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November 22, 1963; Deadwood, South Dakota

“You really think so?” Marcel said on the other line.

“I don't know what I think,” Bromden responded, leaning against the wall and anxiously fidgeting the phone cable. “I'm just… not used to being on the winning side, you know?”

“I feel you, Bromden. Still, you probably shouldn't be letting your worries get in the way of counting your blessings. Not every day you get to say the institution is the one running from you.”

Bromden laughed a little. “Yeah ain't that the truth… Still, knowing Abstergo, I'm worried they're going to end up being more of a cornered lion than running prey.”

“I wouldn't put it past them to try something. But honestly, given the position you're in, I doubt they'll be able to bite back very hard.”

“I hope you're right, Marcel. I don't want this to fall apart.”

“Just try to stay strong, alright Bromden? We'll keep those guys from taking over like we've been doing since Roswell.”

“I'll do my best, friend. Thanks for the support.”

“No problem, Major. You've done a lot for this Earth, it's the least I can do. I've gotta go now, my wife's trying to drag me to see something on the news.”

“Alright. I'll talk with you later, Marcel. Stay safe.”

“You too, Bromden.”

Bromden heard the click on the other line, and let out a sigh. He clicked his own phone back onto the receiver, and slouched against the wall. Marcel was right, he needed to calm himself down. He was getting too anxious, too paranoid. The exact feeling that Kennedy had been warning the nation about with this Cold War. Make friends with the enemies you think are out to get you, and quietly get rid of the ones who won't take the olive branch, not just for the sake of yourself, but for the other side and their friendship as well. That was his whole philosophy. Even when World War III seemed to be on the horizon with that mess in Cuba last year, the President still did everything he could to stop any fingers from hitting the big red detonate button in Washington. He kept on his lesson that the paranoia wasn't necessary.

But despite his admiration of Kennedy, Bromden couldn't help but wonder: is it paranoia if they really are out to get you?

He knew what the Templars were capable of, how far they're willing to go to get what they want. If they had no qualms over nuking two entire cities, what else wouldn't they blink an eye at?

“Dad!”

He barely registered the voice at first. His mind wouldn't wander away from the grip of his anxiety. All he could think about was Billings and Abstergo, and the Moon. And the thing that could await either side of this war far far away on the Moon.

“Dad! Dad!”

The grip relented. His daughter was calling him. He shook his head and looked up. Through the glass of the phone booth, he could see Wanbli rushing towards him, and she looked scared.

And nothing, not even the Templar threat, scared Bromden more than seeing his daughter scared.

He pushed his way out of the phone booth door and started hustling towards her. She run up and practically yanked him down by his coat rim from how hard she was pulling. “Dad you need to come home now! Dad please hurry!”

“Honey what's wrong what happened? Did someone attack the house?! Is your mother safe?”

“No no dad it's the news! You need to come see please! They say the President got shot!”

Bromden's blood practically froze.

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

Wanbli was still pulling on his coat as the two of them sprinted back towards their house, but she didn't really have to. Bromden probably would've bolted way ahead already if he didn't put his priority on staying as close to his daughter we possible to protect her. As soon as they stepped foot on their front porch, Bromden's hand slammed down on the doorknob and hurried into his house, where his wife was waiting nervously for them both.

“Macha!” Bromden said, rushing up and hugging her as she shook. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine just…” she said, clearly just as scared as her daughter. “Oh god Bromden… it's all over the news…”

Bromden could hear the reports going on in the other room. The three of them walked in and stared at the TV as the news broadcasted the story of the day.

“President Kennedy and Governor John Connally have been cut down by assassins’ bullets in downtown Dallas,” the reporter on the screen said as he struggled to catch his breath. “They were riding an open automobile when the shots were fired. The President, his limp body carried in the arms of his wife Jacqueline, was rushed to Parkland Hospital.”

Wanbli went up to the knob on the TV and started switching the channels, trying to find something that wasn't an emergency news broadcast, but she had no luck finding any. The family just kept watching all the reports come in, all of them shook to the bone. One of the channels managed to display some footage from what happened. Bromden watched the shaky video on the screen, starting out as just a fun recording of President Kennedy and his wife waving to the people on the streets of Dallas as his motorcade paraded forward.

And then there was the brief spray of red exploding out from his head.

There was nothing but the sounds of panic, every channel displaying nothing but people struggling to figure out what was going on. Bromden watched the footage repeating over and over, catching all the little details that no one else would notice. The Abstergo label on the suits of the driver for example. The driver who reached back just as the President was shot. But Bromden noticed he wasn't reaching for his Commander in Chief. He was reaching for the small metal orb on Kennedy's person.

The Templars had his Apple.

The lions were biting back.

“From Dallas, Texas,” another disheartened reporter announced, “the flash, apparently official, President Kennedy died at 1 PM Central Standard Time, 2 o'clock Eastern Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago. Vice President Lyndon Johnson has left the hospital in Dallas, but we do not know to where he has proceeded. Presumably he will be taking the oath of office shortly and become the 36th President of the United States.”

Bromden's head was spinning. He knew it. He knew it. He knew they wouldn't whimper away quietly. He knew this would happen! Why didn't Kennedy listen?!

The Templars took it all back in one gunshot wound. Everything the Assassins had taken from them, they just snatched right back up. They had the Apple, the White House, everything.

“Dad…?” Wanbli suddenly whimpered.

Bromden snapped out of his trance just enough to look over at her. Then he heard it: the banging on the door.

“Bromden?” Macha nervously asked.

Bromden held up a hand to tell them to stay back. He cautiously approached the door as the banging got louder and louder.

“Major Arnolds, open up!” he heard someone demand. Bromden kept his finger taught on the mechanism of his hidden blade, ready to thrust it forward at a moment's notice. He opened the door ever so slightly, and his heart sank further when he saw a squad of at least five military men standing armed on his front porch.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked them.

“We're here on orders to detain you, Major Arnolds. On charges of treason against the United States.”

“Who's orders?” Bromden demanded, trying to sound threatening without raising his voice too much.

“President Lyndon Johnson.”

The man in front brought up his gun, and Bromden immediately slammed the door shut and dropped to the ground. The bullets pierced the wood and shattered some of the glass decor in Bromden's house. Macha and Wanbli screamed, dropping to the floor as well to take cover from the hailstorm. Bromden yelled for them to run to safety, and he stood to fight, blades out. The soldiers kicked down his front door, barking orders at each other. Bromden thrust his hidden blade up into the first man's neck, then grabbed the pistol out of his belt and started shooting back. One of the soldiers tried to detain him by holding his rifle around his neck, but Bromden kicked backwards into the man's groin and broke free, stabbing him as well before rolling away.

One of the men rushed him, sending them tumbling into the next room, shattering the table as they landed. Bromden wrestled with the man as he tried to line up the barrel of his gun with Bromden's temple. But suddenly he heard a scream, and looked over into the kitchen as he struggled with his foe.

“No! Let her go!” Macha screamed as one of the soldiers manhandled her, just as his companion was doing with Wanbli.

“Macha!” Bromden panicked. With a sudden adrenaline rush, he thrust the gun into the face of his attacker and forced him to pull the trigger. As the body dropped, Bromden shoved it off him and bolted for his family, only to manhandled himself by another guard who tried to choke him out. Macha screamed as she saw he husband struggle against the attacker, and she kicked her handler in the leg with her heel, forcing him to let go. She bolted for her husband, who tried to shake his head no at her. But unfortunately, he found it wasn't enough. A plume of red suddenly exploded out from his wife's chest as gunshots filled the room. Bromden choked out a scream of “No!” as he watched her fall dead on the floor. Bromden's muscles tightened as they were pumped full of rage and he started thrashing his holder around him like a ragdoll trying to break out of the grip.

“Mom!” Wanbli wailed, squirming as she cried to try and break free from her captor.

“Shut her up!” one of the soldiers ordered.

“No!” Wanbli cried. She bit down on the hand of her holder and broke free, running straight for her mom, only to be hit square in the head with the butt of a gun. She went sprawling into the table pieces, bloodied and bruised, unmoving.

“Wanbli!” Bromden shrieked, tears pouring down his red hot cheeks.

“Target has been isolated,” one of the soldiers reported. They swarmed around him. He broke free from and killed the man who had grabbed him, but it wasn't long before he was back in another choke hold. The grip was stronger on this one, and the world began to blur and spin. Bromden fell to his knees, everything spinning around him. He tried to look over at his family, he tried to tell himself they were okay, that they were alive, but soon even they blurred out. All he could hear was the muffled barking of the soldiers calling in a report to their Abstergo higher-ups. Everything got darker and darker; a ringing in his ears got louder and louder.

And then everything went black.

And silent.

Gone.

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

March 30, 2019; Bellwood

It took a few minutes for the sensation of consciousness to flow back in. For a while she just floated there in the dark as the machine recalibrated and ended the session. Her mind began to take the place of the unconsciousness, and the void of the Animus began to replace the darkness. She felt her heart racing, and felt herself crying a bit. Ava carefully lifted the device off her head and sat up. She rubbed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths. She didn't expect to see her grandmother get beaten up and orphaned like that. She knew she lived, obviously. Ava herself existed after all. But still, it was her grandma.

She calmed her breathing down, shaking a little as she tried to recalibrate herself. She thought back to all the fun times she had with her grandmother over the years to help, and made a mental note to make sure she gave her a call once this was all over.

After a few minutes, she was back to a stable mental place. She sat up straight, took a deep breath, and let it out.

“Alright… guess that's another family mystery figured out,” she said to herself. “Don't worry guys, I'm… uh… guys?”

She took a look around the room, noticing that all of her friends weren't surrounding her anymore. She looked around, confused, and a little panicked. “Guys?”

Then, just as she stood up, she heard it. A large explosion from outside.

“Oh no…” she gasped. And she bolted down the hall faster than she ever had before.

Description
November 22, 1963; Deadwood, South Dakota

“You really think so?” Marcel said on the other line.

“I don't know what I think,” Bromden responded, leaning against the wall and anxiously fidgeting the phone cable. “I'm just… not used to being on the winning side, you know?”

“I feel you, Bromden. Still, you probably shouldn't be letting your worries get in the way of counting your blessings. Not every day you get to say the institution is the one running from you.”

Bromden laughed a little. “Yeah ain't that the truth… Still, knowing Abstergo, I'm worried they're going to end up being more of a cornered lion than running prey.”

“I wouldn't put it past them to try something. But honestly, given the position you're in, I doubt they'll be able to bite back very hard.”

“I hope you're right, Marcel. I don't want this to fall apart.”

“Just try to stay strong, alright Bromden? We'll keep those guys from taking over like we've been doing since Roswell.”

“I'll do my best, friend. Thanks for the support.”

“No problem, Major. You've done a lot for this Earth, it's the least I can do. I've gotta go now, my wife's trying to drag me to see something on the news.”

“Alright. I'll talk with you later, Marcel. Stay safe.”

“You too, Bromden.”

Bromden heard the click on the other line, and let out a sigh. He clicked his own phone back onto the receiver, and slouched against the wall. Marcel was right, he needed to calm himself down. He was getting too anxious, too paranoid. The exact feeling that Kennedy had been warning the nation about with this Cold War. Make friends with the enemies you think are out to get you, and quietly get rid of the ones who won't take the olive branch, not just for the sake of yourself, but for the other side and their friendship as well. That was his whole philosophy. Even when World War III seemed to be on the horizon with that mess in Cuba last year, the President still did everything he could to stop any fingers from hitting the big red detonate button in Washington. He kept on his lesson that the paranoia wasn't necessary.

But despite his admiration of Kennedy, Bromden couldn't help but wonder: is it paranoia if they really are out to get you?

He knew what the Templars were capable of, how far they're willing to go to get what they want. If they had no qualms over nuking two entire cities, what else wouldn't they blink an eye at?

“Dad!”

He barely registered the voice at first. His mind wouldn't wander away from the grip of his anxiety. All he could think about was Billings and Abstergo, and the Moon. And the thing that could await either side of this war far far away on the Moon.

“Dad! Dad!”

The grip relented. His daughter was calling him. He shook his head and looked up. Through the glass of the phone booth, he could see Wanbli rushing towards him, and she looked scared.

And nothing, not even the Templar threat, scared Bromden more than seeing his daughter scared.

He pushed his way out of the phone booth door and started hustling towards her. She run up and practically yanked him down by his coat rim from how hard she was pulling. “Dad you need to come home now! Dad please hurry!”

“Honey what's wrong what happened? Did someone attack the house?! Is your mother safe?”

“No no dad it's the news! You need to come see please! They say the President got shot!”

Bromden's blood practically froze.

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

Wanbli was still pulling on his coat as the two of them sprinted back towards their house, but she didn't really have to. Bromden probably would've bolted way ahead already if he didn't put his priority on staying as close to his daughter we possible to protect her. As soon as they stepped foot on their front porch, Bromden's hand slammed down on the doorknob and hurried into his house, where his wife was waiting nervously for them both.

“Macha!” Bromden said, rushing up and hugging her as she shook. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine just…” she said, clearly just as scared as her daughter. “Oh god Bromden… it's all over the news…”

Bromden could hear the reports going on in the other room. The three of them walked in and stared at the TV as the news broadcasted the story of the day.

“President Kennedy and Governor John Connally have been cut down by assassins’ bullets in downtown Dallas,” the reporter on the screen said as he struggled to catch his breath. “They were riding an open automobile when the shots were fired. The President, his limp body carried in the arms of his wife Jacqueline, was rushed to Parkland Hospital.”

Wanbli went up to the knob on the TV and started switching the channels, trying to find something that wasn't an emergency news broadcast, but she had no luck finding any. The family just kept watching all the reports come in, all of them shook to the bone. One of the channels managed to display some footage from what happened. Bromden watched the shaky video on the screen, starting out as just a fun recording of President Kennedy and his wife waving to the people on the streets of Dallas as his motorcade paraded forward.

And then there was the brief spray of red exploding out from his head.

There was nothing but the sounds of panic, every channel displaying nothing but people struggling to figure out what was going on. Bromden watched the footage repeating over and over, catching all the little details that no one else would notice. The Abstergo label on the suits of the driver for example. The driver who reached back just as the President was shot. But Bromden noticed he wasn't reaching for his Commander in Chief. He was reaching for the small metal orb on Kennedy's person.

The Templars had his Apple.

The lions were biting back.

“From Dallas, Texas,” another disheartened reporter announced, “the flash, apparently official, President Kennedy died at 1 PM Central Standard Time, 2 o'clock Eastern Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago. Vice President Lyndon Johnson has left the hospital in Dallas, but we do not know to where he has proceeded. Presumably he will be taking the oath of office shortly and become the 36th President of the United States.”

Bromden's head was spinning. He knew it. He knew it. He knew they wouldn't whimper away quietly. He knew this would happen! Why didn't Kennedy listen?!

The Templars took it all back in one gunshot wound. Everything the Assassins had taken from them, they just snatched right back up. They had the Apple, the White House, everything.

“Dad…?” Wanbli suddenly whimpered.

Bromden snapped out of his trance just enough to look over at her. Then he heard it: the banging on the door.

“Bromden?” Macha nervously asked.

Bromden held up a hand to tell them to stay back. He cautiously approached the door as the banging got louder and louder.

“Major Arnolds, open up!” he heard someone demand. Bromden kept his finger taught on the mechanism of his hidden blade, ready to thrust it forward at a moment's notice. He opened the door ever so slightly, and his heart sank further when he saw a squad of at least five military men standing armed on his front porch.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked them.

“We're here on orders to detain you, Major Arnolds. On charges of treason against the United States.”

“Who's orders?” Bromden demanded, trying to sound threatening without raising his voice too much.

“President Lyndon Johnson.”

The man in front brought up his gun, and Bromden immediately slammed the door shut and dropped to the ground. The bullets pierced the wood and shattered some of the glass decor in Bromden's house. Macha and Wanbli screamed, dropping to the floor as well to take cover from the hailstorm. Bromden yelled for them to run to safety, and he stood to fight, blades out. The soldiers kicked down his front door, barking orders at each other. Bromden thrust his hidden blade up into the first man's neck, then grabbed the pistol out of his belt and started shooting back. One of the soldiers tried to detain him by holding his rifle around his neck, but Bromden kicked backwards into the man's groin and broke free, stabbing him as well before rolling away.

One of the men rushed him, sending them tumbling into the next room, shattering the table as they landed. Bromden wrestled with the man as he tried to line up the barrel of his gun with Bromden's temple. But suddenly he heard a scream, and looked over into the kitchen as he struggled with his foe.

“No! Let her go!” Macha screamed as one of the soldiers manhandled her, just as his companion was doing with Wanbli.

“Macha!” Bromden panicked. With a sudden adrenaline rush, he thrust the gun into the face of his attacker and forced him to pull the trigger. As the body dropped, Bromden shoved it off him and bolted for his family, only to manhandled himself by another guard who tried to choke him out. Macha screamed as she saw he husband struggle against the attacker, and she kicked her handler in the leg with her heel, forcing him to let go. She bolted for her husband, who tried to shake his head no at her. But unfortunately, he found it wasn't enough. A plume of red suddenly exploded out from his wife's chest as gunshots filled the room. Bromden choked out a scream of “No!” as he watched her fall dead on the floor. Bromden's muscles tightened as they were pumped full of rage and he started thrashing his holder around him like a ragdoll trying to break out of the grip.

“Mom!” Wanbli wailed, squirming as she cried to try and break free from her captor.

“Shut her up!” one of the soldiers ordered.

“No!” Wanbli cried. She bit down on the hand of her holder and broke free, running straight for her mom, only to be hit square in the head with the butt of a gun. She went sprawling into the table pieces, bloodied and bruised, unmoving.

“Wanbli!” Bromden shrieked, tears pouring down his red hot cheeks.

“Target has been isolated,” one of the soldiers reported. They swarmed around him. He broke free from and killed the man who had grabbed him, but it wasn't long before he was back in another choke hold. The grip was stronger on this one, and the world began to blur and spin. Bromden fell to his knees, everything spinning around him. He tried to look over at his family, he tried to tell himself they were okay, that they were alive, but soon even they blurred out. All he could hear was the muffled barking of the soldiers calling in a report to their Abstergo higher-ups. Everything got darker and darker; a ringing in his ears got louder and louder.

And then everything went black.

And silent.

Gone.

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

March 30, 2019; Bellwood

It took a few minutes for the sensation of consciousness to flow back in. For a while she just floated there in the dark as the machine recalibrated and ended the session. Her mind began to take the place of the unconsciousness, and the void of the Animus began to replace the darkness. She felt her heart racing, and felt herself crying a bit. Ava carefully lifted the device off her head and sat up. She rubbed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths. She didn't expect to see her grandmother get beaten up and orphaned like that. She knew she lived, obviously. Ava herself existed after all. But still, it was her grandma.

She calmed her breathing down, shaking a little as she tried to recalibrate herself. She thought back to all the fun times she had with her grandmother over the years to help, and made a mental note to make sure she gave her a call once this was all over.

After a few minutes, she was back to a stable mental place. She sat up straight, took a deep breath, and let it out.

“Alright… guess that's another family mystery figured out,” she said to herself. “Don't worry guys, I'm… uh… guys?”

She took a look around the room, noticing that all of her friends weren't surrounding her anymore. She looked around, confused, and a little panicked. “Guys?”

Then, just as she stood up, she heard it. A large explosion from outside.

“Oh no…” she gasped. And she bolted down the hall faster than she ever had before.