Speculative Assassin’s Creed Short Story, part 3

pirate woman on ship looks to the skies

Art commission by AyshaArt ig @k.ayshaart

 

This is an untitled speculative short fiction set in the world of Assassin’s Creed.

Read part 1 here

Part 3 – Identity Injection

 

The four stood around a laptop viewing a reddit post by Farah from over a year ago when she was working on a family history project. The evidence was right at the top of the post, a photo of the plain ships wheel that had sat aging in Nana’s home for as long as anyone knew. Farah had set out to debunk family myth that the wheel had once belonged to one of the most feared pirates in the South Asian Sea hundreds of years prior. There was nothing visually interesting about the wheel to indicate it was valuable, only family stories of how they came to possess it. Stories she was sure had been exaggerated as they were retold as her grandfather once had.

“We thought it was treasure hunters at first,” Ray was explaining. “They have to operate in the same anonymous spaces we do or risk having their finds confiscated by respective territories or estates. And there is a lot of treasure still in that stretch of ocean, and it was obvious they had something specific they were searching for”

“Do you think these men are with Abstergo?” Farah asked.

“This is where the trail gets tricky,” Nadji interjected. “We know Abstergo is actively looking into this, but this second individual or individuals may be the ones who initiated the first hack. They both seem invested and neither are playing nice. We need to know what they are looking for, or whatever it is they have lost.”

Naomi tilted a nearby monitor towards the group. “Further correlation into their activity as it related to a ‘security incident’ in London at an Abstergo licensed entertainment venue had us wonder if we were asking the wrong questions.

“It isn’t what they had lost, but when they had lost it.” Naomi stood up straight. “We think the men who are after you believe you are a descendant of someone who knows where their ‘treasure’ is.”

As clear as it was to Farah that her mother must have known something about this, to pour so many hours of her time into covertly researching the technology of the animus, building profiles on key engineers at Abstergo and closely following conspiracies about the fates of researchers working East Africa, Farah could not bring herself to mention her mother. The words would not form.

Ray stood up and pulled the shroud back from the illuminated bed-like device; the key to accessing the animus. Surgical style trays with various vials and IV bags and carefully arranged body sensors were lined up neatly.

Farah had only seen sketches of one, but any remaining doubt of the authenticity of her mother’s research disappeared. She was apprehensive of how well prepared the device was. They intended for her to plug in.

To enter the animus.

Farah fought her nerves. “What would I be looking for? How will I know if what I see is of any use?”

Ray chimed in. “We have a short window, a timed payload to get us access before we could be traced. We won’t be able to keep you in there for long, nor will we be able to get a second chance or at least not right away”

“We also don’t have much information on where you will land,” Naomi added. “We have an idea of when, but that is about it. Anything you see could help us narrow down and get a better gauge on how we proceed after that.”

Nadji pressed his hands together. “I have a contact who is working on secure access accommodations once we are ready to try again, and with luck we can do it without moving the whole operation again.”

Farah looked back to the bed-like device. A memory of her suitcases tumbling behind her as she ran crying from an aggressive van flashed before her eyes. Was her Nana safe? Would they try her apartment? What might her roommates say if they were questioned? She wished she were home. Or had a change of clothes. Then another memory resurfaced. Her mother surrounded by books and post-it notes and a pair of busy monitors at three in the morning. The image on one of the monitors she remembered was a Brigantine, and not just any ship. This was a ship of legend.

“Alright,” Farah’s voice held steady. “I’ll do it”

 

Moments felt like hours as she began to shiver laying in the protected recess of the device as they carefully connected each sensor and began the first of her injections to protect her from going into shock as soon as she was plugged in. She felt a strange sense of kinship to these strangers she had just met, and something else inside her urged calm, even excitement, as she started to peel back the years of quiet unhappiness between her and her mother.

As the last of the preparations were complete, one of the monitors Farah could still see flickered from whatever script it was running to pages of rapid bright red text. Ray’s turned head did not make it look like good news. “It is now or never,” he breathed with some gravity. “Fire it up.”

“You’ll do fine,” Nadji encouraged her as everything went dark.

There was an explosion of shadowless light, then lines like bright points surrounding her, shifting. She was standing upright. Something was amiss in her composure, but not in a bad way. She looked down and saw she was definitely not dressed as usual, but a seafarers lightweight fabric and binding clearly of another era. The next second she felt a sudden shock of pain.

She opened her eyes to a billowing mist filled sky above her. The strong scent of the ocean, and something burning. The wave of new senses as they reached her was overwhelming. She was lying on her back on something solid. A deep, disconcerting groan of stressed and snapping wood beneath her startled her to her feet. Spilled oil just feet from where she had laid was burning, inching closer. Instinct took over as she realized the danger she was in. She quickly looked around.

She was at sea, but the water was still and without a hint of wind; oppressive low clouds swallowed everything more than a few meters out. The ship she was on was sinking fast, bodies of its crew strewn about were dressed not unlike her. Her hand acted on reflex of its own reaching to an empty spot on her belt a weapon may have once been. She tasted blood in her mouth and soon found the cause of her unexpected pain. She was badly injured and bleeding freely through her clothes.

A large, dark shape in the water adjacent to where this ship was sinking emerged from the mist as a much larger vessel. Rows of cannons stuck out of the battered hull. She could see more bodies on its deck, then a flicker of movement. There was a heavy set man in a uniform with a manner of helmet that appeared cast from what might have been brass. He was supporting himself to stay standing from injury as he struggled to load what she was sure was a musket. Then he pointed it at her.

At that second, she felt a burst of strength and leapt aside, looking for any means of escape. She caught herself gazing upwards at what remained of her ships mast and the rigging of the larger ship. Without effort or regard to the searing pain of her own wounds she sprung up the mast, climbing with confidence well beyond her own. Memories, she thought to herself. This is my ancestor. She allowed her mind to relax and take in the hyper aware senses she was bombarded with, letting go of her fear as she ran with cat’s grace along an uneven narrow support towards the rigging of the enemy ship. Her heart skipped a beat as she raced to the edge. Was she going to leap the gap to the other mast?

She did.

The crack of the musket echoed, and she heard the crisp whir of the projectile sail well away from where she landed. The injured soldier uttered what she was sure was a curse and dropped his musket and leapt into the ocean as if he was being chased. She looked down, seeing a better view of just how bad the damage to both ships was. Bodies and barrels and wreckage were in each direction as far as the mist allowed her to see. She needed to get a better view. Again, she found herself looking upwards. The crows nest teetered high above. Without another thought she was climbing again. She marveled at the strength of her hands, she needed nary more than a finger grip on rope binding to propel herself higher until she ascended the nest, just above the line of the mist. There were no other ships as tall in sight. A distance off to starboard she saw another tendril of smoke, and the tips of trees. Land.

Suddenly, she heard an eagle cry.

(continued in pt 4)

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1 Response to Speculative Assassin’s Creed Short Story, part 3

  1. Pingback: Speculative Assassin’s Creed Short, pt 2 | discordian bliss

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