Silence Between the Explosions

[madimpossibledreamer]

Some dialogue taken directly from the game and not just paraphrased.
Also Desmond you actual disaster you do not say vaguely racist things to girls who could probably erase you from existence. I really wish he’d stop because it’s bugging me, but it’s also in character given how he reacted to Altaïr’s statue, so.  I do like Alice's response, though.

Main Points:
Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: Desmond asks around about the fog and gets to play with explosives.
Word Count: 1424
Rating: Teen

         It feels like Desmond’s hit a bit of a dead end, because not only does the doc not have more for him, but his notes, while useful, don’t give somewhere to go next. He probably needs to find one of the remaining survivors from the ship, Joe Slater, but given that the guy attacked people and ran out from the station early on into the whole fog-zombie situation, who knows if he’s still alive or where to find him. Instead, he decides to talk to everybody again and see if they have any clues that can help piece this puzzle together. Deputy Andy agrees that the Draug are involved, just based on his own experience trying to find the culprit, and says that he’d actually seen some of the Draug dragging people out to sea. “If you ever get tired of them, maybe take out some of the pods. They guard the things like they’re valuable.” He had, but, well, maybe he should just snipe a few every time he’s at the beach. It’s not much, but confirmation they’re at least thinking the same things is nice. And then he goes to talk to the fixer guy outside, Moose, who greets him with ‘Namaste’.
         He figures it’s probably easiest to start with a simple question: whether or not Moose is up for fixing up a bike, if he finds one. It turns out that Moose is, in fact, very enthusiastic about the prospect; he’s got a vintage Harley himself. He’d considered just riding out when everything started going down, but he had trouble turning his back on people who needed him, just like with the werewolves and other things he’d run into during his American road trip to find himself, and he owed a debt. He’d also rejected offers from the Big Three. “I take no sides, and I’d be no use to them. But this ‘united against darkness thing’ I can get behind. We’re all in this together, and we’ve got work to do.” He’s no Leonardo, but Desmond likes his style anyway.
         The fog didn’t start by turning everyone into zombies, and it wasn’t the sailors biting people that started the infection, either. According to Moose, the fog came with whispers, snatches of a song, and the townsfolk followed the whispers out to sea, where presumably the Draug had something to do with the rest. The only reason he can say any of this for certain is that he was there. It got to him, too, and if not for the Deputy hauling him back using a lasso, basically, he’d be one of them, out there.
         “I don’t think I’ll ever win him over, though.” ...Definitely not what Desmond expected, but hey, everybody’s got different tastes. He’s rooting for the guy.
         And then Moose actually asks for help—not in being a wingman, but for making explosives. Desmond remembers, through Ezio, how useful and fun explosives are, and his enthusiasm is catching, or vice versa. “Life is sacred, every moment is precious...which is what bring us back to blowing up dead guys.” He gets to collect the ingredients, and then, as a treat, he actually gets to use the results. Moose calls it testing, but he’s pretty sure they both know the fixer actually knows what he’s doing.
         It’s one of the easier missions he’s done, really. Gathering supplies, particularly with a bag that has yet to run out of space, will always be one of the easier things to pull off. It’s not until he’s heading back down the familiar road from the fire station to the sheriff’s department that he slows down and suddenly it’s not very standard or straightforward at all, because that’s a familiar little girl, wearing a small dress this time, sitting under one of the umbrellas at the deli. She’s sitting at one of the tables with the umbrellas, swinging her legs and looking every bit a normal, bored little girl. Except for the fact that not ten feet away, there are zombies eating a corpse, and she doesn’t look fazed at all. A raven’s sitting on the awning, watching her, though Desmond can’t tell whether it’s scared of her or curious or what. If he could communicate to the raven, he’d probably vote for ‘scared’. And, as he gets even closer, he realizes she’s drinking an orange juice box.
         “I’m supposed to use that for explosives,” he tells her, and then feels a little silly, because that isn’t exactly what he’d meant to say. He’s just a little off guard.
         She narrows her snake’s eyes at him, considering, and then, silently, pushes the opened pack of orange juice boxes in his direction with her foot. She’s definitely stronger than she looks. She also happens to be wearing mini-crocs, which is an inane detail for his mind to focus on.
         He considers greeting her normally before he just gives up, generally, and asks her directly, “Why are you here?”
         He’d be slightly concerned about her getting eaten alive if he didn’t get the feeling she’d probably eat them first.
         She kicks her feet some more, pouting a little, which—did she sneak out? Who the hell is in charge of her? “I wanted to see how you were progressing, Desmond Miles.”
         ...Right. “Look, is there a name I should call you, or…?”
         “Names have power, so be careful. You can call me Alice.” Like Lewis Carroll. Shaun had made a reference to that, too, hadn’t he? Or Old Shaun, anyway.
         “Well, Alice, any other fortune cookies you want to pass along?” He’s mocking her a little, he can’t help himself, but he is also definitely very, very afraid of her.
         She reaches over and flicks his wrist, and while he’s not sure what, exactly, she did, he falls to his knees with the intense pain. Alice glances him over and nods, smiling, at her handiwork. “If you mouth off in the mouth of a dragon, do not be surprised by the results,” she snarls—and those aren’t human teeth, are they—mocking him right back.
         Okay, yeah, he might be a little pissed off about Jin, still. “I’m not much of a fan of how you people do things.” He hasn’t seen a lot, but seriously, thinking about it, he can say the same for all of the factions he’s met so far.
         She knows exactly what he’s referring to, but then, given his watchers, he’d be more surprised if she didn’t know. “The professor? You see his situation and feel his plight, ignoring the millions of others just as trapped. Even his wardens are trapped in mandalas of their own making, patterns of personality, expectation, and fate. Only through enlightenment can we even see our position. Only through further enlightenment can you make the puppeteers themselves dance.”
         That’s...strangely straightforward, for once. And while he understands it, it comes off like a cop-out, too. “By your definition, personal responsibility doesn’t exist. I don’t agree with that.” He’s pretty sure Moose would agree with him. Probably Shaun, too.
         She shivers, looking a little like her age—or rather, probably, the age she’s pretending to be. “You believe free will exists before enlightenment. I do not. We will see who is right.” She takes a deep breath and looks back at him, all trace of being a normal little girl lost again. “We tried to inform you, but the Dragon pay attention to the actors of the play, not their props. One outbreak overlays another, the return of a very rare, very old disease. It is a concern, so please gather more data about tentacles and nightmares.”  She gets up, hesitates, and hugs him where he’s still kneeling.
         “Sorry,” he whispers, hugging her back, and he’s surprised to actually feel her shake a little, like he had actually hurt her feelings, like she’s on the verge of crying. Because yeah, he does actually feel a little bad. Not about being angry at her, that’s justified, although for all he knows she wasn’t actually involved at all, but just…
         “Words are weapons. Be careful how you wield them,” she warns him, backing away and teleporting out the same way she had the first time—to Agartha.
         It’s still fun blowing up zombies and setting down mines and throwing molotovs, but as if everyone’s out to ruin the explosives party, Geary sends him another ‘postcard’, this one with a jibe about two-hour office parties where the only refreshments are that store-bought dip, which is almost certainly directed straight at Shaun.