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A flash of red was all the warning Desmond received before the world the Animus had reconstructed around him collapsed. The familiar shattering sensation that came with desynchronisation ran through him as he fell out of the memory, leaving him trying to blink himself into full awareness as the glass panel rotated away from his head.
The machine was glowing red.
Desmond exhaled slowly, feeling disoriented. His head hurt—how long had he spent reliving his ancestor’s memories this time? Had something happened?
Groaning, he sat himself up and looked around the room. Vidic, sitting behind his desk at one end of the cross-shaped room, was speaking angrily to someone on his phone. Lucy was looking at him with a worried expression from her usual place by the Animus terminal.
“Was there a problem?” he asked, confused. Vidic had made it clear that morning that they wouldn’t be ending the session for the day until they advanced more through his ancestor’s memories.
The blonde woman looked at him. “Not at all, there was just a glitch,” she said, smiling sympathetically. “Vidic received a call on it. We’ll be resuming as soon as he finishes resolving it.”
“A call?” Desmond muttered, looking back to the older scientist. He was frowning, lips pursed. “I thought I would have to continue advancing through the memories for the rest of the day.”
An exclamation from Vidic stopped Lucy from saying whatever it was she had meant to say. A moment of silence went by, and Desmond watched as Vidic’s hands clenched around the phone.
“I don’t care if his readings aren’t normal,” the old man snapped, voice reverberating across the large expanse of the room. “Continue as planned and make sure he doesn’t do anything again.”
Desmond frowned. Whose readings? He had been doing fine, as far as he could tell. “What happened?” he asked, looking at Lucy.
Her smile strained. “It’s nothing important, Desmond, just—.”
Vidic hung the phone and loudly slammed it on the desk. Standing up, he walked away from the edge of the room towards one of the two doors Desmond knew led to a conference room.
It didn’t take long for the conference room’s door to open. A white-coated man, likely another researcher, walked into the room. Flittering nervously, he didn’t spare Desmond or Lucy a glance as he cut directly to Vidic. His hands were stained a deep red, though he didn’t seem to be injured.
“I had to take the subject to the infirmary, Vidic,” he said, visibly nervous. “The state he was in—.”
“I thought I made orders clear. Get the information.”
The man shook his head gestured widely. “I know that perfectly well. He had just desynchronised when he—.”
Vidic’s eyes narrowed. Lifting his hand, he silenced the other man. “This is the last time I will tolerate something like this. Was the Animus damaged?”
“No, but—.”
“Then give him something to put the Subject under control and put him back in. We need to return to work.”
The man balked. “Vidic, I know you have seen the reports. You’ve been experimenting on him for more than a year now. The man needs a long rest.”
Vidic’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “You heard my words.”
“Vidic, he’s already had paliperidone prescribed.” He shook his head. “If I give him something beyond that it’ll risk—.”
“Stick to your field, Doctor, and I will practice mine.”
The man’s eyes widened. Briefly, it seemed that he was going to continue arguing with Vidic, but he finally sighed and took a step back. “Very well,” he said, turning to leave.
Desmond frowned. There hadn’t been any indication of there being someone else trapped in Abstergo, but the other researcher’s words were resolute. He turned to look back at Lucy. She hadn’t said anything about what it was that had happened, but perhaps she wouldn’t mind explaining.
“Another subject?” he asked quietly.
The blonde woman blinked, momentarily startled, and attempted to smile. “Desmond, I’m not sure if—.”
“There’s someone else, isn’t there?”
Lucy breathed in deeply. “Yes—only one. Subject Sixteen,” she said hesitantly. “He isn’t well, Desmond. We’ve been trying to help him, but he hasn’t been collaborating with us. He’s unstable.”
“Isn’t paliperidone an antipsychotic?”
Lucy smiled sadly. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more than that. Patient confidentiality and all.”
Desmond ran a hand through his hair. It was all the confirmation he’d likely get. “Right,” he said. At the other side of the chamber, Vidic began to approach them again. “I assume this break won’t be lasting for long?”
“I’m afraid not,” Lucy said, smiling apologetically. “Let’s get started again, we need to continue getting through the memories.”
“Of course,” Desmond said gruffly, lying back down. Hopefully the session for the day would be over soon.
The glass panel began to rotate up again, flashing a familiar blue as the Animus was turned on once again.
Desmond felt his head pound as he walked out of his room behind Vidic. Nothing had changed in the few days that had gone by since the strange malfunction that collapsed the Animus. The wide and empty room remained as closely guarded as ever, with any signs of the other Subject—if he really was trapped in the same situation as he was—remaining elusive.
Minutes after waking up he was back in Jerusalem, pushing through memories without a clear idea of just what it could be that Vidic wanted from him and his ancestor.
How long had he been here already? He knew the date he had been captured in perfectly—the first of August, after buying his motorcycle early—but any knowledge beyond that was hard to tell. It couldn’t have been anything more than a few days, but after a few prolonged sessions in the Animus it was hard to tell.
He had been riding out of the city when the world abruptly collapsed around him. Kicking him out of the memory and onto the cool, blue environment of the Animus loading screen.
Desmond blinked, surprised to find himself stuck in the empty loading environment. His synchronisation level had been high. What was more, there had been no indication that something had gone wrong with the memory. No red flashes or weird colours at all.
Breathing in, he closed his eyes and tried to access a memory as normal. He could already imagine what Vidic would have to say if he dawdled for too long.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Desmond spun around with a jerky motion, jolted by the strange male voice, only to find himself face to face with a man wearing white robes. He was completely unrecognizable beyond bearing the same familiar scar he shared with Altaïr, he was completely unrecognisable. The clothes didn’t fit with his ancestor’s time, seeming more suited for the Renaissance than anything else.
Another ancestor, then; it had to be—though the voice didn’t fit the appearance. It was clearer, somehow; with less of the grainy the tones the Animus assigned to the people filling streets. His posture was off, too, though there was no way Desmond could really tell. It didn’t seem to fit. Something about the way he slouched and held himself, almost seeming to curve inwards, gave him away as someone completely unlike the ancestor he was inhabiting
“Why not?” Desmond asked. He breathed in. “Who are you?”
“You really need to ask?”
“You couldn’t be… The other subject? Subject Sixteen?” He frowned. There had never been anyone in the loading screens before. “How are you here? Does Vidic know?”
The man—he had to be a man—huffed, seeming to find something about what Desmond had said funny. He shrugged and smiled cynically, all but confirming his identity. “Do you think he’d allow me to do something like this?”
Desmond’s lips curved up slightly. Probably not, given how the septuagerian seemed to hate anything outside of his control. “Fair enough,” he finally said. “Were you the one that made the Animus break down the other day?”
The man, Subject Sixteen, didn’t reply. Instead, his shoulders tensed as he met Desmond’s eyes. “You shouldn’t be in here yet.”
Desmond felt a flash of anger run through him. “Do you think I’m here by choice?” he asked, gesturing at the empty expanse surrounding them. “I’d leave if I could!”
The man shook his head. “You don’t understand, Seventeen. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” His voice rose. “The timeline is clear. I am supposed to die in order to get a message to you. To help you. But now you’re here—just like me.”
Desmond rubbed his temples. None of what the other man was saying made any sense at all. Still, he thought, eyes flicking to the blue loading area, he got me out of a memory. “How did you do this? I can’t imagine Vidic’s too happy.”
“Oh, he has no idea it’s happening—I wouldn’t have approached you otherwise.” He looked away at that, voice lowering. “I wouldn’t have known this was possible when I first came here, but now… It was a mistake, keeping me in it for as long as he has. He can’t do anything about it.”
“Long?” Desmond repeated. He couldn’t have been an employee, not given what had happened the other day. How long had he been made use the Animus? “How long have you been here?”
“How long?” Sixteen let out a peal of laughter too brittle to be genuine, eyes losing some of their shrewd focus. “A year, almost two. I arrived here in 2011, on the eleventh of February. But how long has it been since then? It can’t be December, but—.”
Desmond took a step back. A year and… seven months? The thought alone was enough to shake him. He couldn’t have been here for over a week and he already felt like he was losing his grip on reality. “How have you even managed?”
The man laughed, startled by the question. “I wasn’t supposed to be in here for so long, not like this—but now I’m trapped.” He looked around dazedly before continuing on, clenching his fists. “I had everything planned too, you know. To get you that message. Everything. How I’d do it, where I’d draw the symbols… I even have the pen already. But you’re here now, so where does that leave me?”
“Sixteen?”
He ignored him. Unsure of what to do, Desmond stepped forwards and placed a hand—Altaïr’s hand—on his shoulder. He didn’t know who he was or what he was talking about, but if they were in the same situation, he was his only chance of hashing up an escape plan.
“Sixteen. I have no idea what you are talking about, but you need to get a grip.”
The feeling of contact, imperfect as it was in the Animus, seemed to clear Subject Sixteen’s mind. His eyes narrowed on Desmond’s again in a way that was slightly discomforting, as sharp as they had been before.
It was a few seconds before he spoke again, and when he did, he sounded tense. “Do you know what happened to the other Subjects?” he finally asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m not naive enough to think it was good. No matter what Lucy says.”
Sixteen scowled, expression twisting. “Lucy—,” he said distastefully. He turned away, causing his robes—his ancestor’s, judging by Desmond’s own experience of Altaïr—to flutter behind him. “She’s not who you think she is, Desmond Miles. Don’t trust her.”
Desmond inhaled sharply. “How do you know my name?”
The man let out a breathy laugh. “I told you. The timeline... Do you have any idea what’s coming?”
“Besides my death if Vidic gets his way?” Desmond snapped. “Look, Sixteen. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but—.”
“You will. One day,” Subject Sixteen interrupted. For a brief moment it seemed like he was about to explain something else, but his eyes instead darted up. “Ah. About time they noticed.”
“Vidic?” Desmond asked tentatively.
He followed Subject Sixteen’s gaze, not quite sure what it was the man could see. How much time had gone by? Heart racing at the thought of what the Abstergo researcher would have to say once he was pulled out, he stepped towards the other Subject. He had to ask him now.
“Sixteen. I don’t know what you were on about, but I do know that the longer I stay in here the worse things will get.”
Something about his words distracted the man again. “The plan… This is all wrong. What went amiss? Juno said—.”
“You can’t like being trapped here anymore than I do. We need to work together if we want to escape.”
Subject Sixteen shook his head. Before Desmond could inject anything, he had vanished from the loading screen.
It wasn’t long before he felt a familiar pull bringing him out of the Animus after that. A voice—Lucy’s voice—was calling him, but it felt distant. He clenched his eyes shut, only half-aware of the receding HUD above his head through the growing headache setting in.
“Desmond, are you alright?”
Pushing himself up from the machine, Desmond blinked his eyes open and rubbed his temples. “What happened?” he asked, voice groggy.
“You desynchronised and got stuck in the loading screen,” Lucy explained. She sounded worried. “We couldn’t get you out, it must have been a malfunction of some sort.”
Vidic scoffed. “A malfunction? This was no error. Subject Sixteen is responsible for this. I don’t know how, but this is the last time that I—.”
Desmond pressed his lips together. He still couldn’t understand just how the other Subject had forced him into the loading screen or what he had meant to say, but he couldn’t let them know what had happened. No matter how insane his ramblings had sounded he was his only chance at attempting an escape.
“Subject Sixteen?” he asked, rearranging his expression into something he hoped was resembled confusion.
Vidic glared at him almost immediately. “Yes, Mr Miles?”
“I was trapped in the loading screen. There was no one else there, it just wouldn’t work.”
Lucy frowned, seeming visibly concerned. “Are you sure, Desmond?”
“Yeah. I kept trying to access a memory, but nothing happened.”
She sighed and turning to look at Vidic. “It must have been an error of some sort. Whatever it was is gone now, though.”
“Very well.” The older man’s lips contorted into a scowl. “Resume the session if the Animus is functional again then, Miss Stillman,” he said harshly, turning to walk back to his desk. “I think you've wasted enough of our time, Mr Miles.”
Desmond grimaced at the thought. Lucy, seeing his expression, smiled apologetically. “It will just be a bit more, Desmond. We’re almost done for the day. Could you lie down again?”
He didn’t see Subject Sixteen, or any signs of him, on any of the sessions that followed. Whatever it was that the other man had done he didn’t repeat, regardless of whatever it was that had driven him to seek him out. The fact made Desmond find himself settling in further into the uneasy and intense working schedule Vidic demanded. Often awakening only to find the scientist—the Templar, as it had turned out—standing by his bed.
He’d be lying if he said that it had gotten any easier. Though he had begun to ease into his ancestor’s memories more and more as the days went by, it seemed to have made it harder for him to be aware of where he was when being taken out of the Animus. Then there were the mild headaches he had begun to get, to which he had to add the restless dreams which had started to plague him at night.
The implications of what Lucy had said about Subject Sixteen’s state of mind had been easy to ignore. Particularly as, at first, Vidic’s demand to force medication on the other subject had stood out as proof that he wasn’t alone in Abstergo. That there was someone else.
Talking to him had changed all of that. Surreal and unexpected as the encounter had been, it had solidified something in Desmond’s mind.
An antipsychotic, Desmond thought as he sat himself up on the Animus. Vidic forced the use of medication to put him back to work.
It was sobering enough to cut through the lingering haze of Altaïr’s memories. Whatever it was that Subject Sixteen had done to dissatisfy Vidic, it had meant being drugged in order to be put to more use. How long had it been going for? How bad would things get the moment Vidic tired of him? Beyond that—just what on earth had Subject Sixteen meant by a plan and a timeline?
Something about his thoughts must have shown in his face, because Lucy was looking at him from her place by the terminal. “Desmond?” she asked worriedly.
Desmond turned and looked at her. A thought flashed through his mind. What does she—? Ah, that was right. Vidic had agreed to give him a break at Lucy’s behest, if only for five minutes.
She bit her lower lip. “Desmond, are you alright?”
Desmond breathed out slowly. Regardless of what Sixteen had meant about Lucy not being trustworthy, she was the only one that’d be willing to entertain him. He would never manage to get any answers if never otherwise.
Pursing his lips, he tried to find the best way to phrase the question he wanted to ask without giving what had happened the previous day away.
“I know you said it was confidential, but I think I deserve to know.” Lucy straightened her back, eyes not moving from his. “If he’s a Subject here he must also be using the Animus, right? Subject Sixteen.”
She pursed her lips. “You know I can’t tell you about that, Desmond. Patient confidentiality—.”
“Paliperidone is rather strong, though. What happened to him?” Desmond demanded. “Given I’m kept trapped as a Subject here too I deserve to know, right?”
“Desmond.”
He didn’t double down. Lucy knew. She had to. “You know him, don’t you?” he asked. “How long has he been here?”
The blond assistant’s posture fell a bit at that. Sighing, she walked to the white armchair by the terminal and sat down. “His situation is quite different to yours, Desmond. He…” She hesitated. “I don’t like how Vidic treats him either, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Lucy.”
Another sigh. “Just a few months. It’s been… longer than it’s been for the other people that have collaborated with the Animus project, but part of it is due to him.”
Desmond’s jaw clenched at the obvious lie. Months. Try close to two years. “And the antipsychotics?”
The question seemed to set Lucy on edge. “Desmond, that’s confidential.”
“I deserve to know, though, don’t I?” Desmond continued. “Will Vidic do the same thing to me—drug and force me to continue to work in the Animus?”
Lucy’s face fell. “Of course not, Desmond—.”
“But he has, hasn’t he? It’s what he ordered with Subject Sixteen the other day,” he bit out, nostrils flaring angrily. “What will come next, a coma?”
“We wouldn’t—.” She stopped as Desmond scoffed slightly. “I wouldn’t let him do that to you, Desmond. I care about you.”
“Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you, Lucy. What makes Subject Sixteen and I any different?” Desmond shook his head. “Is it because of the Animus?”
Lucy tensed and looked away, lips pressing into a thin line. It was only after a few seconds that she spoke again. “The man is unstable, Desmond. It’s far more complicated than that.”
“That doesn’t change anything though, does it?”
She frowned at that. Leaning forwards, she met his eyes again. “Why are you so interested in him, Desmond? You know you can tell me if something happens, right?” She paused. “It may not seem like it, but Subject Sixteen is dangerous. He’s attacked people before, and his state of mind lately…”
Desmond forced himself to relax. “I’m just curious, you never said there were other subjects.”
“I know it may be difficult to believe, Desmond, but there’s really nothing to worry about,” Lucy said slowly. Standing up, she smiled and walked towards him, narrowing the distance between them in a move meant to reassure him. “Truth be told, we’re at the end of what he can offer us with the Animus. We’re not monsters. He’s only been here for a few months. Once we get there his sessions will end, and he’ll be taken somewhere else.”
“Right,” he said stiffly.
Lucy looked at him weirdly. “Are you sure you’re alright, Desmond?”
“Yeah,” Desmond said, forcing himself to relax his posture. “Sorry, I know you can’t say anything more than that.”
He didn’t wait for Lucy’s reply. Instead he looked around the cross-shaped chamber, only half-aware of what it was she chose to say. Vidic still hadn’t returned from wherever it was he had gone after allowing him a break.
Did it have something to do with Subject Sixteen?
“So, how long do I have left before I have to return to the Animus?” he asked.
Lucy smiled more widely. “Still a while. Vidic wasn’t too happy, but we care about you, Desmond.”
The was someone in his room.
The thought made Desmond awaken with a start. Heaving, he pushed himself up to a sitting position. His eyes flicked towards the corners of the bedroom, trying to find a hint of the presence that had woken him up through the shadows covering the windowless room. It was dark, almost too dark to tell anything but the faint outlines of the bare furniture Abstergo had thought necessary, but he knew with a strange sort of certainty that he wasn’t alone.
It didn’t take him long to find it—a stooping figure right by the door.
He attempted to make out the details of the figure. It was male, that was certain. Taller than Vidic, too, so it couldn’t be the Templar. Beyond that it was impossible to make out the figure’s clothes though the darkness of the room, but what little was visible was enough to reassure Desmond that it wasn’t a guard.
“Who are you?” he asked, pulling his feet out of the tangled mess of bedsheets surrounding them.
A smile grew on his lips. “Do you need to ask, Seventeen?”
Desmond’s eyebrows rose at the sound of the voice. It was the same one he had heard that day in the Animus’ loading screen. “Sixteen?” he whispered.
“The one and only.”
“I’m not in the Animus, am I?” He breathed in. It didn’t feel like he was, at least. The Animus had a different, muted feeling to it that reality didn’t. “How are you here? Won’t Vidic know?”
Sixteen waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, I looped the feed,” he said. “They won’t know a thing.”
Desmond narrowed his eyes. How did he get into my room? he wondered. Access to the laboratory’s main hall wasn’t always closed, but anything beyond it was a different matter. “What do you want?”
Shrugging, Subject Sixteen began to walk towards him. As he got closer, what little fluorescent light the emergency lamps atop his bed emitted allowed Desmond the chance to finally see him.
He was tall, with a hint of gauntness that didn’t quite fit his height. His skin was pale, though it was obvious even in the dark that it was the sort of shade due to staying indoors for too long rather than something natural. His hair—blond, by the look of it—was tousled and messy, as if having been run through too many times. He was wearing a t-shirt underneath a shirt with rolled up sleeves that allowed a clear sight of—.
Desmond frowned. Are those scars?
The other subject ignored Desmond’s assessing gaze. “I needed to talk to you,” he said, sounding resigned. “Coming here directly offers more privacy than the Animus does.”
Desmond nodded at the explanation, not managing to look away from the scars littering the other man’s forearms. Some were large, though none of them looked like they had been exceedingly serious. Still, they couldn’t have been made with a clean edge; not with those jagged outlines. The trauma behind them was blatant. The skin on the verge of looking disfigured.
“Ugly, aren’t they?”
Desmond’s eyes darted up. “Sorry,” he said automatically, only to be taken aback by the way in which Sixteen’s lips had twisted upwards.
“They didn’t give me much to work with,” Sixteen simply said, by way of an explanation. He crossed his arms, muscles growing taut. “Blood sticks. I had to use something to get that message for you.”
The simplicity with which the other man explained the scars away horrified him. “What happened? Did Vidic—?” he asked, not fully sure about whether he should broach the subject. He had known Lucy had lied when he had asked how much time Sixteen had been in Abstergo, but he hadn’t thought it had extended quite this far. “Lucy didn’t say that—.”
His eyes flicked down at the scars. The majority were healing, at least, but they still looked bright red and painful. They likely still hurt quite a lot, but the blond man obviously hadn’t been given anything to manage the pain or help the healing along.
Desmond looked up and met the man’s eyes, only hesitating briefly before speaking. He couldn’t pretend he knew what the man meant by having to deliver a message, but…
Just what did they do to him?
“It won’t be necessary now, though.” Faltering briefly, Sixteen uncrossed his arms and looked down at Desmond. “You’re here now, after all—somehow.”
Desmond groaned, feeling exasperated. He still couldn’t understand what he meant, but that didn’t matter right now. “Okay. How did you get access to this laboratory then?”
“It’s a long story.” Stepping forwards, he sat on an edge of the bed. “For now, let’s just say that there’s a whole range of things one can learn in the Animus. Including how to use the system to move freely around this place.”
“You’re not here willingly, though, are you? How did Abstergo get you?” he asked, gesturing at the area around them. “Why haven’t you escaped yet if you can do all… this?”
Sixteen let out an amused huff. “It’s a funny story, actually. Your father selected me for a mission, one only I could do. I even believed him.” He began to tap his fingers on his trousers, pressing against the fabric until it creased. “I understand now. Or, well. I thought I did.”
The thought of his father made Desmond’s chest burn. “Why didn’t they get you out?” They always did, didn’t they? Or at least attempted to.
Clay dug his fingernails into his skin. “I’m not important enough, Seventeen. You? Maybe, but me?” His voice cracked. “I know too much, now. She said so herself. I can never leave—they can never know.”
Sighing, Desmond leant forwards and rested his weight on his knees. “Desmond. Please call me Desmond.” He wanted to ask more, too, but—. “What’s your name? I can’t call you Sixteen all day.” He wouldn’t, either. They weren’t numbers.
The question made the man pause again. He squared his shoulders, doubt clear in the set of his jaw. “Clay,” he finally said, as if testing the words. “My name is Clay. Clay Kaczmarek”
It only a few nights later that Desmond managed to convince Clay to fully explain what on earth he had meant by a message. The other man had hesitated at first, clearly unhappy with the idea of having to retell what he knew. It was clear in the way his shoulders hunched over as he spoke, in how the corners of his mouth twisted downwards through the bouts of mirthless laughter.
Still, it hadn’t been too long before he had relented; though Desmond hadn’t understood why he had hesitated until the story had been told in its entirety.
“You needed to see. See, Seventeen. How else could I have done it?” Clay looked at him pointedly, eyes wide and slightly glazed over. “Making sure you got certain information was my only purpose, and blood sticks. Sticks. Abstergo wouldn’t know. That way, once I uploaded myself to the Animus, I’d have been able to do what Juno said had to be done.”
The blond man stood rigidly once he was done. His jaw clenched painfully as he stared at Desmond with a mixture of caution and reluctance, as if expecting him to jump. Desmond remained still by their place near the Animus, not quite knowing what to say or how to react—if there was any way he could do so.
The fact that he had asked Clay about it directly must have been vindicating to some degree, even with how many nights the other man had skirted around the topic. Half of it sounded, frankly, insane. Even more than the idea of Assassins and Templars had at first. It was all true, though. It had to be, for Clay to have skirted around the topic like he had. For him to have spoken as harshly as he had when finally explaining.
Still, it was the facts surrounding his situation which really unnerved Desmond. His being chosen for the mission. Lucy. The Animus. The fact that he had been actively planning to die.
Desmond shook his head and glanced at the cross-shaped room. Would Clay have carried his plan out had Desmond not been in Abstergo?
The thought made Desmond grimace. The scars littering the man’s forearms spoke for themselves. He would have, undoubtably, and the fact that Clay would have chosen to do so willingly made him feel all sorts of uncomfortable. Not in the least because Clay didn’t even know him.
Just what did that say about him? How many people were ready to go that far for a stranger?
“Right,” Desmond finally said. “That sounds insane, honestly.”
Clay let out a huff, lips twisting up.
The sound made a sense of determination run through him. He still didn’t know what to make of the future the other subject had spoken about, but he didn’t need to decide on anything immediately. The most important fact was that message or no message, Clay didn’t want to remain in Abstergo. Which meant that, at the very least, they could try to escape the place together. They’d just need to plan something.
Straightening his back, Desmond turned to look at the other subject. “So, Clay. What possibilities do we have if we try to escape Abstergo together?”
Lucy gaped from the room’s door. A myriad of emotions flashed through her eyes. Surprise, anger, regret… They were all there, clear and completely unlike anything Desmond had seen since awakening in Abstergo. “Desmond? What—?” Her eyes widened. “Clay?”
Clay, who had been at an edge of the room, out of the immediate view of the door, smiled crookedly at her. “Lucy,” he spat.
Lucy’s jaw tightened. “Desmond? What is he—? How—?”
Desmond smiled grimly. The confidence that the now-familiar woman had shown when she had entered the room to demand that he needed to get ready to escape had all but vanished. “We need to be quick, right?”
This hadn’t been quite what they had planned—not by a long shot—but when the opportunity was too good to let go. No matter how much she disliked the thought there was little that Lucy could do about Clay joining her impromptu rescue operation. Not if she wanted Desmond to come along willingly. Plus, given how she had left the door to the research wing open…
Grudgingly Lucy walked briskly out of the room and through the cross-shaped chamber, not sparing a glance to the man standing by Desmond. Clay, close behind him, approached her as she began to tap the screen of the Animus terminal. He already had downloaded all of the files related to their sessions in preparation to their own attempt to escape.
“I’ve already got the files, Lucy,” he said nonchalantly, as if his presence within the room was the most natural thing in the world. As if Lucy hadn’t been supposed to be his ally when he had handed himself over to Abstergo. “No need to worry about it.”
She gaped. Desmond, fearing what the blonde woman might decide to do, stepped towards them. “We haven’t got much time, right, Lucy? Ten minutes at most?”
Lucy swallowed and finally, hesitantly, nodded. She was angry, but there wasn’t anything she could do about Clay’s presence in what otherwise was a flawless escape operation. Whatever she did once they were out of there was a different story, but she couldn’t give him away without compromising Desmond himself—not now.
The fifteen minutes that followed were nothing but surreal. Lucy, shocked into an angry silence, didn’t say a single word as they cut through the maze of hallways that was Abstergo. What few guards they encountered were quickly dealt with, until, finally, after the card she had been using failed to register with the last elevator, they were at the parking at the basement level.
Desmond found himself moving instinctively as the group of five guards patrolling the area lunged at them. It didn’t take long before he had knocked a guard out. Quickly, only half-registering the actions of the two people besides him, he dealt with the guard who had been behind him. Coming to a standstill only when the last of the guards had collapsed.
Breathing in deeply, Desmond took a moment to appreciate the feeling of the night-time air on his skin. He hadn’t realised how much he had missed it after all of the hours he had spent inside of the Animus.
Still, where were they, anyways? This didn’t look like New York.
He looked at Lucy. “Lucy?”
The blonde woman’s eyes darted to his. She was panicking, her heavy breathing was anything to go by. Something about what she was doing must have just dawned on her—or was it the fact that Clay was there?
He pressed when she didn’t say anything. “What now? You must have a car, right?”
The question seemed to shake whatever she had been thinking about away. Nodding curtly, she pressed through the parking lot to a white car near the back. Desmond stood still for a few seconds, deciding to wait for the other subject to gather his thoughts before following behind her.
“Are you sure about this, Clay?” he asked.
Even now, after having gone through Abstergo, Desmond still found the man’s lack of hesitation surprising. They could have done this in some other way, tried to engineer their way out of Abstergo without relying on Lucy of all people. On the Assassins.
The other man hadn’t spoken much about it after he had retold his story, but it clearly affected him.
Clay swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He rubbed his temples. It didn’t look like he had lost himself to what he said was the bleeding effect, but it must have been there, playing in the background with the feeling of fresh air.
“I am,” he finally said, blunt edge in his voice. Slowly, he stepped towards Desmond, eyes regaining some of their lost focus. “Let’s go, Seventeen. Best to keep an eye on her.”
Desmond nodded and followed behind him towards the car, where Lucy was waiting expectantly. He balled his fists as he met her eyes.
Whatever it was that happened, they’d be able to deal with it.