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Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again	By : Imoshen Category: +A through F > Assassin's Creed Views: 3972 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed nor do I make money by publishing this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 8-Part 8
- 9-Part 9
- 10-Part 10
- 11-Part 11
- 12-Part 12
- 13-Part 13
- 14-Part 14
- 15-Part 15
- 16-Part 16
- 17-Part 17
- 18-Part 18
- 19-Part 19
- 20-Part 20
- 19
- 20
“I fought in the war Altair, I was an ancient assassin once – you don't need to think I'm a helpless damsel in distress alright.”

Altair threw Malik a look and shrugged, “Just saying.” Malik groaned but didn't reply when he watched Altair crossing the street, talking to somebody who was working outside the club before he decided to move further into the shadows of the alley he was waiting at.

Malik took a deep breath and leaned heavily against the wall, looking up the early morning sky. This was the first time he got some quiet to himself ever since he and Altair escaped from Abstergo's headquarter with the help of Lucy. His ears were ringing like they did after a wild night full of parties with loud music, like when he was finally at home in the quiet again, still remembering the beat of the music pulsating underneath his skin. He almost felt hangover too. It had been like a wild ride with Altair so far and it was frightening how easy they had fallen back into their old roles. They didn't have much of a choice did they? It was either submitting to their ancient selfs or letting Abstergo catch them but now, now that Malik felt the quiet for the first time ever since all this shit happened, he pushed his demanding Assassin back to the corner of his head and took a deep shuddering breath. He'd fought in the war, he knew how to keep a cool head in heated moments and he knew just how fucked up people could act when it came to save their own lives. He'd seen grown up men pushing small children aside to escape from a collapsing building, had seen children running past knocked over women while running from the flames of a missile. He'd seen shit, both as a soldier and a child who grew up in a war ridden country. It wasn't much of a task for Malik to act rational when it was needed and it seemed as if his ancient self was an expert on that matter, but now...

Malik looked back up to the other side of the street. Altair was going inside and Malik wiped his face with one hand. He didn't know how long it would take for Altair to get what they needed but he also didn't care. Before all of this had happened, he'd had a life and while the only person he considered family had died in combat, that didn't mean there weren't others he cared about. He reached with one hand into his pocket, some change jingling. Good.

Malik made his decision and went further down the alley, walking fast and after a short while, started jogging until he reached another street where he looked right, then left and saw the object of his desire down at another corner. Once he reached the telephone he threw some coins in, quickly dialing a number.

“St. Joseph Hospital, this is Dareen speaking. How may I help you?”

Malik was nervous, even his hands were trembling and for somebody who'd spent years and years with keeping still while waiting for his target to arrive in front of his gunsight that meant a lot. He released a low breath, “Yes, I was wondering if you could transfer me to the room of one of your patients. Her name's Marta Rodriguez, she was brought to your hospital a few days ago...”

The woman at the other end of the line hummed and he could hear her typing something on a keyboard. “I'm sorry but we don't have a patient with that name”, she said thoughtful after a while.

“But I got your call just on Tuesday, I'm on her list of contacts in case of emergency”, Malik said with a frown, turning around to look down the street in both directions.

“Tuesday you say?”

Malik nodded, “Yes.”

Dareen took a sharp breath of air and Malik went tense, straightening his back. “Oh.”

And all of the tension drained right away as he felt as if somebody had ripped out his spinal cort, slowly strangling him with it while his heart stopped a whole set of beats. “I found her sir”, the operator told him in a small voice. “Mrs. Rodriguez was taken to our hospital in Tuesday.”

Malik closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose and even though he already knew the answer, there was still hope lingering in his heart like an old rusty tip of a knife pierced through it. “Can I speak to her?”

“I'm sorry sir but she passed on Wednesday.”

Malik nodded again. “Alright”, he said in a broken voice and leaned against the telephone booth. “Thanks for your help”, he muttered and hung up.

Cars were honking around him, people were rushing down the street to catch their bus or subway in order to make it to work on time. A few children were passing him, chattering and laughing with their heavy backpacks ready to go to school. A man in a cab was leaning out of his window and yelling down the street because there'd been a pileup and now was stuck in a traffic jam. Life went on around Malik and yet it felt as if his whole world had ended. He felt frozen, cold on the inside and as if he had just entered some sort of nightmare.

Marta was dead. The woman who'd given him and Kadar a home as children, was dead. Only a week ago he'd sat with her in her kitchen, eating baklava. She had told him about being kicked out of her home and he hadn't told her back then, but he had already made plans to help her. Malik had never been a man who threw his money around him. He was humble, had been like this ever since he was a kid and grew up with nothing. He'd saved his money, had found somebody to take care of it... It wasn't much but it was enough that he would've been able to maybe buy Marta a room in a retirement home. He had sent his booker an email just when he'd arrived at work that day but ever since he'd gotten the call from St. Joseph and with Abstergo, he never had gotten the chance to check for an answer.

He threw another quarter into the phone and waited for somebody to pick up. “Just who the hell is this?”, came the grumpy voice of a man through the line. “It's too damn early so this better be good.”
“Marc, it's Malik”, he said with a hoarse voice as if he hadn't spoken in years and he rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I need to ask you a favor.”

“Malik”, Marc said and he sounded a bit surprised. “Yeah I got your email but you never answered me. You just need to tell me how much you need and it won't be a problem I make the transfer.”

“Yes, no...” Malik sighed. “My plans have changed. I need all of it. In cash and now.”

Marc released a low whistle. “All of it? Now?”, he repeated and Malik groaned.

“Yes. Can you do it?”

“I- shit, Malik it doesn't work like this. I need at least three days to get such an amount of money in cash, fuck – why do you even need it? Wait. No, don't tell me. It's none of my business and I really don't care.”

Malik silently agreed with him on that. “I can offer you three hours.”

“Three hours? Are you fucking nuts?”

“Is that a yes or no Marc?”

“It's a no, look... Malik... What you're asking me for is impossible-”

“I pay you 25 %.”

There was silence for a long while and all Malik could hear was some breathing, then “Alright. Come to my place at noon.”

Malik smiled bitterly. “Thank you Marc.”

“Yeah fuck you”, and he hung up.

Malik kept standing there for a while. Marta's death still weighted him down but at the same moment a whole new opportunity had opened up in front of him. He needed to make his way back to Altair.

He walked back down the street, trying to avoid to bump into other people. He could taste bitter bile at the back of his throat while his thoughts went zigzag in his mind, jumping from between Masyaf and Altair to Marta and Kadar, to an old life he wondered if it have ever been true to the mess he was currently in and back again. Marta was dead. Kadar was dead. All the strings leading to his old life had been cut through and even though Altair was a man he trusted, even though Altair was the only man he could rely on, Malik didn't want to turn back to him – the modern half of his personality was still blaming him while his ancient self reasoned that it was nothing but Abstergo's fault. Malik groaned and rubbed his temple – everything of this was just nuts.

He quickly found his way back to the alley but the sight he was greeted with didn't do anything to lower his blood pressure. “The fuck?”, Malik whispered as he looked around the dumpster he was hiding behind.

Altair had just pulled off his shirt and was now starting to open his belt to pull down his pants – whoever the guy was standing in front of Altair, he slowly started panicking as he watched the man strip.

“Fucking novice”, Malik hissed and watched next how a cop pulled up beside them, slowly getting out and walking towards Altair. He quickly tried to catch the number printed on the car. 31. Alright. Altair was arrested, put into the backseat and Malik saw how they drove off, leaving the man behind who in turn pulled out his cell immediately, dialing a number and holding it up to his ear. Malik thought about what would be the better option – following the man or getting to the 31^st police department? Or maybe he'd just go to meet up with Marc and trust for Altair to be a big boy and taking care of himself.

Malik sighed. He was certain that the man was an Abstergo guy and it probably wouldn't take long until more of them would arrive. No. He wouldn't risk that. He didn't want to take it up with Abstergo, he just wanted to get back to his old life and leave everything behind.

Malik turned around. If he would catch the next train, he'd be just in time at Marc's.

xxx

“Here. That's all. Minus the 25 % this is all what you get.”

Malik collected the money sprawled on top of the table in front of him, putting the bills into a plain envelope. “Thought it would have been more but this is alright”, Malik muttered and looked up at Marc. He didn't remember anymore how he met Marc the first place just that when he came back from overseas and when he got out of the military, he was there and administrating his money. He probably got the tip from one of his comrades or something. Malik didn't really care. What he cared for was the money in his hands and what opportunities it would give him. “I'm not even going to ask you how you got this so fast”, he said with a frown and Marc leaned back on his kitchen chair, spreading his arms to each side of his body.

“I'd prefer if you wouldn't ask either but hey, I delivered right? So everything's alright.”

Malik scoffed. Everything was far away from being alright but this wasn't the time nor the place to talk about, not to mention Marc was probably the last person he wanted to tell about his problems with Abstergo. “Yeah, right”, he muttered and put the envelope into the pocket of his jacket. Then he sighed and his hands sunk into his lap. “Marc... look, there's a reason why I asked you to do this-”

“I really don't wanna hear it.”

Malik looked up. “Yes and I really don't gonna tell you about it just- Maybe some guys will come looking for me so I suggest you maybe stay at a friend's for a couple of days.”

Marc looked at him and his eyes went wide, eyebrows arched and he released a deep sigh. Then he shook his head. “Whatever it is Malik, I honestly don't care. What I care for is this”, he said and held up his amount of money. “It's touching how much you care about my well being but I'm not going anywhere.”

Malik pursed his lips but nodded eventually. “Alright. Not like as if I didn't warn you”, he said and pushed himself off the table and got up. Marc got up as well and for a booker, he lived in one shit hole of an one room apartment. The kitchen slash bathroom was dirty, the couch also Marc's bed and somehow Malik thought this wasn't really Marc's place but more something like some sort of very strange office.

“Give me a call when you need a good booker again”, he grinned and pulled Malik into a hug, patting his back roughly.

Malik snorted. “I doubt it”, he said but winked at Marc who stood in the door leaning against the frame, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Everybody says that but sooner or later they all come back to me”, he laughed and waved Malik off before he went back into his apartment, the door falling shut again.

Malik shook his head and smiled, walking down the hall and heading for the stairwell. The building Marc was living in was in bad shape, there was an elevator but it wasn't working so Malik had no choice but to take the stairs to get from the 5^th floor downstairs.

“Mr. Al-Sayf?”

He whirled around when the voice came out of the shadows. “Who wants to know?”, he said slowly, his whole body going tense while he was preparing himself to fight his way out of the building.

“A friend”, the man said, his face hidden by the shadows but Malik could hear the smile in his voice as well as the Russian accent.

“I don't have friends”, Malik growled but the man chuckled.

“Well, let's say then I'm an ally.”

“I don't have allies”, Malik said and took a step back, is fingers curling into a tight fist. “You better tell me what you want or I make sure you'll eat through a straw for the next couple of weeks.”

“There really is no need for violence Mr. Al-Sayf. I'm not with Abstergo.”

Malik gritted his teeth. “How do you know about Abstergo?”

“A man like me just knows about them.”

“Just knows about them?” Malik arched an eyebrow and took another step back. If he had to he would kill the man and while he was still thinking about his next decision, the one-armed assassin inside of him wouldn't hesitate to rip out the man's heart if it meant it would save him some trouble. Apparently this was a flight or fight situation and while Malik was more keen of the idea to take flight, his ancient personality wanted to fight and Malik wondered why that was. Didn't it say to hide in plain sight? Do not compromise the Brotherhood? Or whatever was left of it. Malik didn't even know if the Order still existed.

“Abstergo is nothing but the modern Templar Order.”

Malik scoffed. “No shit Sherlock”, he told him and wrinkled his nose.

“And I am not a Templar, Mr. Al-Sayf.”

“Then who are you?”, Malik pondered.

The man stepped out of the shadow, a smile indeed caressing his lips, dirty blond hair and a small beard on his chin. “My name's Daniel Cross. I'm with the Brotherhood.”
- 19
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Down The Rabbit Hole And Back Again