drabble dump

[VlRGlNlA]

Most of these will be Assassin's Creed-related, so beware.

For anyone who actually plays Assassin's Creed, there's spoilers for Revelations.

Many of these are short and pointless; vent pieces, if you will.

[VlRGlNlA]

During that month with Sophia, there were many times that Yusuf would wonder what would have become of him if he wasn't an assassin.

Would he be a laborer, a mercenary, or- god forbid- a merchant? Would he have a family- wife, children, maybe even grandchildren? It felt strange to let his mind wander to places such as that, to think of what might just have been.

He'd close his eyes and he'd hear laughter, see the smiling face of a loving a loving wife just out of his grasp. But then he'd wake up, and find that he didn't regret his choice. He didn't regret becoming an assassin, didn't regret protecting his city, didn't regret the family that he had made of his brothers and sisters in the Order.

But, particularly with Sophia's incessant questions, Yusuf would ask himself what became of his happy ending.

[VlRGlNlA]

Leaving the Animus had always just been waking up from a long nap.

But this time was different- maybe it was because it hadn't been a normal session, and, for all intents and purposes, he had been in a coma. The darkness pulled at him, coaxing him back down, back into the memories of ancient Constantinople with its beautiful sky and strange inhabitants.

And, more than anything, Desmond wanted to give in. He was selfish- didn't want to face Lucy's death, Rebecca's overbearing kindness, Shaun's acidic remarks- and, after all, the Animus gave one a semblance of reality. He could touch and taste and smell and hear, and he could live out the rest of his own life reliving those of his ancestors.

Because, really, what was he but an approximation of others? He had skills that weren't his, felt things that he had never really felt, been places that he had never laid eyes on. He was the product of other lifetimes, and the Order really only needed him for his DNA, not his mind.

Desmond Miles wasn't a Chosen One. He was just a bartender.

[VlRGlNlA]

This wasn't supposed to happen.

In fact, just about everything could have gone wrong had done just that. Screams melded together, and most of the time he couldn't tell if they were his or Kadar's. Accompanied were the loud, raucous laughs of their Templar tormentors, and the sickening, wet sound that a sword makes as it slices into flesh.

Malik, at the time, had been so focused on protecting Kadar and keeping the mounting combination of pain, panic, and adrenaline at bay that he didn't notice much. When a blade cleaved into is arm, cutting down into the bone, he wrenched it out and barely noticed the wave of numbness that washed over the limb as he watched his younger brother be cut down, right in front of his eyes.

He had collapsed, then, black spots dancing in his vision and feeling as if someone had just torn out a piece of his very soul. One soldier sneered and nudged the other, saying something about rejoining with Robert, but Malik didn't hear. Altair had abandoned them, Kadar was dead, and now he was alone.

The eldest, and now only, Al-Sayf brother felt dizzy and faintly ill. He wanted nothing more than to die there, on that cold stone, with Kadar. Pain had flooded through the numbness in sharp bursts, becoming so frequent that there was no pause, and his arm felt as if it was on fire, only minutely worse than the rest of his aching body.

Dark eyes slid closed in a sort of resignation, a deep breath comping from split, bloody lips. He had failed the vow he had made to his father, to himself, so many years ago. He had failed to protect Kadar.

But, he had an obligation to the Order, didn't he, that extended far beyond blood. He owed it to Al Mualim and his brothers in arms to complete this mission, though not explained, obviously important.

Malik dragged himself upwards, unsteady and swaying on his feet, bloodied and half dead already. He pointedly kept himself from even glancing at Kadar's body, afraid that his weak resolve would shatter if he did so, and his gaze was drawn upwards to the shining artifact that Robert de Sable's men had failed to collect.