2 Meeting Point

The deafening silence was the first thing she became aware of. Her head was pounding, and she guessed she must've hit her head. ... On what? Scrolling through her memories, she tried to remember what had happened. Desmond... She had arrived in Manhattan together with Desmond, Shaun and Lucy. To get away from the templars. Right, and she had went to the store to get supplies and groceries. Then what..? She couldn't remember. That must've been when she blacked out. A vague memory about a military radio also managed to press its way into her consciousness. But was she really conscious?

Rebecca's senses were slowly coming back to her, and as she moved her head, she could feel it was lying on something soft. Not pillow soft, but not exactly firm. As she pried her eyelids open, she was met by darkness. It was eerie how it didn't matter if her eyes were open or closed. In fact, it almost seemed brighter behind her closed eyelids... Her lower body was numb, but she could squirm enough to realize she was lying on her back. She was about to try out her voice by shouting when a blinding light made her eyes sting. Her arms instinctively reached up to cover her eyes, shielding them from the light. She heard a muffled voice to her left and tried to look who had spoke, but it was too bright. She blinked and squinted, trying to make something out, but to no use. She was forced to let her eyelids slid shut.

Where was she? Who had taken her, and what had happened? For now, when she was basically unable to either see, hear or move, she just prayed that whoever they were weren't out to hurt her.

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Five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

One...

An hour. Rebecca had been gone for an hour when it was just a ten minute walk to the grocery store. They all were getting worried and Desmond was restlessly pacing back and forth in the big cellar room. It made the others uneasy, and Lucy finally spoke up. "Desmond-". She didn't get any further, for he stopped dead in his tracks and shot her a glare. He threw his arms in the air and spoke loud and clear, to make sure both of them heard.

"I don't wanna hear it! You keep telling me to hide, run, don't stop, we must go! But do you ever stop to think about yourselves? Do you have anything at all to protect yourselves with? And while we're on it - no, I won't sit down. I've been strapped to that god forsaken machine for months, and not once have I been outside to be able to see, smell or listen. Not once have I been allowed to go out, take a walk, be normal. All I do is fight templars that aren't even real. Templars that have been dead for over a hundred years. I'm done Lucy! I want out! I want to find Rebecca and do something good, out there in the real world. I'm done feeling useless!"

Shaun and Lucy just stared at him in awe. The silence that followed were tense and long. The two looked at each other, then back at Desmond. It was then he realized tears were streaming down his cheeks. He immediately turned his back against his comrades and hid his face in his hands. He was such a fool. A fool to have thought he would be let out just because he wanted to. This was a fucking prison. A prison that he would only be let out of when he'd finished his task. The task of finding the location of the apple. The Piece of Eden that would save the world from the human race, and possibly even more. The destruction of Earth itself. The faith of the world was depending on him, and he was only thinking about himself. He bluntly didn't care. He wanted out. More than anything, he wanted to feel fresh air in his lungs, soft grass under his bare feet, and the wind gently caressing his cheeks. He wanted freedom. Just for a moment. A brief minute. Then he could go back. Back into the Animus and the memories buried in his DNA. The genetic memories of his ancestors. His ancestors-

His train of thought was interrupted by a hand laid softly on his shoulder. He flinched by the touch and looked up to see who it was. Lucy were looking back at him with a small, but gentle smile on her lips, though her eyes mirrored both worry, anger and hurt. He was immediately struck with guilt. They were both counting on him. Yet the thought of just one short moment out of the confinements of a building was so utterly inviting. He couldn't figure out what Lucy wanted to say. The restlessness were slowly eating him up from the inside, yet the guilt were almost overwhelming. She opened her mouth to speak when the faint sound of an explosion echoed through the apartment complex above them. A bomb?

Before Lucy had a chance to say anything more, Desmond was on the other side of the cellar, ripped the door open, and was sprinting across the hall and up the stairs that would lead him to whatever it was that had set it off.

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[Alex's P.O.V.]

Fury lashed within him as he cracked a man's neck with his bare hand. Throwing him aside, Alex turned to the remaining five that was pointing their rifles at him. One of them fiddled with the handle, hands trembling and shoulders tensing up. A sign of inexperience and fear. Unfortunate for the hunter - an opportunity for the hunted. He clenched his fists and lifted his head to meet the gaze of the supposed youngster. Time seemed to stop, and they all waited for the other to make the first move. The sound of distant, quickly approaching steps broke the silence. For Alex at least - the military soldiers didn't seem to hear a thing. Pity their lack of enhanced hearing. He didn't bother waiting to find out if it was a simple civilian heading home, or the backup they had called for before they ascended the four flights of stairs. How did they even find them anyway? Patrol? No, there was only one pair of footsteps. Nevertheless...

In one fluid motion, Alex burst forward and grabbed the heads of two soldiers, throwing them back with such force their necks snapped. The three pressed tight on the triggers of their rifles, peppering .223 caliber bullets into the body of their assaulter, blood splattering over the walls in the narrow hallway. Gritting his teeth, Alex withstood the stinging pain and reached for the two older men's guns. They backed away slowly, but he was quick to grab the muzzles of their rifles and snap them in half with just the force of his thumbs. A frown decorated his face, and his eyes almost glowed with the rage that had filled him. Not even for a moment could he be left alone to sort out his tumbling thoughts. Always disturbances the moment he find any form of peace.

He jerked the weapons out of the men's trembling grips, twisted them in his hands and shoved them into their chests, clean through both armor, muscle and bone. The life quickly drained from their eyes as their blood stained the already ruined carpet. The younger soldier was left standing when his comrades fell to the floor. His hands and legs were shaking as his body struggled against the complete terror that filled him. He was going to die, then and there. Using the last ounce of courage he had left, he shoved his rifle against the man before him, hoping that he would stumble to the ground, and brought up a knife from a holster strapped around his waist. Alex wasn't even the slightest amused to get the sharp object shoved into his stomach and reached out to grab the boy's arm before he could run.

The supposed backup was now just around the corner, and he pulled the kid in to hold him tightly against his chest - trapped. While his right arm was locked around the kid's throat hard enough to keep him in place, but soft enough not to strangle, his left hand went to rest on the right side of the kid's head. If it proved necessary, Alex could break the youngster's neck with a quick snap of his arm - a reassurance in case the footsteps actually belonged to any military personnel.

Surprise surprise, they didn't. Needless to say, Alex did not expect to see a seemingly regular citizen sprint around the corner. A man clothed in a white hoodie and dark blue jeans. The moment he saw Alex, he froze in place.

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[Desmond's P.O.V.]

His heart pumped, blood and adrenaline rushed through his body as he ascended the stairs, three steps at a time. Bullets were going off and he felt the panic rise within him. Did the military actually just execute a dozen people? The military? No, it couldn't be...

Don't let it be too late, don't let it be too late, don't let it be too late- It's too late. There's no more shooting. Please, let there be survivors...

The thoughts kept spinning, making his chest feel like it was going to explode by how fast his heart was beating. He finally reached the top of the stairs, with his sixth sense guiding him around a corner, then sprinting through the hallway to round another corner. Then the blood froze in his veins. Five bodies, all in military clothing - two of them with their heads bent in a way that shouldn't even be possible - were sprawled out on the floor up ahead. Dark red blood splatter all over the walls and carpet, empty bullet casings spread out in a similar manner, and six rifles thrown carelessly on the floor. In the middle of it all stood a man, barely older than twenty-five, face and clothes covered in blood. Whether it was his own or from the soldiers', Desmond didn't know. In fact, he didn't care. All he knew was that his eyes were cold and hard, and they stared right at him.

He wanted to run. His instincts screamed at him to run as fast and far as he possibly could, but his mind quickly registered the military soldier held in a firm grip in front of the man. He saw terror in those bright green eyes. Rich streams of tears were running down his cheeks, and Desmond guessed he wasn't even older than twenty. An image of Lucy's face flashed before his eyes, and a newfound courage spread through his body. He wouldn't let this poor kid die. Not with his whole life ahead of him.

He was just about to take a step forward and tell the man to release the boy when those cold blue eyes flickered to something behind Desmond. Though hesitantly, he half turned to see what it was, but was met with the empty hallway. To his surprise, when he turned back he was also met with emptiness. The two men had vanished, as well as the bodies and the guns. All that witnessed that something had happened here at all was the bloodstains on the walls and carpet. Big, dark splotches staining the already dusty hallway.

'Was it all just imagination...?' he wondered, panic slowly rising within him. If this was a case of the Bleeding Effect, it sure as hell was a lot more realistic than every earlier experience. Was he going mad? Would he end up like 16th? Clay Kaczmarek who had written cryptic messages with his own blood in his holding cell. The one Desmond had later been kept in. He clutched his head at the thought. His heart pounded in his chest, and it was becoming harder to breath by every passing second. He was going mad. No no no no no no-

His eyes flung open wide when he heard the static noise from a military radio. Static, then a voice. In a mere second, Desmond had thrown himself forward and kneeled over the bloodstained radio. He had totally missed it in the mess after the men had disappeared. Unsurprisingly, since it was as bloody as the carpets. With a shaky hand he carefully picked it up, as if scared that it would vanish by touch. He held it up to his ear, hoping to catch anything that proved this wasn't just his vivid imagination.

"... edcrow ... elta-5 ... ubject ... Crane ... aptured ..."

There was more being said after that, but he didn't bother listening. He had heard everything he needed to hear. Whoever was on the other end of the radio knew something about Rebecca. He was sure of it, and he was hellbent on finding out what. Hellbent to make sure he wasn't on the verge of insanity. Hellbent on being the one who would find Rebecca.