A/N: This chapter is just to kinda get a feel for who you are I suppose. The next will be more eventful, I promise. Also, I think I want to post an Ezio or Edward before the next part. I don’t know, I’m clueless.
You were totally out of your element, you thought to
yourself dryly. You looked at the kitchen setup, staring at it with an odd sort
of fascination. You were a genius inventor, capable of creating a device
powerful enough to displace one person hundreds of years in the past. And yet
here you were, absolutely confused by the kitchen of some old house over 200
years in the past.
“Is something wrong?” Connor asked softly, Achilles walking
by his side.
“Uh, no,” you stated, “everything’s just wonderful.”
Achilles raised a brow.
“You look lost,” he pointed out.
“Whatever,” you muttered. Your eyes continued the search,
looking for a damn microwave. You knew that it wouldn’t be there, considering
there was still quite a while before the microwave would be invented.
“Are you hungry?” Connor questioned.
“That depends what we’re having,” you replied. Where the
hell was fast food when you needed it?
“I got a deer just last night,” Connor said, “I suppose we
could have that.”
“Deer?” You cocked your head to the side, nodding to
yourself. “Ah, right. No hamburgers, no chicken nuggets, no fried chicken, fuck
me.” His eyes widened.
“Didn’t expect to hear such language from a little thing
like you,” Achilles smirked.
“Little?” You cocked an eyebrow.
“Compared to him, at least,” Achilles jerked his head in the
direction of Connor.
“Nah, he’s just giant.” You said. Connor coughed his cheeks
“Should I prepare the meal?” He asked, looking expectantly
at the two of you.
“Uh, sure?” You cracked your back. “I’ve got some training
to catch up on. Ah, Bafer would have my head if he knew it’s been weeks since
my last session.”
“Bafer?” Achilles asked.
“A friend, of sorts,” You answered, pausing, “actually more
like a pain in my ass.” He chuckled.
“Is that what you think of all teachers?” He asked.
“Only the ones that make me do physical exertion.” You
winked, excusing yourself from the room. You took a deep breath of fresh air
once you made it outside. You may hate training most of the time, but you
really needed this at the moment. You observed the spacious area surrounding
you, planning a mental running route in your head. You got started quickly,
your mind straying no further than the thought of food.
“About time you finished,” Achilles complained, watching you
walk in. You raised an eyebrow.
“The meal is ready.” Connor said. You smiled warmly to him,
putting as much charm as you cared to muster while you were exhausted into it.
You dug in graciously, thankful that the meat wasn’t too different than
something someone would eat in the 21st century.
“So, (A/N),” Achilles started, “where are you from?” You
looked up to him mid-bite.
“I’m from New York City,” you answered once you’d finished
your food. There, not a total lie. You were technically from New York City,
just not the one they were used to.
“Why were you here?” He questioned. You shrugged.
“A, uh, friend of mine,” you looked at him seriously, “and I
use that term loosely, asked me to do something for him.”
“Who is your friend?” Achilles inquired.
“Shaun Hastings,” you sighed. “The pompous asshole nearly
got me killed.”
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you,” he mused.
“Sorry about that,” you apologized, “old habits die hard.”
“That they do,” Achilles agreed.
“Where is your friend now?” Connor asked, silent up until
“Flipping the fu-,” you looked to Achilles, catching your
slip up. Clearing your throat slightly, you changed your words. “Wondering
where I am, I should think.”
“Should you tell him that you are well?” Connor inquired.
“I can’t,” you blurted, instantly regretting it once you saw
the looks of confusion. “What I mean to say is, Shaun Hastings is an
intelligent man,” you fought your inner eye roll, “he would have been able to
piece together the events and get himself to safety before worrying about me.”
Connor nodded, seeming to accept your answer. Achilles on the other hand,
watched you like a hawk.
“How is your wound?” He asked.
“It’s fine,” you replied. Achilles nodded.
“That’s good to hear,” he looked to you calmly, “considering
it was poisoned.”
“Belladonna,” you said.
“What?” Connor asked.
“It was the poison used.” You closed your eyes, picturing an
article Desmond had you read years ago about the poison. “Scopolamine and
hyoscyamine balancing in the perfect toxin level to make a single leaf deadly.
It’s genius, really. Well, luckily they didn’t give me enough. Dying while
bleeding out sounds much more heroic then dying while high.” You opened your
eyes again, looking at Achilles.
“You know your poisons.” He stated. You smirked proudly.
“Believe me, I know a lot more then poison.”
“Weapons,” Achilles inquired.
“I’m shitty with a bow,” you admitted. “Ah, sorry,” you
“You’re very strange,” Achilles said bluntly.
“That’s the downfall of being a genius,” you said
“A genius, huh?”
“Yep,” you replied, popping the ‘p’. You tapped your temple.
“Is that so?” Achilles looked to you.
“It’s very so.” You said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve
got a blade that needs sharpening.”
You internally groaned to yourself. You
were going to be forced to use this dated shit for fighting. Good thing you
packed an adaptive combat rifle for a rainy day. Although, you highly doubted
that firing that weapon wouldn’t raise a few questions. You dropped yourself on
the bed Achilles had been so gracious to let you sleep on. You pulled your bag
to yourself, rummaging through the contents. It was mainly filled with weapons,
ammunition, alcohol, and clothing.
Of course, you did pack a few of your tools.
You retrieved your hidden blades, smiling down at them. It had been quite a
while since you actually used them. You were quite skillful with them, but you
were more of a 21st century girl. You had the best aim with
virtually any type of gun, ranging from semi-automatics to pistols. You’d
attempted to learn how to shoot a bow once, but that ended in fire, literally. As
for knives and swords, you were great with them; you just didn’t like how they
required so much work.
But your absolute favorite of all the weapons in the
world was bombs; big ones, small ones, radioactive ones, doesn’t matter. You
were probably leaning slightly more to the pyromaniac side of life, but that
never seemed to hinder you in any way. In fact, it’s probably what appealed to
the Creed the most in the beginning. That and you managed to hack you way into
their mainframe just to tame your insatiable curiosity. You snapped the blades
onto your wrists, feeling like an actual assassin for the first time in months.
These missions you were sent on were fun, to say the least, but it always made
you feel less like an assassin; especially witnessing some of the greatest assassins
in history first-hand. A soft knock on the door pulled you out of your musings.
“Yes?” Connor opened the door cautiously, looking at you
with soft eyes.
“I was wondering if you might like to go hunting with me.”
He said, watching you with the calculated precision of a trained assassin.
“On one condition,” you replied. He nodded his head once,
motioning for you to continue. “You’ve got to teach me how to shoot a bow.”
“I believe I can do that.” He answered. You smiled widely,
stepping closer to him.
“Great,” you said happily, following him as he exited the
manor. “Though I should warn you, I’m a hellish student.”
The Adaptive Combat Rifle has an interesting development history that can be confusing to some people. Originally designed by Magpul and labeled as the Masada, it was later sold to Bushmaster for production and sales as the ACR. Remington also produces the ACR but for military and LEO customers. Most ACR’s on the market are the Enhanced model which has a different stock and railed handguard. (GRH)