ignored if it is to help humanity and their struggles."

"But you're no god. You shouldn't be able to control that," Erik pointed out. "Besides, isn't that what every dictator in the books have said? We do this for your own safety. We do this to protect you."

Erik leaned forward in the chair when Rikkin seemed to be attempting to formulate a response. "All I am saying is that what you're saying and promising isn't any different than what others in the past have. If it's repeating thus far, I don't see why it won't continue to the end and in the end, typically, you lose either way. So perhaps Desmond's rebellion is well-founded and potentially saving your sorry ass. Just saying."

"Am I sensing mutiny in you, Mr. Lehnsherr?"

Erik shrugged. "I don't know, Mr. Rikkin, are you?"

Sophia was looking like a nervous wreck behind her father. It was almost painful to look at. Hands were fidgeting constant, tremors shaking through her as she clearly tried to keep up with what was going on.

She shouldn't have to be here. The least her father could do was dismiss her or let her wait outside. Keeping her in here was like torturing someone unnecessarily. The tension alone might break her, but Erik wasn't about to point her out to him. He had a feeling that would worsen the situation rather than help her.

Rikkin, slowly and methodically, leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk, resting his chin atop his hands. "Well, if we are conversing the possibility, then I suppose I should also share that you will stop it. Well, no, not quite share it. This will become a very forceful demand. You will stop it."

"Will I now?" Erik didn't think he would, though the kind demand was nice of him.

He nodded. There was a smile playing on his lips. "Oh, but of course. I mean, back in the days of piracy when a man or a group of individuals conspired to overthrow their leader, it was punishable with death. I think this rule could be modernized to fit my needs."

"But you can't kill me. I'm useful."

"That is, sadly, true. Nevertheless, I do have someone I could metaphorically kill on my ship." He took a slow sip of his drink. "I've heard that you are really good friends with a certain Charles Xavier. Subject 18?"

Erik's blood went cold. No, further than cold. It turned to ice. Ice that sluggishly ran through his blood stream and shot every muscle and bone to arctic slush. He couldn't move – almost couldn't even breathe.

"No," he said at last, staring at the man with disbelief. You wouldn't.

But he couldn't bring himself to say that last part because he knew well enough that this man most definitely would follow with this mindset. He was crazy with power enough to see no fault in the action. A little disturbance in his plans. Who really knew how many he disposed of before Erik came along?

The growing mantra of "This is why you don't make friends, Lehnsherr" was starting to repeat in his head like one hell of a vicious circle.

"I mean, if you were to… Oh, I don't know, cause a little trouble, then this would be a great incentive, wouldn't it? As it is, I have no reason to keep Charles. Not with you around at least, as you have so pointed out. He's useless to keep around. And, well, we can't exactly let him go, either. Not with how unstable he has been."

This is why you don't make friends, Lehnsherr.

Friends who mean way too much. Friends that make your heart clench painfully when you reckon the thought of loss.

Wait. Unstable? Did he… He couldn't mean. He most definitely must not mean.

"The tragedy of the Bleeding Effect. Truly a monstrous side-effect of the Animus. Alas, poor Charles has been more affected than some I'll admit. You are aware of this. You've seen it firsthand."

He tapped something on the small tablet he had on his desk and a video feed came up, projected to the right of Erik on the now-tinted windows. It showed Erik. Erik and Charles. But this wasn't just any other feed of them.

He knew that bed from Desmond's room. He recognized how Charles was still and pale as the sheet he rested on. He felt his lungs burn with the memory of every breath he tried to deliver. This was when Erik was certain he had lost the man. When he was almost certain he would lose himself with him.

"You…. You…" Erik had no words. For once in his life, he was rendered speechless.

Rikkin tapped his cheek in thought. "You see, Charles has been having this effect for quite a while. I usually don't keep any of the records of whatever you all do, but I found this bit particularly interesting." It continued on until Erik saw himself give up and pass out. Then it would loop again. Again and again and God it was as painful to watch as when he was doing it. Sophia had let out a strangled gasp and looked almost close to tears. "After all, it is rather clear how close you two are. You tried to save him. You didn't need to. He wouldn't have died. But I doubt that registered in your mind, did it?"

Something pure erupted in Erik. Pure unbridled anger that was. Erik could feel it tear through his previously iced veins like a hungry wild fire searching for more fuel.

His fingers clenched so tightly he was positive his fingernails would soon break skin.

Rikkin knew.

This was unbelievable. No, it was more than believable but the lack of care the man represented was impossible to take lightly. "You knew this was happening. You knew this was a problem?!" Erik growled lowly, his volume raising quickly until he shot to his feet. "WHY DIDN'T YOU DO ANYTHING?!"

Inside, he knew why they didn't do anything but he couldn't come to terms with it. He couldn't just think of it as dismissively as they could. He was a human being and this was a cruel form of unnatural selection.

Sophia flinched at his voice but Rikkin kept calm, even as Erik slammed his hands down on his desk, rattling the ice cubes in his completely ignored drink.

"Because," Rikkin said calmly. "He's disposable."

And there it was. The reason he knew existed so easily for them - for Rikkin.

"Disposable," Erik echoed emptily.

"Yes. We don't really need him. We did at one point but he was merely a test. He wasn't a certain objective and now that we have you, he really is quite useless to us. But releasing him when he has these… glitches happening, well, that would be impossible. We were actually ready to get rid of him the second you had your big breakthrough!"

What Desmond said earlier came back to him.

Or what? What are you going to do? Are you going to dispose of me, too?

It was painful to think of. Charles. Beaming, smiling and utterly charming (not that he would tell this to the man ever) suddenly cold. Cold and still and lifeless, those shockingly blue eyes dead. It sent shivers down his spine.

This was clearly Rikkin's objective. Erik didn't know how he caught wind of the supposed mutiny that had been spoken only once really. He didn't outright mention names. He just hinted at it and Erik, foolishly, took the bait and further made it known that he didn't approve of the man's methods.

Now, he was here.

This is why you don't make friends, Lehnsherr.

No.

This is why you shouldn't have made a friend of Charles Xavier, Erik.

"We can keep him around longer, however, if you choose to help us with our objective. Get us that Apple of Eden. It shouldn't be long now. We can even compensate you two in your new lives after the retrieval. Money. Fame. Whatever you wish."

Money? Fame? What kind of person falls for that? Shallow-minded people surely, but that was not himself.

Still, he couldn't deny the offer now. He had ignored the one rule his father told him often and that was to not make any friends. Not because he didn't deserve them. Not because they were untrustworthy.

No, because having them placed them at a constant risk.

But being friends with him saved his life in a way, didn't it? They would have disposed of him otherwise!

Erik said and thought nothing as he turned his back on Rikkin and made his way to the door. Rikkin chuckled, seemingly content with their little meeting. "The second you make the wrong move, I hope you are aware of the consequences that will follow the action. It was a pleasure to speak with you, Mr. Lehnsherr. I hope we never do meet again unless it is to celebrate the finality of this experiment."

The slam of the door wasn't as satisfying as he thought it would be.

As he stormed down the hall, he felt a certain helpless rage grip him. There went the plan. The plan to escape. Should he go find Lucy? Tell her that they – or at least Erik – had been discovered?

But how had they even known about it in the first place? He had only talked with Lucy about it! Was someone else in the room? Were their cameras she was unaware of?

Nothing was pointing to a concrete answer!

Turning a corner, he was surprised when he felt someone ram into his chest, effectively breaking his train of thought.

Well, then.

Erik took a step back and was in the middle of making up some half-assed apology when Elaine looked up at him, eyes looking shifty at best. She looked determined about something but incredibly nervous; both emotions normally being a combination for getting ready to act with reckless stupidity.

Nope. He wanted no part in it. He had literally just left Rikkin's little "meeting." He wasn't about to give him incentive so quickly.

That was, unless it was really tempting.

No. Stop it, Erik. Not even then.

"I'm sorry for running into you," he said as he went around her, but her hand shot out and gripped his wrist tightly.

"I need help."

He jerked his arm from her grip. "Well, I am not of service. Go find someone else like Charles or Lucy if your lost. I have bigger things to take care of." Like not messing up. Like keeping Charles safe. Like figuring out a new plan out of this place.

Could he use his powers? Maybe if he harnessed them enough. He pondered the possiblity as Elaine stared at him with borderline disbelief.

"I'm not lost," she started, irritation laced into her voice but Erik interrupted before she could go any further.

"-And honestly, we just met today. I really have no reason or connection to help you at the moment. Not to mention that you apparently knew our names even though we did not give them in the first place," She winced. "Yeah, didn't think we noticed that, right? Anyways, go find someone else. I really can't be bothered right now."

"Stop!" She yelled as he took a step away and he did. He turned until he was facing her. There was that change again. The timid to strong change he had witnessed earlier. Like two different people. "I know where I'm going, but I need your help. You're the only one who can get him out."

Erik narrowed his eyes. "Him?"

She bit her lip and then sighed. "Well, he's not entirely there right now, but yes, him."

Erik immediately thought of Charles but Elaine seemed to be one step ahead. "Not Charles. A friend of mine. A good friend. He's Subject 23."

Oh. "I don't play bodyguard."

"And I don't' need one!" She groaned and pushed her hair behind her shoulders. "Look, he's locked up and, well, when you said all that stuff earlier, I started to get worried about him. He came here before I did and ever since I ran into him one time, I realized something was off. He hasn't been himself since they took him away and you were the only person I could think about to help him. So, please." She stared into his eyes and Erik was having difficulty mouthing the first and only syllable of no to her. "I have to get him out. You're the one who said not to trust Abstergo. This is me trusting that what you say is right."

Looking back at where he came from and then to Elaine, Erik cursed. He already knew what he was going to say even before she uttered a word. If Desmond was rebellious, Erik was an unruly deviant with unrivaled defiance.

What happened to no incentive?

Well, if they were not caught, then it shouldn't be a problem. Or so he hoped.

Still, security was becoming the bigger problem in Elaine's reckless plan. There were cameras around each corner, no matter the decision on where they went. Erik wasn't exactly a technological expert. How did she plan to get around those? "Fine but there are security everywhere. The cameras will catch us eventually."

"No they won't." With that she looked at the nearest camera. The red light indicating its power dimmed and then went out completely.

"How-" He began."

She smiled sharply. "You're not the only one with abilities, Erik. Now, we should probably get Charles. I think he might be useful, too." She made a 180 and turned back where she came from.

Erik followed her. "Who exactly are you?"

For a second, there was silence.

Then, with an exhausted amount of resignation, her voice said quietly, "Just someone who just so happens to trust you. Now, let's go. I'm still new here, but I take we don't have much time."