Chased

Where? (New)

     The very reason they wanted me here was so I could give them my knowledge. However, I had no intention of doing so.

     Swears built up from the very depths of my mind, but I refused to speak for them. For any of them. Not these guards. Not the executioner. Not even the Templars themselves.

     Even if they stared at me with those glares - all wanting to take my life. Evil poured behind those eyes.

     I was their target.

     And here they had me.

     But I wouldn't let my tongue loose. Cut it, if they must, but I refused to give away anything about the Assassins. My Creed was not given away for free.

     It was like this for several hours, an ongoing cycle of them walking in an out - punching, spitting, pissing, and even threatening to kill me. I scoffed, rolled my eyes, and leaned back in the chair they tied me to. Eventually, they saw they had no effect on me, so they went back to their actual jobs.

     Fucking twats. I huffed, pulling at the ropes that bound my wrists together. Whoever did these knots did a horrible job at them. They were slowly untying themselves the more I struggled. The rope was burning and digging into my wrists, but it didn't matter. The pain was temporary, and the moment I freed myself, it would go away. It would take a little bit more time, but I would be free soon.

     I hope Connor made it out of Boston. I didn't get a good look at what happened that day in Boston, but I knew there were a good amount of gunshots in reaction to Lee's false shot. There were likely many casualties. Connor was supposed to meet us back there, so it was likely he could have gotten caught in the cross fire. I also thought about the Old Man, who could have also been caught in between bullets. They had to have made it out of Boston alive. I gritted my teeth. The Templars likely had this all planned out. Using the revolution and the tension building to spark a flame in Boston that day. A massacre, it likely was. This would only benefit their plans. While people were distracted, it would be easy to tiptoe around authorities and people who would try to get in their way. Redcoats. A Boston Massacre.

     That doesn't matter now. What matters now is that I'm here. Wherever the fuck here is. Where is this place? Am I still in Boston? Is this a Templar outpost? No. The guards were redcoats. Maybe they just left me to the redcoats, and they locked me in this shed somewhere in their base. But, if so, why did those Templars appear? I don't believe that the redcoats and the Templars are allied. Unless they had a truce. Dammit, I don't know.

     My attention snapped to the door as it whined in agony from being open. The light from beyond the door blinded whoever this person was from my view. I squinted to try to figure out who it was.

     "Is she awake?" said a voice behind the silhouette holding open the door.

     "Indeed, she is. Unfortunately."

     I'd be able to recognize that voice from a mile away. It was none other than Charles Lee. How could I forget? It was the voice of a man who ruined my life.

     Lee stepped aside, allowing the man behind him to slip into the shed. Soon, the blindness from the light cleared up, and I was able to tell who this new person was who had entered. With a lean shape, arms behind his back, hair neatly combed back under his hat, stance more royal than any royalty-

     Haytham Kenway.

     I broadened my shoulders, sitting straighter in my wooden chair. With clenched fists, I gritted my teeth, and met the gaze of the larger man. His eyes scanned over me, taking in all of my stronger, more lean form. From the small child I was when he last saw me, this was a drastic improvement. Instead of a petite body like my mother's, I now had a proper assassin shape. Similar to Haytham with his broad, muscular exterior. Something in his expression screamed impressed, and oddly enough, my pride inflated with that simple thought.