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Description
May 23, 2016; Indianapolis, Indiana

My phone started buzzing as I continued my walk of sadness across the city. For a long while I ignored it. Why would anyone want to talk to me? I'm clearly a failure, right? I couldn't save my friends. I don't deserve to talk to any of them.

But then the good part of my brain, the part that was taking a beating right now, managed to scream loud enough to remind me of how much my friends have done for me over the years, how they lifted me from depression once before and would most likely be the thing to do it again, even the people whom I've never seen the faces of but whom I know I could never live without.

But that part of my brain quickly disappeared, and I kept my phone in my pocket. New reasoning took place in my mind's battlefield that made me pull out my phone finally. This side of my mind told me that I'd be letting them down for not answering, that they'd start abandoning me if I made them feel like I didn't want to talk to them. And to me, especially then, the thought of losing anyone else was absolutely terrifying. So, as another waterfall of self-loathing tears streamed down my face, I turned on my phone and looked at my messages. It was actually fitting I suppose, picking it up at that moment. I had somehow came across the post office downtown on my walk.

I pressed the little home button and saw that Jess had texted me.

“Hey,” she wrote. “Just figured I'd check to see if the number you gave me worked. So… text me back. I guess.”

I glanced at it for a moment. I considered saying something lengthy and worthy of kicking off a conversation, but I really just didn't have the energy. It was too much. I just wanted to have this done with as fast as possible so that I didn't risk being a bother to her. I kept it vague and simple, and just typed “Hey Jess”.

I realized I had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and so I quickly got out of people’s ways and took a seat on the post office steps. Great. Now I felt terrible about getting in their way too. I can't win…

My phone buzzed again. “Cool,” Jess texted. “Good. So… how’ve you been holding up since… you know?”

Dang it. Why did she have to ask that…?

“I'm okay,” I texted back.

There was a moment of silence, and then another buzz.

“I'm at the hideout entrance. Can't get in. Can you give me the password?” she asked.

“082683” I typed.

Another silence. “Okay. Cool. Got it. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“I'm gonna get a change of clothes if that's okay. I'm ready to burn this Templar uniform.”

“That's fine. Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

Yet another silence, this one longer than the rest.

“Hey…” she texted me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I responded. I could tell she knew I was lying to her.

“...” was all I saw in response, and then “Okay.”

And that was it. We left it at that. I sat there for a good five minutes, and the longer it was quiet for, the longer my depression cycle started to take hold again. I eventually closed out of my texts and just stared at my phone. I wasn't even looking at anything on it. I was more just staring into space. The screen timed out and I snapped out of my daze. I instinctively turned it back on. The screen was all blurry. A layer of tears had apparently reformed over my eyes. I had stopped noticing at that point. I blinked them away and decided to check my DeviantArt page. Normally I'd just go straight to my notifications, but I didn't this time. There were a few posts from my friends, and of course I wanted to go and comment on them, but I didn't want my current state to be guiding my words. These are some of my best friends. I didn't want to taint their posts with falsely happy comments. I'd wait until tomorrow. I desperately hoped this all would pass by then, even if I doubted it would.

I went into my notes and started up a new draft. The one thing I knew I could rely on to help cheer me up was my best friends, so I sent one of them a note asking if I could talk a bit with her. I knew I probably wasn't going to get a response tonight. It was really late into the night here, and likely so was where she was too. But still I sent it. I just needed to. I needed something.

I eventually put my phone back in its place in my pocket. I just sat there on the stairs, feeling that painful chill of utter sadness flood my nervous system. People walking by were starting to stare, and so I got up and started walking. The voices came back the second I stood.

“What's even the point?”

“I don't know…”

“You've failed everyone.”

“I know…”

“Jacob is gone. Chelsea is pissed. Ava is-”

“I know… Just shut up and leave me alone to wallow…”

“Mrs. Spainhower?”

“No, you need to hear this. You failed, Carter.”

“Mrs. Spainhower! Wait up!”

“I'm sorry Chels… I'm sorry… everybody
.. I'm sorry...”

“Mrs. Priscilla! Wait!”

Priscilla blinked and snapped out of her daze. She spun around and saw the little boy rushing towards her with a folded piece of paper.

“Oh! Billy! So sorry. I didn't hear you.”

The mail boy nodded and handed her the paper. “Message from Mrs. Bellamy, ma’am,” he said.

She smiled and took the letter, giving him a dime in return. He smiled and tipped his cap.

“See you around, Mrs. Spainhower!” he said, turning tail and running off.

“Thank you, Billy!” she called to him. She chuckled to herself. Kids. Always full of energy. She wished she still had that youthful spring to her, especially now, when thoughts of tracking down Cudgel Cormac plagued her mind. Speaking of which…

She unfolded the letter from Aveza and began to read it immediately:

Priscilla,

I need you to come over to New York City as fast and as soon as possible. Something has happened… and it involves our old “friend” Cudgel. I think you're going to want to see this.

I am so sorry in advance, dearie…

Your friend, and mentor,
Aveza Bellamy

Priscilla’s heart sank. This… this did not seem good. She tucked the letter into her coat and ran to the nearest train station. She made sure to find an Assassin informant along the way so that she could let Abraham know she was going to be a bit late getting home again, and then she snuck aboard a train heading eastward. She spent the ride worrying about what Aveza was referring to. Cudgel already shattered any trust she once had in him. What could he have possibly done this time?

She honestly didn't want to know…

----------

July 17, 1863; New York City, New York

Priscilla nearly fell to her knees when she arrived in New York and laid eyes on the horrifying sight that surrounded her. Rain was pouring down and soaking her dress, but she hardly noticed. Her body was shaking. Her eyes were bulging in terror and a bizarre mix of pain and sadness was flooding her nerves.

The city looked like it had been licked by Armageddon. Buildings were charred and torn open, their blackened skeletons jutting out into the sky in crooked angles. Carriages were tipped over on every street corner. and dozens of dead and mutilated bodies littered the roads. A blanket of blood draped the neighborhoods, accompanied by the orange hue radiating from the flames that refused to be put out by the rains. Not even a local orphanage was left untouched. There was an eerie silence as well. Whatever had gone down here had fled the scene and left the echo of its madness for the Union soldiers and policemen to clean up once they had arrived.

Priscilla took it all in, despite her body screaming at her to just turn away and leave. She shook harder. She clenched her fists and grit her teeth. Tears burnt her cheeks. She heard herself sniffling.

“Priscilla…” she heard a British voice quietly say from behind her. “Dearie…”

Priscilla didn't even turn to face her mentor. She was too distraught to turn.

“What happened here?” she croaked. At first she wasn't even sure if Aveza could hear her, and she honestly didn't care, but soon her mentor responded with, “Templars.”

That made Priscilla cry harder.

“Was it Cudgel?” she asked. “Oh God, Aveza, please tell me he had nothing to do with this…”

There was a sad silence, followed by “I'm sorry, dearie…”

Priscilla dug her nails into her palms and with a short surge of anger, she slammed her fist into the ground. She felt a hand on her shoulder, Aveza’s hand. She finally looked up at her mentor, her eyes red from crying. Aveza bent down and hugged her apprentice tight, in a fashion so motherly it reminded Priscilla of when she was a little girl and came running to her whenever she had been hurt and needed comforting. The two sat in the rainy streets for a good long while. Neither were sure for how long, but certainly for a while, until eventually Aveza gently helped Priscilla to her feet and put her arm around her shoulder.

“Come on, dear,” she said softly. “Let's get some place dry. There's a lot we need to talk about…”

----------

The Assassin hideout in New York was nothing much. It was a secret chamber branching off of the various underground tunnels that Aveza’s mentor had traversed during the American Revolution almost a century prior. It was a bit small and not well-lit, but it suited its purpose. The local Mentor had eventually fully endorsed his strategy of keeping only one Assassin in the city to avoid being detected by the Templars in Tammany Hall, and this hideout reflected that course of action well. As for the Assassin that supposedly made claim to this place, Priscilla was about to find out very quickly what became of him… and the rest of the city.

Aveza had led her down here not long after their incident outside. The two were given a chance to dry off their clothes before getting down to business.

There was another member of the Brotherhood down there with them, a young man, just a few years Priscilla's junior by the looks of it, sporting a Union uniform and a cowl to match. He stayed quiet and out of the way most of the time the two women were getting ready, and Aveza only began the formal introductions once they all sat down.

“Priscilla dear, this is Jackson,” she said. “He's the young lad I told you about earlier.”

Priscilla just nodded. “Pleasure…” she said to him, all enthusiasm having drained from her voice.

“Likewise,” Jackson responded.

“What happened up there?” Priscilla asked, getting right to the point and trying to hold back her tears again.

Jackson looked down at the desk. “I wasn't here for the event, so I can't say for certain, but I can tell you what I was told.”

Priscilla nodded. She was all ears. She was ready to decide how much pain to inflict upon Cudgel once she got her hands around his neck.

“It started three days ago,” Jackson started. “Tensions were already high in the city. Copperheads in the capitol, Boss Tweed and his Templars in Tammany Hall, the countless gangs running around the streets. This place was a powder keg, and the spark that lit it all was President Lincoln's draft.”

“Not his smartest move, I'll admit,” Aveza said. “Probably could've planned that out a bit better, though in his defense, it's not like the rebels were giving him much time to be meticulous.”

Jackson nodded. “Every faction in the city saw the draft as an excuse to cause mayhem. The poor saw it as a threat to their already terrible lives, the politicians saw it as a chance to gain favors with the people, and the Templars was it as an ample opportunity to take control.”

“Take control?” Priscilla said, her voice rising. “Take control?! How does burning down the entire blasted city grant them control?!”

“Priscilla!” Aveza scolded.

Priscilla looked at her, first bitterly, then apologetically. She went quiet and sat back down with a whisper of “Sorry…” Aveza put a hand on her shoulder.

“Go on, Jackson dear,” the Mentor said.

Jackson looked over at Priscilla, them back to Aveza, and then nodded.

“Boss Tweed figured that if they could trigger a massive riot out of all this resentment, the Templars could rise above the ashes and ‘fix’ the aftermath. The people would come running to them, they figured. But no. Things only turned violent and bloody for everybody…”

“And Cudgel?” Priscilla asked.

“Cudgel is Tweed’s lap dog. He was sent to direct the riots and snatch a Piece of Eden in the meantime. One of our men got it back from him, though. He and his apprentice are on their way to deliver it to General Grant as we speak.”

“We don't know what happened to Cudgel, I'm afraid,” Aveza told Priscilla. “By the time we arrived alongside the Union army, he had fled the city. Bastard took quite a beating from our guys. Probably ran off across the country in shame.”

There was a moment of silence as Priscilla took it all in. The faint sounds of the dying city snuck in through the stones above. She started crying again, and slammed her fist into the desk. She stayed quiet, though. She put her head on the desk and buried it in her arms. Aveza just kept gently rubbing her arm in an attempt to comfort her.

“Years ago…” Priscilla mumbled, barely audible to the others, “when we were in the Temple… Calhoun told Cudgel he'd become like him and see cities burn one day… I just never thought it would come to pass…”

“Unfortunately, my dear,” Aveza said, “Templars that live this long are rarely untouched by the temptation of power… This is why they are so dangerous.”

“What do we do, Aveza? What do we do?”

“I don't know, dearie. I'm sorry I don't know…”

Priscilla rolled over and hugged her mentor tight, crying into her shoulder. Aveza looked over at Jackson, who also seemed like he regrettably had no answers to give. The three just sat in silence, letting Priscilla cry and let her thoughts overtake her.

“I'll murder him… I'll bloody murder him!”

“We need to find him first.”

“Where would he have gone?”

“He clearly doesn't want anything to do with us anymore…”

“Over enemy lines perhaps? Or into Canada?”

“He just disappeared that night. Chelsea couldn't find him. You couldn't find him. He's gone.”

“Maybe he headed westward, towards the midwest?”

“What's even the point anymore? I'm a shame to everybody… I screwed everything up… Why do I even keep up what I do…?”

I blinked again. I looked around, the dry layer of tears on my cheeks underneath the fresh ones stiffening by face. I was back at Union Station somehow. I must've been crying a bit louder than I would've preferred, as I noticed a lot of people nearby were stopping and staring. I quickly stood and ran off before they could say anything to me. I just ran. My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it. I just ran, crying as I went. I just wanted to go find a quiet and dark hole somewhere downtown to just sit and cry in all night.

I was so sick of everything falling apart...

Description
May 23, 2016; Indianapolis, Indiana

My phone started buzzing as I continued my walk of sadness across the city. For a long while I ignored it. Why would anyone want to talk to me? I'm clearly a failure, right? I couldn't save my friends. I don't deserve to talk to any of them.

But then the good part of my brain, the part that was taking a beating right now, managed to scream loud enough to remind me of how much my friends have done for me over the years, how they lifted me from depression once before and would most likely be the thing to do it again, even the people whom I've never seen the faces of but whom I know I could never live without.

But that part of my brain quickly disappeared, and I kept my phone in my pocket. New reasoning took place in my mind's battlefield that made me pull out my phone finally. This side of my mind told me that I'd be letting them down for not answering, that they'd start abandoning me if I made them feel like I didn't want to talk to them. And to me, especially then, the thought of losing anyone else was absolutely terrifying. So, as another waterfall of self-loathing tears streamed down my face, I turned on my phone and looked at my messages. It was actually fitting I suppose, picking it up at that moment. I had somehow came across the post office downtown on my walk.

I pressed the little home button and saw that Jess had texted me.

“Hey,” she wrote. “Just figured I'd check to see if the number you gave me worked. So… text me back. I guess.”

I glanced at it for a moment. I considered saying something lengthy and worthy of kicking off a conversation, but I really just didn't have the energy. It was too much. I just wanted to have this done with as fast as possible so that I didn't risk being a bother to her. I kept it vague and simple, and just typed “Hey Jess”.

I realized I had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and so I quickly got out of people’s ways and took a seat on the post office steps. Great. Now I felt terrible about getting in their way too. I can't win…

My phone buzzed again. “Cool,” Jess texted. “Good. So… how’ve you been holding up since… you know?”

Dang it. Why did she have to ask that…?

“I'm okay,” I texted back.

There was a moment of silence, and then another buzz.

“I'm at the hideout entrance. Can't get in. Can you give me the password?” she asked.

“082683” I typed.

Another silence. “Okay. Cool. Got it. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“I'm gonna get a change of clothes if that's okay. I'm ready to burn this Templar uniform.”

“That's fine. Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

Yet another silence, this one longer than the rest.

“Hey…” she texted me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I responded. I could tell she knew I was lying to her.

“...” was all I saw in response, and then “Okay.”

And that was it. We left it at that. I sat there for a good five minutes, and the longer it was quiet for, the longer my depression cycle started to take hold again. I eventually closed out of my texts and just stared at my phone. I wasn't even looking at anything on it. I was more just staring into space. The screen timed out and I snapped out of my daze. I instinctively turned it back on. The screen was all blurry. A layer of tears had apparently reformed over my eyes. I had stopped noticing at that point. I blinked them away and decided to check my DeviantArt page. Normally I'd just go straight to my notifications, but I didn't this time. There were a few posts from my friends, and of course I wanted to go and comment on them, but I didn't want my current state to be guiding my words. These are some of my best friends. I didn't want to taint their posts with falsely happy comments. I'd wait until tomorrow. I desperately hoped this all would pass by then, even if I doubted it would.

I went into my notes and started up a new draft. The one thing I knew I could rely on to help cheer me up was my best friends, so I sent one of them a note asking if I could talk a bit with her. I knew I probably wasn't going to get a response tonight. It was really late into the night here, and likely so was where she was too. But still I sent it. I just needed to. I needed something.

I eventually put my phone back in its place in my pocket. I just sat there on the stairs, feeling that painful chill of utter sadness flood my nervous system. People walking by were starting to stare, and so I got up and started walking. The voices came back the second I stood.

“What's even the point?”

“I don't know…”

“You've failed everyone.”

“I know…”

“Jacob is gone. Chelsea is pissed. Ava is-”

“I know… Just shut up and leave me alone to wallow…”

“Mrs. Spainhower?”

“No, you need to hear this. You failed, Carter.”

“Mrs. Spainhower! Wait up!”

“I'm sorry Chels… I'm sorry… everybody
.. I'm sorry...”

“Mrs. Priscilla! Wait!”

Priscilla blinked and snapped out of her daze. She spun around and saw the little boy rushing towards her with a folded piece of paper.

“Oh! Billy! So sorry. I didn't hear you.”

The mail boy nodded and handed her the paper. “Message from Mrs. Bellamy, ma’am,” he said.

She smiled and took the letter, giving him a dime in return. He smiled and tipped his cap.

“See you around, Mrs. Spainhower!” he said, turning tail and running off.

“Thank you, Billy!” she called to him. She chuckled to herself. Kids. Always full of energy. She wished she still had that youthful spring to her, especially now, when thoughts of tracking down Cudgel Cormac plagued her mind. Speaking of which…

She unfolded the letter from Aveza and began to read it immediately:

Priscilla,

I need you to come over to New York City as fast and as soon as possible. Something has happened… and it involves our old “friend” Cudgel. I think you're going to want to see this.

I am so sorry in advance, dearie…

Your friend, and mentor,
Aveza Bellamy

Priscilla’s heart sank. This… this did not seem good. She tucked the letter into her coat and ran to the nearest train station. She made sure to find an Assassin informant along the way so that she could let Abraham know she was going to be a bit late getting home again, and then she snuck aboard a train heading eastward. She spent the ride worrying about what Aveza was referring to. Cudgel already shattered any trust she once had in him. What could he have possibly done this time?

She honestly didn't want to know…

----------

July 17, 1863; New York City, New York

Priscilla nearly fell to her knees when she arrived in New York and laid eyes on the horrifying sight that surrounded her. Rain was pouring down and soaking her dress, but she hardly noticed. Her body was shaking. Her eyes were bulging in terror and a bizarre mix of pain and sadness was flooding her nerves.

The city looked like it had been licked by Armageddon. Buildings were charred and torn open, their blackened skeletons jutting out into the sky in crooked angles. Carriages were tipped over on every street corner. and dozens of dead and mutilated bodies littered the roads. A blanket of blood draped the neighborhoods, accompanied by the orange hue radiating from the flames that refused to be put out by the rains. Not even a local orphanage was left untouched. There was an eerie silence as well. Whatever had gone down here had fled the scene and left the echo of its madness for the Union soldiers and policemen to clean up once they had arrived.

Priscilla took it all in, despite her body screaming at her to just turn away and leave. She shook harder. She clenched her fists and grit her teeth. Tears burnt her cheeks. She heard herself sniffling.

“Priscilla…” she heard a British voice quietly say from behind her. “Dearie…”

Priscilla didn't even turn to face her mentor. She was too distraught to turn.

“What happened here?” she croaked. At first she wasn't even sure if Aveza could hear her, and she honestly didn't care, but soon her mentor responded with, “Templars.”

That made Priscilla cry harder.

“Was it Cudgel?” she asked. “Oh God, Aveza, please tell me he had nothing to do with this…”

There was a sad silence, followed by “I'm sorry, dearie…”

Priscilla dug her nails into her palms and with a short surge of anger, she slammed her fist into the ground. She felt a hand on her shoulder, Aveza’s hand. She finally looked up at her mentor, her eyes red from crying. Aveza bent down and hugged her apprentice tight, in a fashion so motherly it reminded Priscilla of when she was a little girl and came running to her whenever she had been hurt and needed comforting. The two sat in the rainy streets for a good long while. Neither were sure for how long, but certainly for a while, until eventually Aveza gently helped Priscilla to her feet and put her arm around her shoulder.

“Come on, dear,” she said softly. “Let's get some place dry. There's a lot we need to talk about…”

----------

The Assassin hideout in New York was nothing much. It was a secret chamber branching off of the various underground tunnels that Aveza’s mentor had traversed during the American Revolution almost a century prior. It was a bit small and not well-lit, but it suited its purpose. The local Mentor had eventually fully endorsed his strategy of keeping only one Assassin in the city to avoid being detected by the Templars in Tammany Hall, and this hideout reflected that course of action well. As for the Assassin that supposedly made claim to this place, Priscilla was about to find out very quickly what became of him… and the rest of the city.

Aveza had led her down here not long after their incident outside. The two were given a chance to dry off their clothes before getting down to business.

There was another member of the Brotherhood down there with them, a young man, just a few years Priscilla's junior by the looks of it, sporting a Union uniform and a cowl to match. He stayed quiet and out of the way most of the time the two women were getting ready, and Aveza only began the formal introductions once they all sat down.

“Priscilla dear, this is Jackson,” she said. “He's the young lad I told you about earlier.”

Priscilla just nodded. “Pleasure…” she said to him, all enthusiasm having drained from her voice.

“Likewise,” Jackson responded.

“What happened up there?” Priscilla asked, getting right to the point and trying to hold back her tears again.

Jackson looked down at the desk. “I wasn't here for the event, so I can't say for certain, but I can tell you what I was told.”

Priscilla nodded. She was all ears. She was ready to decide how much pain to inflict upon Cudgel once she got her hands around his neck.

“It started three days ago,” Jackson started. “Tensions were already high in the city. Copperheads in the capitol, Boss Tweed and his Templars in Tammany Hall, the countless gangs running around the streets. This place was a powder keg, and the spark that lit it all was President Lincoln's draft.”

“Not his smartest move, I'll admit,” Aveza said. “Probably could've planned that out a bit better, though in his defense, it's not like the rebels were giving him much time to be meticulous.”

Jackson nodded. “Every faction in the city saw the draft as an excuse to cause mayhem. The poor saw it as a threat to their already terrible lives, the politicians saw it as a chance to gain favors with the people, and the Templars was it as an ample opportunity to take control.”

“Take control?” Priscilla said, her voice rising. “Take control?! How does burning down the entire blasted city grant them control?!”

“Priscilla!” Aveza scolded.

Priscilla looked at her, first bitterly, then apologetically. She went quiet and sat back down with a whisper of “Sorry…” Aveza put a hand on her shoulder.

“Go on, Jackson dear,” the Mentor said.

Jackson looked over at Priscilla, them back to Aveza, and then nodded.

“Boss Tweed figured that if they could trigger a massive riot out of all this resentment, the Templars could rise above the ashes and ‘fix’ the aftermath. The people would come running to them, they figured. But no. Things only turned violent and bloody for everybody…”

“And Cudgel?” Priscilla asked.

“Cudgel is Tweed’s lap dog. He was sent to direct the riots and snatch a Piece of Eden in the meantime. One of our men got it back from him, though. He and his apprentice are on their way to deliver it to General Grant as we speak.”

“We don't know what happened to Cudgel, I'm afraid,” Aveza told Priscilla. “By the time we arrived alongside the Union army, he had fled the city. Bastard took quite a beating from our guys. Probably ran off across the country in shame.”

There was a moment of silence as Priscilla took it all in. The faint sounds of the dying city snuck in through the stones above. She started crying again, and slammed her fist into the desk. She stayed quiet, though. She put her head on the desk and buried it in her arms. Aveza just kept gently rubbing her arm in an attempt to comfort her.

“Years ago…” Priscilla mumbled, barely audible to the others, “when we were in the Temple… Calhoun told Cudgel he'd become like him and see cities burn one day… I just never thought it would come to pass…”

“Unfortunately, my dear,” Aveza said, “Templars that live this long are rarely untouched by the temptation of power… This is why they are so dangerous.”

“What do we do, Aveza? What do we do?”

“I don't know, dearie. I'm sorry I don't know…”

Priscilla rolled over and hugged her mentor tight, crying into her shoulder. Aveza looked over at Jackson, who also seemed like he regrettably had no answers to give. The three just sat in silence, letting Priscilla cry and let her thoughts overtake her.

“I'll murder him… I'll bloody murder him!”

“We need to find him first.”

“Where would he have gone?”

“He clearly doesn't want anything to do with us anymore…”

“Over enemy lines perhaps? Or into Canada?”

“He just disappeared that night. Chelsea couldn't find him. You couldn't find him. He's gone.”

“Maybe he headed westward, towards the midwest?”

“What's even the point anymore? I'm a shame to everybody… I screwed everything up… Why do I even keep up what I do…?”

I blinked again. I looked around, the dry layer of tears on my cheeks underneath the fresh ones stiffening by face. I was back at Union Station somehow. I must've been crying a bit louder than I would've preferred, as I noticed a lot of people nearby were stopping and staring. I quickly stood and ran off before they could say anything to me. I just ran. My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it. I just ran, crying as I went. I just wanted to go find a quiet and dark hole somewhere downtown to just sit and cry in all night.

I was so sick of everything falling apart...