-while his mother was humming a soft song in his tribe's tongue as she continued to braid his hair-

-and his mother was burning before his very eyes under the smoldering wood that prevented her from moving. The skin bubbled off her arms, her ebony braids charred and smoking. Her eyes watered from the smoke, breaths short and ragged. Trapped and he was helpless, too weak to lift the burning wood and save her, to save his own mother, he was too weak to save his own mother and she was dying, commanding him to leave, but how could he leave his own mother to die?-

-"I have told you as much as you need to know about your father. It is wise that you leave him in the past. Now come. I feel we have a good meal tonight in one of my snares."-

-"He is a Templar, Connor. The Grandmaster of the Order. If there is a man you must kill, it must be Haytham."-

-he asked the elders if they knew anything about him, about the shadow man in his dreams who replaced the vision of his father, but all they did was send him back to his mother, every time. Of course, she didn't approve of him inquiring about-

-burning-

-Assassins-

-Templar-

-father-

Connor awoke to the smell of piss and blood.

His mind emerged from the black fog that was unconsciousness slowly, like a man leaving a dark cave for the first time into the bright sunlight of the world. The first thing he noticed as soon as he awakened was the throbbing pain in his head searing through any coherent thought he tried to conjure. His tongue pressed against his cheek, finding it swollen and tender, and he tasted blood on his cracked lips. The solid floor was moist and chilled his skin, and the air seemed lighter and more cold than that in the open country, which meant he was somewhere condensed, somewhere inside. He could feel light on his face, but it felt interrupted, almost barred like, which meant he was most likely in a cell of some sort.

Hickey...Counterfeit...That guard knocked me out.

The pain from the blow to his head and the impact of collapsing to the cobblestone dragged him down, sending steady waves of pain searing through him, coaxing him to give up and return to promising sleep. But he persisted, shaking his head and jerking his numb arms, raising his head, bones groaning in protest as he moved from his limp position against the wall.

I don't have the time for this. I must stop Hickey.

As soon as he clawed his way to full consciousness, his system was immediately flooded with the smell of urine and blood. Peeling his eyes open, he quickly squinted them against the harsh sunlight, which streamed though a tiny barred window above him. Examining himself, he discovered he was no longer wearing his regular white Assassin robes. Instead, someone had replaced them with faded blue shorts and a torn shirt with an unpleasant red stain around the neck that smelt of vomit.

That's right. I've been arrested.

He briefly scanned his surroundings. Judging by his slumped posture, someone had haphazardly tossed him into a prison cell while he was unconscious. The cramped space was filthy; dirt and mud caked the damp floor and the block of stained cement with a pillow that he assumed was his bed swallowed what little space he had. The sky was still alight with daytime blue, although how many days had passed he didn't know.

As the pain in his head began to recede to a dull ache, Connor heard a soft chuckle, and looked up.

Through a poorly repaired hold in the wall he saw Hickey, grinning as though he was the luckiest man in the world. The sigh of the bastard sparked a flame in Connor that forced him to forget the pain. For a moment, he considered shoving his fists through the hole and strangling the man, but he quickly realized that would be impossible considering the size of the hole and the fact he would most likely be separated by a guard before he ever did any real damage and, by chance, be smacked in the head again, possibly leaving him in a coma for a few days and allowing Hickey the chance he needed to escape his grasp. So instead, to preserve the situation, he opted for the obvious.

"You." he snarled, pushing himself up with his fists.

"You miss me, swee'art?" he sneered, and Connor noticed that, although relatively free of bruises and not dressed as an inmate, Hickey was also locked in a cell like his. Which meant two things: Connor hadn't been out very long, and Hickey was arrested, just like him.

Which means Hickey won't have the chance to assassinate Washington for a little while, and I will have the time to end him.

As unsatisfactory as the prospect was to him, he would have no other choice but to sit and wait until he found a window of opportunity.

"Wot? Nothin' to say?"

"If you are here, then Washington is safe."

To his confusion, the smug look only widened at the statement. "True, true. Thing is..." he said, turning from the gap and walking to the door to his cell. Distantly, Connor could hear the sound of a door being unlocked and footsteps approaching.

"...I believe I've just been pardoned."

Connor felt something in him rise and something else sink as he watched three men pass his cell and stop at Hickey's; a skinny guard who looked about as thrilled as a man whose job was to clean up horse manure, Charles Lee and Haytham Kenway. The sight of the one man he wanted to kill the most and the Grandmaster of the Templars standing just a few feet away from him separated by metal bars infuriated him, and a desperate part of him wanted to reach his arms out and strangle the nearest one. Just do something. But Connor knew that this was a very dangerous situation for him as an Assassin. Here he was, surrounded by three Templars, and one of them knew that not all the Assassins were dead. Assisted counterfeiting made his sentence maybe only be a few days at the least if he kept his head low, and he had no doubt by then he would find a way to escape the prison and kill Hickey, but if Hickey was smarter than he looked, things could go from bad to worse very quickly.

So he simply stayed in the shadows and observed, leaning against the door with his hands around the bars and tried to make himself look as if he was nothing but a curious inmate. Besides, up to that point, that only time he had seen his father's face was on the portrait hanging in the manor and the brief glimpse at the Boston Massacre.

Raising a set of heavy keys, the guard unlocked Hickey's cell and dragged open the door. The man, upon leaving, nodded his head towards Lee. "Thank you kindly for the rescue, gents."

"There can be no further mistakes, Thomas." Haytham said, a slight warning tone in his voice. "Am I understood?"

Hickey nodded.

Connor internally sighed with relief as Haytham turned to leave, thinking that Hickey must had forgotten about him for the moment. It didn't matter if Hickey spilled his secret later. As long as Connor had enough time to escape before the Templars came back, he was safe.

But those hopes were dashed as Hickey raised his hand, catching Haytham's attention.

"Wot' about the Assassin?" he asked causally.

Every eye moved to Hickey, all motions freezing at the question.

Damn you, Hickey.

Haytham paused, and then turned back to Hickey with a burning curiosity in his eyes. Charles eyes widened, and a wicked grin grew on Hickey's lips as the guard shut the door with an ominous, almost damning clamp.

"Yeah. 'E's here. They put 'im the cell right next to mine." He jerked his fist in Connor's direction. "Guess we didn't quite get 'em all, eh?"

All eyes paused, and slowly averted to Connor. Nobody moved. Fear began to angrily tug at his heart, but he forced it down as his father approached his cell, stopping mere inches away from the bars that separated them. He could feel Haytham's gaze search his face, examining the cuts and bruises marring his features, momentarily lingering on the fresh gash below Connor's left eye. He kept his face stiff, holding back any trace of the rising sense of doom in his chest. A trace of a smile flickered across his father's face, which only helped increase the anger already burning inside the Assassin, and before he could register what he was doing his mouth had already opened.

"Father." he spat.

The Cheshire grin on his father's face vanished. Connor smirked. Finally, a dent in his ego, even though it cost him his only trump card. But that was a sacrifice he had to make. Now it would be known throughout the Order, especially with Lee, that their precious Grandmaster of the Order had a bastard child with a savage.

At least he had been able to do some sort of damage in the state he was in.

A flurry of emotions flickered across Haytham's face. What it was, Connor couldn't tell. Surprise? Hate? Curiosity? Was he shocked at the revelation? Did he already know he was the father of most notorious Assassin in the Colonies? Behind him, Hickey stared at his Grandmaster in a mix of flat uncaring and slight confusion. Lee simply raised an eyebrow and glanced between Connor and Haytham, making the connection himself.

Of course, that moment of weakness for Haytham was quickly smothered, and the cocky atmosphere returned.

"So, all along it has been a mere child that had cut away at the Order?" He frowned, crossing his arm behind his back as if he was chastising himself for not figuring it out sooner. But then he gave a little smirk. "I can hardly say I'm surprised. After all, all the evidence we've observed since you began your little campaign against the Order had pointed to the acts of nothing but an angry little boy who has a sharp object and a vendetta."

Connor kept his silence, refusing to give his father any source of satisfaction, which only seemed to do the exact opposite. Haytham's smirk only widened as he watched his son struggle to gain the upper hand, but then it seemed he tired of mocking his son.

Turning his back to Connor, he addressed Lee. "Deal with him, Charles. I don't want to hear of him again."

"Of course, Master." Lee said, giving a short bow.

Haytham turned to Hickey. "And you. When this is all squared away, I want you to ensure all loose ends are tied up. They're an infecting bunch, Assassins. Let one remain and soon he goes off and converts ten more, and by that point you have a whole legion of them to deal with. Make sure that any this one might have created are quickly silenced. "

Yellowed teeth curved into a smile. "Assassin huntin', eh?" He chuckled. "Just like the good times. Sure any sucklers that one made 'l be nothin' but kids with knives."

An image of Hickey and a few Templars trying to defeat his Assassins Guild brought a smile to his face. If there was one thing he agreed with his father on, it was the Assassin's tendency to quickly grow from one man to many.

But it is not because the people are gullible, father. They are more willing to join us because they are wise to understand the value of freedom, something your Order preaches is false and wrong.

Satisfied, Haytham nodded, and then he turned back the direction he came from and left, never turning his gaze to Connor.