#prompted by...

There was something wrong. All right, there was a lot wrong, but the most important thing for Alex right then was –the fact he and Desmond were in separate bodies- Desmond was attacking him, his hidden blade gleaming in the sunlight streaming in from the safehouse's window. Alex had only seen Desmond's face a few times in the mirror and in his memories, but he knew that expression, knew what Desmond was feeling when it twisted like that. The Bleeding Effect. Shit. And fuck, how long had it been already? Twenty seconds? It never reached that time anymore (Desmond didn't experience the Bleeding Effect at all anymore) and – Alex grabbed Desmond's arm as he lunged at him and threw him to the ground. The air whooshed out of Desmond and Alex waited to see what he would do next. It seemed to work, Desmond lying there, not moving; his breathing was harsh though, too much to be from the exertion of the fight but all at once, the tension left Desmond's body. Good. But then Desmond gritted his teeth and glared up at him. "I guess that answers my question," Desmond spat. Alex frowned, uncertainty coiling in him. He'd seen the other signs earlier and this was just one more to add to the pile. "It explains why I was seeing your face while I was under the Bleeding Effect. "Des-" He saw the way Desmond tensed and Alex hopped over Desmond's sweeping leg. He snorted at that – before, he would have just let Desmond hit him, but after all the time in the Animus, it was habit to dodge. Desmond was already on his feet by the time Alex landed, his hidden blade ready. "I'm not-" "Shove it, Doctor Mercer." Alex froze. "There's no way I'm going to help you-" Alex barked out a short laugh and Desmond trailed off, scrutinising him. So he hadn't been dreaming. Not that he could deny something had happened when he had found himself in a hidden away area of Central Park with a vague memory of stumbling across some scientist babbling about a rip in space as electricity sparked everywhere. And he was alone in his head – he couldn't hear Desmond's voice or feel his presence, but he could shift to Desmond's form so he knew Desmond wasn't a dream he'd had. As Alex had had made his way to the Assassin's safehouse, he'd noticed Manhattan's skyline was different from what he remembered – it was taller, older. The city didn't carry the scars brought upon it by the outbreak, both in its buildings and the people. The hideout had been empty too, with no signs of it ever being used except as a house. So he really had somehow found himself on an alternate world, a world where the outbreak had never happened, where he had never been created, but Alexander Mercer was a fucking Templar. He shouldn't have been surprised. "I'm not Doctor Mercer," Alex told Desmond, not holding back his snort. He shifted to Desmond's form and continued, watching Desmond take a step back, his eyes going wide. "And I'm not you either. I'm from another planet." "…Right," Desmond said, eyeing him. "And you just happen to look like Mercer and me." "You know about the Ones Who Came Before but you can't believe a shapeshifter from another world?" Alex said, amused. Desmond's jaw dropped for a second before he frowned. "Okay, so you aren't 'my' Mercer, but how do I know you're not a worse version of him?" "Define 'worse'," Alex said dryly. He had been created for the sole purpose of killing as many people as possible, in the worst ways imaginable, but then, Mercer had been the one to create and release him in a fit of petty spite. "I was working with you to fight the Templars," he told Desmond, shrugging. "You defected?" Desmond said, his hidden blade lowering an inch. Alex lifted his lips, more baring his teeth than smiling. "I was never a Templar." The door behind Alex crashed open and Alex whirled around, his tendrils thrumming under his skin as he raised his arm to strike. He paused when he saw the other Assassins in the doorway, guns levelled at him. They must have seen him on the cameras or sensors that had been installed around the safehouse. "They don't work on me," he told them, dropping his arm, making an attempt to appear harmless. If they had been the Assassins that knew him, they would have known it was a meaningless gesture, but they weren't. "Yeah, we only have your word for that," Rebecca said, her eyes narrowed. True. "So shoot me," Alex said, shrugging. The gun's retort only registered after a chunk of his arm was blasted off. Alex watched the wisps of smoke rise from the nose of Bill's gun as he felt the wound regenerate, his tendrils writhing before smoothening out. "Satisfied?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Well then," Shaun said, his voice faint, "that was…unexpected." Was he going to have to explain this again? But when Alex opened his mouth, he stopped, hearing Desmond's sharp intake of breath. Desmond's shoulders were stiff and he was looking at something to Alex's left and fuck. The Bleeding Effect again, already? At this rate, Desmond wasn't going to make it through this one. "What are you doing?" Bill demanded when Alex hurried to Desmond's side. "I can help him." By turning him into a monster. And this time, it wouldn't be an accident. Clenching his jaw, Alex shifted back to his own form so it would be easier to set himself apart from the hallucinations. "Desmond, you don't have much time." Could he even hear him? "I can get rid of the Bleeding Effect, but you'll be like me." Alex sighed harshly. "I eat humans." He hadn't on the way over, coming across a few stray cats, but that wasn't going to be enough for him in the long run. "But I'll keep my sanity." Desmond's voice was louder than it should be, probably to be 'heard' over the hallucinations. Desmond's hand was flexing, the hidden blade sliding in and out. "Yes." "And…" Desmond screwed his eyes shut, swallowing. "The other Desmond…" "Didn't have a choice," Alex said quietly. It had been far too late by the time they'd realised what had happened. Desmond's lips twisted up, a short laugh escaping from him. "Do it." "Desmond-!" Alex nodded. He reached forward and placed a hand on the side of Desmond's neck, feeling his pulse jump under his palm. There wasn't any time – Alex's palm sunk into Desmond's skin as the tendrils reverted back to their default form and plunged into Desmond's neck. Alex half-closed his eyes as he concentrated, pulling back on his instinct to infect everything and – something sang back at him and Alex twitched when he realised it was Desmond's Those Who Came Before genes. He could also feel Desmond's presence – it felt brittle, on the verge of cracking, far worse than he had ever felt with the Desmond he knew. 'Good to know he wasn't lying about that.' He ignored that comment, focusing on why he was there in the first place. This Desmond's mind, even though it was different, it was so familiar and Alex found the groups of ancestor memories with ease, bigger than Alex had felt and he started nudging them towards their proper places. With every cluster Alex packed away, the pressure around him eased, feeling less like he was surrounded by water. 'Woah…' 'Feel better?' he asked as he continued. 'I …Uh. Yeah? We can communicate like this? He can hear my thoughts? Ah, shit, that means he can hear me-' 'Mm. Good.' Alex slotted the last of Connor's memories into the right area. 'That's all the memories so far.' 'And that's it?' Alex could feel Desmond's hope as Desmond tested the ease of how well he could think again. 'No.' The hope crashed. 'The Animus screws up your memories every time you use it.' 'And every time you do this, the less human I become?' 'Yeah.' Whatever happened, even if he deactivated Blacklight, Desmond was going to lose more of his human DNA every time he had to clear Desmond's head. And once there was enough Blacklight in Desmond's body, it would probably gain its own consciousness. 'Gain – what?' Alex sighed, sorting through his own memories and presented some to Desmond. 'This is what happened to us.' '…You're giving me more memories after sorting out my own?' Desmond's tone was wry, wary amusement surrounding Alex. He snorted, sending the impression of a shrug and pulled the memories back to him. He was far too used to sending Desmond the information he needed and vice versa – it was quicker that way. 'I was caught up in a nuke blast,' he told Desmond. He continued, not waiting for his reaction. 'Most of my body was destroyed but then…a part of me found its way into "my" Desmond's body – we're not sure how but we're assuming he drank me.' 'He WHAT?' 'He drank me,' Alex repeated, not bothering to elaborate. It wasn't important. 'The part of me in Desmond started growing and replacing his DNA until there was enough of me to regain sentience.' 'So – you're… This…sounds like a long and complicated story. What is he exactly?' He snorted again. 'It is.' After making sure Blacklight was inactive, he started pulling back. 'The longer I stay here…' 'Uh, yeah, sure.' Alex blinked when he was out of Desmond's body and he drew his hand back. Where his hand had lay, Desmond's skin was flushed pink, like he'd been blushing. For a second, miniature tendrils writhed to the surface of Desmond's skin before it turned back to Desmond's normal tone. "Desmond…?" "Still here, and no longer feeling an urge to paint the walls with my blood anymore," Desmond said, a weak smile on his face. At this distance, Alex could see the dark smudges under his eyes, and his face paler then it should have been. He sighed, crossing his arms as he turned to face the other Assassins. The explanation was going to take some time, trust even longer, but the first thing he was going to do was find out what happened to Dana. Then he would find out just what exactly Mercer had been doing on this world. ______________________________________________

Takeo sighed as he pulled his hair tie out in one smooth movement - Tao was in his room, either busy with making more gadgets or planning yet another joke, while M-21 had gone out for a walk (Tao had made a comment about the approaching full moon in a few nights time, and both he and M-21 had groaned at that). He shook his head, threading his fingers through the hair at his nape so they didn't stick up. He had cleaned his guns, but there were still a few hours until he would usually turn in for the night, so Takeo headed downstairs to the kitchen, wondering if there was anything in the fridge that he could snack on. Takeo only realised he'd left a few bullets in one of his pockets once he'd left his room, but he didn't go back to return them to their case; he'd be returning soon enough anyway. He was there, which wasn't that surprising, reading a leather-bound book in his hands, a cup of tea in front of him on the table. Takeo smiled a little at Frankenstein's continued efforts to teach him how to play games before he started looking through the fridge. When he found something that didn't appear like it was made specifically for him, Takeo pulled it out. He felt the familiar prickle at the back of his neck when someone was watching him when he closed the door - but there wasn't any bloodlust to it either. When Takeo turned around, he had laid the book flat across his lap and was gazing at him; Takeo wasn't sure, but he thought he could see a slight crease between his eyebrows. "Er, yes?" Takeo asked, putting the plate down on the counter. He didn't say anything for a few seconds and Takeo resisted the urge to fidget. "Your hair tie's different." Takeo's eyebrows rose at that statement and he glanced down at his wrist, where he'd put it. He'd noticed? "It is, but…" Takeo trailed off, confused. He had never seen the hair tie he'd used when he'd arrived in South Korea – it had been destroyed in his second battle with Frankenstein (or maybe lost, but the result was the same either way), and Takeo had only met him afterwards. "There are other people who saw you before I did," he said as he leaned forward to place his book on the table. …Ah. Right, of course. Frankenstein had seen him and from what he'd learned from Miss Seira and Regis, nobles could also pick up information directly from people's minds; Tao knew what his hair tie looked like as well and, knowing Tao, might have told him directly. Takeo nodded, tracking back to what they'd originally been talking about. "I only had one of that kind of hair tie," he told him, "and these are fine." Takeo gestured to his wrist. It had taken a little getting used to, but it wasn't that different from what he had originally done. He studied the hair tie before returning his gaze to Takeo. "I could remake it for you, if you wish." …Takeo was sure he'd misheard that. Did he just offer to-? "Are you sure?" Takeo asked, suddenly feeling out of his depth, not entirely sure what was going on. Takeo saw the corner of his lips curl up slightly. "I would not have said it if I wasn't willing to." Uh. "All right…?" Wait. "What do you need to make it?" As far as Takeo was aware, he could change objects, but not create things out of nothing. "I could make it from your bullets," he said, tilting his head towards Takeo's pocket. Takeo's hand instantly went to it, feeling the bullets there. How had he…? He must have heard them knocking against each other while he was walking to the fridge. "Yeah, that's fine," Takeo said as he pulled them out. There were three bullets in his palm when he opened his hand, and Takeo raised his head in time to see he was standing now, lifting an arm up towards him, his hand lax. Takeo wasn't sure what he had expected to happen (maybe feeling heat, or maybe feeling his aura press down on his palm), but the bullets and their shell casings melted, forming a shining pool in the centre of his palm. The change was fast enough that Takeo tried to cup his hand to make sure it didn't drip from his palm, but the metal stayed in place like it was viscous. In the next few seconds, the liquid started changing, a thin swirl appearing on the top that swiftly indented all the way down, making it look like a curled up snake or – ah. Takeo could see the links forming next, one end of the chain flattening out to create the cross at the same time. It wasn't long until the changes stopped and when Takeo picked the chain up with his other hand, it felt the same as the original. Looked the same as the original, Takeo realised, seeing the scratches across the cross' surface – they were in the same places as the original's had been. It wasn't an exact replica, the bullets made from copper rather than silver, but Takeo didn't find himself caring. "Thank you," Takeo said, smiling as he put the chain down in front of him and started to gather up his hair. Once he was done, he picked up his hair tie and started going through the familiar motions of tying up his hair. It was soothing in a way, doing that again. He smiled faintly back at him before he sat back down, picking the book up again. When Takeo was done, he glanced down at the plate of snacks for a second. Instead of eating a few of them and returning to his room as he'd originally intended to, Takeo picked up the plate and walked over to his side. Maybe he'd keep him company before going to bed instead. ______________________________________________

* * *

Regis eyed the oven. "You don't know how to turn it on." Which, all right, was a little uncharitable considering how he and Takeo had enlisted Tao's help to figure out how to use the Frankenstein-designed piece of technology. Before Regis could admit or deny anything, M-21 started pressing the buttons in the correct sequence, the monitor lighting up beside it.

* * *

The kitchen didn't blow up; M-21 considered that a success. And dinner looked far more palatable than what Tao's had (not that they'd eaten it, and M-21 was fairly sure Frankenstein had taken some to use as a test subject). Frankenstein beamed at them both when they started bringing the plates out, while Takeo and Tao looked on curiously at what was on their plate, congratulating Regis on what he'd done, Regis giving them a flustered response in return. M-21 smirked at the sight and Regis raised an eyebrow at him when he saw it. Which started yet another argument, but M-21 didn't mind.

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