Chased

The Templar (New)

     To be an assassin, you must excel at running. If you aren't?

     You die.

     And how do you better at running?

     You practice.

     And what is the best way to practice your running skills?

     Getting chased by a goddamn Templar!

     I cursed myself for ever getting myself into trouble like this. My legs burned and they ached for me to stop and rest, but, despite what my body might say, I must run. Because my mind knew that if I stopped running, I would die. 

     And dying doesn't exactly look good on a resumé for an assassin.

     The worst damn plan I ever had was becoming an assassin, yet there I was, running for my life because of my poor fucking life decisions.

     I didn't even know who was chasing me at that very moment, but, once I found out, I was sure I would not be happy. The Templars who are in New York are all the big shots, and I had hopes I could catch one for old times sake. That, and the Old Man would have my head when I got back, so I'd thought I'd make my trip worth while.

     But, I'm sure you're wondering all about me, huh? Yeah.

     We'll get to that soon enough.

     As I leapt from one rooftop to another, I reflected back on when I decided to become an assassin in the first place. I had no other choice than to become an assassin when I escaped my fiery village deep in this same colony, New York. When the white man began to surround us, they decided to attack, and burned my home to the ground. Too terrified to return home, I ran away, and met a man who took me in. He wasn't reluctant as he usually was, especially nowadays, and he trained me to be the assassin I was today. Which means exactly what you think it means.

     It was definitely his fault I was teetering the edge of death right now.

     I heard the heavy thump of the much bigger Templar behind me, and I had to hold my breath as I made another leap of faith towards a much shorter building. I bent my knees to lower the impact of the fall, caught myself with my tan hands, and used the fall as a motivator to propel myself forward. I hopped onto a conveniently level balcony, and raced across it, praying I didn't misstep and fall to my death. I lunged for a flagpole, pointing out towards a street of busy people. 

     "Get back here!" He yelled, a miserable attempt to stop me. I twisted the flagpole and curled around the corner of the building, thanking my senses that the flagpole was maneuverable.

     I landed on top of a carriage by sheer luck, and I took the moment to swing towards my pursuer. He wasn't too old, but just old enough to be my father if he had kids. His dark black hair, from what I saw, hasn't seen the damage of aging yet, so I'd say just old enough. That's when I recognized him. The leader of the Templars.

     Haytham Kenway.

     A sharp jawline, attractive features. He bore an old, navy blue tri-corn hat, and a coat that had similar colors. Lean and could easily kill me if he got his hands on me. I had to make sure he couldn't lay a hand on me. Thanks to my mother, I was not built well. I was slim and had no muscular definition, despite all the years I tried to build it up. I had speed and agility on my side, and nothing else. Whoever my father was, he was either just like my mother, or had very weak genes.