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Description
September 12, 1962; Houston, Texas

It was late into the night by the time Bromden had actually made his first move. He had spent the afternoon scouting the Spacecraft Center, doing his usual routine of picking out entry points and memorizing guard patrol routes. By the time the sun dipped past the Houston horizon, he was ready to slip inside and get to work.

The security seemed relatively lax, much to Bromden's surprise. He wasn't sure if that was just a side effect of this being a new facility, or if Assassin efforts to bring Abstergo down a few pegs were more effective than he thought. Maybe it was both. Either way, it meant he was going to have a much easier time than he did at Area 51 all those years ago.

Bromden snuck his way through the shadows of the facility’s yard. Even if security was lower than what he was used to, he wouldn't dare let his guard down. He peaked around every corner for guards, holding his breath as he did to stay silent in the warm night. He kept low and made his way up to one of the back entrances that he had staked out earlier. It was locked, but he had planned for that. He snuck into the bushes along one of the paths, and waited. A guard would be making his patrols past this location soon. A high ranking guard with just enough clearance on his card to make it past this obstacle Bromden faced. After a few minutes, he heard the man approach, his footsteps loud, supposedly trying to be foreboding. But to Bromden, it was simply the man's hubris plotting his end. And sure enough, as soon as the man sauntered past Bromden's hiding spot, the Assassin grabbed him by the mouth and yanked him into the shadows of the bushes, silencing his muffled shouts with his hidden blade. Bromden popped out of the leaves just moments later, key card in hand. He looked to his right and left to check his safety, and then quickly slipped the card into the slot on the lock, swung the door open, and disappeared into the shadows inside the facility.

He found himself first in what looked like a maze of construction equipment and naked metal structures, one of the back areas of the facility that were still being tidied up. He decided he'd get a better leg up on the situation if he climbed into the rafters, and so he scurried up into the metal scaffolding above, using his newfound sneaky path to guide him towards the nearest vent entrance. He could hear voices in the rooms ahead of him as he crawled through the cramped metal tunnel of the ventilation system. Most likely more guards or late-shift Abstergo agents, neither of which Bromden wanted to be seen by. He passed over a grate along his path, giving him a view into the room below, a large space filled with desks and computers everywhere. Bromden could see how anxious the Templars below him were, many of them fiddling with their ties and talking gossip about how their boss was not happy with how much influence the Assassins had been gaining over them the past few years.

And as if their talks were a cue, a door suddenly banged open.

The room hushed a little as two figures walked in, men in military uniform who were clearly displeased with each other. Bromden scowled as he got a good look. One of them, the taller one, was Phil Billings. Things must be bad here if the top dog was in town.

“How much longer until we can launch Apollo 1?” Billings demanded to know.

“We don't know yet, sir,” the man following him reported. “The launch vehicle components for the Saturn I rocket are going to be delivered to Cape Canaveral tonight for testing. That's as far as we've gotten.”

“Dammit. We're behind!”

“We're going as fast as we can, sir. But with Kennedy in office and in bed with the Assassins, there isn't much we can do to speed up our progress.”

Billings rounded on the man, his fists clenched and clearly ready to embed themselves in someone's face. “Then why the hell isn't Kennedy in the grave yet, Webb?!” he demanded.

Webb cowered back a little. “I don't know, sir! You'll have to take things up with the Inner Sanctum for that.”

“I thought the whole point of putting Johnson in the VP spot was to keep Kennedy in check. But clearly even he can't put a leash on the man! The only way we will take back what the Assassins stole from us is if we take the President out.”

Bromden took in every word he was hearing, and was disappointed in how unsurprised he was. Lyndon Johnson was in bed with the Templars behind the scenes. Kennedy's own Vice President. Definitely something Bromden needed to report asap.

“I've heard that they're working on it, sir,” Webb stammered. “Something about calling in a sleeper agent who came back from Russia a few months back. Oswald I think the name was.”

“I don't give a damn who pulls the trigger so long as it gets pulled. Once Kennedy is gone, we can take his Apple out of his cold dead hands and then go up there and get the one that he so desperately wants to keep out of ours.”

“We'll get there, sir, I promise. We'll be on the Moon before the decade is out. It all just needs time.”

Billings let out a noise that was halfway between a grunt and a sigh. He rubbed his eyes in irritation. “Have we at least selected a crew for Apollo 1 yet?” he asked.

“No, it's too early I'm afraid. Slayton has been keeping his eye out for candidates though. Gus Grissom is at the top of his list.”

“Hmm. Alright. I suppose it's a start, and better than nothing. That doesn't excuse the speed we're progressing though. I will raise hell in the Inner Sanctum to make sure that problem gets resolved.”

“Yes sir.”

“Now where the hell are these rocket components that are going to be shipped? I want to inspect them.”

“Storage facility C as of now, sir.”

The two men then disappeared through another set of doors, their conversation muffled out as they walked down the halls. But that didn't matter too much to Bromden anymore. As soon as the word was said, he was already crawling his way towards the vents of Storage facility C.

The vents led him to the large warehouse of a room, filled to the brim with construction vehicles and piles of crates, many of which were clearly labeled with the rocket components. Bromden surveyed the scene from behind the metal slits of the vent grate, trying to decide the best way to sabotage this little operation. He noticed a few stacks of orange barrels scattered around the facility, with big warning symbols painted onto them. Bromden took a wild guess and assumed these were some rather convenient unstable materials. The explosive kind of materials. He smiled, forming a plan in his head and then quietly jumping out of the vent and crouching behind a few crate stacks.

He stealthed his way around the facility, doing his best to stay low and concealed from the various workers and guards walking around, and he especially kept his eyes open for Billings.

His initial plan was to detonate one set of barrels and then try to make a break for as many more as he could before he had to bolt out the door. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he could be slick about this. Pickpocketing a few guards gave him a fair amount of easily linkable explosives, ones that could be easily placed and set off with the press of a button. With a satisfied smile, he circled his way around the warehouse, setting up the little devices on as many of the barrels as he could, being careful to disguise the linking wires with the other random cables that littered the floor. He set up a fair half dozen, enough to damage a good amount of the Templars’ supplies. Once he had everything to his liking, he hurried to a safe vantage point near the wall, where he held up his makeshift detonator. He looked over his cover, waiting for the perfect moment. He held the device in his hand, slowly bringing his thumb closer and closer to the button, until finally, deciding he was ready…

A hand suddenly came down on his shoulder. Bromden froze and his eyes widened, and he spun his head around just in time to see a firm fist impact his face.

Bromden went flying into the open, breaking a crate as he landed. The entire room gasped as the attention was thrust upon him as he rubbed his head. The Assassin looked up, and saw the man he dreaded the most: Phil Billings. The Templar looked down at him, smiling menacingly as if he had already won.

“You've caused a lot of trouble for us, Arnolds,” he said, pulling out a gun and cocking it. “I'm glad I get to be the one to put an end to it.”

The gun was raised, and Bromden didn't waste any time thinking of a plan. He slammed his thumb down on the detonator button, and the next thing he knew, there were many bangs, and he was on the floor with his vision blurred.

He heard muffled shouting and saw flames everywhere as his senses recovered. He painfully pulled himself back to his feet, trying to get his bearings back as quickly as possible to find an exit.

But Billings found him first, unfortunately. He was just as disoriented as Bromden, but he wasn't down for the count. The two men stood across from one another, shakily getting into fighting positions.

“Your Order is dying!” Bromden barked at his foe. “Your projects are all being confiscated, and by the time this is over, you'll have nothing left to conquer the world with.”

Billings simply laughed through his teeth, and threw a swift punch Bromden's way. Bromden dodged and swung back, trying to avoid stumbling into the piles of flaming debris as much as he could.

“Everything you've done to halt our plans are nothing more than inconveniences,” Billings retorted. “Even this little stunt will mean nothing! We'll have everything back on track in a matter of days, and our boys at Cape Canaveral will have their rocket ready for testing before you know it.”

“Maybe so, but I won't let the Templars be the first people on the Moon,” Bromden spat, taking another swing. “This planet is my home, my family's home, and I won't let you conquer another world just to ruin this one!”

“When we claim the Apple, we will be the ones fixing this world!”

“By turning it into your personal slave dungeon.”

“That's what it takes to achieve order in these dark times, Assassin.”

“Times will always be dark. The only difference between you and me is that I'd rather ascend out of that dark than bury my head in it.”

Billings simply scowled and continued to kick and punch at the Assassin that was so valiantly fighting back. Eventually, Bromden decided he had had enough of this nice little chat they were having, and took the opportunity of another missed swing from Billings to grab the man by the collar and toss him into a stack of crates. The wood splintered under the man's weight and collapsed on him, far from killing him but leaving him out for the count just long enough for Bromden to book it to the nearest exit.

He bolted out one of the open garages, back into the outside world just as guards came rushing from outside to check what was going on. He swiftly hacked his way past a couple of them that got in his path with his hidden blade, and ran down the road before the others could process the idea to give chase. He made his way to the city rooftops, clambering up into the sky and leaping over alleyways to give his pursuers the slip. He didn't slow down, not until he could no longer hear the sounds of shouting and flickering flames. Once he was deep in the heart of downtown Houston, camouflaged by the crowds and city lights, he finally took a deep breath, and sat on a bench to collect his thoughts.

The Templars were down, but they still had a bite, he thought. And he knew no one would truly be safe until that bite was neutralized. He had to report back to Kennedy as soon as possible.

He gave himself some time to rest, and then started making his way back to the hotel his family was staying at. Once he got his wife and daughter safe back at home, his next destination was clear. Washington DC.

------------

September 13, 1962; Washington DC

“The Templars are planning to kill you.”

Bromden got straight to business once he and the president were standing in the Oval Office together again. He wasn't able to shake the feeling of imminent danger after his little adventure in Houston. He didn't know what it was. Maybe it was just the bad vibe of there still being a Templar threat lurking around despite how much of an upper hand they had gained. Maybe it was just paranoia. Either way, the President's chuckle and puff on his cigarette didn't do much to calm his nerve.

“Go figure,” Kennedy said.

“That doesn't worry you?”

“The Templars have been out for my blood ever since the election, Major Arnolds. Comes with the territory of being the most powerful man working against them.”

“They have your own Vice President on their payroll working against you, sir.”

“Of course they do,” Kennedy laughed. “I always knew Lyndon had to be working behind my back somehow.”

“Then why don't you do anything about him?”

“Because we aren't the Templars, Major Arnolds. Johnson may be ambitious and his pockets lined with Abstergo's cash, but the only power he has is the power we allow him to have. I give him the positions he begs for and in turn he doesn't blackmail this cabinet into the ground. He stays complicit, and that's enough for our goal. If we can kill off the Templars without having to spill their blood, I see no reason to result to the alternative.”

Bromden stammered a bit, wanting to argue but not being fully able to. Everything he could say just seemed to amount to him being anxious and nothing more. So he swallowed his pride.

“You make a good point, Mr. President,” he said, yielding.

Kennedy smiled, and patted his acquaintance’s shoulder. “We'll see to it that this war ends with the Templars disbanded and the Assassins on the Moon, I promise, my friend,” he said. “Now how about you head home? You sound like you could use a break from the sneaking and stabbing.”

Bromden managed a smile. “I've needed a break for over 20 years, sir,” he laughed.

“Then head on home, soldier. I'll call upon you again should I need your skill set.”

Bromden nodded thankfully, and shook Kennedy's hand before turning towards the door and making his way out, all the while still scratching at the itch in the back of his mind. That worrying itch that told him that something bad was trying to sneak up on him from the corner of his eye. Something he knew was there, but couldn't confront. And he had the feeling that that itch wasn't going to go away.

Description
September 12, 1962; Houston, Texas

It was late into the night by the time Bromden had actually made his first move. He had spent the afternoon scouting the Spacecraft Center, doing his usual routine of picking out entry points and memorizing guard patrol routes. By the time the sun dipped past the Houston horizon, he was ready to slip inside and get to work.

The security seemed relatively lax, much to Bromden's surprise. He wasn't sure if that was just a side effect of this being a new facility, or if Assassin efforts to bring Abstergo down a few pegs were more effective than he thought. Maybe it was both. Either way, it meant he was going to have a much easier time than he did at Area 51 all those years ago.

Bromden snuck his way through the shadows of the facility’s yard. Even if security was lower than what he was used to, he wouldn't dare let his guard down. He peaked around every corner for guards, holding his breath as he did to stay silent in the warm night. He kept low and made his way up to one of the back entrances that he had staked out earlier. It was locked, but he had planned for that. He snuck into the bushes along one of the paths, and waited. A guard would be making his patrols past this location soon. A high ranking guard with just enough clearance on his card to make it past this obstacle Bromden faced. After a few minutes, he heard the man approach, his footsteps loud, supposedly trying to be foreboding. But to Bromden, it was simply the man's hubris plotting his end. And sure enough, as soon as the man sauntered past Bromden's hiding spot, the Assassin grabbed him by the mouth and yanked him into the shadows of the bushes, silencing his muffled shouts with his hidden blade. Bromden popped out of the leaves just moments later, key card in hand. He looked to his right and left to check his safety, and then quickly slipped the card into the slot on the lock, swung the door open, and disappeared into the shadows inside the facility.

He found himself first in what looked like a maze of construction equipment and naked metal structures, one of the back areas of the facility that were still being tidied up. He decided he'd get a better leg up on the situation if he climbed into the rafters, and so he scurried up into the metal scaffolding above, using his newfound sneaky path to guide him towards the nearest vent entrance. He could hear voices in the rooms ahead of him as he crawled through the cramped metal tunnel of the ventilation system. Most likely more guards or late-shift Abstergo agents, neither of which Bromden wanted to be seen by. He passed over a grate along his path, giving him a view into the room below, a large space filled with desks and computers everywhere. Bromden could see how anxious the Templars below him were, many of them fiddling with their ties and talking gossip about how their boss was not happy with how much influence the Assassins had been gaining over them the past few years.

And as if their talks were a cue, a door suddenly banged open.

The room hushed a little as two figures walked in, men in military uniform who were clearly displeased with each other. Bromden scowled as he got a good look. One of them, the taller one, was Phil Billings. Things must be bad here if the top dog was in town.

“How much longer until we can launch Apollo 1?” Billings demanded to know.

“We don't know yet, sir,” the man following him reported. “The launch vehicle components for the Saturn I rocket are going to be delivered to Cape Canaveral tonight for testing. That's as far as we've gotten.”

“Dammit. We're behind!”

“We're going as fast as we can, sir. But with Kennedy in office and in bed with the Assassins, there isn't much we can do to speed up our progress.”

Billings rounded on the man, his fists clenched and clearly ready to embed themselves in someone's face. “Then why the hell isn't Kennedy in the grave yet, Webb?!” he demanded.

Webb cowered back a little. “I don't know, sir! You'll have to take things up with the Inner Sanctum for that.”

“I thought the whole point of putting Johnson in the VP spot was to keep Kennedy in check. But clearly even he can't put a leash on the man! The only way we will take back what the Assassins stole from us is if we take the President out.”

Bromden took in every word he was hearing, and was disappointed in how unsurprised he was. Lyndon Johnson was in bed with the Templars behind the scenes. Kennedy's own Vice President. Definitely something Bromden needed to report asap.

“I've heard that they're working on it, sir,” Webb stammered. “Something about calling in a sleeper agent who came back from Russia a few months back. Oswald I think the name was.”

“I don't give a damn who pulls the trigger so long as it gets pulled. Once Kennedy is gone, we can take his Apple out of his cold dead hands and then go up there and get the one that he so desperately wants to keep out of ours.”

“We'll get there, sir, I promise. We'll be on the Moon before the decade is out. It all just needs time.”

Billings let out a noise that was halfway between a grunt and a sigh. He rubbed his eyes in irritation. “Have we at least selected a crew for Apollo 1 yet?” he asked.

“No, it's too early I'm afraid. Slayton has been keeping his eye out for candidates though. Gus Grissom is at the top of his list.”

“Hmm. Alright. I suppose it's a start, and better than nothing. That doesn't excuse the speed we're progressing though. I will raise hell in the Inner Sanctum to make sure that problem gets resolved.”

“Yes sir.”

“Now where the hell are these rocket components that are going to be shipped? I want to inspect them.”

“Storage facility C as of now, sir.”

The two men then disappeared through another set of doors, their conversation muffled out as they walked down the halls. But that didn't matter too much to Bromden anymore. As soon as the word was said, he was already crawling his way towards the vents of Storage facility C.

The vents led him to the large warehouse of a room, filled to the brim with construction vehicles and piles of crates, many of which were clearly labeled with the rocket components. Bromden surveyed the scene from behind the metal slits of the vent grate, trying to decide the best way to sabotage this little operation. He noticed a few stacks of orange barrels scattered around the facility, with big warning symbols painted onto them. Bromden took a wild guess and assumed these were some rather convenient unstable materials. The explosive kind of materials. He smiled, forming a plan in his head and then quietly jumping out of the vent and crouching behind a few crate stacks.

He stealthed his way around the facility, doing his best to stay low and concealed from the various workers and guards walking around, and he especially kept his eyes open for Billings.

His initial plan was to detonate one set of barrels and then try to make a break for as many more as he could before he had to bolt out the door. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he could be slick about this. Pickpocketing a few guards gave him a fair amount of easily linkable explosives, ones that could be easily placed and set off with the press of a button. With a satisfied smile, he circled his way around the warehouse, setting up the little devices on as many of the barrels as he could, being careful to disguise the linking wires with the other random cables that littered the floor. He set up a fair half dozen, enough to damage a good amount of the Templars’ supplies. Once he had everything to his liking, he hurried to a safe vantage point near the wall, where he held up his makeshift detonator. He looked over his cover, waiting for the perfect moment. He held the device in his hand, slowly bringing his thumb closer and closer to the button, until finally, deciding he was ready…

A hand suddenly came down on his shoulder. Bromden froze and his eyes widened, and he spun his head around just in time to see a firm fist impact his face.

Bromden went flying into the open, breaking a crate as he landed. The entire room gasped as the attention was thrust upon him as he rubbed his head. The Assassin looked up, and saw the man he dreaded the most: Phil Billings. The Templar looked down at him, smiling menacingly as if he had already won.

“You've caused a lot of trouble for us, Arnolds,” he said, pulling out a gun and cocking it. “I'm glad I get to be the one to put an end to it.”

The gun was raised, and Bromden didn't waste any time thinking of a plan. He slammed his thumb down on the detonator button, and the next thing he knew, there were many bangs, and he was on the floor with his vision blurred.

He heard muffled shouting and saw flames everywhere as his senses recovered. He painfully pulled himself back to his feet, trying to get his bearings back as quickly as possible to find an exit.

But Billings found him first, unfortunately. He was just as disoriented as Bromden, but he wasn't down for the count. The two men stood across from one another, shakily getting into fighting positions.

“Your Order is dying!” Bromden barked at his foe. “Your projects are all being confiscated, and by the time this is over, you'll have nothing left to conquer the world with.”

Billings simply laughed through his teeth, and threw a swift punch Bromden's way. Bromden dodged and swung back, trying to avoid stumbling into the piles of flaming debris as much as he could.

“Everything you've done to halt our plans are nothing more than inconveniences,” Billings retorted. “Even this little stunt will mean nothing! We'll have everything back on track in a matter of days, and our boys at Cape Canaveral will have their rocket ready for testing before you know it.”

“Maybe so, but I won't let the Templars be the first people on the Moon,” Bromden spat, taking another swing. “This planet is my home, my family's home, and I won't let you conquer another world just to ruin this one!”

“When we claim the Apple, we will be the ones fixing this world!”

“By turning it into your personal slave dungeon.”

“That's what it takes to achieve order in these dark times, Assassin.”

“Times will always be dark. The only difference between you and me is that I'd rather ascend out of that dark than bury my head in it.”

Billings simply scowled and continued to kick and punch at the Assassin that was so valiantly fighting back. Eventually, Bromden decided he had had enough of this nice little chat they were having, and took the opportunity of another missed swing from Billings to grab the man by the collar and toss him into a stack of crates. The wood splintered under the man's weight and collapsed on him, far from killing him but leaving him out for the count just long enough for Bromden to book it to the nearest exit.

He bolted out one of the open garages, back into the outside world just as guards came rushing from outside to check what was going on. He swiftly hacked his way past a couple of them that got in his path with his hidden blade, and ran down the road before the others could process the idea to give chase. He made his way to the city rooftops, clambering up into the sky and leaping over alleyways to give his pursuers the slip. He didn't slow down, not until he could no longer hear the sounds of shouting and flickering flames. Once he was deep in the heart of downtown Houston, camouflaged by the crowds and city lights, he finally took a deep breath, and sat on a bench to collect his thoughts.

The Templars were down, but they still had a bite, he thought. And he knew no one would truly be safe until that bite was neutralized. He had to report back to Kennedy as soon as possible.

He gave himself some time to rest, and then started making his way back to the hotel his family was staying at. Once he got his wife and daughter safe back at home, his next destination was clear. Washington DC.

------------

September 13, 1962; Washington DC

“The Templars are planning to kill you.”

Bromden got straight to business once he and the president were standing in the Oval Office together again. He wasn't able to shake the feeling of imminent danger after his little adventure in Houston. He didn't know what it was. Maybe it was just the bad vibe of there still being a Templar threat lurking around despite how much of an upper hand they had gained. Maybe it was just paranoia. Either way, the President's chuckle and puff on his cigarette didn't do much to calm his nerve.

“Go figure,” Kennedy said.

“That doesn't worry you?”

“The Templars have been out for my blood ever since the election, Major Arnolds. Comes with the territory of being the most powerful man working against them.”

“They have your own Vice President on their payroll working against you, sir.”

“Of course they do,” Kennedy laughed. “I always knew Lyndon had to be working behind my back somehow.”

“Then why don't you do anything about him?”

“Because we aren't the Templars, Major Arnolds. Johnson may be ambitious and his pockets lined with Abstergo's cash, but the only power he has is the power we allow him to have. I give him the positions he begs for and in turn he doesn't blackmail this cabinet into the ground. He stays complicit, and that's enough for our goal. If we can kill off the Templars without having to spill their blood, I see no reason to result to the alternative.”

Bromden stammered a bit, wanting to argue but not being fully able to. Everything he could say just seemed to amount to him being anxious and nothing more. So he swallowed his pride.

“You make a good point, Mr. President,” he said, yielding.

Kennedy smiled, and patted his acquaintance’s shoulder. “We'll see to it that this war ends with the Templars disbanded and the Assassins on the Moon, I promise, my friend,” he said. “Now how about you head home? You sound like you could use a break from the sneaking and stabbing.”

Bromden managed a smile. “I've needed a break for over 20 years, sir,” he laughed.

“Then head on home, soldier. I'll call upon you again should I need your skill set.”

Bromden nodded thankfully, and shook Kennedy's hand before turning towards the door and making his way out, all the while still scratching at the itch in the back of his mind. That worrying itch that told him that something bad was trying to sneak up on him from the corner of his eye. Something he knew was there, but couldn't confront. And he had the feeling that that itch wasn't going to go away.