#ac3 multiplayer

it's the year 2012 and your body is not your own. you've been told your name is still fillan mccarthy, the man sitting beside you is afraid and mad at someone he doesn't know but he is "still the Nightstalker". white light washes over you, it's brighter than anything you've ever seen in all of your little life. you wonder it's a supernatural origin or just a bad dream turning too real, but the hands guiding you out of the strange room are careful. they want to "get your systems back to work" and you can't tell what they mean, 'cause damn! they haven't seen you in your best form! you start to feel special after they sat your first meal up; it's way too much for your starved out stomach but they say their sorry when you throw up on the shiny white floor that looks like porcelain or something. maybe this is the heaven everyone was speaking of in church, maybe this would turn out to be hell? you tell yourself to stay on guard. the guy who claims to be joe looks at you with a face you cannot really explain; half dangerous, half worried, searching for something already known to him, maybe? his voice sounds like the growl of a kicked dog. "at least you won't die of hunger here, kid. get your shit together." you get your shit together. you always do. this new body is not used to throwing up so much, you notice. it shakes and shivers a bit longer than your original one, but at least your legs seem to be a bit longer than before; ready to run and ready to fight. you don't understand it's no longer your own choice.

scrawny pick pockets, always a nose too deep into trouble. a blond head full of feather light but dusty hair, he's not paying much of his attention to the little spiderwebs sticking to it from time to time he was crawling out of a dark cellar or the hideout he found the night before. "come on, boss, only a few coins!! won't spend it on shiny things, promise ya!" he never liked begging at connor for anything. but he got lousy jobs the weeks before. jobs for a pawn, nothing more than bringing 'treasure a' to 'place b' and so on. he was getting bored and tensed up a little bit more by each day. he was promised a good payment here, when he first got in. o'brian and de saint-praix praising their lifes as part-time-job-assassin's another time, and there he was now; still having to ask for a little more extra change after his delivery and the pardon of a big musculary man who allowed him to stay in a tiny room upstairs in a bed that could at least be called 'a bed' after all. connor kenway gifts him a testing glare, eyes so dark fillan mccarthy wonders if they had any color at all - if that was even possible, the hell was he supposed to know. the older man seems to need prove of his honesty, what makes the boy a little shifty, slightly offended. it's not as if he was jumping on every possible target the others had pointed him out before. he was doing a good job after all, wanted to be treated a real member of the brotherhood after all! - or at least a real man, when it comes to terms. being 'the kid' was bugging him often enough. connor softs his features by now. finally, the boy thinks, and he is more than grateful for a little more gold in his hands. he gets himself a real meal after weeks this afternoon.