Assassin's Creed: Modernity - Book 1

VI

Location: San Fransisco

PST: 14:00 February 9

Mission: Recruit Alex

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Alex sat quietly on the rooftop as Ethan explained the dire situation. Alex had the faint remainder of a scowl from the fall he took on the failed vault. He nodded several times as Ethan finished his summary of the events so far.

"And how do I know that you're not one of these damned sleepers?" he asked at length.

Ethan smiled as he rose to a crouch. "Because I haven't shot you yet."

Ethan held out his hand and Alex gratefully rose, muttering 'yet.' Alex stretched for a few moments easing the aching muscles and his bruised backside. Together, they walked to the edge of the rooftop. They stared over the skyline, the sun beaming down on them in the frigid air.

"So you said we don't have many resources?"

Ethan nodded, not knowing where Alex was going with this.

"Well, I know some friends that owe me. They can help."

Location: San Fransisco

PST: 14:29 February 9

Mission: Recruit allies

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Alex led Ethan down a trashed and litter strewn alley. There seemed to be more trash around the tin trash cans than there was in the trash cans. A lone door stood at the end of the narrow alley, with one light above it.

Alex rapped on the door several times. "Alright, when we get in there, follow my lead."

Ethan nodded, still curious about where his fellow Assassin was leading him. The door opened suddenly and a burly man in a too-small suit stepped through the door.

"What d'you- Alex is that you!" the guard asked as he wrapped the little man in a crushing bear hug. Alex's face turned red and he gasped for air, struggling against the giant man's massive hug. Finally, after Alex had lost all of his breath, the guard released him.

"Goo . . . to se- yu to, Rupert," Alex wheezed, still struggling for air.

Rupert stepped as and Alex shuffled into the dark doorway and disappeared from Ethan's sight. Rupert turned an accusing stare at Ethan. He glared daggers and the tall man that was dwarfed by his size.

"I'm with him," Ethan said finally, thinking that the uncomfortable silence had gone on long enough.

"Weapons." It was a demand, not a question.

"No thanks, I've got my own," Ethan said before he slipped past the burly man, to his protests.

Once Ethan's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the long, descending staircase. He heard the faint murmur of voices from the bottom of the stairwell, and followed Alex down. As he plunged down the stairs, the voices grew louder and he could here faint music. Finally, as he emerged from the stair well, he was at the entrance of a bright, cellar, taproom.

Many wooden tables and stools lay haphazardly around the large basement. Many rowdy men in suits sat around the tables and were sprawled on the couches against the walls. A violinist and pianist played in a corner of the barroom. When his presence was known, the noise, including the music and chatter, died away in an instant.

A man in the corner of the room stood and bellowed: "Oo the bloody 'ell er you!?" Several of the larger men standing aloof from the main group reached into their coats and produced a variety of weapons.

Ethan looked around the room of hostile faces as Alex stood.

"He's with me," Alex said, and all eyes swung to face him.

After a drawn out silence, the first man spoke. "Well, I guess any friend of Alex is a friend uh mine."

Ethan breathed a sigh of relief at the words. The man beckoned Ethan over to the table. The music began again, and slowly the noise grew back to its original level. Ethan cautiously moved to the table and sat down.

The chatter slowly climbed back to the original level and people turned back to their conversations. But, they still ensured that their weapons were close at hand.

"So . . . who are you?" Ethan asked. The man had a gaunt face and chiseled features. He wore his dirty blonde hair short and had a five o'clock shadow. The man wore a ring on his index finger, it looked as though it had some sort of bird carved into the gold.

"You first. You may be a friend of Alex, but I still don't quite trust you."

"I was a part of secret organization that's worked in the shadows for centuries, until our rivals slowly invaded our Brotherhood and made it crumble from the inside. And you are?"

The man nodded at the brief and blunt explanation. "We are the Rooks.

That garnered Ethan's attention. "Like, the London street gang Rooks? The one formed by Jacob Frye?"

The man nodded. "One and the same. However, now we are less of a 'street gang' and more of a . . . high functioning mob."

"Huh."

"So, Ethan, what brings you to the honest estate of the Rooks?" the man inquired.

Alex held up a hand to postpone any further discussion. "I'm sorry, Ethan, I may have forgotten my manners. Ethan, this is Richard, Richard, Ethan."

Ethan nodded acknowledgement of the introduction. "What brings me here, is an unfortunate circumstance." Richard inclined his head in a questioning manner. "We, well specifically Alex, was hoping you could help."

"We aren't your personal lackeys," Richard said leaning back in his chair, defensively.

"I know. I was hoping it could be a mutually beneficial relationship. We take out some of your competition for a little help on the streets, getting funds and weapons."

Richard stood abruptly and Ethan reacted, standing quickly, sending the chair toppling and reaching for his absent nightstick. Richard raised his hands in a sign of peace as the entire room drew their weapons and trained them on Ethan.

"Stand down."

Slowly, one at a time, the holstered their weapons and sat back down, still eyeing Ethan cautiously. Suddenly, a heavy set man stumbled down the stairs, sucking wind as he doubled over while delivering his message.

"There . . . is a . . . intruder . . ." Rupert wheezed.