Callum Lynch Aesthetic
(You’re probably wondering … wait why is he also on this day – well you’re just going to have to wait and see *smirks wickedly*)
Hint: Reread – New Orleans Chronicles – Aiden Pearce
Callum woke with a start.
The ceiling wasn’t his home, nor Aguilar’s. It wasn’t the hotel he had been recently crashed in, after his latest mission. He had no idea where he was, and could hear Altaïr’s lecture on not being aware, feel Proximo’s twenty mile run in the desert just because he’s an asshole, and Aguilar’s disappointed yet scared expression.
He turned his head to see a woman sitting next to him.
“You’re awake.”
“Where am I?” He asked casually as one can, when they’ve been kidnapped.
“It’s not important.”
“It is, when I’ve been brought here against my will.” His instincts wanted to choke the life out of her, but he needed more information.
“You were brought here for your own good. There was an altercation…”
‘Bullshit’
“…The police figured some downtime would be better than jail time.”
‘Bullshit’
“So you were brought to our facility, to help with your anger management issues.”
“What because I’m Irish I have anger management issues?” He tilted his head, studying her intently. She was a scientist, or she thought she was. Her pencil skirt, ivory blouse showed her curves, but it was covered by the labcoat, to make her seem more professional.
She smelled like a Templar.
The small pendant on her necklace showed her to be one.
“Well they are known for their more violent tendencies. I mean the history of the IRA, and the attacks on innocent citizens,” said in a very European brisk accent, trying not to show she had been educated in Britain.
“I’m not going to get into a political debate with you on Ireland and the oppression of Britain on my mother’s country.” He sat up and shifted his legs over the edge of the hospital style bed. The room was grey, very institutionalized. He looked down at the grey scrubs and white t-shirt, it would seem they were going for mental institution … though the place lacked the screaming of the insane. He gently stood, still feeling the drugs run through his veins. He would need to Feed … he looked at her one more time. “I will be leaving.”
“You can’t.” She moved around the bed to block the door. “You’ve been committed for treatment.”
“You think you can keep me?” He used his body to back her against the wall, though never touched her.
“It would be for your own good, Mr. Lynch.” She swallowed down her fear, then opened the door leading him outside. “I’m trying to find ways to curtail violent behaviors.”
He snorted. “By holding me against my will.”
“It’s for your own good.” She repeated a forced smile on her face. “If you followed the path you were on, you could’ve ended up in jail or worse … dead.”
‘Already dead luv.’
“Aye, so ya’ going to study me like a rat?” He moved around her, voice dropping low. “Inject me with a new kind of drug? Watch me like a bug, to see how I tick?”
“Actually we’re going to show you a purpose.”
The voice was haughty, annoying, and every inch a Templar. Callum turned, to face the newcomer, he reseted flexing his hand, wanting nothing but his blade to slide down to shank the bastard.
“I have a purpose.”
“To club crawl and get into bar fights?” He asked with a disdain only someone who was rich and powerful could pull off.
“It works.”
It dawned on him they had no idea who he was. They saw him as a punk lowlife who had no focus. He swallowed the hysterical laughter, that he was standing in front of two Templars, who had no idea he was an Assassin.
“Come with me, Mr. Lynch.”
“Sure why not.”
He followed him into an huge open chamber. Everything painted dull grey, to the point it hurt to look at anything. He could see camera’s and hear equipment running, but wasn’t quite sure what it all was.
He wasn’t the tech Assassin.
That would Nico of late.
Maybe he should kidnap Clay’s Mate once this done, learn a few things. He didn’t like be unawares, and if they were going to move this war into the cyber world, he needed to up his skills.
“Do you know where you come from?”
Callum turned his head slowly, frowning at the question. “Aye, the green hills of Ireland.”
“No your family.”
“Potato farmers.” He could see the tick in the Templar’s expression, he was annoying him. Good. “I didn’t get your name? It’s only polite to introduce yourself, especially as you’ve had me committed to this Institution.”
“Rikken.” He answered, the nodded to the girl. “My daughter, Sophia.”
“Pleasure.” He gave them both a half smirk. “Cut ta’ the chase, why am I here?”
“To learn about who you are.” He waved a hand, and suddenly the world changed around him.
He recognized it.
It was a small town outside Madrid.
And if the uniforms on the soldiers were any indication, it was early 16th Century.
“Spain. 1492.”
He looked down at himself, startled to see the Assassin uniform, the one Aguilar mostly wore, though today’s was more updated. He moved his hands around to see the bracers and blades, touched his waist to feel the bola and red sash.
What the hell was this.
He then saw a young boy being dragged away from his parents, and tossed into a prison wagon.
This wasn’t right – he wasn’t here for this, Aguilar told him about this particular mission. He was still in Ireland, dealing with a corrupt church official with Il Duce.
Did they think he was Aguilar?
Wrong twin asshole!
“You’re seeing the world of your Ancestor.”
Callum’s head snapped up, he looked around, not seeing Rikken or his daughter.
Instead there were fellow Assassins on either side of him. Except Aguilar was one of the few in Spain, outside Maximus.
Who the hell was the woman.
“This is who you were, and it could be you again.”
He shook his head, this wasn’t real …
He saw one of the soldiers put a gun to the parent’s head … Instincts kicked in, and before he could think twice, the blade slide down and he jumped from the roof.