Assassin's Creed 1. 16 1

[_16_]

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><p>-<br>His world consisted of a blur- it was getting harder and harder to distinguish the days. He'd wake to a world of cold ice; clinical and gleaming, feel the slickness of cold metal beneath his shoulders and legs before he even opened his eyes in the morning. Before he had time to wonder what the _hell_ he was doing here and before it hit him and he remembered and oh _god_ how he wished he didn't.

Ignorance really was bliss.

Bliss… those precious few moments before blinding reality cut in and sank its icy claws into his chest again and his seconds of lucidity were swept away in the current of another's life, and he was gone. Again. He's stopped trying to resist the tug at this point, instead letting his head slip right under and embracing the feeling as mist rushed in and clogged his lungs. There's no point trying to hold back the ocean. The instant he gave in… he… he was… was… _gonnnnnnnnnnnnnnn**nnnnnne-  
><strong>_-_**  
><strong>_

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><p><em><strong>GNIDAOL… GONLIDA… OLNGIAD… OLIADNG… LOAIDNG… LOADING… LOADING…<br>**_

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><p><strong><em>MEMORY SYNCED… FAST FOWARDING MEMORY TO A MORE RECENT ONE… MEMORY SYNCED… <em>**

_[Her voice sounded so sweet, like poisoned honey]_

_**GNIDAOL… GONLIDA… OLNGIAD… OLIADNG… LOAIDNG… LOADING… LOADING…**_

_[so digital]_

**_MEMORY SYNCED…_**

_[he found he liked the taste]_

**_WARNING DESYNCRONISATION IMINENT… WARNING DESYNCRONISATION IMINENT… RESTORE SYNCRONISATION IMMEDIATELY… WARNIN-_**

_[even when she was telling him he was going to die]_

_**REFRESHING MEMORY… MEMORY SYNCED… MEMORY SYNCED…**_

**_MEMORY SYNCED… MEMORY SY-_**

_[even when-]_

**_ANCESTOR DEATH… SUBJECT DESYNCRONISED. D-DESYNC-SYNC-RONI-I-I-I-ISED._**

_[-he couldn't remember.]_

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><p><em><strong>-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep… bleeeeeeep… bleep-blip… bleep-blip… bleep-blip… bleep-blip…<strong>__ *breathe*_

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><p>-<br>Gone. Gone only to wake up screaming hours later as the aqua-blue glare and the sound of a flat-lining heart monitor assaulted his senses and he nearly _shattered_ the fragile screen as he jolted up in his attempt to _get away _from it but oh _LORD_ it never seemed to work, for the visor never moved no matter how he tried, his fingers sliding futilely off the edges as he clawed at its slick surface in sheer desperation. But no dice, it remained locked in place. As always. He could have cried out in frustration had his throat not already felt as though it had been sandpapered raw already. He could already taste blood.  
>-<p>

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><p>-<br>Cold, it was always s-s-so c-cold. Frigid. _Like a morgue_. His breath fogged the accursed visor as his heart hammered in growing trepidation from the _waiting, _the _god awful waiting._ _THAT'S ALL HE EVER SEEMED TO DO! Lie around with _baited breath _waiting for his moment of _god damn icy _freedom _to be _snatched from his_ numb fingered grasp as he was swept off _again, _dead _and_ lost to the world as he plunged into the awaiting waters of the memories, dredged up from the depths of time by that _machine_. How he hated it.  
>-<p>

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><p>-<br>His freedom was always bittersweet, for with lucidity came reflection. And _fear_. He realised now, he was but a piece of the puzzle. A cog in the system. A number in the coding. He was merely a bridge- his own existence meant _nothing. _It didn't _matter_ what happened to him. He'd played his part. Their words were not meant for him. He can stop the cycle, tell the secret.

The epiphany was like a light bulb flicking on in his head. He _was_ going to die.

Had he been able to, he would have laughed. As it was, it came out as more of a shuddering wheeze, but he didn't care. He was too preoccupied, mind still reeling at the revelation.  
><em>He could escape.<em> _He could be _free_… But hell, he had work to do first._  
>-<p>

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><p><strong>GNIDAOL… GONLIDA… OLNGIAD… OLIADNG… LOAIDNG… LOADING… LOADING…<strong>

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><p>-apoplastic-<br>Realised I had more than a few Bleeding Effect drabbles knocking around. Will upload them here. Not sure why I find it so damn fascinating, but I do. **  
><strong>The P.O.V. might swap around a bit, but if you lookie there at the top, the characters name will be in square brackets. I know I spammed with the line break, but I figured 16's thoughts would be pretty disjoined by this point. I'm not entirely sure where the hint of 16/Female-Animus-Computer-Voice came from either, probably something to do with the fact that 16 is left alone in the Animus for days, he'd likely latch onto the only thing he could be sure wasn't a hallucination or memory, the only other 'person' he knew was real. The voice appears in the brotherhood glyphs as well...  
><strong><br>**(Next A/N won't be this long, I promise.) Reviewers, do your worst.**  
><strong>


	2. L 1

The tenses are still all over the place, but I'm sick of trying to fix it. My english teacher would have my head.  
>He is Desmond, She is Lucy. <em>Italics are Lucy's thoughts/_

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><p>[_L_]<p>

She caught him one time, as she was picking up fresh supplies. He later figured she must've spotted a shadow prowling on the roofs, and stashed the supplies before checking it out. After all, dark in-the-middle-of-the-night shadows have a nasty habit of turning out to be hostile, and in their situation it could mean only one thing- blown cover. Peeking up over the edge of the rooftops, she'd visibly relaxed the moment she recognised a rather familiar white-hooded shape shuffling around. She knew it could be nobody but him.

Curious though, the way he paced, fixated with this one rooftop. Even more curious was the fact his hood was actually up for once. He _never_ wore it like that. She'd made a joke about it one time, that he was breaking 'tradition', and he'd reckoned it'd only get in the way. But she couldn't help but notice the strain in his voice, and the way his eyes seemed to harden. She'd known what he was thinking really- that it'd feel too much like _them_.

By the time she reached his side, he was bending down to touch the tiles. Despite taking care to announce her presence quietly, a habit you pick up when living with a bunch of trigger-happy assassins, his head still snapped up at a frightening speed... but if anything, he looked like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. She would've laughed, had she not noticed the tension in his shoulders, or dirt caking his jeans, or the distant look he had in those overly bright, slightly glazed eyes. But before she could formulate a question, he jerked away from her abruptly, attention returning to roof in question.

Her blood ran cold. _Something wasn't right._

Biting back her suddenly nagging fears, she asked him what he was doing.

He answered rather monosyllabically how he couldn't believe it was still here.

Tilting her head towards him, she asked him what he meant. It... startled her to see the pain in his eyes.

_/Pain? Wait... oh no. Oh no no no no no n-/_

Gaze never wavering, he answered in all seriousness-

_/-o. Oh please, please don't let this be going where she thought it was. Please, pl-/_

-and in a voice not entirely his own: the place where he failed.

The place where he fell.

The place where he watched his uncle die.

He would make Cesare pay for that, he swears it.

_/-ease. No. ...no./_

He must've heard the sharp intake of breath, or else felt the way she _froze_ at his words. His expression had changed, irritation flickering on his face for a moment before he _realised_, a look of cold horror dawning across his own features as he realised what he's just _said_. What it _meant_.

"Merd-Shit. SHIT. Shitshitshitshit. L-lucy... I... it... I didn't... Zio...it was... I... I mean, he... L-lucy I... I... don't... dio mio..." He fumbled over his words for a few seconds, stuttering and stumbling in and out of english while she tried to remember to breathe.

_/This can't be happening! Not, not yet, not again... it marked the beginning of the end and she wasn't ready to lose him yet.../_

Cursing, he yanked his hood back down and took off so abruptly across the roofs she almost missed it.

_/...she'd never be ready to./_

She lingered there for a moment, watching his graceless yet graceful form skid away across the waxy roofs with almost practiced ease, before slipping back down into the alley way and sinking to the ground. She feels sick. Maybe she's shaking. Memories try to creep up on her, poisonous whispers in her ears but she shuts them out. Squashes them back down. Locks them up behind the wall she's built.

_/The wall she cowers behind when it threatens to overwhelm her. But guilt's a luxury she can't afford anymore. It... it has to be done. It has to./_

_(Keep telling yourself that, dear.)  
><em>

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><p>When she gets back to the sanctuary, he's already asleep- or at least, he's curled up in his sleeping bag with his back to the doorway,<p>

_/She knows it's an act, he never sleeps that quietly any more./_

but she doesn't bother him.

_/She knows false platitudes aren't going to help here./_

She doesn't tell the others either. Not tonight. She can't face it yet.

_/She can't face this ever./  
><em>


End file.

Assassin's Creed, Horror, Hurt-Comfort