Rules:

1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.

2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.

3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!

Characters: Desmond Miles, Ezio Auditore da Firenze and Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad from Assassin's Creed

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Desmond was floating. The strange landscape of the animus surrounded him, data racing past his limp form. Now and then, pieces would barely graze, other times fully bump into him. Altaïr frowned, still in a strange coma-sleep-unconscious-dreamlike state. Memories flitted across his eye lids, the shut eyes moving quickly to and fro.

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3 Words by Cheryl Cole feat. Will. 04:33

-ther night, Desmond stood behind the bar, drying a glass he just washed in the sink, while listening to the costumers sitting in front of him. A young man approached a girl, she was batting her lashes at him. The man ordered a Gin Tonic, then turned to the girl in a hot pink mini skirt and light brown hair. She was obviously flirting with him, and he was too drunk to say no.

Desmond noticed a woman that just entered the room, glaring daggers at the brunette. She was tall, maybe a bit molly, but still quite attractive with dark shoulder-length hair and stunningly brown eyes. She stalked closer, her gait that of a predator closing in on her prey, he observed. The man didn't seem to notice her, still talking to the girl. She got more aggressive in her advances and was just about to sit down on his lap. Desmond saw the woman frown darkly.

The man, however, looked at the girl confusedly, pushing her off drunkenly, whilst proclaiming loudly he was seeing someone already and didn't want the love of his life to have any reasons to leave him. Desmond glimpsed the woman's face for a split second, running from anger through confusion to relief and-

Survivor by Destiny's Child 04:01

-ut Altaïr could feel Malik glaring at his back when he left the bureau. His words were still ringing inside his head. His guilt was already an all-consuming beast clawing at his conscience. Every time he saw Malik he was reminded of the two brothers he had lost that day. Because, while Malik may have 'only' lost his arm then, he had lost his closest friend and confidant to his stupid arrogance.

Altaïr frowned, trying to focus on his mission. However, he failed terribly at that. While waiting around, fishing for information on his target, he couldn't help but think of Malik's words. He was right, he thought, frown deepening. Maybe it would have been best-

No. He shook his head, trying to shake off regrets and doubts. He was a survivor. No matter what they said, what Malik said and his conscience echoed, he would only grow stronger. He would overcome these obstacles, reclaim his rank and prove himself. He would become better for it. Kadar and Malik's sacrifices would not be for noth-

Incomplete by Backstreet Boys 04:00

-ile walking through the corridors of their hiding place, Desmond couldn't help but wonder what he was missing. Lucy always worried so much whenever he had hallucinations of his ancestors' memories, and Desmond tried to keep his promise, to try and control the Bleeding Effect. However, slowly, it became a part of him. Of course, that was what it was supposed to do – make skills of his ancestors' his own. Alas, or maybe luckily, it did more then that. Memories, faces, the language, their beliefs, it all slowly became a part of him. Became him.

Lucy said he had to separate it. Keep his ancestors' lives apart from his own, keep their memories, attitudes and characteristics distanced from his own. And he loved Lucy, he loved her very much, if not like a friend, then at least as a sister (Altaïr said) or the beautiful woman she was (Ezio whispered), a love interest of his own, and his feelings about her were so mixed up, so messed up, and he didn't know what he would feel if theirs weren't his as well, and he doesn't want to find out, because he likes it as it is.

He doesn't really try any more, doesn't want to keep them away any longer. The only reason he did keep some grasp on it was because it made Lucy worried, and she reminded him so much of Cristina-Maria, his wife-Mom-Claudia, his sister-Maria, his mother-Kadar, his little brother-Rosa- and wasn't it funny that the thing she wanted him to prevent was the one thing that motivated him to still keep himself from completion? For without Altaïr and Ezio and Desmond, was he not incomp-

Be Like That by Three Doors Down 04:25

-ver Shaun called him useless again, and Desmond couldn't help but despair. Certainly, he was making progress, and Rebecca and Lucy always assured him he was doing better than anyone else before him. It wasn't enough. The few moments he had to himself, he couldn't help but wonder if Altaïr would have done better at this than him, and surely Ezio would have long since made up a crazy, hare-brained plan that would safe the day.

But he was only Desmond, born an assassin only to run away, to disappoint his parents. He was only Desmond, a bartender kidnapped by Abstergo, a disappointment to all assassins out there. He was only Desmond, and he couldn't help but wonder, if they all hadn't been better off, had he been like Altaïr, or more like Ezio. If he could be like that, what would he do? What would they do in his situation?

He didn't know, because despite all the time he spent reliving their memories, despite how much the bleeding effect tried to make him believe it, he still wasn't Altaïr, nor was he Ezio, he wasn't a Master Assassin, nor a Mentor, nor anyone important, just plain old Desmond Mi-

I believe (give a little bit) by Joana Zimmer 04:11

-t, he thought, allies were probably one of the most important reasons assassins were as successful as they were, better than any templar. And in the end it was a small sign of kindness that saved him when he messed up, a little gift to a young child, a street rat barely surviving in Venezia. He mused that perhaps, it was divine judgement, intervention, or something similar.

He willingly gave the little one some food and a bit of coin to buy clothes, without any hidden agendas or motives. Now this act of kindness was the reason he would survive this mission. The child, now almost grown up, had called friends and they were throwing stones at the guards surrounding him, causing a racket and distracting most of them. He made short work of his target, before turning to run up a building. Once upon the highest spot, a leap of faith later he had safely lost anyone trailing him.

Cautiously, he went back to his starting point, keeping an eye out for the youths that helped him, when his eye landed on one of them, bleed-

Rakuen (Paradise) by Cave 04:46

-fter a long journey, he finally returned to Masyaf, resolve strong in his heart. He still couldn't believe the conclusions he had come to, didn't want to believe the one who had been like a father to him, who taught him, that that man was a traitor to their Order... it was unbelievable, he was their Mentor, the one to obey above all, and yet he had betrayed them. His betrayal hurt, it would cost him his life, but oh, it hurt Altaïr, like he was dying a little inside as well.

However, despite it all, he knew it was the right thing to do. In a way, Al Mualim had even trained him for this. Setting him on his rivals, giving him pieces of the puzzle to solve, teaching him to look underneath the underneath, leading him to doubts and questions, confronting him with reality- in the end, he had brought this onto himself.

Because Altaïr had learned what the Creed meant. Nothing was true, everything was permitted. Beyond the illusions, there lay no truth but the personal one, a multi-faceted being that couldn't be grasped. Everything was permitted, nothing was true. And for the sake of the brotherhood, the sake of the Creed, he was permitted to kill his Mentor, the one who was like a fath-

Paparazzi by Lady Gaga 03:29

-mn it, he was an Auditore, and he would not let a crowd of any size cow him. He straightened his Mentor's robes once more, throwing a quick glance into the mirror. Almost he could hear Federico's voice scolding him playfully for his vanity. Ezio snorted quietly, leaving the small room with a twirl of his new robes and stepping up onto the balcony in front of his Brotherhood for the first time as their mentor.

Attention was immediately upon him when he stepped into a room, followed by heated whispers and quiet gasps of admiration. He was used to be the focus of the ladies' attention, but it got worse with the females working for the Order day by day. He was certain that he'd acquired quite a few stalkers as well, and while he surely could have rid himself of them easily, he wasn't quite as sure as how to handle this... prob-

Two Become One by Atreyu 04:40

-nd he wasAltaïr, on his way to his next target. On high alert he listened, his ears trying to catch the sound of that voice which always questioned his kills, slowly sowing doubts. Questioning the Mentor... he would have never thought to do so before. But now... Killing is wrong, it seems to whisper, a male's voice, panicked and confused, at the same time firm in its belief. And while Altaïr pretends to ignore it, when it grows silent he becomes frantic, searching, searching, but never finding what he's looking for.

Ezio stands frozen in front of the executioner's platform, staring at his dead father and brothers. Petruccio, young, innocent little brother, gathering feathers, he was ill, he shouldn't be dead-oh God, no!- He had done as Father had said, delivered the letters to Uberto-that traitor would die, just hit there, or there, so vulnerable- But his father was gone now, deadeadeaddeaddead! And Federico, earnest, overprotective brother he was, always looking out for Ezio, hangs there limply, and he feels a claw of ice around his heart, -not again, oh God, please no- squeezing.

Desmond stares into thin air absent-mindedly, trying to ignore the blood on his hands, her blood, and he welcomes the images and voices he has been hearing ever since he first used the animus. They are with him in his hour of need, as he was there for theirs, as they always were there for each other. They were never alone, because they were one and the same, and all the while not the same, at least not yet.

The animus, whatever it actually was, did more than his fellow assassins, or even Abstergo, seemed to know. It was bending reality, or maybe he was just going crazy. But then he, Altaïr felt his arms, Ezio around him in the dark of the night when Malik swore never to forgive, and he, Desmond whispers his reassurances to them both after their loss, his loss, and they, all of them know they are not alone, never alone, and they will never die, and maybe, just maybe, soon it is time to become one-

The Crow, The Owl and The Dove by Nightwish 04:10

-e yearned for them, for the truth, for his innocence to be restored. He didn't need love, didn't need to believe; didn't care for wisdom nor his pride. All he wanted was to turn back time, to give back the first life he had taken. His hands were bloody, he wanted to wash them clean, but it never went away. He didn't care for his good looks, was too restless, but couldn't sleep, didn't want the images to return in his dreams. Still, he was curious, wanted to know the truth.

He looked out of the window, saw a crow on the rooftop across the street. It landed with wings stretched, walked with a cocky swagger. It reminded him of his Italian ancestor, Ezio. The way it postured, its arrogance, he could almost hear the flirty remarks. Then it cocked its head, its dark eyes glinting so familiarly, before it flew, striking down at its prey with a flourish that resembled the Italian master. For a moment, Desmond saw an image of a dark-robed Ezio flying down from the roof superimposed over the crow, and it struck him speechless.

It was starting to grow cold outside, the night fast approaching. A hoot, however, caught his attention, stopping Desmond in his tracks. Up in the tree sat an owl, its white feathers shimmering in the twilight. He could only stare at it, its hawk-like eyes piercing right through him, making him feel exposed. Suddenly he realized what it must have been like, when Altaïr glared at others, because surely this owl had the same eyes as his ancestor, rationality and cold-hearted assessment mirrored in its harsh gaze. And while the Bleeding Effect gave him the same skills, he couldn't help but shiver.

Sitting down on a bench, Desmond threw the left-overs of his hot-dog to the pigeons, watching them. Their obvious trust in him not to harm them was refreshing, startling even. Sometimes he could still see the blood clinging to his hands, his innocence long since lost. And while there was a glimmer of guilt in the back of his mind, rationally it had been a necessary murder. He couldn't believe how Shaun and Rebecca still kept with him, trusting him not to harm them, like she had...

And that was the crux of the problem. Lucy, beautiful like a swan, with such a radiant smile. She had trusted him, let him embrace her. He kissed her neck, appreciating her beauty, holding her close. She had come to him, asking him if he was alright, worrying for him as she always did. He had smiled, but then there was blood... but no, his memories were mixing it up, he held the Apple and it made him-

She died in his arms, eyes so trusting, full of warmth and worry for him. And he realizes he doesn't care for anything, he just wants to know the truth, why, why did she have to die, why had he killed her; but at the same time, he didn't want to know, wanted to forget, regain his innocence and wash away the blood.

But nothing is true. And everything is per-

Somewhere by Within Temptation 04:13

-cy, it echoed in his mind, and Desmond tossed around in his bed restlessly. It was dark, even darker inside his mind, and his heart had gone cold, icy coldness gripping him, grasping at his mind. He was lost, didn't know where he was, somewhere inside this darkness, and he was missing his light. Whatever had happened, he couldn't remember the truth, but he wanted to go home.

Wherever home was, the light was there, he was sure. But then he seemed to remember something, something that reminded him that the light was gone, even from home, home was gone. Somewhere they would meet again, one day, he was sure of that, but he couldn't remember, wouldn't remember, no, it hurt to remember. Whatever happened, it killed the light and left him in the darkness.

Still he couldn't help it, couldn't stop searching. He wandered amidst the darkness, looking for the light, a name echoing in his head, a whisper on the wind, he needed to find it, the memory, attached to that name he couldn't quite hear. And if he had to search until his dying day, he would search and would not stop until he found out what had happened, why he was here in the darkness and where the light had gone.

(Deep down he knew, it was because of him, because he had killed the light, had killed Lu-

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The memories faded into each other, blending perfectly, making it hard to know where one ended and the other began. Ezio snapped his eyes open, wondering only for a moment about the strange memory-like dreams that had plagued his sleep before shaking them off, he had work to do and no time to waste. Especially not on strange illusions and hallucinations his imagination and subconsciousness made up.

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A/N

So I've started playing Assassin's Creed II recently, and guess what fandom I'm totally into right now? Right.

The last two drabbles are my favourites :D And yeah, I decided to round it up in some kind of story to make these drabbles sort of a one-shot.

This was inspired by Xazz's beautiful "As It Was", which was a response to the same challenge (and where I got it from, no idea where the original challenge is)

Written almost continuously with small breaks, but within three hours at most. Pretty good for my personal track record, I must say.

E/N: I found "Redeeming Thyself" by CleverDucky, a response also in the AC fandom to the same challenge apparently.