Other Fan Fiction ❯ Assassin's Creed Walkthrough ❯ Prologue
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: marriedmiko 
Desmond is introduced to the Animus.
Miscellaneous: Other Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.17.2012 | Updated On: 06.20.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.2K | Visits: 269 | Status: Work In Progress
Desmond is introduced to the Animus.
Miscellaneous: Other Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.17.2012 | Updated On: 06.20.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.2K | Visits: 269 | Status: Work In Progress
A/N: Like the description says, this is just a walkthrough. Story and characters are property of Ubisoft. I’m not using this to make money, just to help explain the story to my non-gamer friends and family.
Strange lights flash before my eyes. A shape—a triangle of some kind, made of three parts. Everything is white and then…
I am in a courtyard. Everything is too bright, and blurry. Faceless women crowd around me, pawing at me. It all feels wrong—my clothes, the smells—my skin is crawling. I try to back away, but they only follow. The warped sound of a man’s voice comes from nowhere and everywhere:
“I applied my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this was also a chasing after wind, for in much wisdom is much grief, and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow.”
The women are really starting to freak me out. I try to run away, but they run faster. I push at them, and they push back. I’m not sure if there’s a way out of here. Just when it all seems too much, everything goes white and silent again.
When I can see and hear again, I’m in an old brick street. The blurriness has gotten worse. Now I’m seeing double—no, is it—triple? There are more people, and none of them have faces. I hear a woman’s voice, but it seems to come from all over, like before.
“We’ve got a problem. I can’t anchor him to the memory.” She sounds genuinely concerned. “ Too much psychological trauma. He’s rejecting treatment after treatment.”
I try to walk through the streets, but flashes of other places keep obscuring my vision. I feel like I’m about to come apart at the seams. People bump in to me, and I feel it too late. I run right into a wall.
A man’s voice joins the woman’s. Calm, clear, and collected. “Desmond, I need you to try and relax.”
Relax? Somehow this makes me panic worse. People only tell you to relax when something bad is about to go down. I run faster, bumping into more people along the way, not caring where I go. The colors keep changing, blue to red to blue, and I see more than one place at the same time.
“Let me try and stabilize him,” the woman says hopefully. I stumble and fall, pick myself up again and run. The colors keep changing, blue to red to blue, and I see more than one place at the same time.
“Focus,” The man instructs me. “Listen to the sound of my voice. Recognize that what you’re seeing isn’t real. Just a picture of the past. It can’t hurt you.” He sounds patronizing, as if this were obvious.
More people run into me, and I start pushing back. The past? But I can’t focus, there’s too much, too many…
“Dammit. It’s not working,” the woman complains.
“Give it a moment, he’ll adjust,” the man continues in his annoyingly calm voice. “The first time is never easy.”
Suddenly I seem to gain a measure of balance, and take this advantage to run. I don’t care where, as long as I can get away from all this… everything! Everything coming at me at once!
“We’re losing him!” The woman sounds a little frantic at least. My short sprint quickly falls apart as the images begin to flash by faster and faster. I’m so dizzy…
A man speaks, and his voice is so different I’m not sure it’s the same man. “Enough, Miss Stillman!” he says, his voice high-pitched and a little angry.
The people around me seem to be closing in, so I strike out, my fists connecting more often than not.
“We need to pull him out. Now,” the woman insists.
The man doesn’t sound like he likes the idea. “All right Desmond,” he says begrudgingly. “We’re going to try to pull you out.”
Everything is white again, and this time it is a relief.
I open my eyes, and gasp. The room is large, industrial, grey. There is a young blonde woman’s face just above me. “You ok?” she asks. I try to sit up, catch my breath, but she gently pushes me back down.
“I told you he’d be fine,” the man says patronizingly. He is wearing a long white lab coat.
“Bastard!” I yell, managing to sit up. The young woman backs away, distancing herself behind some kind of monitor.
“Now, now,” he tries to placate me with a trite hand gesture. “I just saved your life!”
“Saved my life?” I demand. “You kidnapped me! You strapped me into that… thing!”
He rolls his eyes. “Animus. It’s an Animus.” He begins to walk away.
“I don’t even know you people! Why are you doing this to me?!”
He turns around, slowly. “You have information we need, Mr. Miles.”
“Information? I’m a bartender for chrissakes! What do you want me to do, teach you how to mix a martini?!”
He frowns and begins to walk back towards me. “We know who you are. What you are.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look away from his cold, calculating gaze.
“Don’t play coy with me,” he warns. “There isn’t time. You’re an Assassin.” He advances on me. “And whether you realize it or not, you’ve got something that my employers want, locked away in that head of yours.” He gestures vaguely at my head, which seems to offend him in some way, and walks off again.
“But I’m not an Assassin,” I call after him. “Not anymore.”
The man half-laughs. “Yes, your file indicated as much. Something about… an escape. Most fortunate for us.” He has walked around behind the table I’m sitting on, and I turn to follow, watching him.
“What do you want from me?”
“For you to do as you’re told. The Animus will allow us to locate what we need. Once we have it, you’ll be free to go.” He makes it sound so obvious.
“I am not going back in there!”
“Then we’ll induce a coma and continue our work!” He almost sounds like he likes this option better. “When we’re done, you’ll be left to die. Truth be told, the only reason you’re still conscious is because this approach saves us time.”
Who the hell does this guy think he is? “You’re insane.”
The man tilts his head to the side. “So what is it, Mr. Miles? Live, or die?”
I stare back at him. This man is totally nuts. How the hell can I get out of here?
He seems to take my pause as an answer. “Lie down.”
For a moment, I think about running. But I can’t really see a way out, I know nothing about this place. So I lay down and sigh deeply.
“A wise decision,” he says patronizingly.
I just glare at the ceiling as the machine whirrs around me. The triangle logo reappears in my vision, superimposed over the concrete and pipes above me. “Whoa… where am I?” As I turn my head, I can see the young woman, but over her are numbers and words… Animus version 1.28… Memory DNA Timeline... and a spinning image of DNA. Part of it is highlighted, and above it says <Memory Locked>.
“You’re in the Animus.” As always, he sounds like he’s explaining this to a child. Which makes me feel twice as dumb, because I don’t know what that means.
“Which is…?”
“It’s a projector that renders genetic memories in three dimensions,” he explains. He sounds really excited about it.
“Genetic memory…” I am so lost.
“Seems you’ll need a bit of a tutorial,” he says condescendingly. He sighs. “Very well. We’ll start simple. What is a memory, Mr. Miles?”
Geez, I’m not that dumb. “It’s the… recollection of a past event.” Now a three dimensional image of a brain is rotating between me and the man’s smug face. There is text next to it, but it is too small for me to read, and it keeps moving.
“Specific to the individual remembering the event,” he adds.
“Yeah, sure.”
He chuckles. “What if I told you that the human body not only housed the individual’s memory, but the memories of his ancestors, as well? Genetic memory, if you will. Migration, hibernation, reproduction.” Now there’s an image of a bird flying. He’s getting really worked up about the idea. “How do animals know when and where to go? What to do?”
“That’s just animal instinct,” I argue.
“Now you’re arguing semantics, Mr. Miles. Whatever you call it, the fact remains these creatures hold knowledge absent the requisite first-hand experience.” He has now wandered out of my field of vision. The young blonde appears to be working on the machine. “I have spent the past thirty years trying to understand why. I discovered something most fascinating. Our DNA functions as an archive. It contains not only genetic instructions passed down from previous generations, but memories as well. The memories of our ancestors.” He paces back into view.
While he is waxing eloquent on the subject, I’m one step ahead. “And the Animus lets you decode and read these DNA files.”
He smiles a little. “Precisely.”
Now the young blonde speaks up. “But there’s a problem. This is the specific memory we’re trying to access.” The DNA animation has returned, and above the highlighted bit marked <Memory Locked> a little arrow bobs. “Unfortunately, when we try and open the memory, your mind withdraws. You lack the confidence to step into your ancestor’s body. That’s what happened earlier. You got knocked out of the target memory, and pushed back to a more stable state.”
I like her better, she sounds nice, encouraging. “Why?”
“It’s your subconscious, it’s resisting. We found similar reactions in patients who undergo hypnosis to relive traumatic events. They can’t jump directly into the specific memory—they need to be eased in. Even then there can be problems.” She sounds a little worried. At least somebody’s concerned about my well-being.
“So how do we fix it?” I can’t help it, my curiosity is getting the better of me.
“We find a memory you can synchronize with, and then move forward from there. You’ll get used to it,” she assures me. “This is the closest we can get, so it’s where we’ll have to start.” Another section of the animation lights up, and it’s a long, long way from the first one. She walks away from the screen. “I’m uploading the tutorial program now.”
Everything goes white, but this time I’m expecting it and it’s not so freaky. I see a man… he’s dressed in a long white robe with a hood pulled up, with many belts and sashes crisscrossing his torso. He wears boots and bracers, and a piece of shoulder armor. If I focus, I can make him run around the little blank space he occupies. Around him are no walls or floors, just flickering lights and symbols that move and flash.
A female computer voice calmly recites instructions for navigating the memories. “The synchronization bar represents how in synch you are with your ancestor’s memories. If you ever fall completely out of synch, the Animus will restore you to your last synchronized position. You are currently dangerously close to desynchronization. Please follow all forthcoming instructions in order to restore system stability.
“The Animus utilizes a puppeteering concept to control the actions of your ancestor. Unloading subroutines to validate your body’s adaptation to the Animus. We will begin by exploring the default actions of each input.”
Everything goes white again. When I can see, there are two people in the little space with the man from before. The voice continues. “While standing still, use the head button to observe your environment.”
When I do this, I can see the two people as if I were looking through the man’s eyes.
“Good,” it says without emotion. I pull back from the man’s vision and everything whites out. Next, the man stands apart from a whole crowd of people milling around. They are dark, shadowy, and somewhat featureless, but they all carry jars on their heads. “Now use your empty hand to walk through these jar carriers without causing them to drop what they are carrying. Proceed to the marker to continue the synchronization process.”
Beyond the crowd of jar carriers, a big lit-up DNA structure appears. I move the man towards the crowd, and try to gently push each person out of the way without upsetting their jars. It’s not too hard, as long as I don’t shove they just move out of his way. I reach the marker easily.
“Well done,” the computer is almost toneless, and the whiteness returns. Now the man is alone again. The computer rattles off some more instructions about how to perform various actions, and I try a few out. I’m really getting the hang of this. “Excellent,” the computer tells me.
In the next setting, the man faces another man, who is far away. The computer asks me to grab and throw the man onto another lit-up DNA marker. Next I learn to sprint. Then it explains some more aspects of the heads-up display, which are some little symbols that hover at the top of my field of vision. They tell me what my social status is, when someone is looking at me and how suspicious they are of me, and what actions I can make.
A man and a small wall appear in front of my… ancestor? Puppet? This is still a little confusing.
“To illustrate the change in awareness level, you will stealth assassinate this soldier,” the computer informs me. Whoa, what?
“First, lock on to your target.” The soldier lights up with white tracery around his body. “Now, select your hidden blade.” I flex the robed man’s wrist, and a little blade slides out of his left-hand glove and then slides back in. “With your hidden blade selected, walk up to the soldier and assassinate him.”
The computer voice is cold, simplistic, as if giving instructions for folding laundry. But this is just a simulation, right? I do as the computer says, and it really only looks as if the man punches the soldier in the gut. Except, when he staggers away and falls over, there is a big, bloody spot where he was punched. I back the man off, as another soldier seems to walk in from the light.
He kneels down next to his fallen comrade, and looks around. “Alright, then, where are you?” he demands in a thick British accent. He stands up and puts a hand on the hilt of his sword. At this point I realize the soldiers are dressed like crusaders, with a big red cross on their chests. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem to spot me.
“The dead body has alerted the soldier and changed his awareness into informed, as represented by the red witness indicator. Aggressive actions or socially unacceptable behavior undertaken at this time will likely provoke an armed response. Provoke this soldier.”
The soldier draws his sword, still looking around. I run the man up to him and shove him. “Assassin! Stop him!” the soldier cries.
“Notice how your social status icon has changed to exposed.” It is red and flashing, a little irritating really. The computer explains how to get away, and I quickly follow the instructions. It is amazingly easy to get away from the soldier. It explains that being anonymous will keep me synchronized and make my job as an assassin easier. It explains that I must always break the line of sight between the assassin and whoever is chasing him before hiding. This seems simple enough.
The computer teaches me how to blend in with crowds of scholars, and I wonder if my ancestor is some kind of scholar. He’s dressed enough like them to be easily missed. In fact, if the assassin just walks slowly, head down and hands clasped as if in prayer, the soldiers assume he is a scholar when no others are around.
Next the computer explains something called Eagle Vision. Apparently my ancestor had a sixth sense that allowed him to sense others’ motives and intentions. When I use this ability, the environment goes dark, but the figures are highlighted in different colors: white, yellow, red, blue. Different colors mean different things. The computer warns me that eagle vision will only be available when I am fully synched.
“Please note that following the Assassin’s Creed, your ancestor’s way of life, will help you stay in synch. The Creed consists of three tenants: First, never hurt an innocent person. Second, always be discreet. Third, do not compromise the clan. Should you lose synch, you can restore synchronization by reliving key moments of your ancestor’s life, or by respecting the Creed.
“You have successfully completed the tutorial. The most stable memory block will now be loaded.”
Everything goes white.
END NOTES:
Ugh, sorry that tutorial took so long. I didn’t want to skip it entirely because there was some useful information in there. For future reference, parts of the story that involve Desmond will be written in First Person, present-tense. Parts of the story that involve Altair (and in future games, Ezio and Connor) will be told in third-person past tense. I’m hoping this will give a sense of clarity as to when everything is happening. Hopefully future parts will be more interesting!
Strange lights flash before my eyes. A shape—a triangle of some kind, made of three parts. Everything is white and then…
I am in a courtyard. Everything is too bright, and blurry. Faceless women crowd around me, pawing at me. It all feels wrong—my clothes, the smells—my skin is crawling. I try to back away, but they only follow. The warped sound of a man’s voice comes from nowhere and everywhere:
“I applied my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this was also a chasing after wind, for in much wisdom is much grief, and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow.”
The women are really starting to freak me out. I try to run away, but they run faster. I push at them, and they push back. I’m not sure if there’s a way out of here. Just when it all seems too much, everything goes white and silent again.
When I can see and hear again, I’m in an old brick street. The blurriness has gotten worse. Now I’m seeing double—no, is it—triple? There are more people, and none of them have faces. I hear a woman’s voice, but it seems to come from all over, like before.
“We’ve got a problem. I can’t anchor him to the memory.” She sounds genuinely concerned. “ Too much psychological trauma. He’s rejecting treatment after treatment.”
I try to walk through the streets, but flashes of other places keep obscuring my vision. I feel like I’m about to come apart at the seams. People bump in to me, and I feel it too late. I run right into a wall.
A man’s voice joins the woman’s. Calm, clear, and collected. “Desmond, I need you to try and relax.”
Relax? Somehow this makes me panic worse. People only tell you to relax when something bad is about to go down. I run faster, bumping into more people along the way, not caring where I go. The colors keep changing, blue to red to blue, and I see more than one place at the same time.
“Let me try and stabilize him,” the woman says hopefully. I stumble and fall, pick myself up again and run. The colors keep changing, blue to red to blue, and I see more than one place at the same time.
“Focus,” The man instructs me. “Listen to the sound of my voice. Recognize that what you’re seeing isn’t real. Just a picture of the past. It can’t hurt you.” He sounds patronizing, as if this were obvious.
More people run into me, and I start pushing back. The past? But I can’t focus, there’s too much, too many…
“Dammit. It’s not working,” the woman complains.
“Give it a moment, he’ll adjust,” the man continues in his annoyingly calm voice. “The first time is never easy.”
Suddenly I seem to gain a measure of balance, and take this advantage to run. I don’t care where, as long as I can get away from all this… everything! Everything coming at me at once!
“We’re losing him!” The woman sounds a little frantic at least. My short sprint quickly falls apart as the images begin to flash by faster and faster. I’m so dizzy…
A man speaks, and his voice is so different I’m not sure it’s the same man. “Enough, Miss Stillman!” he says, his voice high-pitched and a little angry.
The people around me seem to be closing in, so I strike out, my fists connecting more often than not.
“We need to pull him out. Now,” the woman insists.
The man doesn’t sound like he likes the idea. “All right Desmond,” he says begrudgingly. “We’re going to try to pull you out.”
Everything is white again, and this time it is a relief.
I open my eyes, and gasp. The room is large, industrial, grey. There is a young blonde woman’s face just above me. “You ok?” she asks. I try to sit up, catch my breath, but she gently pushes me back down.
“I told you he’d be fine,” the man says patronizingly. He is wearing a long white lab coat.
“Bastard!” I yell, managing to sit up. The young woman backs away, distancing herself behind some kind of monitor.
“Now, now,” he tries to placate me with a trite hand gesture. “I just saved your life!”
“Saved my life?” I demand. “You kidnapped me! You strapped me into that… thing!”
He rolls his eyes. “Animus. It’s an Animus.” He begins to walk away.
“I don’t even know you people! Why are you doing this to me?!”
He turns around, slowly. “You have information we need, Mr. Miles.”
“Information? I’m a bartender for chrissakes! What do you want me to do, teach you how to mix a martini?!”
He frowns and begins to walk back towards me. “We know who you are. What you are.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look away from his cold, calculating gaze.
“Don’t play coy with me,” he warns. “There isn’t time. You’re an Assassin.” He advances on me. “And whether you realize it or not, you’ve got something that my employers want, locked away in that head of yours.” He gestures vaguely at my head, which seems to offend him in some way, and walks off again.
“But I’m not an Assassin,” I call after him. “Not anymore.”
The man half-laughs. “Yes, your file indicated as much. Something about… an escape. Most fortunate for us.” He has walked around behind the table I’m sitting on, and I turn to follow, watching him.
“What do you want from me?”
“For you to do as you’re told. The Animus will allow us to locate what we need. Once we have it, you’ll be free to go.” He makes it sound so obvious.
“I am not going back in there!”
“Then we’ll induce a coma and continue our work!” He almost sounds like he likes this option better. “When we’re done, you’ll be left to die. Truth be told, the only reason you’re still conscious is because this approach saves us time.”
Who the hell does this guy think he is? “You’re insane.”
The man tilts his head to the side. “So what is it, Mr. Miles? Live, or die?”
I stare back at him. This man is totally nuts. How the hell can I get out of here?
He seems to take my pause as an answer. “Lie down.”
For a moment, I think about running. But I can’t really see a way out, I know nothing about this place. So I lay down and sigh deeply.
“A wise decision,” he says patronizingly.
I just glare at the ceiling as the machine whirrs around me. The triangle logo reappears in my vision, superimposed over the concrete and pipes above me. “Whoa… where am I?” As I turn my head, I can see the young woman, but over her are numbers and words… Animus version 1.28… Memory DNA Timeline... and a spinning image of DNA. Part of it is highlighted, and above it says <Memory Locked>.
“You’re in the Animus.” As always, he sounds like he’s explaining this to a child. Which makes me feel twice as dumb, because I don’t know what that means.
“Which is…?”
“It’s a projector that renders genetic memories in three dimensions,” he explains. He sounds really excited about it.
“Genetic memory…” I am so lost.
“Seems you’ll need a bit of a tutorial,” he says condescendingly. He sighs. “Very well. We’ll start simple. What is a memory, Mr. Miles?”
Geez, I’m not that dumb. “It’s the… recollection of a past event.” Now a three dimensional image of a brain is rotating between me and the man’s smug face. There is text next to it, but it is too small for me to read, and it keeps moving.
“Specific to the individual remembering the event,” he adds.
“Yeah, sure.”
He chuckles. “What if I told you that the human body not only housed the individual’s memory, but the memories of his ancestors, as well? Genetic memory, if you will. Migration, hibernation, reproduction.” Now there’s an image of a bird flying. He’s getting really worked up about the idea. “How do animals know when and where to go? What to do?”
“That’s just animal instinct,” I argue.
“Now you’re arguing semantics, Mr. Miles. Whatever you call it, the fact remains these creatures hold knowledge absent the requisite first-hand experience.” He has now wandered out of my field of vision. The young blonde appears to be working on the machine. “I have spent the past thirty years trying to understand why. I discovered something most fascinating. Our DNA functions as an archive. It contains not only genetic instructions passed down from previous generations, but memories as well. The memories of our ancestors.” He paces back into view.
While he is waxing eloquent on the subject, I’m one step ahead. “And the Animus lets you decode and read these DNA files.”
He smiles a little. “Precisely.”
Now the young blonde speaks up. “But there’s a problem. This is the specific memory we’re trying to access.” The DNA animation has returned, and above the highlighted bit marked <Memory Locked> a little arrow bobs. “Unfortunately, when we try and open the memory, your mind withdraws. You lack the confidence to step into your ancestor’s body. That’s what happened earlier. You got knocked out of the target memory, and pushed back to a more stable state.”
I like her better, she sounds nice, encouraging. “Why?”
“It’s your subconscious, it’s resisting. We found similar reactions in patients who undergo hypnosis to relive traumatic events. They can’t jump directly into the specific memory—they need to be eased in. Even then there can be problems.” She sounds a little worried. At least somebody’s concerned about my well-being.
“So how do we fix it?” I can’t help it, my curiosity is getting the better of me.
“We find a memory you can synchronize with, and then move forward from there. You’ll get used to it,” she assures me. “This is the closest we can get, so it’s where we’ll have to start.” Another section of the animation lights up, and it’s a long, long way from the first one. She walks away from the screen. “I’m uploading the tutorial program now.”
Everything goes white, but this time I’m expecting it and it’s not so freaky. I see a man… he’s dressed in a long white robe with a hood pulled up, with many belts and sashes crisscrossing his torso. He wears boots and bracers, and a piece of shoulder armor. If I focus, I can make him run around the little blank space he occupies. Around him are no walls or floors, just flickering lights and symbols that move and flash.
A female computer voice calmly recites instructions for navigating the memories. “The synchronization bar represents how in synch you are with your ancestor’s memories. If you ever fall completely out of synch, the Animus will restore you to your last synchronized position. You are currently dangerously close to desynchronization. Please follow all forthcoming instructions in order to restore system stability.
“The Animus utilizes a puppeteering concept to control the actions of your ancestor. Unloading subroutines to validate your body’s adaptation to the Animus. We will begin by exploring the default actions of each input.”
Everything goes white again. When I can see, there are two people in the little space with the man from before. The voice continues. “While standing still, use the head button to observe your environment.”
When I do this, I can see the two people as if I were looking through the man’s eyes.
“Good,” it says without emotion. I pull back from the man’s vision and everything whites out. Next, the man stands apart from a whole crowd of people milling around. They are dark, shadowy, and somewhat featureless, but they all carry jars on their heads. “Now use your empty hand to walk through these jar carriers without causing them to drop what they are carrying. Proceed to the marker to continue the synchronization process.”
Beyond the crowd of jar carriers, a big lit-up DNA structure appears. I move the man towards the crowd, and try to gently push each person out of the way without upsetting their jars. It’s not too hard, as long as I don’t shove they just move out of his way. I reach the marker easily.
“Well done,” the computer is almost toneless, and the whiteness returns. Now the man is alone again. The computer rattles off some more instructions about how to perform various actions, and I try a few out. I’m really getting the hang of this. “Excellent,” the computer tells me.
In the next setting, the man faces another man, who is far away. The computer asks me to grab and throw the man onto another lit-up DNA marker. Next I learn to sprint. Then it explains some more aspects of the heads-up display, which are some little symbols that hover at the top of my field of vision. They tell me what my social status is, when someone is looking at me and how suspicious they are of me, and what actions I can make.
A man and a small wall appear in front of my… ancestor? Puppet? This is still a little confusing.
“To illustrate the change in awareness level, you will stealth assassinate this soldier,” the computer informs me. Whoa, what?
“First, lock on to your target.” The soldier lights up with white tracery around his body. “Now, select your hidden blade.” I flex the robed man’s wrist, and a little blade slides out of his left-hand glove and then slides back in. “With your hidden blade selected, walk up to the soldier and assassinate him.”
The computer voice is cold, simplistic, as if giving instructions for folding laundry. But this is just a simulation, right? I do as the computer says, and it really only looks as if the man punches the soldier in the gut. Except, when he staggers away and falls over, there is a big, bloody spot where he was punched. I back the man off, as another soldier seems to walk in from the light.
He kneels down next to his fallen comrade, and looks around. “Alright, then, where are you?” he demands in a thick British accent. He stands up and puts a hand on the hilt of his sword. At this point I realize the soldiers are dressed like crusaders, with a big red cross on their chests. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem to spot me.
“The dead body has alerted the soldier and changed his awareness into informed, as represented by the red witness indicator. Aggressive actions or socially unacceptable behavior undertaken at this time will likely provoke an armed response. Provoke this soldier.”
The soldier draws his sword, still looking around. I run the man up to him and shove him. “Assassin! Stop him!” the soldier cries.
“Notice how your social status icon has changed to exposed.” It is red and flashing, a little irritating really. The computer explains how to get away, and I quickly follow the instructions. It is amazingly easy to get away from the soldier. It explains that being anonymous will keep me synchronized and make my job as an assassin easier. It explains that I must always break the line of sight between the assassin and whoever is chasing him before hiding. This seems simple enough.
The computer teaches me how to blend in with crowds of scholars, and I wonder if my ancestor is some kind of scholar. He’s dressed enough like them to be easily missed. In fact, if the assassin just walks slowly, head down and hands clasped as if in prayer, the soldiers assume he is a scholar when no others are around.
Next the computer explains something called Eagle Vision. Apparently my ancestor had a sixth sense that allowed him to sense others’ motives and intentions. When I use this ability, the environment goes dark, but the figures are highlighted in different colors: white, yellow, red, blue. Different colors mean different things. The computer warns me that eagle vision will only be available when I am fully synched.
“Please note that following the Assassin’s Creed, your ancestor’s way of life, will help you stay in synch. The Creed consists of three tenants: First, never hurt an innocent person. Second, always be discreet. Third, do not compromise the clan. Should you lose synch, you can restore synchronization by reliving key moments of your ancestor’s life, or by respecting the Creed.
“You have successfully completed the tutorial. The most stable memory block will now be loaded.”
Everything goes white.
END NOTES:
Ugh, sorry that tutorial took so long. I didn’t want to skip it entirely because there was some useful information in there. For future reference, parts of the story that involve Desmond will be written in First Person, present-tense. Parts of the story that involve Altair (and in future games, Ezio and Connor) will be told in third-person past tense. I’m hoping this will give a sense of clarity as to when everything is happening. Hopefully future parts will be more interesting!