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Description
March 29, 2014; Indianapolis, Indiana

As you'd probably imagine, it wasn't too hard to dig up some dirt on the Templars’ street gangs. Chelsea and I had only been spying in the run-down districts of Indianapolis for a week, and we've found more reasons to stop them than we could count. We also found the head leader of all their gangs, a Templar dog named Tyson Edwards. The guy was a brute. He was tall, muscular, wore way too many rings, and wasn't fond of shirts. God, I remember one time we spotted him dealing with one of his ‘clients’, some poor old man who made the bad mistake of doing business with Tyson.

It was a few days prior. Chelsea and I sat on the rooftop of an old, decaying apartment building, hiding in the shadows of the night. We were surveying a group of thugs that belonged to Tyson’s main gang, the Wolf Fangs. They seemed to be waiting for someone, who we soon found out was the old man. He came stumbling into the alleyway, a briefcase in hand. He seemed scared. He walked up to the gang members, and nodded to greet them.

“You have the money?” asked one of the thugs. The old man nervously nodded. “Y… Yes,” he stuttered.

“You don't sound too confident,” said a deep voice from around the corner. The two thugs backed away, making way for Tyson as he stepped out and towered over the old man. “I… I…” started the old man. “I have the money.”

“Good,” said Tyson. Then, he ripped the case out of the old man's grasp and opened it up. The old man obviously wanted to resist, but couldn't. All color drained out of his face. Tyson slammed the case shut. He looked blankly at the trembling old man. “That's not all of it,” he said. The old man just stared in fear.

“I… Well…” he managed to stutter. “This is about half of it. I can get the rest in a few weeks. Please, I…” But Tyson put his giant hand over the old man's mouth to silence him.

“Shh,” he said. Then, after a pause, he said, “No.” The old man's eyes filled with terror.

“There ain't no way I'm giving you a second chance,” continued Tyson. “You see, the people I work with, we don't much like screw-ups like you running around our world. It's bad for business.”

Then, before anyone, me, Chelsea, the old man, even the thugs, were able to react, Tyson grabbed the case with both hands, raised it high, and slammed it hard on the old man's skull before the poor guy could even scream. His body fell to the ground, already dead. And Tyson continued to pound his brains in with the case. The old man's blood splattered all over the case and coated the Templar cross on Tyson’s necklace. A toothy, malicious smile appeared on the man's face. He was actually enjoying the slaughter. Sick monster.

Even his thugs watched wide-eyed in horror as Tyson delivered the final blow before standing up, breathing heavily, and turning to leave. “Clean that up,” he ordered his thugs before leaving the area. The thugs looked in disbelief at each other.

“Man, I don't know if I can keep this up,” said one of them.

“Shh,” said his ally. “He might still hear you.”

“I'm serious, man!”

“So am I.”

“Boss is going too far. He's got too much power. We can't just sit back and let more of this crap happen!”

“What else can we do, man?”

“We could fight back!”

“Against Tyson’s army? Come on, dude.”

“I'm sure most of the guys are just as fed up as us. We could form our own army!”

“Keep dreaming, man. Come on, help me get rid of the body.” The other thug looked defeated and helped his friend with the mutilated corpse of the old man. Chelsea and I looked at each other. Each of us were starting to form a plan of attack. If we could gain enough influence amongst the revolutionaries in the gangs, we might have a chance against the Templar.

And by the end of the week, after seeing more and more cycles of brutal murder, fearful oppression, and nervous talk of rebellion, we finally got our chance. That Saturday, when Chelsea and I were spying on another one of Tyson’s ‘business’ meetings, we finally managed to get the influence we needed.

It started when Tyson showed up with about a dozen or more thugs, including the ones from before. Tyson stood towering over a young woman, who was just as scarred as the old man was. “Where's my money?” Tyson demanded.

“I...I…” stuttered the woman, tears forming in her eyes. “I don't have it. Okay? I wasn't able to get it in time!” Tyson gave a small, evil-looking smile. He signaled for two of his goons to grab something that was out of view. “Well, I can't have that,” he said.

“What are you going to do to me?” asked the terrified woman. Tyson’s grin widened just enough to show a bit of teeth. “Nothin’.” he said. The woman gave the same confused look as me and Chelsea. What was going on in his head?

“I ain't doing nothing to you,” he continued. “That little girl of yours, though…” The woman's face turned to one of pure terror as two thugs dragged a little girl, probably not even four years old yet, by the arms into view. Chelsea’s jaw and mine dropped. “Mommy?” asked the girl to the woman, confused and scared. Tyson turned and pulled out a knife.

“No!” screamed the woman. She tried to run at Tyson, but two of his thugs grabbed her from behind. “Leave her alone!” begged the woman, tears pouring out of her eyes. Tyson’s knife gleamed in the sun as he approached the little girl, who was also crying.

One of the thugs from before stepped forward a bit. “Dude!” he shouted. “This is way too far!” Tyson stared him down. He spat in the thug’s direction. The thug continued to protest. The woman and her daughter continued to scream and cry. The other thugs clearly wanted to protest too, but their fear held them back. Tyson came closer to the little girl.

Chelsea’s eyes darted to meet mine, and we nodded at each other. We pulled up our hoods, stood from our perches, and leapt off of the rooftop.

Just as Tyson was about to cut into the little girl's flesh, I landed directly in front of him and slammed my fist into his nose. He dropped the knife and stumbled backwards a bit. I spun around quickly, drew my pistol and put two bullets between the eyes of the thugs that were holding the girl. I motioned for her to stay behind me. Meanwhile, Chelsea landed on the thugs holding the mother and drove her hidden blades into their necks. I hurried the kid in the direction of her mother and Chelsea shoved them away from the area that was about to become a battlefield. “Go! Run! Get out of here!” she shouted at them. The mother gripped her daughter tight and nodded. The two bolted away. Chelsea rushed to my side and we stood ready to fight.

Tyson had recovered quickly and gave me a glare of hatred. “You're dead for that you little son of a-!” he shouted

“Yeah, yeah,” said Chelsea, annoyed.

“Can we just get to the part where we beat the crap out of you?” I said to the Templar as I flicked out my hidden blades. Tyson snarled and ordered his thugs to attack. Only a few of them made a move, and their lives were ended before any real fight could be put up. The remaining thugs looked at each other. The protester looked at me and my cousin. I thought fast. We were in the thick of it now. Might as well go all out.

“We're here to challenge you,” I said to Tyson. “For the title of gang leader.”

“Screw you!” spat Tyson.

“We want to fight, fight to the death. Winner takes all. You kill us and you stay in charge.” Tyson clearly hated us, but he still listened. Chelsea caught on with what I was doing.

“We kill you,” she said, “and the Assassins take this little kingdom of yours as our own.” Tyson was silent for a moment, but then he started to grin and chuckle. “You and what army?” he laughed.

“This army,” said the protester suddenly. We turned to him. The other thugs were starting to gather around him. “We're sick of you, Tyson. Your power-trip ends now.” Tyson suddenly scowled as his thugs turned on him, ready willing and able to help his mortal enemies. He looked at them, then at us. “One hour,” he said. “One hour to gather our men, and then I'll kill you all.” He turned and left, leaving Chelsea and I alone with our new army. We walked up to the lead protester.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“Jonathan,” he said. “Jonathan Drysan at your service. Who are you two anyway?”

“Carter Spainhower,” I said.

“Chelsea Little,” said Chelsea.

“We're part of a Brotherhood,” I said. “Let's just say we're not good friends with Tyson’s order.”

“He's in an order?” asked Jonathan.

“Well, he won't be for long, but yeah. The Templars. People set on taking freedom from the people and gaining every drop of power they can grab. We want to make sure that doesn't happen.”

“Well, shoot. We're on your side, then. Without a doubt. If we can get rid of people like Tyson, we'll help however we can.” His fellow thugs nodded in agreement. Chelsea and I smiled. “Alright then,” I said.

“We'll need more fighters,” said Chelsea. “Can you guys gather up any of your gang buddies that'll help us win the fight?”

“Of course,” said Jonathan.

“Great. We'll need all the help we can get. Thank you all so much.”

“No problem, friends.” We nodded each other, said our goodbyes, and set out to form an army for the main event.

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

A relatively large crowd had gathered around the abandoned lot that was turned into our arena. Dozens of men and women routing for both sides (though most were on our side) were cheering praises and threats. I stood by my cousin. Both of us were armed and ready. Soon enough, Tyson came sauntering into the ring. “Last chance to die quickly, Assassins,” he spat at us. We just rolled our eyes. I grabbed a nearby metal chair and sat backwards in it. “Same to you,” I said, looking the Templar straight in the eyes. “Shall we begin?” I said mockingly.

Tyson scowled he cracked his knuckles and about seven of his goons came up behind him, some holding knives and others choosing to just use their fists. Jonathan and a few of the many followers he gained came up behind me and Chelsea, equally ready to fight. Both sides just stared each other down for a moment. The crowd was quiet for a brief second. And then, with a cry of rage, Tyson came charging towards me, knife in hand. Right before he reached me, I span around out of the chair at lightning speed, grabbed the chair, and slammed it onto his head. By then, the crowd kicked up its roar again as the fight officially started. Both sides were instantly at each other's throats.

Tyson stumbled backwards and one of his thugs tried to take a swing at me. I dodged his attack and sucker punched him in the face. Meanwhile, Chelsea went running across the arena. She punched one enemy and jumped on top of a short scaffolding. She used her momentum to swing herself around and kick another guy in the face, knocking him out. Then, she twirled around and stabbed another guy in the chest. I saw Jonathan and his men taking a beating, but they were dishing out just as much pain.

I ran around the ring. I stabbed another enemy, saving one of our men. My ally returned the favor by knocking out an enemy that rushed at me. I silently thanked her, and kept darting through the small battlefield. I lunged on top of a metal bar, and leapt on the back of another thug. I drove my hidden blade into his neck, killing him. I turned and saw that Tyson had well recovered by then, and he was beating an ally of mine. He had grabbed a metal bar and bashed her in the temple with it. Another one of our men rushed up to him, grabbing the giant man from behind. Tyson shook him off, however. He threw him to the ground and slammed the metal bar into his head. Another thug was fighting with Chelsea for control of her knife, a fight that she won. She drove her blade into her enemy's back, and he fell with a yell.

By then, there were only five people left standing. Chelsea was helping Jonathan fight off the last standing thug while I stood face to face with Tyson. He clearly wasn't happy. We stared at each other for a second, and then I threw a punch. He dodged the blow and sucker punched me in the jaw, making my lip bleed. I quickly returned the punch, though, and I hit him square in the jaw. He was obviously getting tired, and I used that to my advantage. I spun around at lightning speed and drove my elbow right into his temple. He fell to the ground with a thud.

I was about to turn to Chelsea, but my eyes darted back to Tyson, who had bolted back up, head bleeding, and aimed a gun at my head with an angry yell. However, just as he was about to pull the trigger, Chelsea came darting up behind him. She elbowed him in the other temple. Tyson fell to the ground with another yell. I took my chance. I flicked out my hidden blade, and I jabbed it into his back. He yelled in pain as blood started pouring out.

I stood over him, as did Chelsea. I knelt down beside him. “Your reign of terror’s come to a close,” I said to him. He snarled.

“You Assassins,” he said. “You Assassins gon’ burn this city faster than I ever could.”

“No. Because we're gonna let freedom reign.”

“Freedom’s the thing that burns the world down. We need people like me to make sure people stay in line.”

“People can keep themselves in line. Even if they couldn't, you certainly wouldn't be the one to organize them.” The life started draining from his eyes. Soon enough, the gang leader was no more. I closed his eyes. “No one's life should be made up of oppression. That's why we will always fight for a better world,” I said. “Rest in peace.”

I stood up and faced Chelsea. She nodded. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out one of those eagle-patterned post-it notes and placed it on the Templar's body. It was over. Soon enough, Jonathan came up to us, out of breath. He looked down at the body and tiredly smiled at our victory. We helped up our surviving allies and we turned to face the crowd. I noticed some of Tyson’s allies were already turning and running. Let them go. We'll get them eventually. We all looked at the crowd, who seemed to expect us to say something. I turned to Chelsea, who shrugged, and then I looked at the crowd.

“Everybody,” I said, pulling words out my head. “I'm Carter Spainhower and this is Chelsea Little. And as of this moment, you all work for us!” I smiled and raised my arms a bit. The crowd cheered their approval. Jonathan smacked his hand on my shoulder and Chelsea’s, congratulating us. We shook hands with a few of our new helpers, thanking them for their support.

I noticed a flagpole nearby. A few gang members were pulling down the flag with the Wolf Fangs’ symbol on it. And in its place, they raised a white flag with a blue eagle pattern on it.

“What do we call the new gang?” Chelsea jokingly asked me. I laughed and thought about it for a moment. “How about ‘the Eagle Eyes’?”

“That's really uncreative,” she said jokingly. I laughed.

“Yeah, I know,” I said.

“It'll do,” said Jonathan, smiling. “So, um, what now?”

“Well, for me and Chelsea,” I said, “we’ve got more fish to fry.”

“Who'll stay and lead the gang while you guys are gone?”

“You could do it,” said Chelsea.

“What? Naw, man,” said Jonathan. He looked at us for a moment, realizing we were serious. “Really?” he asked. “Ya’ll think I could do it?”

“Sure,” I said. “You'd be great! We'd only let you do it on one occasion, though.”

“Yeah, man. Anything! Especially after all you've done for us.”

“We need you to monitor any Templar activity in all of the surrounding areas of your territory,” said Chelsea. “Keep us updated on any moves they make, and be sure to help us out when we call.”

“Yeah, I can do that! No problem!”

“Great!” I said. “Best of luck, man.” I shook his hand, so did Chelsea. “Can't thank you enough,” he said again. We nodded. We all said our goodbyes, and then I left with Chelsea. We noticed our new allies swarming towards their new gang leader as we left.

“I can't believe we pulled that off,” Chelsea said to me as we left the gang district.

“Honestly, neither can I,” I said. We smiled at each other. She offered a high five, and I took the offer. “We're awesome,” I said.

“I know,” said Chelsea jokingly. “I'm more awesome though.”

“In your dreams.”

“Squirt.”

“Dweeb.” We both looked at each other and just laughed.

“So who’s next on our hit list?” I asked her once we quieted down. She put her finger on her chin as she thought.

Suddenly, we heard shouting around the corner. We looked at each other and then rushed to see what was happening. We peeked our heads around the corner, not wanting to rush into any potential danger. Not far from our vantage spot, two police officers were hurrying out of their car, shouting at a random man who was just walking down the sidewalk. The man looked confused, and had his arms up, unsure of the reason for the officers’ advance on him. The officers drew their guns, and as they did, we caught a glimpse of the Templar crosses on their rings.

The officers kept yelling at the man. They were shouting random reasons to put him down, calling him false names and listing fake crimes. Eventually, the stress got to the innocent bystander. Blinded by confusion, he started to stumble away. Poor man made a terrible mistake. The Templars started shouting something about resisting arrest, but it was drowned out by the sounds of bullets. They didn't even kill the man instantly. They made him suffer for a few moments. The man protested in his last breaths, trying desperately to explain that he didn't do anything. The Templars didn't care. They just wanted to fuel their bloodthirsty power-trip.

By then, a few citizens had come out, staring at the murder. One Templar pointed his gun at the nearest civilian. “Get out of here!” he shouted. “Or we'll take you out, too!” The civilians, scared for their lives, darted back inside their apartments, closing the curtains and locking the doors. The Templars looked at each other and got back in their car. They drove away, leaving the body to be cleaned up later. Chelsea and I stared at each other as we gave a moment of silence for the poor civilian. Then we continued down the street, now set and determined to find the next target.

“Who's the Templar in charge to running the cops?” I asked Chelsea.

“Guy named Patrick Lawrence,” she said. “Big guy, always angry, loves to punch people and has a slight drinking problem.”

“So no one's gonna miss him?”

“Nope.”

“Have we ever sent anyone after him?”

“No one that came back alive. Afterall, guys got a whole army of corrupted police officers at his back.” We were quiet for a moment. “If we're gonna do this,” said Chelsea. “We're gonna have to plan this carefully. We aren't gonna get a lot of second chances.” I nodded. We both started thinking up a plan of attack.

“We should go after him when he's alone,” I said. “Take him out before he has the chance to call backup.”

“That's pretty risky,” said Chelsea.

“We don't have a lot of options. And we have to take this guy out before he enforces more crap like that scene back there.” Chelsea seemed hesitant, but she nodded in agreement. I nodded back. We started making our way back to the warehouse hideout. We needed to form a full battle strategy before we put down this mad dog.

Description
March 29, 2014; Indianapolis, Indiana

As you'd probably imagine, it wasn't too hard to dig up some dirt on the Templars’ street gangs. Chelsea and I had only been spying in the run-down districts of Indianapolis for a week, and we've found more reasons to stop them than we could count. We also found the head leader of all their gangs, a Templar dog named Tyson Edwards. The guy was a brute. He was tall, muscular, wore way too many rings, and wasn't fond of shirts. God, I remember one time we spotted him dealing with one of his ‘clients’, some poor old man who made the bad mistake of doing business with Tyson.

It was a few days prior. Chelsea and I sat on the rooftop of an old, decaying apartment building, hiding in the shadows of the night. We were surveying a group of thugs that belonged to Tyson’s main gang, the Wolf Fangs. They seemed to be waiting for someone, who we soon found out was the old man. He came stumbling into the alleyway, a briefcase in hand. He seemed scared. He walked up to the gang members, and nodded to greet them.

“You have the money?” asked one of the thugs. The old man nervously nodded. “Y… Yes,” he stuttered.

“You don't sound too confident,” said a deep voice from around the corner. The two thugs backed away, making way for Tyson as he stepped out and towered over the old man. “I… I…” started the old man. “I have the money.”

“Good,” said Tyson. Then, he ripped the case out of the old man's grasp and opened it up. The old man obviously wanted to resist, but couldn't. All color drained out of his face. Tyson slammed the case shut. He looked blankly at the trembling old man. “That's not all of it,” he said. The old man just stared in fear.

“I… Well…” he managed to stutter. “This is about half of it. I can get the rest in a few weeks. Please, I…” But Tyson put his giant hand over the old man's mouth to silence him.

“Shh,” he said. Then, after a pause, he said, “No.” The old man's eyes filled with terror.

“There ain't no way I'm giving you a second chance,” continued Tyson. “You see, the people I work with, we don't much like screw-ups like you running around our world. It's bad for business.”

Then, before anyone, me, Chelsea, the old man, even the thugs, were able to react, Tyson grabbed the case with both hands, raised it high, and slammed it hard on the old man's skull before the poor guy could even scream. His body fell to the ground, already dead. And Tyson continued to pound his brains in with the case. The old man's blood splattered all over the case and coated the Templar cross on Tyson’s necklace. A toothy, malicious smile appeared on the man's face. He was actually enjoying the slaughter. Sick monster.

Even his thugs watched wide-eyed in horror as Tyson delivered the final blow before standing up, breathing heavily, and turning to leave. “Clean that up,” he ordered his thugs before leaving the area. The thugs looked in disbelief at each other.

“Man, I don't know if I can keep this up,” said one of them.

“Shh,” said his ally. “He might still hear you.”

“I'm serious, man!”

“So am I.”

“Boss is going too far. He's got too much power. We can't just sit back and let more of this crap happen!”

“What else can we do, man?”

“We could fight back!”

“Against Tyson’s army? Come on, dude.”

“I'm sure most of the guys are just as fed up as us. We could form our own army!”

“Keep dreaming, man. Come on, help me get rid of the body.” The other thug looked defeated and helped his friend with the mutilated corpse of the old man. Chelsea and I looked at each other. Each of us were starting to form a plan of attack. If we could gain enough influence amongst the revolutionaries in the gangs, we might have a chance against the Templar.

And by the end of the week, after seeing more and more cycles of brutal murder, fearful oppression, and nervous talk of rebellion, we finally got our chance. That Saturday, when Chelsea and I were spying on another one of Tyson’s ‘business’ meetings, we finally managed to get the influence we needed.

It started when Tyson showed up with about a dozen or more thugs, including the ones from before. Tyson stood towering over a young woman, who was just as scarred as the old man was. “Where's my money?” Tyson demanded.

“I...I…” stuttered the woman, tears forming in her eyes. “I don't have it. Okay? I wasn't able to get it in time!” Tyson gave a small, evil-looking smile. He signaled for two of his goons to grab something that was out of view. “Well, I can't have that,” he said.

“What are you going to do to me?” asked the terrified woman. Tyson’s grin widened just enough to show a bit of teeth. “Nothin’.” he said. The woman gave the same confused look as me and Chelsea. What was going on in his head?

“I ain't doing nothing to you,” he continued. “That little girl of yours, though…” The woman's face turned to one of pure terror as two thugs dragged a little girl, probably not even four years old yet, by the arms into view. Chelsea’s jaw and mine dropped. “Mommy?” asked the girl to the woman, confused and scared. Tyson turned and pulled out a knife.

“No!” screamed the woman. She tried to run at Tyson, but two of his thugs grabbed her from behind. “Leave her alone!” begged the woman, tears pouring out of her eyes. Tyson’s knife gleamed in the sun as he approached the little girl, who was also crying.

One of the thugs from before stepped forward a bit. “Dude!” he shouted. “This is way too far!” Tyson stared him down. He spat in the thug’s direction. The thug continued to protest. The woman and her daughter continued to scream and cry. The other thugs clearly wanted to protest too, but their fear held them back. Tyson came closer to the little girl.

Chelsea’s eyes darted to meet mine, and we nodded at each other. We pulled up our hoods, stood from our perches, and leapt off of the rooftop.

Just as Tyson was about to cut into the little girl's flesh, I landed directly in front of him and slammed my fist into his nose. He dropped the knife and stumbled backwards a bit. I spun around quickly, drew my pistol and put two bullets between the eyes of the thugs that were holding the girl. I motioned for her to stay behind me. Meanwhile, Chelsea landed on the thugs holding the mother and drove her hidden blades into their necks. I hurried the kid in the direction of her mother and Chelsea shoved them away from the area that was about to become a battlefield. “Go! Run! Get out of here!” she shouted at them. The mother gripped her daughter tight and nodded. The two bolted away. Chelsea rushed to my side and we stood ready to fight.

Tyson had recovered quickly and gave me a glare of hatred. “You're dead for that you little son of a-!” he shouted

“Yeah, yeah,” said Chelsea, annoyed.

“Can we just get to the part where we beat the crap out of you?” I said to the Templar as I flicked out my hidden blades. Tyson snarled and ordered his thugs to attack. Only a few of them made a move, and their lives were ended before any real fight could be put up. The remaining thugs looked at each other. The protester looked at me and my cousin. I thought fast. We were in the thick of it now. Might as well go all out.

“We're here to challenge you,” I said to Tyson. “For the title of gang leader.”

“Screw you!” spat Tyson.

“We want to fight, fight to the death. Winner takes all. You kill us and you stay in charge.” Tyson clearly hated us, but he still listened. Chelsea caught on with what I was doing.

“We kill you,” she said, “and the Assassins take this little kingdom of yours as our own.” Tyson was silent for a moment, but then he started to grin and chuckle. “You and what army?” he laughed.

“This army,” said the protester suddenly. We turned to him. The other thugs were starting to gather around him. “We're sick of you, Tyson. Your power-trip ends now.” Tyson suddenly scowled as his thugs turned on him, ready willing and able to help his mortal enemies. He looked at them, then at us. “One hour,” he said. “One hour to gather our men, and then I'll kill you all.” He turned and left, leaving Chelsea and I alone with our new army. We walked up to the lead protester.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“Jonathan,” he said. “Jonathan Drysan at your service. Who are you two anyway?”

“Carter Spainhower,” I said.

“Chelsea Little,” said Chelsea.

“We're part of a Brotherhood,” I said. “Let's just say we're not good friends with Tyson’s order.”

“He's in an order?” asked Jonathan.

“Well, he won't be for long, but yeah. The Templars. People set on taking freedom from the people and gaining every drop of power they can grab. We want to make sure that doesn't happen.”

“Well, shoot. We're on your side, then. Without a doubt. If we can get rid of people like Tyson, we'll help however we can.” His fellow thugs nodded in agreement. Chelsea and I smiled. “Alright then,” I said.

“We'll need more fighters,” said Chelsea. “Can you guys gather up any of your gang buddies that'll help us win the fight?”

“Of course,” said Jonathan.

“Great. We'll need all the help we can get. Thank you all so much.”

“No problem, friends.” We nodded each other, said our goodbyes, and set out to form an army for the main event.

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

A relatively large crowd had gathered around the abandoned lot that was turned into our arena. Dozens of men and women routing for both sides (though most were on our side) were cheering praises and threats. I stood by my cousin. Both of us were armed and ready. Soon enough, Tyson came sauntering into the ring. “Last chance to die quickly, Assassins,” he spat at us. We just rolled our eyes. I grabbed a nearby metal chair and sat backwards in it. “Same to you,” I said, looking the Templar straight in the eyes. “Shall we begin?” I said mockingly.

Tyson scowled he cracked his knuckles and about seven of his goons came up behind him, some holding knives and others choosing to just use their fists. Jonathan and a few of the many followers he gained came up behind me and Chelsea, equally ready to fight. Both sides just stared each other down for a moment. The crowd was quiet for a brief second. And then, with a cry of rage, Tyson came charging towards me, knife in hand. Right before he reached me, I span around out of the chair at lightning speed, grabbed the chair, and slammed it onto his head. By then, the crowd kicked up its roar again as the fight officially started. Both sides were instantly at each other's throats.

Tyson stumbled backwards and one of his thugs tried to take a swing at me. I dodged his attack and sucker punched him in the face. Meanwhile, Chelsea went running across the arena. She punched one enemy and jumped on top of a short scaffolding. She used her momentum to swing herself around and kick another guy in the face, knocking him out. Then, she twirled around and stabbed another guy in the chest. I saw Jonathan and his men taking a beating, but they were dishing out just as much pain.

I ran around the ring. I stabbed another enemy, saving one of our men. My ally returned the favor by knocking out an enemy that rushed at me. I silently thanked her, and kept darting through the small battlefield. I lunged on top of a metal bar, and leapt on the back of another thug. I drove my hidden blade into his neck, killing him. I turned and saw that Tyson had well recovered by then, and he was beating an ally of mine. He had grabbed a metal bar and bashed her in the temple with it. Another one of our men rushed up to him, grabbing the giant man from behind. Tyson shook him off, however. He threw him to the ground and slammed the metal bar into his head. Another thug was fighting with Chelsea for control of her knife, a fight that she won. She drove her blade into her enemy's back, and he fell with a yell.

By then, there were only five people left standing. Chelsea was helping Jonathan fight off the last standing thug while I stood face to face with Tyson. He clearly wasn't happy. We stared at each other for a second, and then I threw a punch. He dodged the blow and sucker punched me in the jaw, making my lip bleed. I quickly returned the punch, though, and I hit him square in the jaw. He was obviously getting tired, and I used that to my advantage. I spun around at lightning speed and drove my elbow right into his temple. He fell to the ground with a thud.

I was about to turn to Chelsea, but my eyes darted back to Tyson, who had bolted back up, head bleeding, and aimed a gun at my head with an angry yell. However, just as he was about to pull the trigger, Chelsea came darting up behind him. She elbowed him in the other temple. Tyson fell to the ground with another yell. I took my chance. I flicked out my hidden blade, and I jabbed it into his back. He yelled in pain as blood started pouring out.

I stood over him, as did Chelsea. I knelt down beside him. “Your reign of terror’s come to a close,” I said to him. He snarled.

“You Assassins,” he said. “You Assassins gon’ burn this city faster than I ever could.”

“No. Because we're gonna let freedom reign.”

“Freedom’s the thing that burns the world down. We need people like me to make sure people stay in line.”

“People can keep themselves in line. Even if they couldn't, you certainly wouldn't be the one to organize them.” The life started draining from his eyes. Soon enough, the gang leader was no more. I closed his eyes. “No one's life should be made up of oppression. That's why we will always fight for a better world,” I said. “Rest in peace.”

I stood up and faced Chelsea. She nodded. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out one of those eagle-patterned post-it notes and placed it on the Templar's body. It was over. Soon enough, Jonathan came up to us, out of breath. He looked down at the body and tiredly smiled at our victory. We helped up our surviving allies and we turned to face the crowd. I noticed some of Tyson’s allies were already turning and running. Let them go. We'll get them eventually. We all looked at the crowd, who seemed to expect us to say something. I turned to Chelsea, who shrugged, and then I looked at the crowd.

“Everybody,” I said, pulling words out my head. “I'm Carter Spainhower and this is Chelsea Little. And as of this moment, you all work for us!” I smiled and raised my arms a bit. The crowd cheered their approval. Jonathan smacked his hand on my shoulder and Chelsea’s, congratulating us. We shook hands with a few of our new helpers, thanking them for their support.

I noticed a flagpole nearby. A few gang members were pulling down the flag with the Wolf Fangs’ symbol on it. And in its place, they raised a white flag with a blue eagle pattern on it.

“What do we call the new gang?” Chelsea jokingly asked me. I laughed and thought about it for a moment. “How about ‘the Eagle Eyes’?”

“That's really uncreative,” she said jokingly. I laughed.

“Yeah, I know,” I said.

“It'll do,” said Jonathan, smiling. “So, um, what now?”

“Well, for me and Chelsea,” I said, “we’ve got more fish to fry.”

“Who'll stay and lead the gang while you guys are gone?”

“You could do it,” said Chelsea.

“What? Naw, man,” said Jonathan. He looked at us for a moment, realizing we were serious. “Really?” he asked. “Ya’ll think I could do it?”

“Sure,” I said. “You'd be great! We'd only let you do it on one occasion, though.”

“Yeah, man. Anything! Especially after all you've done for us.”

“We need you to monitor any Templar activity in all of the surrounding areas of your territory,” said Chelsea. “Keep us updated on any moves they make, and be sure to help us out when we call.”

“Yeah, I can do that! No problem!”

“Great!” I said. “Best of luck, man.” I shook his hand, so did Chelsea. “Can't thank you enough,” he said again. We nodded. We all said our goodbyes, and then I left with Chelsea. We noticed our new allies swarming towards their new gang leader as we left.

“I can't believe we pulled that off,” Chelsea said to me as we left the gang district.

“Honestly, neither can I,” I said. We smiled at each other. She offered a high five, and I took the offer. “We're awesome,” I said.

“I know,” said Chelsea jokingly. “I'm more awesome though.”

“In your dreams.”

“Squirt.”

“Dweeb.” We both looked at each other and just laughed.

“So who’s next on our hit list?” I asked her once we quieted down. She put her finger on her chin as she thought.

Suddenly, we heard shouting around the corner. We looked at each other and then rushed to see what was happening. We peeked our heads around the corner, not wanting to rush into any potential danger. Not far from our vantage spot, two police officers were hurrying out of their car, shouting at a random man who was just walking down the sidewalk. The man looked confused, and had his arms up, unsure of the reason for the officers’ advance on him. The officers drew their guns, and as they did, we caught a glimpse of the Templar crosses on their rings.

The officers kept yelling at the man. They were shouting random reasons to put him down, calling him false names and listing fake crimes. Eventually, the stress got to the innocent bystander. Blinded by confusion, he started to stumble away. Poor man made a terrible mistake. The Templars started shouting something about resisting arrest, but it was drowned out by the sounds of bullets. They didn't even kill the man instantly. They made him suffer for a few moments. The man protested in his last breaths, trying desperately to explain that he didn't do anything. The Templars didn't care. They just wanted to fuel their bloodthirsty power-trip.

By then, a few citizens had come out, staring at the murder. One Templar pointed his gun at the nearest civilian. “Get out of here!” he shouted. “Or we'll take you out, too!” The civilians, scared for their lives, darted back inside their apartments, closing the curtains and locking the doors. The Templars looked at each other and got back in their car. They drove away, leaving the body to be cleaned up later. Chelsea and I stared at each other as we gave a moment of silence for the poor civilian. Then we continued down the street, now set and determined to find the next target.

“Who's the Templar in charge to running the cops?” I asked Chelsea.

“Guy named Patrick Lawrence,” she said. “Big guy, always angry, loves to punch people and has a slight drinking problem.”

“So no one's gonna miss him?”

“Nope.”

“Have we ever sent anyone after him?”

“No one that came back alive. Afterall, guys got a whole army of corrupted police officers at his back.” We were quiet for a moment. “If we're gonna do this,” said Chelsea. “We're gonna have to plan this carefully. We aren't gonna get a lot of second chances.” I nodded. We both started thinking up a plan of attack.

“We should go after him when he's alone,” I said. “Take him out before he has the chance to call backup.”

“That's pretty risky,” said Chelsea.

“We don't have a lot of options. And we have to take this guy out before he enforces more crap like that scene back there.” Chelsea seemed hesitant, but she nodded in agreement. I nodded back. We started making our way back to the warehouse hideout. We needed to form a full battle strategy before we put down this mad dog.