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May 23, 2016; Indianapolis, Indiana

You know? I thought I could be strong on this one. I thought I could push away the thoughts haunting my mind for the time being. I thought my hope for the future would be enough to keep it from leaching on my brain. But I was wrong. That night was the night I broke.

It started after Jess left, after that little chat I had with Pearce, after… after I realized my best friend was still alive out there… somewhere, likely to never return given all that had happened…

I went back to my walk around Indianapolis. It had to have been around one o’clock in the morning, but I didn't care, not when it finally struck me. I didn't even feel it at first. I was too lost in my thoughts. The first sign I got was the warmth of my tears beginning to creep out of my eyes and onto my cheeks. That's when all the feelings I had been desperately been trying to shove into the back of my mind came pouring out. I suddenly got that familiar feeling that I hadn't felt in years. That odd sort of… emptiness? Disconnection? Pain?

I honestly don't know what to call it. All I knew was that I had stopped walking when I had reached the Indiana State House, and started running off of instinct. My body lowered itself onto the stairs of the building, my hands rising up to catch my head. I started breathing heavily as a depression cycle for the first time in forever overtook me and I became a prisoner in my own subconscious. I cried silently into my palms in the dead of night, the rest of the city carrying on lively as always right on past me. It started raining a bit, but I didn't care. I didn't even notice it. I just wallowed in my mental agony, my brain uncontrollably looping through every single thing that had led up to this point. It forced me to watch Jacob steal the Staff. It forced me to watch Jess cry as I fought her. It forced me to see Ava…

I couldn't handle it. I couldn't control it. It was like a tsunami. My brain wouldn't listen to me. My body didn't want to listen to me. I was just there, locked in this pit of depression that I thought I'd never enter again.

The voices started coming back over the patter of raindrops and thunder.

“You could've done more.”

“She hates you, they all do.”

“You're worthless. Why didn't you save them all?”

“You could've stopped this, and they all hate you because you didn't.”

“The governor will see you now.”

“What kind of Assassin can't even save his best friend?”

“Chelsea got hurt, everyone got hurt. And it's your fault.”

“Mrs. Spainhower?”

“You should've just destroyed the Staff when you had the chance.”

“Ma’am? Mrs. Spainhower?”

“You're a worthless, incompetent fool...”

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Why don't you just end it all now?”

“Mrs. Spainhower?”

Priscilla jumped a bit from being startled. She tore her gaze from her reflection in the window and turned to face the man calling her name.

“Er… sorry dear,” she said. “I zoned out. Have a lot on my mind. What did you say?”

“I said the governor will see you now.”

“Ah. Yes. Got it. Please, lead the way…”

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

May 20, 1863; Indianapolis, Indiana

Priscilla coughed hard, her breaths ragged. She hit her chest a couple times.

“Are you alright?” the man in front of her asked.

“I'm fine…” she responded, taking a drink he offered and clearing her throat. “I'm just at that point in my life where I contract an illness every other week. I doubt I have many years left, but hey, at least I'm still trying to make them count.”

“That's an honorable mentality, Mrs. Spainhower.”

“Thank you, Governor Morton. I learned from the best.”

“Indeed. I've heard plenty of stories revolving around your mentor.”

Priscilla nodded. She missed Aveza. With the Civil War in full swing here in the States and all the talk of Confederation going on up in Canada, they haven't had much time to get together lately. There were still the occasional special moments. Just this past March the two had taken a vacation to Louisville to see a showing of The Seven Sisters, starring Aveza’s good friend, Pauline Cushman. Things went a bit awry that day when Pauline was recruited as a Union spy during an eventful scandal, but at least it was an enjoyable evening. She hoped that once all this political turmoil was put to rest, when the Union was whole once more and slavery is abolished, the mentor and her apprentice would find the time to socialize once again.

But for now she dealt with whatever issues plagued her in this time and place, merely waiting for peaceful days to come at last.

“Thank you so much for coming, by the way,” Morton said to her once he sat down across from her.

“Of course, sir,” Priscilla responded.

“Your work is quite a fascinating subject of conversation in my circles. Your service to the cause of liberty is of great appreciation.”

“I do what I can.”

“Ah. Too modest!”

“So, what was it you called me here for?”

“I believe my men have uncovered a conspiracy that corresponds with… your area of expertise.”

Priscilla raised a cautious eyebrow. “Meaning…?” she asked.

Morton suddenly reached into his coat pocket and dug around until he found what he was looking for and put it down on the table in front of them. Priscilla's eyes widened. It was a ring, and engraved into the metal was a cross pattern, painted in with blood-red paint. She mentally cursed.

Templars. Of course…

“Our men were interrogating a rebel spy in Camp Morton when we found this in his belongings,” Morton explained.

“Where is he now?”

“With the Lord—or more likely rotting below—either way, he's unavailable for further questioning… he killed himself before we could get anything else out of him…”

“Was there anything he did say?”

“Well, he gave a few bits of information that correlate to several rumors that have been crawling through the streets of Indianapolis. Tell me, have you heard of the Knights of the Golden Circle?”

Priscilla pulled a face like she had tasted something quite unpleasant.

“I'll take that as a yes then?” Morton asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. I've had a few run-ins with their kind before…”

The Knights of the Golden Circle were a Templar offshoot that formed just a few years after Priscilla's encounter with John C. Calhoun back in 1850. A man named George Bickley founded the branch based on a desire to annex all of Central America and the Caribbean as new slave states in order to overwhelm and conquer abolitionist plans. When the War broke out, they shifted their motivation to acquiring these lands to help the rebel cause. They had spies all across the Midwest, allying themselves with the local Copperheads, who wanted to stop the War and just leave the South alone to do as they wished in some sick and twisted idea of compromise and conservatism. Priscilla tended to ignore them most of the time, as Indiana's fierce Pro-Union majority usually kept them at bay. But if the governor himself saw the need to call upon her personally…

“We've been investigating as much as we could,” he explained. “Our spies have reported a secret meeting is rumored to be held during the Democrat State Convention, a meeting to discuss plans for violent revolution against the state of Indiana and the Union cause. I've already sent several soldiers on their way over there to interfere and intimidate, but I need you to sneak in during the inevitable chaos that will result and see if you can confirm these rumors for us.”

“You don't mean to spill blood, do you governor?” Priscilla said, her voice getting firmer.

“No innocents are to be harmed if that is what you're asking. I know the standards that your Brotherhood has and I prefer to keep my good relations with you all. No, those boys are just out there to cause a fuss amongst the Copperheads, and if you can find proof of the connection between any one individual to our enemies, then only their blood will be allowed to be spilled.”

Priscilla looked at him for a moment, then nodded, believing him. Morton had proven himself a loyal ally plenty of times before. Ever since he was elected governor two years ago, he had been one of the most passionate supporters of Lincoln and the Union in the entire state. The Assassins loved him. He has zero tolerance for intolerance, and will do whatever it takes to protect the liberty of all people. Priscilla had very little reason to doubt what he was telling her now.

“Very well,” she said. “I'll make my way down there as soon as possible and get to the bottom of this.”

Morton looked equally relieved and thankful. “Thank you, Mrs. Spainhower,” he said. “I assure you, the Union will appreciate the service you're giving her. Godspeed to you.”

Priscilla managed to crack a smile and nodded. She put her drink down, stood up, and with one final handshake with the governor set out to find out just what exactly her enemies were scheming this time.

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

She started coughing again on her way to the Democrat State Convention. She eventually had to stop and lean against a wall for a minute in order to calm her breathing. She beat her chest, stood tall, and took a deep breath, and then she carried onwards.

As she came up on Tennessee Street, she began to notice the fuss that was welling up in the streets. Civilians were mumbling to each other as they rushed towards the State House to get a better view of what was going on. They seemed worried, and Priscilla felt anxious. A few soldiers trotted past on horses, trying to get through the crowd that had gathered. Priscilla quickly realized there was no way she'd be able to make it to the building in a timely and stealthy manner by taking the usual route. And so, with a tough strain on her old muscles and bones, she climbed up onto the roof of a building across the street and stood on the edge. She held up her left arm and took aim at the State House. She flexed her fingers and yanked on the mechanism of her rope launcher. The grappling hook launched out with a pop of air pressure and soared across the sky until it connected with something solid on the State House. Priscilla tested to see if it was hooked on tight and would hold her weight, and when she was satisfied that it would, she tied the other end of it around a chimney pipe and hoisted herself off the rooftop, giving herself an initial push and activating the crank mechanism to send herself soaring over the heads of the agitated crowd below and all the way to the roof of the State House. She unlatched the grappling hook and recoiled the rope into its mechanism. She glanced over the edge. The civilians were making quite a ruckus over the soldiers that were pushing their way through. She knew she'd have to act fast before things started getting ugly.

She climbed onto the central dome and slipped between the columns underneath. She scurried around until she found an open window, then picked up her skirts and hopped inside. She worked her way down onto the scaffolding of the main building, where she caught sight of another group of soldiers marching towards the Democrat Convention. A few men in suits stepped forward to protest, but they were ignored. The soldiers stopped at the entrance to the meeting hall, only because of a man in the uniform of a Union colonel that came up in front of them.

“Gentlemen! Halt!” he demanded. They did. “I am Colonel John Coburn and I demand to know what the meaning of this march is!”

The head officer of the squadron stepped forward. “We're going for Tom Hendricks,” he said. “He's been charged with treason and promoting civil unrest in the state of Indiana, and so we're here to put an end to it. Permanently.”

Priscilla raised her eyebrows. They intended to kill the Senator whom the Hoosier Democrats idolized? True, no one would miss him given his sympathies to the rebels and his passive attitude towards slavery, but still. If these soldiers were after Hendricks, that meant he must be Morton's main suspect in this plot. Priscilla took this with a grain of salt of course. Hendricks and Morton had never gotten along, especially during the elections to governorship. If she was going to let this man die, she'd need to investigate first, which meant she'd have to act fast.

The colonel started talking the soldiers down from their mission, bargaining and reasoning with them to find a more peaceful solution to the issue, giving Priscilla ample opportunity to sneak around back and silently slip into the convention hall. The politicians inside clearly noticed the chaos going on outside, as many of them were scrambling to the exits with their briefcases. She caught sight of Senator Hendricks fleeing his office and telling his secretary to reschedule his speech for another time. She quickly rushed over when he left through the back door and she snuck inside. She flicked on a gas lamp and looked around the room. She started digging through drawers and found a wide variety of damning evidence against the man. Documents calling for rallying protests and revolts against the state, an empty gun case with missing bullets as well, and, worst of all, a Templar ring. Now she really didn't care how those soldiers took action towards Hendricks.

She sprinted out and broke into the other offices, and she became more and more worried as she found more and more empty gun cases. The realization began to dawn on her: Morton’s suspicions were absolutely correct. She rushed out of the State House through the back door, leaving the governor's men to handle their problem alone. The Templars were planning something big, and she couldn't let that happen.

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

Most of the Templars had boarded the trains across the city after they escaped their pursuers. Priscilla managed to quickly stop by Morton’s private locale and inform him of the danger before rushing out to find the train that Hendricks had boarded.

Her search led her to the train heading for Cincinnati. She could hear screams and gunshots coming from the station alongside the whistle of the train. Priscilla almost fell over when she ran too fast and started hacking up her lungs again, but she quickly recovered and sprinted towards the station. She saw no blood or bodies when she arrived, thankfully, but the train holding the Templars was speedily pulling out of the station, and some of them were still firing towards the civilians. Priscilla grit her teeth in anger and just before the train left the station, she lunged onto the back of it and clung for dear life. She painfully pulled herself onto the roof, spreading her arms for balance as the train sped across the city. She used her Eagle Vision to get an idea of where the Templars with guns were in the carts ahead. She took a mental note of all the men and women outlined in gold and rushed forward once her sixth sense cut off. She came up to the nearest trapdoor leading down into the carts, but the second she put her hand on the latch, another interior force suddenly erupted upwards from it and sent her stumbling backwards. She rubbed her head and painfully looked over at what had just come up to face her, and when she did her eyes widened and her heart dropped.

“You…” was all she could say.

The giant hulk of a man in a leather coat simply glared at her uncaringly as he slung his rifle out from its holster and cocked it.

“Hello, Mrs. Spainhower,” he said, an Irish tint to his voice. “It's been a while.”

Priscilla angrily got to her feet. “What the hell are you doing helping these lot, Cudgel?” she demanded, using a tone that she'd use when scolding her children. “Do you not realize what they plan to do?”

“Take control of the Union,” he said simply, “arm the Confederates and win the War for the Templar cause.”

Priscilla could barely believe her ears. “You're fighting for men who'd put an entire race in bondage?” she gasped. “Have you actually fallen to the same lows that Calhoun had?”

Cudgel grit his teeth and aimed his gun. “Shut up!” he said, followed by a pop of air from the barrel as a dart shot out of it. Priscilla ducked and swung herself around to kick his legs out from under him. She pounced and put her hidden blade to his throat.

“No, you're smarter than this…” she said. “You can't have fallen in with men like these. You can't be supportive of this kind of plot!”

His hand suddenly lunged up and grabbed her arm.

“I've grown up, Mrs. Spainhower,” he said bitterly before twisting her arm and tossing her aside. Priscilla nearly fell off the train, only just managing to hold onto the rail and lunge herself back onto the roof. With a cry of anger, she rushed forward, bowie knife barred, and started slashing at him. After a few cuts opened in his flesh, he whipped out his duel daggers and fought back.

“I had faith in you Cudgel!” Priscilla said as their blades sparked. “I had faith you'd be a man like your grandfather! I had faith you'd live up to the stories Aveza told me about him! Instead I find you helping the rebel cause! And for what?”

“It is my duty to serve the Templars and keep order!” he spat back.

“Well you’ve just done a bang up job at that, haven't you?”

“Quiet!”

He thrust forward with one arm, and then the other, and the other again, and each strike Priscilla dodged. She ducked below one strike and kicked her leg upwards, sending her knee into his sensitive areas. He was clearly wearing leather armor underneath, but the blow still sent him recoiling. She stood over him, drawing her cavalry sword and putting it to his throat.

“You better learn to respect your elders, boy,” she told him.

She was about to jab the blade into his throat, but a sudden series of splashing sounds assaulted her ears and drove her to look over the edge of the train.

Her eyes widened. The politicians were starting to throw their guns off the train and into the waters of Pogue's Run. She started hearing hooves behind her, and when she looked she saw a squadron of Union soldiers galloping after the train. Morton's men, no doubt.

“Damn…” she said. She looked down at Cudgel, gave him a swift kick to the head to knock him out, and started running to the front of the train. She had to get this machine stopped before all the evidence against the delegates was waterlogged. She leapt from car to car, eventually finding herself at the engine and jumping in through its window. The conductor was expectedly surprised and demanded she leave immediately, but she pushed him into the next car over and locked the door. She grabbed the brake and pulled on it as hard as she could. The wheels of the train screeched and sparks went flying across the track as the machine grounded to a sudden halt and everyone on board lunged forward with a jerk. The engine gave one last tired whistle before Priscilla stepped off, coughing painfully from the smoke that had gathered. The cavalry came riding up. Their commander got off his horse and approached Priscilla while the rest of his men got to work on boarding the train.

“Mrs. Spainhower, I presume?” he asked.

She held up a finger while she hacked up her lungs again and only addressed him properly once her breathing settled.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Yes, I am Mrs. Spainhower.”

“Then ma’am, we thank you kindly for giving us a hand with rounding up these blasted rebels.”

Priscilla nodded. “They threw the majority of their weapons in the creek, but I doubt it was all of them. You lot best get this place searched asap.”

The commander nodded, and he turned to join his men.

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

Priscilla sat by the train, watching the soldiers gather up and restrain each of the felons as they were led away to be prosecuted for their charges.

Priscilla had been right. They had found plenty of guns and knives stashed on the rebels’ persons, a couple hundred actually. The delegates had tried hiding them in what they thought were clever ways, but it didn't work. Some of them had given their pistols to their wives in the belief that they wouldn't be searched. One woman had seven shoved into her coat. The soldiers even found a two foot knife hidden in a stove. There was no doubt about it. The rebels had full intention of going on a murder spree, and now they were going to pay for it. But despite that, Priscilla still felt embittered. Because there was one thing they didn't find on that train upon investigating: Cudgel Cormac. The coward had fled back to his masters to plan god knows what. Priscilla stood from her spot and, after shaking hands with the commander one last time, she walked off towards the main city, lost in her thoughts, angered by what the man had become and what his betrayal meant it her.

“So this is what I get for being optimistic… I knew I should've killed him all those years ago. I thought he might actually be the one to change things. I thought we were friends at one point. I guess I was wrong. I guess I'm just a fool for not realizing it. Chelsea was right. I'm a moron for not seeing it. There was no other way… I… No… There has to be another way. It wasn't him we fought. He can still be turned around. Right? Right…?”

My eyes suddenly snapped open. I came out if the haze and looked around. I wasn't where I was. I was on the side of Pogue's Run, not far from Lucas Oil Stadium. Downtown Indy looked a ways away, though the buildings still seemed to scrape the sky. I looked at my reflection in the creek. I had huge bags under my eyes. I could still see tear trails running down my cheeks. I suddenly realized that my hands were shaking. I held my aching head. What had just happened? How did I get here? What was the point of even asking? It didn't change much. Everything that had gone down had still gone down. Whatever had just filled my brainspace was quickly replaced by that empty, painful sadness, and fresh tears started pouring down again as I stood back up and walked down the street. I had no destination. I was just going. What else was I to do?

Description
May 23, 2016; Indianapolis, Indiana

You know? I thought I could be strong on this one. I thought I could push away the thoughts haunting my mind for the time being. I thought my hope for the future would be enough to keep it from leaching on my brain. But I was wrong. That night was the night I broke.

It started after Jess left, after that little chat I had with Pearce, after… after I realized my best friend was still alive out there… somewhere, likely to never return given all that had happened…

I went back to my walk around Indianapolis. It had to have been around one o’clock in the morning, but I didn't care, not when it finally struck me. I didn't even feel it at first. I was too lost in my thoughts. The first sign I got was the warmth of my tears beginning to creep out of my eyes and onto my cheeks. That's when all the feelings I had been desperately been trying to shove into the back of my mind came pouring out. I suddenly got that familiar feeling that I hadn't felt in years. That odd sort of… emptiness? Disconnection? Pain?

I honestly don't know what to call it. All I knew was that I had stopped walking when I had reached the Indiana State House, and started running off of instinct. My body lowered itself onto the stairs of the building, my hands rising up to catch my head. I started breathing heavily as a depression cycle for the first time in forever overtook me and I became a prisoner in my own subconscious. I cried silently into my palms in the dead of night, the rest of the city carrying on lively as always right on past me. It started raining a bit, but I didn't care. I didn't even notice it. I just wallowed in my mental agony, my brain uncontrollably looping through every single thing that had led up to this point. It forced me to watch Jacob steal the Staff. It forced me to watch Jess cry as I fought her. It forced me to see Ava…

I couldn't handle it. I couldn't control it. It was like a tsunami. My brain wouldn't listen to me. My body didn't want to listen to me. I was just there, locked in this pit of depression that I thought I'd never enter again.

The voices started coming back over the patter of raindrops and thunder.

“You could've done more.”

“She hates you, they all do.”

“You're worthless. Why didn't you save them all?”

“You could've stopped this, and they all hate you because you didn't.”

“The governor will see you now.”

“What kind of Assassin can't even save his best friend?”

“Chelsea got hurt, everyone got hurt. And it's your fault.”

“Mrs. Spainhower?”

“You should've just destroyed the Staff when you had the chance.”

“Ma’am? Mrs. Spainhower?”

“You're a worthless, incompetent fool...”

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Why don't you just end it all now?”

“Mrs. Spainhower?”

Priscilla jumped a bit from being startled. She tore her gaze from her reflection in the window and turned to face the man calling her name.

“Er… sorry dear,” she said. “I zoned out. Have a lot on my mind. What did you say?”

“I said the governor will see you now.”

“Ah. Yes. Got it. Please, lead the way…”

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

May 20, 1863; Indianapolis, Indiana

Priscilla coughed hard, her breaths ragged. She hit her chest a couple times.

“Are you alright?” the man in front of her asked.

“I'm fine…” she responded, taking a drink he offered and clearing her throat. “I'm just at that point in my life where I contract an illness every other week. I doubt I have many years left, but hey, at least I'm still trying to make them count.”

“That's an honorable mentality, Mrs. Spainhower.”

“Thank you, Governor Morton. I learned from the best.”

“Indeed. I've heard plenty of stories revolving around your mentor.”

Priscilla nodded. She missed Aveza. With the Civil War in full swing here in the States and all the talk of Confederation going on up in Canada, they haven't had much time to get together lately. There were still the occasional special moments. Just this past March the two had taken a vacation to Louisville to see a showing of The Seven Sisters, starring Aveza’s good friend, Pauline Cushman. Things went a bit awry that day when Pauline was recruited as a Union spy during an eventful scandal, but at least it was an enjoyable evening. She hoped that once all this political turmoil was put to rest, when the Union was whole once more and slavery is abolished, the mentor and her apprentice would find the time to socialize once again.

But for now she dealt with whatever issues plagued her in this time and place, merely waiting for peaceful days to come at last.

“Thank you so much for coming, by the way,” Morton said to her once he sat down across from her.

“Of course, sir,” Priscilla responded.

“Your work is quite a fascinating subject of conversation in my circles. Your service to the cause of liberty is of great appreciation.”

“I do what I can.”

“Ah. Too modest!”

“So, what was it you called me here for?”

“I believe my men have uncovered a conspiracy that corresponds with… your area of expertise.”

Priscilla raised a cautious eyebrow. “Meaning…?” she asked.

Morton suddenly reached into his coat pocket and dug around until he found what he was looking for and put it down on the table in front of them. Priscilla's eyes widened. It was a ring, and engraved into the metal was a cross pattern, painted in with blood-red paint. She mentally cursed.

Templars. Of course…

“Our men were interrogating a rebel spy in Camp Morton when we found this in his belongings,” Morton explained.

“Where is he now?”

“With the Lord—or more likely rotting below—either way, he's unavailable for further questioning… he killed himself before we could get anything else out of him…”

“Was there anything he did say?”

“Well, he gave a few bits of information that correlate to several rumors that have been crawling through the streets of Indianapolis. Tell me, have you heard of the Knights of the Golden Circle?”

Priscilla pulled a face like she had tasted something quite unpleasant.

“I'll take that as a yes then?” Morton asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. I've had a few run-ins with their kind before…”

The Knights of the Golden Circle were a Templar offshoot that formed just a few years after Priscilla's encounter with John C. Calhoun back in 1850. A man named George Bickley founded the branch based on a desire to annex all of Central America and the Caribbean as new slave states in order to overwhelm and conquer abolitionist plans. When the War broke out, they shifted their motivation to acquiring these lands to help the rebel cause. They had spies all across the Midwest, allying themselves with the local Copperheads, who wanted to stop the War and just leave the South alone to do as they wished in some sick and twisted idea of compromise and conservatism. Priscilla tended to ignore them most of the time, as Indiana's fierce Pro-Union majority usually kept them at bay. But if the governor himself saw the need to call upon her personally…

“We've been investigating as much as we could,” he explained. “Our spies have reported a secret meeting is rumored to be held during the Democrat State Convention, a meeting to discuss plans for violent revolution against the state of Indiana and the Union cause. I've already sent several soldiers on their way over there to interfere and intimidate, but I need you to sneak in during the inevitable chaos that will result and see if you can confirm these rumors for us.”

“You don't mean to spill blood, do you governor?” Priscilla said, her voice getting firmer.

“No innocents are to be harmed if that is what you're asking. I know the standards that your Brotherhood has and I prefer to keep my good relations with you all. No, those boys are just out there to cause a fuss amongst the Copperheads, and if you can find proof of the connection between any one individual to our enemies, then only their blood will be allowed to be spilled.”

Priscilla looked at him for a moment, then nodded, believing him. Morton had proven himself a loyal ally plenty of times before. Ever since he was elected governor two years ago, he had been one of the most passionate supporters of Lincoln and the Union in the entire state. The Assassins loved him. He has zero tolerance for intolerance, and will do whatever it takes to protect the liberty of all people. Priscilla had very little reason to doubt what he was telling her now.

“Very well,” she said. “I'll make my way down there as soon as possible and get to the bottom of this.”

Morton looked equally relieved and thankful. “Thank you, Mrs. Spainhower,” he said. “I assure you, the Union will appreciate the service you're giving her. Godspeed to you.”

Priscilla managed to crack a smile and nodded. She put her drink down, stood up, and with one final handshake with the governor set out to find out just what exactly her enemies were scheming this time.

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

She started coughing again on her way to the Democrat State Convention. She eventually had to stop and lean against a wall for a minute in order to calm her breathing. She beat her chest, stood tall, and took a deep breath, and then she carried onwards.

As she came up on Tennessee Street, she began to notice the fuss that was welling up in the streets. Civilians were mumbling to each other as they rushed towards the State House to get a better view of what was going on. They seemed worried, and Priscilla felt anxious. A few soldiers trotted past on horses, trying to get through the crowd that had gathered. Priscilla quickly realized there was no way she'd be able to make it to the building in a timely and stealthy manner by taking the usual route. And so, with a tough strain on her old muscles and bones, she climbed up onto the roof of a building across the street and stood on the edge. She held up her left arm and took aim at the State House. She flexed her fingers and yanked on the mechanism of her rope launcher. The grappling hook launched out with a pop of air pressure and soared across the sky until it connected with something solid on the State House. Priscilla tested to see if it was hooked on tight and would hold her weight, and when she was satisfied that it would, she tied the other end of it around a chimney pipe and hoisted herself off the rooftop, giving herself an initial push and activating the crank mechanism to send herself soaring over the heads of the agitated crowd below and all the way to the roof of the State House. She unlatched the grappling hook and recoiled the rope into its mechanism. She glanced over the edge. The civilians were making quite a ruckus over the soldiers that were pushing their way through. She knew she'd have to act fast before things started getting ugly.

She climbed onto the central dome and slipped between the columns underneath. She scurried around until she found an open window, then picked up her skirts and hopped inside. She worked her way down onto the scaffolding of the main building, where she caught sight of another group of soldiers marching towards the Democrat Convention. A few men in suits stepped forward to protest, but they were ignored. The soldiers stopped at the entrance to the meeting hall, only because of a man in the uniform of a Union colonel that came up in front of them.

“Gentlemen! Halt!” he demanded. They did. “I am Colonel John Coburn and I demand to know what the meaning of this march is!”

The head officer of the squadron stepped forward. “We're going for Tom Hendricks,” he said. “He's been charged with treason and promoting civil unrest in the state of Indiana, and so we're here to put an end to it. Permanently.”

Priscilla raised her eyebrows. They intended to kill the Senator whom the Hoosier Democrats idolized? True, no one would miss him given his sympathies to the rebels and his passive attitude towards slavery, but still. If these soldiers were after Hendricks, that meant he must be Morton's main suspect in this plot. Priscilla took this with a grain of salt of course. Hendricks and Morton had never gotten along, especially during the elections to governorship. If she was going to let this man die, she'd need to investigate first, which meant she'd have to act fast.

The colonel started talking the soldiers down from their mission, bargaining and reasoning with them to find a more peaceful solution to the issue, giving Priscilla ample opportunity to sneak around back and silently slip into the convention hall. The politicians inside clearly noticed the chaos going on outside, as many of them were scrambling to the exits with their briefcases. She caught sight of Senator Hendricks fleeing his office and telling his secretary to reschedule his speech for another time. She quickly rushed over when he left through the back door and she snuck inside. She flicked on a gas lamp and looked around the room. She started digging through drawers and found a wide variety of damning evidence against the man. Documents calling for rallying protests and revolts against the state, an empty gun case with missing bullets as well, and, worst of all, a Templar ring. Now she really didn't care how those soldiers took action towards Hendricks.

She sprinted out and broke into the other offices, and she became more and more worried as she found more and more empty gun cases. The realization began to dawn on her: Morton’s suspicions were absolutely correct. She rushed out of the State House through the back door, leaving the governor's men to handle their problem alone. The Templars were planning something big, and she couldn't let that happen.

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

Most of the Templars had boarded the trains across the city after they escaped their pursuers. Priscilla managed to quickly stop by Morton’s private locale and inform him of the danger before rushing out to find the train that Hendricks had boarded.

Her search led her to the train heading for Cincinnati. She could hear screams and gunshots coming from the station alongside the whistle of the train. Priscilla almost fell over when she ran too fast and started hacking up her lungs again, but she quickly recovered and sprinted towards the station. She saw no blood or bodies when she arrived, thankfully, but the train holding the Templars was speedily pulling out of the station, and some of them were still firing towards the civilians. Priscilla grit her teeth in anger and just before the train left the station, she lunged onto the back of it and clung for dear life. She painfully pulled herself onto the roof, spreading her arms for balance as the train sped across the city. She used her Eagle Vision to get an idea of where the Templars with guns were in the carts ahead. She took a mental note of all the men and women outlined in gold and rushed forward once her sixth sense cut off. She came up to the nearest trapdoor leading down into the carts, but the second she put her hand on the latch, another interior force suddenly erupted upwards from it and sent her stumbling backwards. She rubbed her head and painfully looked over at what had just come up to face her, and when she did her eyes widened and her heart dropped.

“You…” was all she could say.

The giant hulk of a man in a leather coat simply glared at her uncaringly as he slung his rifle out from its holster and cocked it.

“Hello, Mrs. Spainhower,” he said, an Irish tint to his voice. “It's been a while.”

Priscilla angrily got to her feet. “What the hell are you doing helping these lot, Cudgel?” she demanded, using a tone that she'd use when scolding her children. “Do you not realize what they plan to do?”

“Take control of the Union,” he said simply, “arm the Confederates and win the War for the Templar cause.”

Priscilla could barely believe her ears. “You're fighting for men who'd put an entire race in bondage?” she gasped. “Have you actually fallen to the same lows that Calhoun had?”

Cudgel grit his teeth and aimed his gun. “Shut up!” he said, followed by a pop of air from the barrel as a dart shot out of it. Priscilla ducked and swung herself around to kick his legs out from under him. She pounced and put her hidden blade to his throat.

“No, you're smarter than this…” she said. “You can't have fallen in with men like these. You can't be supportive of this kind of plot!”

His hand suddenly lunged up and grabbed her arm.

“I've grown up, Mrs. Spainhower,” he said bitterly before twisting her arm and tossing her aside. Priscilla nearly fell off the train, only just managing to hold onto the rail and lunge herself back onto the roof. With a cry of anger, she rushed forward, bowie knife barred, and started slashing at him. After a few cuts opened in his flesh, he whipped out his duel daggers and fought back.

“I had faith in you Cudgel!” Priscilla said as their blades sparked. “I had faith you'd be a man like your grandfather! I had faith you'd live up to the stories Aveza told me about him! Instead I find you helping the rebel cause! And for what?”

“It is my duty to serve the Templars and keep order!” he spat back.

“Well you’ve just done a bang up job at that, haven't you?”

“Quiet!”

He thrust forward with one arm, and then the other, and the other again, and each strike Priscilla dodged. She ducked below one strike and kicked her leg upwards, sending her knee into his sensitive areas. He was clearly wearing leather armor underneath, but the blow still sent him recoiling. She stood over him, drawing her cavalry sword and putting it to his throat.

“You better learn to respect your elders, boy,” she told him.

She was about to jab the blade into his throat, but a sudden series of splashing sounds assaulted her ears and drove her to look over the edge of the train.

Her eyes widened. The politicians were starting to throw their guns off the train and into the waters of Pogue's Run. She started hearing hooves behind her, and when she looked she saw a squadron of Union soldiers galloping after the train. Morton's men, no doubt.

“Damn…” she said. She looked down at Cudgel, gave him a swift kick to the head to knock him out, and started running to the front of the train. She had to get this machine stopped before all the evidence against the delegates was waterlogged. She leapt from car to car, eventually finding herself at the engine and jumping in through its window. The conductor was expectedly surprised and demanded she leave immediately, but she pushed him into the next car over and locked the door. She grabbed the brake and pulled on it as hard as she could. The wheels of the train screeched and sparks went flying across the track as the machine grounded to a sudden halt and everyone on board lunged forward with a jerk. The engine gave one last tired whistle before Priscilla stepped off, coughing painfully from the smoke that had gathered. The cavalry came riding up. Their commander got off his horse and approached Priscilla while the rest of his men got to work on boarding the train.

“Mrs. Spainhower, I presume?” he asked.

She held up a finger while she hacked up her lungs again and only addressed him properly once her breathing settled.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Yes, I am Mrs. Spainhower.”

“Then ma’am, we thank you kindly for giving us a hand with rounding up these blasted rebels.”

Priscilla nodded. “They threw the majority of their weapons in the creek, but I doubt it was all of them. You lot best get this place searched asap.”

The commander nodded, and he turned to join his men.

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

Priscilla sat by the train, watching the soldiers gather up and restrain each of the felons as they were led away to be prosecuted for their charges.

Priscilla had been right. They had found plenty of guns and knives stashed on the rebels’ persons, a couple hundred actually. The delegates had tried hiding them in what they thought were clever ways, but it didn't work. Some of them had given their pistols to their wives in the belief that they wouldn't be searched. One woman had seven shoved into her coat. The soldiers even found a two foot knife hidden in a stove. There was no doubt about it. The rebels had full intention of going on a murder spree, and now they were going to pay for it. But despite that, Priscilla still felt embittered. Because there was one thing they didn't find on that train upon investigating: Cudgel Cormac. The coward had fled back to his masters to plan god knows what. Priscilla stood from her spot and, after shaking hands with the commander one last time, she walked off towards the main city, lost in her thoughts, angered by what the man had become and what his betrayal meant it her.

“So this is what I get for being optimistic… I knew I should've killed him all those years ago. I thought he might actually be the one to change things. I thought we were friends at one point. I guess I was wrong. I guess I'm just a fool for not realizing it. Chelsea was right. I'm a moron for not seeing it. There was no other way… I… No… There has to be another way. It wasn't him we fought. He can still be turned around. Right? Right…?”

My eyes suddenly snapped open. I came out if the haze and looked around. I wasn't where I was. I was on the side of Pogue's Run, not far from Lucas Oil Stadium. Downtown Indy looked a ways away, though the buildings still seemed to scrape the sky. I looked at my reflection in the creek. I had huge bags under my eyes. I could still see tear trails running down my cheeks. I suddenly realized that my hands were shaking. I held my aching head. What had just happened? How did I get here? What was the point of even asking? It didn't change much. Everything that had gone down had still gone down. Whatever had just filled my brainspace was quickly replaced by that empty, painful sadness, and fresh tears started pouring down again as I stood back up and walked down the street. I had no destination. I was just going. What else was I to do?