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Description
July 15, 1969; Area 51, Nevada

The cell door creaked open, and clunked shut. Bromden didn't look up from his rickety bedside. He didn't acknowledge the man who had stepped in, the man who continued to stand tall and act all mighty in the presence of his defeated foe. Bromden wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

“You shouldn't look so grim, Major Arnolds,” Billings mocked, his arms behind his back. “Afterall, tomorrow is the big day. Humanity is scheduled to begin its journey to the Moon in just over 24 hours.”

“Since when have the Templars been representatives of humanity?” Bromden scolded, finally looking his warden in the eye.

Billings rolled his eyes. “We've always been the shepherds of humanity, Major Arnolds,” he said.

“Exactly. You still think you're above the rest of us.”

“Because we are, Major Arnolds. And soon, we will be in the most literal terms, above everyone else.”

“I'm sure you're all very proud of your precious flyboys.”

“Chin up, Arnolds. Once we return with the Lunar Apple, we'll be able to achieve a world encased in a bubble of peace and tranquility.”

“Said the master to the slaves he whips.”

“Such a pessimist. We'd make such good friends if we weren't on opposite sides.”

“I've been locked up here for six damn years, Billings. Sorry if I'm a little hostile to any friendship you've got to offer.”

“You're definitely more strong willed than our other prisoners that have been kept here. I'll give you that.”

“This isn't going to end well for you, Billings. I hope you realize that.”

Billings let out a hardy laugh. “And what makes you think that?” he asked.

“Because when I get out of here, I'm going to kick your ass so hard you won't need a pretty rocket to get you to the Moon.”

Billings chuckled again. “So fiesty and egotistical,” he mocked. “I can see where your daughter gets it from.”

Bromden scowled at the man for daring to mention his pride and joy, but the conversation was cut short there, as Billings continued to laugh while leaving the cell. The Templar shut the door firmly behind him, and walked away, leaving Bromden alone once again to sulk.

Wanbli…

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the old tattered picture of his beloved daughter. How many of her birthdays had he missed…? How many days could she have spent getting good grades in school instead of protesting in dangerous territory? How different could things have been if Bromden had only stopped all of this sooner?

At least she survived that terrible day… At least Bromden had the comfort of learning that. At least she was alive out there somewhere. Alcatraz Island, last he heard. Protesting with her activist friends to try and reclaim the land for her Native American heritage. Carrying on her father's message.

He knew Macha would be proud of her. He certainly was.

A drop landed on the picture, a tear that snapped him out of his daze. He shook his head and wiped his eyes. If he was lucky, if he was smart, he would be sitting in the living room with her again by the end of the week.

And the first step to that was finally getting out of this place.

Bromden stowed away the photograph and cast his gaze towards the cell door. A guard had retaken his spot in front of the cell door after Billings had left. A regular, someone Bromden came to know well. They didn't get along. But Bromden had to admit he made for good conversation when they weren't talking about being on opposite sides. The same kind of relationship you'd have with older relatives at a Thanksgiving dinner. Hell, in another world under different circumstances, he might very well be willing to call him friend. But he wasn't in that world. And in this one, the most friendship he was willing to extend to him was not wanting to kill him.

Thankfully his plan didn't involve killing him. It involved just waiting for him to leave. Bromden knew the schedules of all the guards after careful study and sly chatting skills used on his “friend”. He knew them well enough to even know the schedule of the new guy they hired. A rookie that was still learning the ropes, and would be easily tricked.

Bromden waited, staying quiet. His “friend” cast a couple glances over his shoulder at him every now and then, showing a glimmer of legitimate concern for the man who he usually talked with more often. Bromden couldn't lie, he was a good guy. He hoped after all this was over, they might very well be able to make that other world where they call each other friend a reality someday.

But for now, Bromden just stayed quiet, until finally he began to hear the telltale footsteps of an approaching guard ready to take up position. The rookie. Bromden's ticket out.

His “friend"’s gaze turned to the rookie coming in from out of Bromden's view, and Bromden used that opportunity to slide away from his spot on the bed, slipping a palm under his mattress as he did and quietly retrieving a small piece of sharpened metal he had painstakingly whittled off his bed frame in between guard switches over the weeks. He then scurried to the wall beside the door, making sure he was just out of view. He put his makeshift knife in between his teeth, and reached up to grab a pipe above him. He pushed himself into the corner of the wall as the rookie and his “friend” wrapped up their conversation and the rookie was left alone to stand in front of the cell. Bromden waited in the dark corner like a spider, hidden from any obvious view of anyone looking in. When his “friend"'s footsteps fully disappeared, he could hear the rookie make an arrogant noise.

Good. That was the noise he was hoping for.

“Don't see how this is such a hard job,” the rookie mumbled to himself. “Just watching a bunch of clowns that we should just be killing any-”

The rookie turned around, hands arrogantly on his hips and the look of someone about to taunt on his face. But that look quickly disappeared as he saw no one in the cell he was assigned to.

“Hey what gives?” he said, annoyed. He tried peaking into the cell, looking left and right, and Bromden held his breath, not daring to make any move that would give away his spot. The rookie scratched his head, and checked the cell notes, and his own, and then a look of concern washed over his face. He frowned, and cautiously unlocked the cell door.

And as soon as he stepped inside, before his hand could even reach for his gun, Bromden was already on his back, and the makeshift knife was already in his neck.

Bromden acted fast, grabbing the rookie's keycard and gun and dragging the body into the hall, and positioning it so that it looked like he had dozed off. Hardly perfect, but it would buy him just enough time before the next guard cycle switched out.

Instead of darting to the nearest hall exit, Bromden instead went upwards, into a vent in the ceiling, wear the ventilation ducts provided a new path towards his goal. He scurried through the vents, passing over the heads of dozens of guards.

“You think Aldrin and Armstrong will be able to pull it off?” he heard one of them say as he passed overhead.

“Yeah, they wouldn't have been picked if they weren't the top men for the job,” his buddy said.

“I heard President Nixon had a speech drafted up for him to read in case they don't make it back though.”

“Well yeah but that's just protocol, ya know?”

“Eh I guess.”

“Come on, patrols about to switch. Let's go ahead and get a head start.”

Bromden frowned, and risked hurrying his pace a little. He knew where he needed to get to, it was just a matter of getting there in time. And to his absolute thanks, he did indeed.

He popped out of the vent in the storage room ceiling, making sure to bend his knees to soften his landing. He knew there were probably guards right outside who would be ready to draw their guns the second something screwy was detected. He quickly began to search around, grabbing a few supplies that would be rather useful in the next few minutes. But there was one thing in particular that he was looking for, one thing he knew he needed to have.

And after some frantic searching, he found them. His hidden blades. And for the first time in a long while, he smiled.

He strapped on his old friends, and he gave them a few quick test flicks to get the satisfaction of knowing they still worked, and were still ready for action. And just in time as well.

The room was suddenly flooded with flashing red lights and the blaring sound of alarms going off. It wasn't long before Bromden heard the shouting of guards to match. The rookie had been found. The stealth part of his escape plan was over, and that was fine with Bromden. He wasn't going to leave this facility until he finished the business he had here.

Bromden kicked open the door, and fired a couple bullets into the guards outside before they even had the chance to react. The Assassin sauntered down the red hall, ready for anyone that dared to stand in his way. One by one, guards started running into his path with their weapons raised. Bromden ejected his hidden blade into the neck of the first man who tried to fight him, and blocked the baton attacks of his two friends. Another tried to fire his assault rifle at him, but Bromden yanked one of the corpses in front of him as a human shield. The gunman then fell as well when Bromden gave him a taste of his own medicine.

And the rampage continued the same way, Bromden determined after all these years of planning and wallowing to finally get the reward he'd work so hard towards: saving everything from the works of Billings.

Starting by taking out the ringleader himself.

Bromden stormed his way through Area 51, until he was exactly where he needed to be: the artifact research laboratory. The bottom of this well, where the snake had retreated just as Bromden expected him to.

“I'm impressed, Major Arnolds, I really am,” Billings called out from the opposite end of the room, fiddling with something at a desk. Bromden approached slowly towards the man, knowing full well that this room could become an arena at any moment.

“There have been plenty of people who tried to escape Area 51, but no one has gotten as far as you have,” Billings went on. “Honestly that's probably my fault, I put too much faith in that rookie.”

“I'm going to stop you,” Bromden declared, his hidden blade out and obvious.

“You can't stop us, Major Arnolds. It's too late. By the time you would even make it to Cape Canaveral, the rocket would be all set for launch.”

“Then I'll find a way on board.”

Billings chuckled. “I admire your spunk, I really do,” he said. “But let's face it, Major Arnolds. We all know I won't let you walk out of this facility alive.”

Billings turned around, holding onto whatever he was working on and holding it up. It looked like a gun of some sort, attached to a chunk of Precursor technology that already proved to have the power of making Bromden's stomach drop. It had no barrel either, just a big glowing bulb on the end that looked straight out of a sci-fi comic. Billings gave a toothy grin, and put his thumb on the trigger. The bulb suddenly lit up bright red, and what seemed to be a swirling ball of red and white energy crackled out of it. Bromden's eyes bulged, and he lunged out of the way just in time to avoid that energy from surging towards him and blasting him away. He quickly rolled to his feet, standing to fight, and when he looked to see the path that the energy blast took, he noticed the massive chunk of desk material simply gone. Vaporized.

“The hell kind of trick is that?” Bromden asked.

“Something we've been tinkering with for a while,” Billings smirked, firing another shot and missing. “These Precursors knew how to bend the gateways in reality, and find paths to other worlds beyond our own. This one is my personal favorite frequency that we've tapped into.”

Another blast, and Bromden thrust himself to the floor. “So what, it's an interdimensional garbage collector or something?”

“You can call it whatever you like in your final moments here, Major Arnolds. But based on our few successful contacts, the locals call this type of device a Null Void gun.”

“Locals?”

Billings’ smile only grew further as he suddenly hit a dial on his device and raised it into the air. His finger squeezed down on the trigger, and the energy ball crackled into reality again, but instead of the pull that Bromden had felt on the hair of his neck when he narrowly dodged the previous beams, this one had a push like a strong gust of wind. And suddenly, two massive shapes were hurled out of the swirls. They landed hard on the ground, smashing any objects that had gotten in between it and their giant clawed feet. Bromden gasped in horror at the horrendous beasts that were suddenly in front of him, snarling through their toothy leech-like mouths. Their hairy tank-like bodies ended in long scorpion-esk tails, like some sort of demonic alien manticore. And even if they had no eyes, Bromden could still sense them glaring hungrily at him.

And all it took was Billings saying the magic words, “Sick ‘im,” for the monsters to charge forward.

The hellspawns let out voracious roars, and they lunged forward at Bromden. He gasped and lunged out of the way, perching on a nearby scaffolding to get some higher ground. The creatures circled below like lions, drooling between their gums as they snarled and pounced again. Bromden jumped as they did, and springboarded off of one of their backs to dodge. He landed in a roll, grabbing a bigger gun off of one of the tables as he did. He took aim and pulled the trigger as the monsters circled back around, but all it rewarded him with was some minor sprays of blood and a couple yelps of pain. The beasts were still standing, and still locked on him.

Billings meanwhile was still trying to fire his weapon at Bromden from afar, making a deadly trio of obstacles that caused Bromden's mind to race. He ducked and dodged around the ever increasing piles of debris, and soon found himself taking a bad turn into a corner. He wheeled around, and saw one of the beasts snarling towards him. He panicked, thinking fast and lunging towards the wall. He timed his jump just right, with just the angle needed for him to leap over and around the hellhound while the beast itself slammed into a vat. The vat collapsed under the weight, and it's contents sprayed out onto the creature. Bromden hurried away to get a look from a safe distance. The creature roared in discomfort, its neck bulging in and out as it shook its head like a confused dog. It had lost its bearings. Bromden noticed the bulging parts of its neck, and saw what seemed to be gill slits of sorts. The beast stumbled, trying to look around and flex those slits, only for them to get more gunked up. Bromden's eyes widened as realization hit him. With those things clogged, the creature was blind.

Another howling roar reverberated behind him suddenly. Bromden spun around just in time to see the other behemoth descending towards him, claws outstretched. Bromden quickly rolled out of the way, and the creature slammed into its hairy compatriot instead of its prey. The two snapped and snarled angrily at one another, before the blinded one swatted the other away and the other decided it had other fish to fry.

“Stand still damn you!” Billings cursed to Bromden as he continued to fire blasts from his Null Void gun. Bromden continued his acrobatics act, leaping over debris out of the way of the blasts and the beast running behind him. As he ran, he swiped up a metal pole, a terrible excuse of a plan forming in his head that he prayed would work.

He slid to where the blind beast was still struggling, and quickly started banging the pole against a sheet of metal. The blind beast roared in irritation and wheeled on him. It was blind, but definitely not deaf. It snarled and charged in the direction of the noise, and Bromden sprinted away, eyes scanning for the perfect position for his plan. He ran across the open floor of the lab, putting himself in the direct line of fire of Billings’ ray. The Templar smiled, seeing his chance, and he raised his gun. Bromden kept banging the pole against anything that would make noise, standing still on top of a pile of debris as the blind beast came closer and closer, and Billings’ gun glowed more and more intense. Bromden waited until the last second he dared to tick down, and as soon as the blind beast lunged, and Billings pulled the trigger, Bromden jumped.

The blind beast suddenly found itself smacking into its comrad, who had seen an easy meal. Just as the two made contact and Bromden rolled away, the beam from Billings’ gun shot out, and the vicious red swirls engulfed the beasts. They howled and snarled, until eventually their calls were drowned out and the beam faded back into the bulb, leaving no trace of the creatures save for the damage they left behind.

Billings’ eyes widened. “No!” he said, and he started frantically fiddling with the settings on his gun.

But Bromden didn't give him a chance. The Assassin sprinted forward, hidden blade out, and he tackled Billings. The two went sprawling to the ground, wrestling and tumbling. Bromden kicked at his foe while his fist wrapped around the handle of the gun. The two yanked back and forth, each tug accidentally setting off another blast into the ceiling.

“I've had enough of this insolence!” Billings roared.

“I couldn't agree more!” Bromden retorted.

He delivered one more swift kick up into Billings’ jaw, and ejected his hidden blade as he spun back around, and used his momentum to thrust it forward with all his strength. The blade hit Billings square in the chest, and the Templar dropped his gun, falling to his knees with a painful shout. Bromden yanked his blade back out, staring down at his finally-fallen enemy, and time began to slow.

The Animus void wrapped around the two of them, replacing history with its omnipresent humming. Ava watched her great grandfather loom over his enemy, retracting his hidden blade as the once high and mighty Billings was finally taking a knee.

“I'm… impressed,” Billings heaved as he fell to his hands and knees. “Of all my years of experience, I've never met a man as resilient as you.”

“I'm flattered,” Bromden said coldly.

“Too bad it won't be enough to stop our plans. The rocket is set to launch within 24 hours. You'll never make it there in time to stop the launch. We'll leave you stranded here on this dirty rock.”

“If I can't stop it, then I'll make sure I get on that rocket myself to stop you.”

Billings chuckled, though it sounded more like a gurgle. “I like your spunk, Major Arnolds. What's your plan for after you ‘stop’ us then? Go back to your precious daughter? Comfort her on Alcatraz? Maybe have a nice picnic?”

“That would be great, truth be told.”

“You Assassins love to dream of such perfect little worlds. It's pathetic, honestly.”

“There's nothing pathetic about hope.”

“Maybe not, but there is something pathetic about misplaced hope. The world runs because people like us do what we do, Major Arnolds. We're willing to take the extreme measures to ensure peace, unlike you, who would just chuck a few people into the solar system and hope that the power of love would be enough to keep them from ripping each other apart without any guiding hand.”

“That's where you and I differ, Billings. You miss the entire point. The whole reason for seeking out these new worlds is to leave our mistakes behind, not take them with us. All the war and selfishness, the bigotry and hatred that people like you represent have no place up there. This world may always have its flaws, but that doesn't make its blessings any less heavenly. And it's our responsibility to make sure those blessings are the only thing we carry with us to the stars.”

“You sound just like Kennedy,” Billings laughed. “I hate that. But… I admire your enthusiasm, Arnolds… Maybe it just might be enough… for you to manage your death wish of a plan…”

He coughed up blood, and sunk further to the ground, until finally he laid there limp, unbreathing, finally and thankfully gone from this Earth. Bromden reached down and closed the man's eyes.

“We should always strive to reach for the Moon,” he said quietly, “because even if we miss, we'll still be amongst the stars. Rest in peace, Billings.”

Bromden stood from the body, his muscles finally relaxing a little, finally satisfied that this battle was over. And won. But he knew the war was still going on, and the final fight would begin at Cape Canaveral. He had to get to Florida, and he had to get to Florida fast.

Bromden hurried out of the facility, rushing past any guards that crossed his path and tried to stop him. He sprinted to the nearest garage, and hopped in the most durable-looking car he could spot. Bromden wasted no time, hopping in with stolen keys and revving up the engines. Before long, the tires were shrieking and smoking against the ground, and Bromden barged out of the garage with the speed of a man on a mission. He could hear shouting and gunfire behind him, but before long, all of that noise was faded out. He was out into the desert, far away from where he had been kept for the past six years.

He only wished he had time to go the opposite direction and see his daughter one last time before he did the stupidest thing in his life.

Description
July 15, 1969; Area 51, Nevada

The cell door creaked open, and clunked shut. Bromden didn't look up from his rickety bedside. He didn't acknowledge the man who had stepped in, the man who continued to stand tall and act all mighty in the presence of his defeated foe. Bromden wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment.

“You shouldn't look so grim, Major Arnolds,” Billings mocked, his arms behind his back. “Afterall, tomorrow is the big day. Humanity is scheduled to begin its journey to the Moon in just over 24 hours.”

“Since when have the Templars been representatives of humanity?” Bromden scolded, finally looking his warden in the eye.

Billings rolled his eyes. “We've always been the shepherds of humanity, Major Arnolds,” he said.

“Exactly. You still think you're above the rest of us.”

“Because we are, Major Arnolds. And soon, we will be in the most literal terms, above everyone else.”

“I'm sure you're all very proud of your precious flyboys.”

“Chin up, Arnolds. Once we return with the Lunar Apple, we'll be able to achieve a world encased in a bubble of peace and tranquility.”

“Said the master to the slaves he whips.”

“Such a pessimist. We'd make such good friends if we weren't on opposite sides.”

“I've been locked up here for six damn years, Billings. Sorry if I'm a little hostile to any friendship you've got to offer.”

“You're definitely more strong willed than our other prisoners that have been kept here. I'll give you that.”

“This isn't going to end well for you, Billings. I hope you realize that.”

Billings let out a hardy laugh. “And what makes you think that?” he asked.

“Because when I get out of here, I'm going to kick your ass so hard you won't need a pretty rocket to get you to the Moon.”

Billings chuckled again. “So fiesty and egotistical,” he mocked. “I can see where your daughter gets it from.”

Bromden scowled at the man for daring to mention his pride and joy, but the conversation was cut short there, as Billings continued to laugh while leaving the cell. The Templar shut the door firmly behind him, and walked away, leaving Bromden alone once again to sulk.

Wanbli…

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the old tattered picture of his beloved daughter. How many of her birthdays had he missed…? How many days could she have spent getting good grades in school instead of protesting in dangerous territory? How different could things have been if Bromden had only stopped all of this sooner?

At least she survived that terrible day… At least Bromden had the comfort of learning that. At least she was alive out there somewhere. Alcatraz Island, last he heard. Protesting with her activist friends to try and reclaim the land for her Native American heritage. Carrying on her father's message.

He knew Macha would be proud of her. He certainly was.

A drop landed on the picture, a tear that snapped him out of his daze. He shook his head and wiped his eyes. If he was lucky, if he was smart, he would be sitting in the living room with her again by the end of the week.

And the first step to that was finally getting out of this place.

Bromden stowed away the photograph and cast his gaze towards the cell door. A guard had retaken his spot in front of the cell door after Billings had left. A regular, someone Bromden came to know well. They didn't get along. But Bromden had to admit he made for good conversation when they weren't talking about being on opposite sides. The same kind of relationship you'd have with older relatives at a Thanksgiving dinner. Hell, in another world under different circumstances, he might very well be willing to call him friend. But he wasn't in that world. And in this one, the most friendship he was willing to extend to him was not wanting to kill him.

Thankfully his plan didn't involve killing him. It involved just waiting for him to leave. Bromden knew the schedules of all the guards after careful study and sly chatting skills used on his “friend”. He knew them well enough to even know the schedule of the new guy they hired. A rookie that was still learning the ropes, and would be easily tricked.

Bromden waited, staying quiet. His “friend” cast a couple glances over his shoulder at him every now and then, showing a glimmer of legitimate concern for the man who he usually talked with more often. Bromden couldn't lie, he was a good guy. He hoped after all this was over, they might very well be able to make that other world where they call each other friend a reality someday.

But for now, Bromden just stayed quiet, until finally he began to hear the telltale footsteps of an approaching guard ready to take up position. The rookie. Bromden's ticket out.

His “friend"’s gaze turned to the rookie coming in from out of Bromden's view, and Bromden used that opportunity to slide away from his spot on the bed, slipping a palm under his mattress as he did and quietly retrieving a small piece of sharpened metal he had painstakingly whittled off his bed frame in between guard switches over the weeks. He then scurried to the wall beside the door, making sure he was just out of view. He put his makeshift knife in between his teeth, and reached up to grab a pipe above him. He pushed himself into the corner of the wall as the rookie and his “friend” wrapped up their conversation and the rookie was left alone to stand in front of the cell. Bromden waited in the dark corner like a spider, hidden from any obvious view of anyone looking in. When his “friend"'s footsteps fully disappeared, he could hear the rookie make an arrogant noise.

Good. That was the noise he was hoping for.

“Don't see how this is such a hard job,” the rookie mumbled to himself. “Just watching a bunch of clowns that we should just be killing any-”

The rookie turned around, hands arrogantly on his hips and the look of someone about to taunt on his face. But that look quickly disappeared as he saw no one in the cell he was assigned to.

“Hey what gives?” he said, annoyed. He tried peaking into the cell, looking left and right, and Bromden held his breath, not daring to make any move that would give away his spot. The rookie scratched his head, and checked the cell notes, and his own, and then a look of concern washed over his face. He frowned, and cautiously unlocked the cell door.

And as soon as he stepped inside, before his hand could even reach for his gun, Bromden was already on his back, and the makeshift knife was already in his neck.

Bromden acted fast, grabbing the rookie's keycard and gun and dragging the body into the hall, and positioning it so that it looked like he had dozed off. Hardly perfect, but it would buy him just enough time before the next guard cycle switched out.

Instead of darting to the nearest hall exit, Bromden instead went upwards, into a vent in the ceiling, wear the ventilation ducts provided a new path towards his goal. He scurried through the vents, passing over the heads of dozens of guards.

“You think Aldrin and Armstrong will be able to pull it off?” he heard one of them say as he passed overhead.

“Yeah, they wouldn't have been picked if they weren't the top men for the job,” his buddy said.

“I heard President Nixon had a speech drafted up for him to read in case they don't make it back though.”

“Well yeah but that's just protocol, ya know?”

“Eh I guess.”

“Come on, patrols about to switch. Let's go ahead and get a head start.”

Bromden frowned, and risked hurrying his pace a little. He knew where he needed to get to, it was just a matter of getting there in time. And to his absolute thanks, he did indeed.

He popped out of the vent in the storage room ceiling, making sure to bend his knees to soften his landing. He knew there were probably guards right outside who would be ready to draw their guns the second something screwy was detected. He quickly began to search around, grabbing a few supplies that would be rather useful in the next few minutes. But there was one thing in particular that he was looking for, one thing he knew he needed to have.

And after some frantic searching, he found them. His hidden blades. And for the first time in a long while, he smiled.

He strapped on his old friends, and he gave them a few quick test flicks to get the satisfaction of knowing they still worked, and were still ready for action. And just in time as well.

The room was suddenly flooded with flashing red lights and the blaring sound of alarms going off. It wasn't long before Bromden heard the shouting of guards to match. The rookie had been found. The stealth part of his escape plan was over, and that was fine with Bromden. He wasn't going to leave this facility until he finished the business he had here.

Bromden kicked open the door, and fired a couple bullets into the guards outside before they even had the chance to react. The Assassin sauntered down the red hall, ready for anyone that dared to stand in his way. One by one, guards started running into his path with their weapons raised. Bromden ejected his hidden blade into the neck of the first man who tried to fight him, and blocked the baton attacks of his two friends. Another tried to fire his assault rifle at him, but Bromden yanked one of the corpses in front of him as a human shield. The gunman then fell as well when Bromden gave him a taste of his own medicine.

And the rampage continued the same way, Bromden determined after all these years of planning and wallowing to finally get the reward he'd work so hard towards: saving everything from the works of Billings.

Starting by taking out the ringleader himself.

Bromden stormed his way through Area 51, until he was exactly where he needed to be: the artifact research laboratory. The bottom of this well, where the snake had retreated just as Bromden expected him to.

“I'm impressed, Major Arnolds, I really am,” Billings called out from the opposite end of the room, fiddling with something at a desk. Bromden approached slowly towards the man, knowing full well that this room could become an arena at any moment.

“There have been plenty of people who tried to escape Area 51, but no one has gotten as far as you have,” Billings went on. “Honestly that's probably my fault, I put too much faith in that rookie.”

“I'm going to stop you,” Bromden declared, his hidden blade out and obvious.

“You can't stop us, Major Arnolds. It's too late. By the time you would even make it to Cape Canaveral, the rocket would be all set for launch.”

“Then I'll find a way on board.”

Billings chuckled. “I admire your spunk, I really do,” he said. “But let's face it, Major Arnolds. We all know I won't let you walk out of this facility alive.”

Billings turned around, holding onto whatever he was working on and holding it up. It looked like a gun of some sort, attached to a chunk of Precursor technology that already proved to have the power of making Bromden's stomach drop. It had no barrel either, just a big glowing bulb on the end that looked straight out of a sci-fi comic. Billings gave a toothy grin, and put his thumb on the trigger. The bulb suddenly lit up bright red, and what seemed to be a swirling ball of red and white energy crackled out of it. Bromden's eyes bulged, and he lunged out of the way just in time to avoid that energy from surging towards him and blasting him away. He quickly rolled to his feet, standing to fight, and when he looked to see the path that the energy blast took, he noticed the massive chunk of desk material simply gone. Vaporized.

“The hell kind of trick is that?” Bromden asked.

“Something we've been tinkering with for a while,” Billings smirked, firing another shot and missing. “These Precursors knew how to bend the gateways in reality, and find paths to other worlds beyond our own. This one is my personal favorite frequency that we've tapped into.”

Another blast, and Bromden thrust himself to the floor. “So what, it's an interdimensional garbage collector or something?”

“You can call it whatever you like in your final moments here, Major Arnolds. But based on our few successful contacts, the locals call this type of device a Null Void gun.”

“Locals?”

Billings’ smile only grew further as he suddenly hit a dial on his device and raised it into the air. His finger squeezed down on the trigger, and the energy ball crackled into reality again, but instead of the pull that Bromden had felt on the hair of his neck when he narrowly dodged the previous beams, this one had a push like a strong gust of wind. And suddenly, two massive shapes were hurled out of the swirls. They landed hard on the ground, smashing any objects that had gotten in between it and their giant clawed feet. Bromden gasped in horror at the horrendous beasts that were suddenly in front of him, snarling through their toothy leech-like mouths. Their hairy tank-like bodies ended in long scorpion-esk tails, like some sort of demonic alien manticore. And even if they had no eyes, Bromden could still sense them glaring hungrily at him.

And all it took was Billings saying the magic words, “Sick ‘im,” for the monsters to charge forward.

The hellspawns let out voracious roars, and they lunged forward at Bromden. He gasped and lunged out of the way, perching on a nearby scaffolding to get some higher ground. The creatures circled below like lions, drooling between their gums as they snarled and pounced again. Bromden jumped as they did, and springboarded off of one of their backs to dodge. He landed in a roll, grabbing a bigger gun off of one of the tables as he did. He took aim and pulled the trigger as the monsters circled back around, but all it rewarded him with was some minor sprays of blood and a couple yelps of pain. The beasts were still standing, and still locked on him.

Billings meanwhile was still trying to fire his weapon at Bromden from afar, making a deadly trio of obstacles that caused Bromden's mind to race. He ducked and dodged around the ever increasing piles of debris, and soon found himself taking a bad turn into a corner. He wheeled around, and saw one of the beasts snarling towards him. He panicked, thinking fast and lunging towards the wall. He timed his jump just right, with just the angle needed for him to leap over and around the hellhound while the beast itself slammed into a vat. The vat collapsed under the weight, and it's contents sprayed out onto the creature. Bromden hurried away to get a look from a safe distance. The creature roared in discomfort, its neck bulging in and out as it shook its head like a confused dog. It had lost its bearings. Bromden noticed the bulging parts of its neck, and saw what seemed to be gill slits of sorts. The beast stumbled, trying to look around and flex those slits, only for them to get more gunked up. Bromden's eyes widened as realization hit him. With those things clogged, the creature was blind.

Another howling roar reverberated behind him suddenly. Bromden spun around just in time to see the other behemoth descending towards him, claws outstretched. Bromden quickly rolled out of the way, and the creature slammed into its hairy compatriot instead of its prey. The two snapped and snarled angrily at one another, before the blinded one swatted the other away and the other decided it had other fish to fry.

“Stand still damn you!” Billings cursed to Bromden as he continued to fire blasts from his Null Void gun. Bromden continued his acrobatics act, leaping over debris out of the way of the blasts and the beast running behind him. As he ran, he swiped up a metal pole, a terrible excuse of a plan forming in his head that he prayed would work.

He slid to where the blind beast was still struggling, and quickly started banging the pole against a sheet of metal. The blind beast roared in irritation and wheeled on him. It was blind, but definitely not deaf. It snarled and charged in the direction of the noise, and Bromden sprinted away, eyes scanning for the perfect position for his plan. He ran across the open floor of the lab, putting himself in the direct line of fire of Billings’ ray. The Templar smiled, seeing his chance, and he raised his gun. Bromden kept banging the pole against anything that would make noise, standing still on top of a pile of debris as the blind beast came closer and closer, and Billings’ gun glowed more and more intense. Bromden waited until the last second he dared to tick down, and as soon as the blind beast lunged, and Billings pulled the trigger, Bromden jumped.

The blind beast suddenly found itself smacking into its comrad, who had seen an easy meal. Just as the two made contact and Bromden rolled away, the beam from Billings’ gun shot out, and the vicious red swirls engulfed the beasts. They howled and snarled, until eventually their calls were drowned out and the beam faded back into the bulb, leaving no trace of the creatures save for the damage they left behind.

Billings’ eyes widened. “No!” he said, and he started frantically fiddling with the settings on his gun.

But Bromden didn't give him a chance. The Assassin sprinted forward, hidden blade out, and he tackled Billings. The two went sprawling to the ground, wrestling and tumbling. Bromden kicked at his foe while his fist wrapped around the handle of the gun. The two yanked back and forth, each tug accidentally setting off another blast into the ceiling.

“I've had enough of this insolence!” Billings roared.

“I couldn't agree more!” Bromden retorted.

He delivered one more swift kick up into Billings’ jaw, and ejected his hidden blade as he spun back around, and used his momentum to thrust it forward with all his strength. The blade hit Billings square in the chest, and the Templar dropped his gun, falling to his knees with a painful shout. Bromden yanked his blade back out, staring down at his finally-fallen enemy, and time began to slow.

The Animus void wrapped around the two of them, replacing history with its omnipresent humming. Ava watched her great grandfather loom over his enemy, retracting his hidden blade as the once high and mighty Billings was finally taking a knee.

“I'm… impressed,” Billings heaved as he fell to his hands and knees. “Of all my years of experience, I've never met a man as resilient as you.”

“I'm flattered,” Bromden said coldly.

“Too bad it won't be enough to stop our plans. The rocket is set to launch within 24 hours. You'll never make it there in time to stop the launch. We'll leave you stranded here on this dirty rock.”

“If I can't stop it, then I'll make sure I get on that rocket myself to stop you.”

Billings chuckled, though it sounded more like a gurgle. “I like your spunk, Major Arnolds. What's your plan for after you ‘stop’ us then? Go back to your precious daughter? Comfort her on Alcatraz? Maybe have a nice picnic?”

“That would be great, truth be told.”

“You Assassins love to dream of such perfect little worlds. It's pathetic, honestly.”

“There's nothing pathetic about hope.”

“Maybe not, but there is something pathetic about misplaced hope. The world runs because people like us do what we do, Major Arnolds. We're willing to take the extreme measures to ensure peace, unlike you, who would just chuck a few people into the solar system and hope that the power of love would be enough to keep them from ripping each other apart without any guiding hand.”

“That's where you and I differ, Billings. You miss the entire point. The whole reason for seeking out these new worlds is to leave our mistakes behind, not take them with us. All the war and selfishness, the bigotry and hatred that people like you represent have no place up there. This world may always have its flaws, but that doesn't make its blessings any less heavenly. And it's our responsibility to make sure those blessings are the only thing we carry with us to the stars.”

“You sound just like Kennedy,” Billings laughed. “I hate that. But… I admire your enthusiasm, Arnolds… Maybe it just might be enough… for you to manage your death wish of a plan…”

He coughed up blood, and sunk further to the ground, until finally he laid there limp, unbreathing, finally and thankfully gone from this Earth. Bromden reached down and closed the man's eyes.

“We should always strive to reach for the Moon,” he said quietly, “because even if we miss, we'll still be amongst the stars. Rest in peace, Billings.”

Bromden stood from the body, his muscles finally relaxing a little, finally satisfied that this battle was over. And won. But he knew the war was still going on, and the final fight would begin at Cape Canaveral. He had to get to Florida, and he had to get to Florida fast.

Bromden hurried out of the facility, rushing past any guards that crossed his path and tried to stop him. He sprinted to the nearest garage, and hopped in the most durable-looking car he could spot. Bromden wasted no time, hopping in with stolen keys and revving up the engines. Before long, the tires were shrieking and smoking against the ground, and Bromden barged out of the garage with the speed of a man on a mission. He could hear shouting and gunfire behind him, but before long, all of that noise was faded out. He was out into the desert, far away from where he had been kept for the past six years.

He only wished he had time to go the opposite direction and see his daughter one last time before he did the stupidest thing in his life.