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May 23, 2016; Indianapolis, Indiana

I was done.

I decided I was done.

I was done with losing people. I was done with failing to save lives. I was done with putting my all into every goddamned thing and it never being enough. I was done with these voices. I was done with the Assassins. I didn't care anymore. I was just going to leave. I didn't know where and I honestly didn't care. I just ran. I ran to the edge of the city, at least I think I did. I wasn't really paying attention. Looking back, I think I had only gone about a mile from where I was. I hadn't even made it out of downtown. But it felt far, and it didn't help that the voices started pounding on my skull again as I went.

“You need to go find him.”

“Shut up.”

“There's still a chance to bring him back.”

“Shut up! No there isn't!”

“Whatever happened to having faith?”

“I've accepted this reality…”

“Bullcrap you have.”

“Shut up.”

“We need to find him.”

“He's gone.”

“Follow the trails.”

“It's pointless.”

“Just let this be over with. They'll help you out. Aveza said so.”

“What if she's wrong?”

“What if I'm wrong?”

“Trust in her.”

“Trust in them.”

“Jess…”

“Jackson…”

“Jacob…”

“Aveza…”

“Carter…”

“Priscilla…”

She blinked.

Priscilla rubbed her eyes. It was late at night, but she knew she needed to read this letter as soon as possible. She focused hard on the words being illuminated by her gaslamp.

Priscilla,

I'm sorry I haven't managed to catch that Templar dog you told me about, that Harrison Dodd fellow. The Canadian colonial government has been in a bit of a fuss lately and I need to be sure things don't turn ugly again like in 1837. But I promise you, I am on the case. I know how protective you are of your home state, and there's no way I'm letting him and his wackjobs bring it down with steal and bullets.

In the meantime, I believe the recent arrest of Dodd and his conspirators may present you with an ample opportunity to catch Cormac. Just think: a major faction of the Templar Order has just been completely eradicated from Indiana, and all their belongings have been confiscated by Assassin allies. He's the most likely man to send out to reclaim the evidence of their connection to the Templars. I bet if you keep close tabs on the activity around Indianapolis, he will pop up, and you can win one for us all.

I've sent you two fine Assassins to help you out. Firstly, I've sent dear Jackson. He's always ready to help. Secondly, I got into contact with a newer recruit, Eliza, and asked her to come as well. She was there during the Draft Riots, said Cudgel was responsible for her father getting mauled by a racist mob. She's more than happy to help. They should be arriving soon.

Best of luck to you, dearie. Godspeed.

Your friend, and mentor
Aveza Bellamy

Priscilla put the letter down and looked over at the hideout’s map of Indianapolis. If she was being given another chance to kill Cudgel, she knew she'd have to plan her attack well, and with two guests coming over, she knew she'd have to make extra preparations. And so she got to work.

This ended tonight.

----------

August 22, 1864; Indianapolis, Indiana

“Are you certain that this will work?” Jackson asked as the three of them stood atop one of the watchtowers of Camp Morton.

“No,” Priscilla said. “But it's our only real hope at this point.”

“He'd better show up,” Eliza said bitterly. “I dare him to show his ugly face.”

Priscilla nodded in agreement, though Jackson seemed a bit uncomfortable with the anger lying under his allies’ skins. An honorable man, that one. Clearly more honorable than she was right now. But she didn't really care. She just wanted this to be done.

Eliza had been the first one to arrive in Indy. She was young, too young almost, in her mid teens. But that made her swift, and more importantly it made her determined. She had told Priscilla of the horrors that went down during the Draft Riots, of how she was a servant to Boss Tweed who severed all ties to him after meeting the Assassins and realizing that the Templars had been responsible for the chaos. She kept it in her mind that Cudgel was the worst of them and their kind, that he had been the one who tossed her father to the brutality of the mob. She was out for blood, and she was eager to get it. Hopefully she'd have it soon. They all would.

They all stood there in the dark of night, with only the sounds of night animals keeping them company. They kept their eyes on the barracks. After Governor Morton's men had broken into Harrison Dodd’s house and discovered the Knight of the Golden Circle’s secret armory, they had brought all his belongings here. Weapons, documents, anything. Even, Priscilla discovered when rummaging through the contraband herself, a few Templar rings. There's no way the Order would want this discovered. They'd send somebody to collect it, and she prayed it would be Cudgel.

They sat there for hours, staying awake well into the night, watching, waiting.

And then, a shadow.

Priscilla jerked and tapped her friends’ shoulders. She pointed towards the figure that was moving through the night. It was definitely a man. He had a dark leather coat and a distinctive rifle sheathed on his back. There was no doubt about it, their prey had arrived. He was creeping towards the barracks, ducking behind corners and knocking out distant soldiers with his sleep darts. The three Assassins watched as he reached the door and started to pick the locks.

Jackson grabbed his rifle and Eliza drew her sword. Priscilla kept her blades sheathed for now. She was waiting for the perfect moment.

Cudgel undid the final lock and slipped inside. Priscilla motioned for Eliza to follow her as she started climbing down to the ground. Jackson stayed behind, his gun cocked and aimed.

The two women made their way over and stayed silent as they snuck in the shadows of the barracks. They listened closely for the slightest sounds.

Then, a light. Cudgel had apparently flicked on a gaslight when he reached the loot room. The Assassins peaked in the doorway and watched him dig through the treasures and documents to find anything connecting Dodd and his Knights to the Templar Order. He pocketed the rings and burnt a few letters. Once he was satisfied, he turned back to the door to leave. The Assassins clung tight to the wall behind the frame, waiting for him to come just a little closer…

Eliza pulled a smoke bomb out or her pouch, and the second the Hunter reached the doorway, she tossed it hard onto the ground and the bang echoed throughout the barracks. A cloud of dark smoke blotted out any light the gas lamp gave off, and Cudgel started coughing violently.

“Now!” Eliza shouted, and with that the two of them lunged from the doorway, hidden blades out and aimed at his throat. But he was fast, faster than they had expected. He punched them away and sprinted out of the cloud and down the hall.

“Not this time you snake!” Priscilla shouted before giving chase. Cudgel knocked over crates and barrels as he ran, trying to slow his pursuers. Priscilla and Eliza tripped over a few, but they stayed determined and made up for the loss of distance. Cudgel didn't stop running, even when he reached the exit door. He simply rammed his shoulder into it and painfully stumbled out into the night.

Then a bullet smacked into his shoulder.

He went recoiling in pain but stayed standing. He looked up at Jackson on his perch, smoking gun in hand. He looked behind himself at Priscilla and Eliza, who had him flanked, their hidden blades out. The Hunter scowled.

“Last chance to stand down and die with some shred of honor,” Priscilla told him coldly.

“You're a fool, Mrs. Spainhower,” he spat back. “You all are! Keeping your ideals as long as you have! You're all so blind to the true ways of the world!”

“Oh sorry, I didn't realize I was talking to John C. Calhoun,” she said, sarcasm dripping. “How foolish of me indeed.”

Cudgel looked liked he was going for his daggers, and so Priscilla fired her pistol at him, not knowing that was exactly what he was planning. He rolled away from the shot and grabbed a throwing knife as he did. He tossed it upwards and it sliced a gash in Jackson's shoulder before he could let off another shot. He yelped in pain and skidded back. Cudgel turned to the girls. Eliza rushed him with an angry yell. She hacked and slashed and him wildly, but he countered with his daggers. He cut her cheek and kicked her away. Then Priscilla got the jump on him, lunging onto his back from behind and trying to wrestle him to the ground. He struggled but managed to reach up behind him and toss her off like a ragdoll.

“Everything I do, everything we Templars do, it's to preserve order in this godforsaken nation!” he shouted bitterly at them. “We need to rule so that things like this blasted War don't keep springing up time and time again!”

“Tell that to the people of New York,” Eliza spat. “Tell that to my father!”

“I didn't kill your father, lass! The mob did!”

“The mob that you created!”

“To keep order!”

“Enough!”

Priscilla drew her pistol and fired at him. She landed a few bullets, but he dodged away beneath the watchtower. He grabbed a throwing knife and tossed it at her shoulder. She fell back down with a yell, and Cudgel grabbed his rifle.

“Good night, Mrs. Spa-”

He was cut off by something suddenly slashing across his face, leaving a giant bleeding gash. He recoiled and spun around to face his new attacker. He scowled at the sight of Jackson, who spun his sword for effect, almost beckoning the Templar forward.

“You-”

“Your reign is at an end,” Jackson responded simply before lunging forward with the grace of a dancer and the determination of a soldier. He brought his sword up and down and side to side, and each swipe became harder and harder for Cudgel to dodge. All four of them were bloody, all four of them were ready to collapse, but Cudgel was the worst-fated out of all of them. With a shout akin to a cornered animal, the Hunter swung his rifle around like a club and knocked Jackson's sword from his hand. He drew his daggers, And Jackson quickly flicked out his hidden blade. The battle raged on as the two of them hacked and slashed. Priscilla and Eliza painfully stood up, in the meantime, and they motioned for each other to split up and surround their prey. They took their positions, but a bit too late. Cudgel had finally managed to land a good blow on Jackson, sending him flying to the ground with the handle of his dagger. He painfully and slowly stood back up, but as he did Cudgel was fleeing the scene.

“Oh know you don't!” Priscilla yelled. She ran forward and outstretched her arm, flicking her wrist back and activating her rope launcher. The grappling hook shot out and latched onto a building that Cudgel was about to run by. She grabbed on tight and pulled it taught just as he passed. Cudgel barely had time to react. He tripped on the line and fell to the ground with a hard thud. The three Assassins rushed up and flicked out their hidden blades. They surrounded him, and he only had just enough time to grab his aching wounds and look in horror at them before Priscilla shrieked, “Now!”, and in one fluid unified movement, they stabbed him through the heart. He let out an agonized shout, and fell to the ground in a sheet of bloodstained grass. The three retracted their blades, and suddenly everything felt still and silent. Time almost seemed to have stopped around them. They were all breathing heavily, all covered in one another's blood, all looking down at the man that had ruined their lives in one way or another. It was over.

Cudgel managed to roll his head up to look at them all.

“I did what I had to…” he croaked. “For the Templar Order, for the people of the United States, for order…”

Priscilla refused to give him a sympathetic look. She didn't hate him in that final moment. She was too tired to hate him anymore. It was pointless. But he was not her friend, and she would not treat him as such.

“Cudgel,” she said quietly, “you have fallen to the lowest of the low. I had faith that you could turn things around all those years ago, but I see now I'm mistaken.”

“I… I…”

“You burnt towns,” Jackson chimed in, no disrespect in his voice, but certainly an underlying bitterness. “You raided cities, you murdered families. My father was right about you, Mr. Cormac. You are a monster, and the worst kind: the kind that thinks he's right.”

“I did what I had to do…”

“No,” Eliza said. “You did what they wanted you to do. You had a choice, Cormac. You could've stopped it all. Instead you sit back and let the world step on you.”

“Do you think I wanted this?!” he suddenly shouted, much to the surprise of the three. “I. Had. No. Choice! I had a duty! I wanted to uphold my ideals, of course, but every time I did it just got bloodier and bloodier! What else was I supposed to do? Calhoun was right, Mrs. Spainhower! It. Was. Pointless!”

Priscilla just looked down at him. She started to feel… pity. Pity for this poor lost soul with a legacy that no one wanted to be upheld. A poor man whose entire life was defined by loss. Loss of his grandfather, loss of his hope, loss of his friends… How could she blame the man when the world pushed him so far into darkness? She couldn't. She looked over at her friends. She felt her notes from Aveza in her pocket. She looked around at the barracks filled with brave men willing to give their lives so that others could live theirs as they saw fit. She suddenly realized how lucky she was. The life of an Assassin was hard, yes, but she had so much to make up for it all. She had friends to support her, a family to love her, a home to sleep pleasantly in. She had no real reason to complain, not if she had all that. But Cudgel never had any of that.

“I'm sorry it had to end like this, Cudgel,” she told him softly, almost motherly. “I am sorry… but need to end like this it did. Too many people have died in this War, too many more would've died at your hand. And I think you know it…”

He looked up at her. Tears were pouring down his face. He shut his eyes right and turned away.

“I'm sorry…” he stuttered. “I am sorry…”

“As am I…” She held his shoulder gently. “As am I… Rest now, soldier. You are relieved.”

He took one final breath, and his body went limp. The Assassins rolled him over, and Priscilla closed his eyes. They all stood over him, each reflecting over their own experiences with the man, each reflecting on what could have been had things not fallen apart. They simply stood in silence for a good long while, until Jackson finally moved forward and picked up the body.

“I will take him back to New York and see to it he gets a proper burial,” he said. “Even men like him deserve that at least.”

The girls nodded. “I'll go with you,” Eliza said. “I'd like to see if I can start the effort of taking down Boss Tweed and cleaning up the last bit of his work.” Jackson nodded, and the two looked at Priscilla.

“And you?” Eliza asked.

She shrugged. “I'll stay here in Indiana, I suppose. There's still a lot of work to do. Plus, I feel as though this War may be drawing to a close soon. The rebels have their access to the Mississippi cut off; I'd be surprised if they lasted past April. And once this fight ends, my son comes home, and that's something I don't want to miss.”

“Then best of luck to, Mrs. Spainhower. Godspeed.”

Priscilla simply nodded, and with that, the three said their goodbyes, and they split up at last. Priscilla exited the Camp, alone with her thoughts. She coughed hard again, but she shook it off and ignored it this time. She just needed to think.

“It's done. He's gone. You can rest now.”

“Will I ever really be able to rest?”

“You put too much on yourself, hun. Life is okay. Enjoy it.”

“But there's so much wrong in my life still…”

“And there's still so much right in it. You deserve a chance to be happy. Just let it happen.”

“But…”

“You did good, kid. They all say you did. You'll meet him again, someday. You will.”

“I hope you're right…”

I lifted my head from my hands and blinked the light mist of tears from my eyes. I looked around, suddenly very aware of my surroundings. I was in University Park, not far from the center of Indy. I could see the War Memorial across the street and the Circle’s skyscrapers over the skyline. The stars were still out, but the rain had receded. The night was clear at last. The city honked and hummed peacefully around me. Only a few people were walking the park grounds, mostly lovebirds out for a night on the town. Everything seemed… tranquil. Yet still I felt myself shaking, still I felt the tears drying on my face and making it stiff. I leaned against the big tree I awoke in front of. I thought back to the visions I had been having but had been too caught up in my sorrows to really pay attention to. Priscilla found contempt in one of the worst times of her life… She had so much with so little…

Maybe… maybe I…

“You know wallowing in depression is supposed to be my thing, right?”

I jolted slightly and turned to see who it was. I honestly almost broke again and sobbed when I saw it was her, but I didn't. It was Jess. She had a very worried look on her face, and wouldn't look away from me.

She had changed her outfit like she said she would. She had on one of Chelsea's old jackets, a red one with an orange streak on the arms, and a white blouse and skirt. She also had some plain jeans on, rolled up her legs above her socks and sneakers. She had let her hair down. She looked almost nothing like she did when I first met her. I guess she wanted to get rid of anything from her old life. She wanted a fresh start. Who could blame her?

She sat down next to me, leaning against the tree as well. For a moment we just stared in silence at each other, until she spoke first.

“What's up?” she said.

“Nothing…” I said.

“Carter…”

“I… it's…” I sighed. “I just feel like I screwed up…”

“Carter, you didn't screw up.”

“Yes I did.”

“No, you didn't.”

She shifted to her side. “Carter, if you screwed up then I would still be trapped in my terrified depression. Chelsea would still want me dead. Indianapolis would be a crater. As someone who grew up as a professional screwup, Carter, I can tell you: you didn't screw up.”

“But Jess-”

“You know what happened last night? You know what I did when Chelsea let me into the hideout and let me sleep in her room?

“No.”

“Nothing. I slept. Peacefully. I didn't cry myself to sleep. I didn't have nightmares about my mother. I didn't wake up in a screaming sweat. Carter, that has never happened before. It happened tonight because you helped me escape all that. You helped me fight my demons. So let me tell you right now, Spainhower, you are not a screw up.”

I was silent. I didn't know what to say. My body was still releasing tears, but my mind was kicking this depression cycle out the door. That door got slammed hard when Jess suddenly reached forward and hugged me tight. She didn't say anything else, And neither did I. We just sat there, in the warm city night, surrounded by people, people that we saved, walking the busy and lively streets of Indianapolis. I watched the people go by. I saw a woman return a bag to an old lady who had dropped it. I saw a couple laughing at their jokes with one another and enjoying the gift of life. I saw a marketplace being flooded with late-night shoppers looking to find what they needed and make some friends in the process.

The visions had stopped. The voices had stopped. But still, I suddenly felt in more sync with Priscilla at that moment than any other. I realized what she realized. I lost a lot, yes, but I still had everything.

How could I just let all that slip by?

I started crying, but out of joy this time. I hugged Jess tighter. I could feel her smile. I had everything, indeed. And the stuff I lost? I would get it back. It was still out there, just waiting. Things would get better. They always have, and always will.

I suddenly felt the urge to look up. I don't know what it was. Maybe some subconscious instinct, maybe some faint signal hitting my senses that I just didn't realize at the moment, but whatever it was, I looked up.

And far, far in the distance, I saw him. I saw Jacob. He was standing on the sidewalk, staring from afar as people walked past him. Neither of us said anything. Neither of us did anything. We just looked at one another. I saw him give a sad smile, and he tipped his hat. Then, after a wave of dense crowd passed by in front of him, he was gone, vanished again. I stared for a good long while, and then just went back to enjoying the night with Jess.

This journey wasn't over. It was far, far from over.

So bring on the next adventure, universe.

I'm ready.

Description
May 23, 2016; Indianapolis, Indiana

I was done.

I decided I was done.

I was done with losing people. I was done with failing to save lives. I was done with putting my all into every goddamned thing and it never being enough. I was done with these voices. I was done with the Assassins. I didn't care anymore. I was just going to leave. I didn't know where and I honestly didn't care. I just ran. I ran to the edge of the city, at least I think I did. I wasn't really paying attention. Looking back, I think I had only gone about a mile from where I was. I hadn't even made it out of downtown. But it felt far, and it didn't help that the voices started pounding on my skull again as I went.

“You need to go find him.”

“Shut up.”

“There's still a chance to bring him back.”

“Shut up! No there isn't!”

“Whatever happened to having faith?”

“I've accepted this reality…”

“Bullcrap you have.”

“Shut up.”

“We need to find him.”

“He's gone.”

“Follow the trails.”

“It's pointless.”

“Just let this be over with. They'll help you out. Aveza said so.”

“What if she's wrong?”

“What if I'm wrong?”

“Trust in her.”

“Trust in them.”

“Jess…”

“Jackson…”

“Jacob…”

“Aveza…”

“Carter…”

“Priscilla…”

She blinked.

Priscilla rubbed her eyes. It was late at night, but she knew she needed to read this letter as soon as possible. She focused hard on the words being illuminated by her gaslamp.

Priscilla,

I'm sorry I haven't managed to catch that Templar dog you told me about, that Harrison Dodd fellow. The Canadian colonial government has been in a bit of a fuss lately and I need to be sure things don't turn ugly again like in 1837. But I promise you, I am on the case. I know how protective you are of your home state, and there's no way I'm letting him and his wackjobs bring it down with steal and bullets.

In the meantime, I believe the recent arrest of Dodd and his conspirators may present you with an ample opportunity to catch Cormac. Just think: a major faction of the Templar Order has just been completely eradicated from Indiana, and all their belongings have been confiscated by Assassin allies. He's the most likely man to send out to reclaim the evidence of their connection to the Templars. I bet if you keep close tabs on the activity around Indianapolis, he will pop up, and you can win one for us all.

I've sent you two fine Assassins to help you out. Firstly, I've sent dear Jackson. He's always ready to help. Secondly, I got into contact with a newer recruit, Eliza, and asked her to come as well. She was there during the Draft Riots, said Cudgel was responsible for her father getting mauled by a racist mob. She's more than happy to help. They should be arriving soon.

Best of luck to you, dearie. Godspeed.

Your friend, and mentor
Aveza Bellamy

Priscilla put the letter down and looked over at the hideout’s map of Indianapolis. If she was being given another chance to kill Cudgel, she knew she'd have to plan her attack well, and with two guests coming over, she knew she'd have to make extra preparations. And so she got to work.

This ended tonight.

----------

August 22, 1864; Indianapolis, Indiana

“Are you certain that this will work?” Jackson asked as the three of them stood atop one of the watchtowers of Camp Morton.

“No,” Priscilla said. “But it's our only real hope at this point.”

“He'd better show up,” Eliza said bitterly. “I dare him to show his ugly face.”

Priscilla nodded in agreement, though Jackson seemed a bit uncomfortable with the anger lying under his allies’ skins. An honorable man, that one. Clearly more honorable than she was right now. But she didn't really care. She just wanted this to be done.

Eliza had been the first one to arrive in Indy. She was young, too young almost, in her mid teens. But that made her swift, and more importantly it made her determined. She had told Priscilla of the horrors that went down during the Draft Riots, of how she was a servant to Boss Tweed who severed all ties to him after meeting the Assassins and realizing that the Templars had been responsible for the chaos. She kept it in her mind that Cudgel was the worst of them and their kind, that he had been the one who tossed her father to the brutality of the mob. She was out for blood, and she was eager to get it. Hopefully she'd have it soon. They all would.

They all stood there in the dark of night, with only the sounds of night animals keeping them company. They kept their eyes on the barracks. After Governor Morton's men had broken into Harrison Dodd’s house and discovered the Knight of the Golden Circle’s secret armory, they had brought all his belongings here. Weapons, documents, anything. Even, Priscilla discovered when rummaging through the contraband herself, a few Templar rings. There's no way the Order would want this discovered. They'd send somebody to collect it, and she prayed it would be Cudgel.

They sat there for hours, staying awake well into the night, watching, waiting.

And then, a shadow.

Priscilla jerked and tapped her friends’ shoulders. She pointed towards the figure that was moving through the night. It was definitely a man. He had a dark leather coat and a distinctive rifle sheathed on his back. There was no doubt about it, their prey had arrived. He was creeping towards the barracks, ducking behind corners and knocking out distant soldiers with his sleep darts. The three Assassins watched as he reached the door and started to pick the locks.

Jackson grabbed his rifle and Eliza drew her sword. Priscilla kept her blades sheathed for now. She was waiting for the perfect moment.

Cudgel undid the final lock and slipped inside. Priscilla motioned for Eliza to follow her as she started climbing down to the ground. Jackson stayed behind, his gun cocked and aimed.

The two women made their way over and stayed silent as they snuck in the shadows of the barracks. They listened closely for the slightest sounds.

Then, a light. Cudgel had apparently flicked on a gaslight when he reached the loot room. The Assassins peaked in the doorway and watched him dig through the treasures and documents to find anything connecting Dodd and his Knights to the Templar Order. He pocketed the rings and burnt a few letters. Once he was satisfied, he turned back to the door to leave. The Assassins clung tight to the wall behind the frame, waiting for him to come just a little closer…

Eliza pulled a smoke bomb out or her pouch, and the second the Hunter reached the doorway, she tossed it hard onto the ground and the bang echoed throughout the barracks. A cloud of dark smoke blotted out any light the gas lamp gave off, and Cudgel started coughing violently.

“Now!” Eliza shouted, and with that the two of them lunged from the doorway, hidden blades out and aimed at his throat. But he was fast, faster than they had expected. He punched them away and sprinted out of the cloud and down the hall.

“Not this time you snake!” Priscilla shouted before giving chase. Cudgel knocked over crates and barrels as he ran, trying to slow his pursuers. Priscilla and Eliza tripped over a few, but they stayed determined and made up for the loss of distance. Cudgel didn't stop running, even when he reached the exit door. He simply rammed his shoulder into it and painfully stumbled out into the night.

Then a bullet smacked into his shoulder.

He went recoiling in pain but stayed standing. He looked up at Jackson on his perch, smoking gun in hand. He looked behind himself at Priscilla and Eliza, who had him flanked, their hidden blades out. The Hunter scowled.

“Last chance to stand down and die with some shred of honor,” Priscilla told him coldly.

“You're a fool, Mrs. Spainhower,” he spat back. “You all are! Keeping your ideals as long as you have! You're all so blind to the true ways of the world!”

“Oh sorry, I didn't realize I was talking to John C. Calhoun,” she said, sarcasm dripping. “How foolish of me indeed.”

Cudgel looked liked he was going for his daggers, and so Priscilla fired her pistol at him, not knowing that was exactly what he was planning. He rolled away from the shot and grabbed a throwing knife as he did. He tossed it upwards and it sliced a gash in Jackson's shoulder before he could let off another shot. He yelped in pain and skidded back. Cudgel turned to the girls. Eliza rushed him with an angry yell. She hacked and slashed and him wildly, but he countered with his daggers. He cut her cheek and kicked her away. Then Priscilla got the jump on him, lunging onto his back from behind and trying to wrestle him to the ground. He struggled but managed to reach up behind him and toss her off like a ragdoll.

“Everything I do, everything we Templars do, it's to preserve order in this godforsaken nation!” he shouted bitterly at them. “We need to rule so that things like this blasted War don't keep springing up time and time again!”

“Tell that to the people of New York,” Eliza spat. “Tell that to my father!”

“I didn't kill your father, lass! The mob did!”

“The mob that you created!”

“To keep order!”

“Enough!”

Priscilla drew her pistol and fired at him. She landed a few bullets, but he dodged away beneath the watchtower. He grabbed a throwing knife and tossed it at her shoulder. She fell back down with a yell, and Cudgel grabbed his rifle.

“Good night, Mrs. Spa-”

He was cut off by something suddenly slashing across his face, leaving a giant bleeding gash. He recoiled and spun around to face his new attacker. He scowled at the sight of Jackson, who spun his sword for effect, almost beckoning the Templar forward.

“You-”

“Your reign is at an end,” Jackson responded simply before lunging forward with the grace of a dancer and the determination of a soldier. He brought his sword up and down and side to side, and each swipe became harder and harder for Cudgel to dodge. All four of them were bloody, all four of them were ready to collapse, but Cudgel was the worst-fated out of all of them. With a shout akin to a cornered animal, the Hunter swung his rifle around like a club and knocked Jackson's sword from his hand. He drew his daggers, And Jackson quickly flicked out his hidden blade. The battle raged on as the two of them hacked and slashed. Priscilla and Eliza painfully stood up, in the meantime, and they motioned for each other to split up and surround their prey. They took their positions, but a bit too late. Cudgel had finally managed to land a good blow on Jackson, sending him flying to the ground with the handle of his dagger. He painfully and slowly stood back up, but as he did Cudgel was fleeing the scene.

“Oh know you don't!” Priscilla yelled. She ran forward and outstretched her arm, flicking her wrist back and activating her rope launcher. The grappling hook shot out and latched onto a building that Cudgel was about to run by. She grabbed on tight and pulled it taught just as he passed. Cudgel barely had time to react. He tripped on the line and fell to the ground with a hard thud. The three Assassins rushed up and flicked out their hidden blades. They surrounded him, and he only had just enough time to grab his aching wounds and look in horror at them before Priscilla shrieked, “Now!”, and in one fluid unified movement, they stabbed him through the heart. He let out an agonized shout, and fell to the ground in a sheet of bloodstained grass. The three retracted their blades, and suddenly everything felt still and silent. Time almost seemed to have stopped around them. They were all breathing heavily, all covered in one another's blood, all looking down at the man that had ruined their lives in one way or another. It was over.

Cudgel managed to roll his head up to look at them all.

“I did what I had to…” he croaked. “For the Templar Order, for the people of the United States, for order…”

Priscilla refused to give him a sympathetic look. She didn't hate him in that final moment. She was too tired to hate him anymore. It was pointless. But he was not her friend, and she would not treat him as such.

“Cudgel,” she said quietly, “you have fallen to the lowest of the low. I had faith that you could turn things around all those years ago, but I see now I'm mistaken.”

“I… I…”

“You burnt towns,” Jackson chimed in, no disrespect in his voice, but certainly an underlying bitterness. “You raided cities, you murdered families. My father was right about you, Mr. Cormac. You are a monster, and the worst kind: the kind that thinks he's right.”

“I did what I had to do…”

“No,” Eliza said. “You did what they wanted you to do. You had a choice, Cormac. You could've stopped it all. Instead you sit back and let the world step on you.”

“Do you think I wanted this?!” he suddenly shouted, much to the surprise of the three. “I. Had. No. Choice! I had a duty! I wanted to uphold my ideals, of course, but every time I did it just got bloodier and bloodier! What else was I supposed to do? Calhoun was right, Mrs. Spainhower! It. Was. Pointless!”

Priscilla just looked down at him. She started to feel… pity. Pity for this poor lost soul with a legacy that no one wanted to be upheld. A poor man whose entire life was defined by loss. Loss of his grandfather, loss of his hope, loss of his friends… How could she blame the man when the world pushed him so far into darkness? She couldn't. She looked over at her friends. She felt her notes from Aveza in her pocket. She looked around at the barracks filled with brave men willing to give their lives so that others could live theirs as they saw fit. She suddenly realized how lucky she was. The life of an Assassin was hard, yes, but she had so much to make up for it all. She had friends to support her, a family to love her, a home to sleep pleasantly in. She had no real reason to complain, not if she had all that. But Cudgel never had any of that.

“I'm sorry it had to end like this, Cudgel,” she told him softly, almost motherly. “I am sorry… but need to end like this it did. Too many people have died in this War, too many more would've died at your hand. And I think you know it…”

He looked up at her. Tears were pouring down his face. He shut his eyes right and turned away.

“I'm sorry…” he stuttered. “I am sorry…”

“As am I…” She held his shoulder gently. “As am I… Rest now, soldier. You are relieved.”

He took one final breath, and his body went limp. The Assassins rolled him over, and Priscilla closed his eyes. They all stood over him, each reflecting over their own experiences with the man, each reflecting on what could have been had things not fallen apart. They simply stood in silence for a good long while, until Jackson finally moved forward and picked up the body.

“I will take him back to New York and see to it he gets a proper burial,” he said. “Even men like him deserve that at least.”

The girls nodded. “I'll go with you,” Eliza said. “I'd like to see if I can start the effort of taking down Boss Tweed and cleaning up the last bit of his work.” Jackson nodded, and the two looked at Priscilla.

“And you?” Eliza asked.

She shrugged. “I'll stay here in Indiana, I suppose. There's still a lot of work to do. Plus, I feel as though this War may be drawing to a close soon. The rebels have their access to the Mississippi cut off; I'd be surprised if they lasted past April. And once this fight ends, my son comes home, and that's something I don't want to miss.”

“Then best of luck to, Mrs. Spainhower. Godspeed.”

Priscilla simply nodded, and with that, the three said their goodbyes, and they split up at last. Priscilla exited the Camp, alone with her thoughts. She coughed hard again, but she shook it off and ignored it this time. She just needed to think.

“It's done. He's gone. You can rest now.”

“Will I ever really be able to rest?”

“You put too much on yourself, hun. Life is okay. Enjoy it.”

“But there's so much wrong in my life still…”

“And there's still so much right in it. You deserve a chance to be happy. Just let it happen.”

“But…”

“You did good, kid. They all say you did. You'll meet him again, someday. You will.”

“I hope you're right…”

I lifted my head from my hands and blinked the light mist of tears from my eyes. I looked around, suddenly very aware of my surroundings. I was in University Park, not far from the center of Indy. I could see the War Memorial across the street and the Circle’s skyscrapers over the skyline. The stars were still out, but the rain had receded. The night was clear at last. The city honked and hummed peacefully around me. Only a few people were walking the park grounds, mostly lovebirds out for a night on the town. Everything seemed… tranquil. Yet still I felt myself shaking, still I felt the tears drying on my face and making it stiff. I leaned against the big tree I awoke in front of. I thought back to the visions I had been having but had been too caught up in my sorrows to really pay attention to. Priscilla found contempt in one of the worst times of her life… She had so much with so little…

Maybe… maybe I…

“You know wallowing in depression is supposed to be my thing, right?”

I jolted slightly and turned to see who it was. I honestly almost broke again and sobbed when I saw it was her, but I didn't. It was Jess. She had a very worried look on her face, and wouldn't look away from me.

She had changed her outfit like she said she would. She had on one of Chelsea's old jackets, a red one with an orange streak on the arms, and a white blouse and skirt. She also had some plain jeans on, rolled up her legs above her socks and sneakers. She had let her hair down. She looked almost nothing like she did when I first met her. I guess she wanted to get rid of anything from her old life. She wanted a fresh start. Who could blame her?

She sat down next to me, leaning against the tree as well. For a moment we just stared in silence at each other, until she spoke first.

“What's up?” she said.

“Nothing…” I said.

“Carter…”

“I… it's…” I sighed. “I just feel like I screwed up…”

“Carter, you didn't screw up.”

“Yes I did.”

“No, you didn't.”

She shifted to her side. “Carter, if you screwed up then I would still be trapped in my terrified depression. Chelsea would still want me dead. Indianapolis would be a crater. As someone who grew up as a professional screwup, Carter, I can tell you: you didn't screw up.”

“But Jess-”

“You know what happened last night? You know what I did when Chelsea let me into the hideout and let me sleep in her room?

“No.”

“Nothing. I slept. Peacefully. I didn't cry myself to sleep. I didn't have nightmares about my mother. I didn't wake up in a screaming sweat. Carter, that has never happened before. It happened tonight because you helped me escape all that. You helped me fight my demons. So let me tell you right now, Spainhower, you are not a screw up.”

I was silent. I didn't know what to say. My body was still releasing tears, but my mind was kicking this depression cycle out the door. That door got slammed hard when Jess suddenly reached forward and hugged me tight. She didn't say anything else, And neither did I. We just sat there, in the warm city night, surrounded by people, people that we saved, walking the busy and lively streets of Indianapolis. I watched the people go by. I saw a woman return a bag to an old lady who had dropped it. I saw a couple laughing at their jokes with one another and enjoying the gift of life. I saw a marketplace being flooded with late-night shoppers looking to find what they needed and make some friends in the process.

The visions had stopped. The voices had stopped. But still, I suddenly felt in more sync with Priscilla at that moment than any other. I realized what she realized. I lost a lot, yes, but I still had everything.

How could I just let all that slip by?

I started crying, but out of joy this time. I hugged Jess tighter. I could feel her smile. I had everything, indeed. And the stuff I lost? I would get it back. It was still out there, just waiting. Things would get better. They always have, and always will.

I suddenly felt the urge to look up. I don't know what it was. Maybe some subconscious instinct, maybe some faint signal hitting my senses that I just didn't realize at the moment, but whatever it was, I looked up.

And far, far in the distance, I saw him. I saw Jacob. He was standing on the sidewalk, staring from afar as people walked past him. Neither of us said anything. Neither of us did anything. We just looked at one another. I saw him give a sad smile, and he tipped his hat. Then, after a wave of dense crowd passed by in front of him, he was gone, vanished again. I stared for a good long while, and then just went back to enjoying the night with Jess.

This journey wasn't over. It was far, far from over.

So bring on the next adventure, universe.

I'm ready.