The Masks We Hide Behind

Chapter One: "LOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING"

I wasn't out with my Rooks today, however. I was taking a moment to rest in the train hideout that my sister and I called home. I sat comfortably on the couch that was across from our assassination wall. Normally, I probably would have dozed off, tried to get some sleep in before heading out to kill more Templars.

But, I held an envelope in my hands. It was addressed to me, which was very odd. I didn't talk to many people outside of my gang, and I rarely ever got letters. Curiosity overtook me, however, and I opened it somewhat messily, before raising an eyebrow as I read it.

My sister, Evie, took a seat beside me, "What have you got there?" She asked, trying to read the letter from over my shoulder.

"A letter," I said simply, dodging the question as best I could. I was certain that once she knew who'd sent it, she wouldn't be pleased.

"May I see it?" She asked, reaching for it. When I continued to hold it away from her, she crossed her arms over her chest, "Who's it from that you feel the need to hide it from me?" With a sigh, I hesitantly handed it to her. Immediately, as I'd predicted, she frowned, "Maxwell Roth? He's a Templar, and-"

"The leader of the Blighters. I know," I interrupted, "He wants me to meet him for dinner."

Evie laughed, "You're not going."

"Of course not," I said, taking the letter back from her, and tucking it into one of the pockets on my coat, "That would be stupid."

That night, I found myself standing outside the Alhambra Music Hall, a large theatre, as well as the place Maxwell Roth had told me to meet him in his letter. The front doors were locked, and so I made my way around to the back.

There was a door, as well as a doorman at the opposite side of the building. He was clad in a green suit and a black hat, and he looked at me, as if waiting for me to explain why I was there.

I took the letter out of my pocket, extending it towards the doorman, "I'm here to see Mr. Roth," I said simply.

The man skimmed the letter, then returned his gaze to me, "Weapons?" He asked, holding out his hand, calmly telling me to hand over any I had on me.

Instead, I smirked, "No thank you. I've got my own."

The doorman did not laugh, but he did retract his hand, "You should be on the stage, Mr. Frye. This way," He stepped aside, opening the back door.

I made my way inside, heading towards the center of the building. The Alhambra was beautiful from the outside, but it was even more stunning on the inside. Five stories, a huge open stage, and lavishly decorated. 

At a table at the center was another man. I knew who he was instantly. We'd never talked face to face before, but I'd caught glimpses of him during gang wars, or while patrolling the parts of London that my Rooks had already conquered.

He was considerably older than me, and had a very large and painful looking scar down the right side of his face. Aside from that, however, he seemed charismatic and confident. He was Maxwell Roth, and he turned and spoke when he heard me approach, "Ah! Our honored guest has arrived. Come, sit," He smiled, gesturing towards the table, which already had two chairs beside it.

Somewhat hesitantly, taken aback by his hospitality, I took a seat in one of the chairs. Roth poured me a drink, but remained standing beside me. I lifted the glass, trying what was in it. Evie probably would have tried to tell me it was poisoned, but it taste great.

Roth began to speak again, "I've had my eye on you for some time. I find your heroics in battling the great Crawford Starrick quite magnificent," His voice was low and rough, but still incredibly pleasant and almost soothing to listen to.

I took another drink, "I've been picking off your soldiers one by one, doesn't that make you angry?" Crawford Starrick was the Templar Grand Master, and the only man that Roth had to answer to. I was more than a bit surprised to hear Roth agreed with my stance on Starrick. 

"On the contrary," He countered, "Surprise is the spice of life. Now, Mr. Starrick..." He paused with a frown, "That's a different story. I'm drowning in directives, all terribly boring. Let's say, we work together, and bring him down." 

I laughed a little, "I'm not so sure about that." I found Roth's preposition to be intriguing, that much I was certain. But I didn't want to agree to something without knowing all the terms. 

"My friend," Roth started, lightly resting his hand on my shoulder. I made no attempt to make him move it, "If I fail to provide you with the chance to cause Starrick some pain...well, then you can charge into this theatre, and kill me yourself."

I had to admit, I was shocked. When I accepted Roth's dinner invitation, I hadn't been prepared to hear that he, a Templar, one of the few that Starrick actually trusted, was just as fed up with him as everyone else. So fed up, that he was willing to put his life on the line for a deal with an assassin.

I stayed silent for a short period of time, before asking, "What do you get out of all this?"

A smile crept onto Roth's face, "A chance to have a little fun, with the bravest man in London." He raised his glass.

Slowly, I grinned, hitting my glass against his, "You have a deal." I found Roth to be charming, and I wanted to see what his plans were. If worst came to worst, I could always assassinate him later.