You are a hitman.
But then again, so is everyone else in this poorly lit, over-crowded office. “HITman” is an acronym that stands for Human Intelligence Task … man, coined last June by the company’s Community Motivation Monitor, a volunteer brown-noser named Jerry, who you’re fairly certain isn’t being paid any extra for taking on the responsibility.
At some point in the 90s, your employer discovered that, despite the obvious advantages of modern computers, there are still certain tasks that human brains are more adept at performing — things like recognizing simple colors, converting images of business cards into text, and listing objects in a photograph. When giant corporations need these small tasks done, they assign them to your employer for pennies, and your employer, in turn, assigns them to you for even less. It’s the equivalent of doing CAPTCHAs for a living, and it’s definitively awful.
Having just arrived, you sit down with a large mocha bravo latte, the one small joy able to propel you through a working week. It cost the same as you earn in an hour, so you better start making it up.
You turn on your computer. A message reads: “Identify the most common name of this color.”
Type “blue”.
Type “orange”.
“Nice work,” you say to yourself patronizingly. You hit “next”, and another task appears on screen. It reads: “Type the name and title of the person represented on this business card in plain text, name and position separated by a comma.”
Image Source: PSD Graphics
Type “John Smith, marketing manager”.
Type “Furly Wrinkleface, pet taxidermist”.
It’s not like anyone is double-checking this stuff anyway, you think as you randomly choose an answer. You hit “next”, and another task appears on screen: “Type the name and title of the person represented on this business card in plain text, name and position separated by a comma.”
Image Source: PSD Graphics
Type “John Smith, marketing manager”.
Type “Furly Wrinkleface, pet taxidermist”.
This has got to be what it feels like for NASA employees when they recover astronauts from dangerous situations!, you think sarcastically. You hit “next”, and another task appears on screen. It reads: “Identify the objects in this photo, separated by a comma.”
Image Source: Beds Plymouth
You type, “lamp, table”.
You type, “Your mom, your mom”. Hilarious.
You’re too focused on the mocha-flavored caffeine swirling over your tongue to give a damn about the photo. By day’s end, you’ll have done over a thousand of these, and the accuracy will level out to a clean 95% or higher. Exactly what you need to avoid being canned. You hit “next”, and another task appears on screen. It reads: “Identify the objects in this photo, separated by a comma.”
Image Source: Beds Plymouth
You type, “lamp, table”.
You type, “Your mom, your mom”. Hilarious.
Image Source: Google Maps
As you select the right answer, a strange chat window appears on your screen. The username is “Trinitus” and the message reads: “You are a lock. Discover the key at sunset.” Soon, an address appears beneath it. A quick Google Maps search shows a small parking lot behind the abandoned gas station a few blocks from your apartment.
“I’m not about to show up in some vacant lot after dark because someone figured out my AOL Instant Messenger handle. Who is this?”
“Sure. I’ve got nothing else going on tonight … or any night.”
It’s a creative scam, sure, but it’s a scam. Close the window and go back to work like this never happened.
Image Source: Google Maps
As you try to make this job look harder than it actually is by purposely tanking an answer, a strange chat window appears on your screen. The username is “Trinitus” and the message reads: “You are a lock. Discover the key in fifteen minutes.” Soon, an address appears beneath it. A quick Google Maps search shows a small parking lot behind an abandoned gas station about ten minutes away. Leaving work will probably get you fired, and the rent is just about due.
“I’m not about to show up in some vacant lot because someone figured out my AOL Instant Messenger handle. Who is this?”
“Sure. I’ve got nothing else going on tonight … or any night.”
It’s a creative scam, sure, but it’s a scam. Close the window and go back to work like this never happened.
Image Source: Interactive
You angrily type the reply and wait. A few seconds pass, and this “Trinitus” character still hasn’t written you back. It looks like whoever was messaging you has either signed off or decided to ignore your question.
If they can’t be bothered replying, then you can’t bother being bothered. It was probably just a bad joke anyway. Close the window.
Stand up from your desk and make for the parking lot. You are a lock! Well, your mom always said you had potential, anyway.
Image Source: Skyscraper
You stand up hurriedly, smashing the tops of your thighs into the bottom of your desk as you rise from the uncomfortable chair that’s been your butt’s best friend for far too long. The noise of your keyboard rattling against the corkboard attracts the attention of your coworkers.
“Woah-ho-ho!” Jerry yells excitedly from a cubicle across the small room. “Someone is excited to do Human Intelligence Tasks this morning! We should all learn from–”
“Go munch on someone’s beard, Jerry!” you yell as you stomp out of the room. You were never very good at insults.
Soon, you find yourself on the street where you left your car parked beside a meter not ten minutes ago. You won’t be getting a refund for the prepaid time, but that $3.25 doesn’t matter now. Oh no, you’ve got a destiny waiting for you, a big, stinking, important destiny that no one can take away from you. And you know that it’s true because it was, uh, implied by some … random … person … on the internet. Oh boy. Your enthusiasm drains out of you, but seeing as how you already told Jerry to munch on a beard, you decide to drive to the lot anyway.
You arrive to find the old gas station even more abandoned than you remember, if that’s even possible. Stepping quietly, you trace its border cautiously, looking for something, anything that may have been left for you. Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching quickly behind you from the adjoining trees.
It’s a trap! Run for your life!
It’s a trap! Muster those karate lessons you took from age 5 – 11 and turn to face your attacker.
It’s a trap! You’re good at neither running, nor fighting. Probably best to just stand here dumbly and hope it’s a squirrel.
You close the chat window and laugh. “A lock,” you say quietly. “What a crock.” Oh look, you’ve made a rhyme! And that’s probably the most impressive thing you accomplished in the forty-three years between five seconds ago and your eventual congestive heart failure.
The end … (my friend).
Go back to last checkpoint.
You coil your fingers around the grip and let her spin off of you, leaving the gun in your hand.
“Ha!” you exclaim proudly, as you begin to stand. “You weren’t expecting–”
Before you can finish the sentence, the pointed heel of her left boot connects sharply with your wrist. The gun flies into the air. As your eyes follow the gun, you don’t see the woman’s shoulder violently rushing your collarbone, knocking you back down to the pavement.
As she catches the gun, it discharges, and its flash is the last thing you’ll see.
The end.
Go back to last checkpoint.
You coil your fingers around the grip and let her spin off of you, leaving the gun in your hand. As you stand you discard it into the woods behind you.
“You would not defend yourself?” she asks from the shadow of her hood.
“I don’t need a gun to–”
Before you can finish the sentence, she’s darted beside you. Your eyes catch a swift flash of metal being raised to your neck before your vision goes blurry. Your knees wobble, and a moment later your cheek is flat against the ground.
The world goes black. You do not dream.
—
A gentle hand is on your shoulder, shaking it. The air is suddenly chilled, and the ground below you has changed to what feels like a thin layer of cotton.
Open your eyes.
Image Source: Skyscraper
“Remember your training,” your old instructor seems to breathe across the wind. You take a deep breath and pivot quickly to confront this aggressor head on. Turning reveals a tall woman dressed in a black hoodie and jeans coming at you. Her hands are fists, and she’s moving faster than anyone you’ve ever seen. You slowly point your toes toward her, and shift your weight to your front leg.
This sudden movement, if you could call it a movement, seems to surprise her. She probably expected you to run or dodge – anything but just stand there in a half-cocked Zenkutsu Dachi stance – but you didn’t. You did the only thing you could remember from the only martial training you’ve ever received. It’s too late for her to slow down. She barrels into you at speed.
The impact hurts, and is followed by a roll across the asphalt. Soon, the momentum wanes and your arm is caught beneath her. You feel the shape of a gun holstered in the waist of her pants.
This is a life or death scenario. Attempt to grab the gun.
A gun? It’s better if neither of us have the chance to use it. Attempt to subdue her with hand-to-hand combat.
Frozen by a familiar cocktail of fear, indecision, and general droopiness you remain still and close your eyes. The footsteps suddenly slow as they approach, made cautious, perhaps, by your strange lack of response to the assault. You continue your strategy and the footsteps silence.
A lengthy twenty seconds goes by and, for a moment, you allow yourself to think that whoever was coming after you has left. The bag placed over your head directly afterwards implies otherwise, and the needle that enters your neck confirms it.
The world goes black. You do not dream.
—
A gentle hand is on your shoulder, shaking it. The air is suddenly chilled, and the ground below you has changed to what feels like a thin layer of cotton.
Open your eyes.
You look around frantically, and see a set of old scaffolding running up the side of the adjacent building. As you run toward it, the sound of your pursuer’s footsteps are lost amidst the sound of your own, leaving you blind to his or her whereabouts.
You reach the scaffolding and attempt to climb it, suddenly realizing that this sort of physical activity is much, much harder in real life than it is in videogames and movies. Every bar up is like doing a pull up, and you’ve never been able to do even one of those. A bag is soon pulled over your head from behind, and a needle to your neck is quick to follow.
The world goes black. You do not dream.
—
A gentle hand is on your shoulder, shaking it. The air is suddenly chilled, and the ground below you has changed to what feels like a thin layer of cotton.
Open your eyes.
Your vision is still blurry, and the all-white, over-lit room you’ve woken up in isn’t helping things. The voice of man speaks from near by. “Do you believe in fate?” it asks.
“No,” you reply groggily.
“Why not?” it asks.
“Because I don’t like the idea that I’m not in control of my life,” you answer, trying to sit up. You find your wrists and ankles bound by straps.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he responds. “Let me tell you why you are here. You have come because you know something. What you know you can’t explain, but you feel it. You’ve felt it your whole life, felt that something is wrong with the world. You don’t know what, but it’s there like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad. It is this feeling that brought you to me. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“The… Matrix?” you reply. “Are you reading the script of The Matrix?” You turn your head to the side and finally see the man speaking, seated behind a laptop. He smiles and closes it.
“Yes,” he says chuckling. “But enough fantasy. I’m here to talk to you about a space apple that your genetic ancestors have sought since the dawn of recorded history. That’s why you’re here. We’re going to upload your brain into a machine called the Animus, which will allow you to sort of memory-time-travel into the body of your assassin great-great blah blah blah yadda yadda granddad. Once inside you need to find this space apple, and come back here to tell us where to find it. We don’t know what it is or what it looks like – there is, like, nothing about it on Google – but we really, really, want to get a hold of it. In return, you get to not have the worst job of all time for a spell. Got all that? Good, let’s get started.”
“I … uh, well … huh?” you manage. Either the drugs that were injected into your blood still haven’t worn off, or your kidnappers are talking about time-travelling, fruit-fueled killers.
“The machine is just calibrating, so please bear with us. There’s no manual for these things online, you know? Oh, and I’m Danny, by the way. But people who know me well call me Handsome Danny because, well, you can see for yourself. Over there on the main console is Greta, and that woman looming in the corner is Penelope – I believe you two have already met.”
Ask Handsome Danny about where you’re going.
Ask Greta about the machine, and the identity of the group.
Ask Penelope about the space apple.
“Danny– ” you start.
“Handsome Danny,” he replies off-handedly, back behind his laptop.
Between his small gut and silly orange vest, he’s really not that handsome, but you can tell the label is important to him. “Handsome Danny,” you begin again. “Were you serious about all of that time travel stuff?”
“Absolutely.”
“So where are you, uh, trying to send me exactly?” you ask.
“1492: The court of Isabella I of Castile and her husband, Ferdinand II of Aragon. Queen and king of a newly united Spain,” he replies.
“You said I was entering the body of my ancestor, right? So, I’m royalty? I always knew I was more– ”
“Nope,” he interrupts. “You’ll be inhabiting the body of one Rodrigo de Escobedo, secretary of the fleet of Christopher Columbus.”
“The Christopher Columbus? Wow. But ‘secretary’ seems a bit– ”
“Lame?”
“Yes,” you reply meekly.
“Don’t worry,” he replies. “You come from a long line of assassins, men and women born with near superhuman powers. You may be inhabiting a simple secretary on the outside, but on the inside, you’re a natural-born thief, killer, diplomat, and hero in waiting. It’s in your blood.”
“Really?” you ask suspiciously. “Because I feel like I would have noticed all that before now…”
“We know the apple is on one of the many islands Columbus visited on his voyage to ‘discover’ America – apparently no one in Isabella’s court ever bothered visiting Leif Ericson’s Wikipedia page – but we don’t know which one. Find the apple, and you’ll find your potential. I’m probably sure of it.”
Ask Greta about the machine, and the identity of the group.
Ask Penelope about the space apple.
I’m done asking important questions that will probably help contextualize my experience. Prepare to be Animusized.
“It’s Greta, right?” you ask the young woman standing across the room. She’s diminutive in everything but her eyes, which seem almost too large for her face. Unlike the other two, she’s dressed like a teenager, all the way up to her high-seated black ponytail.
The girl shyly leans her head to the side of the screen and smiles at you. “That’s me,” she says quietly.
“So, who are you guys?” you ask. “And what is this thing I’m strapped to?”
She lightly steps over to you and speaks quietly. “Danny is our resident Wikipedia Expert — Harvard educated, of course,” she says. “If you need to know anything about historical events while in the machine, he’ll be able to quickly look them up in Wikipedia for you, and read facts as if he knew them off the top of his head. I’m just IT, more or less. I work the machine. And Penelope, well, not really sure what her story is. She just sort of showed up one day and offered to help Danny and me. We were weirded out at first, but even though we know nothing of her motives or history, it turns out she has unbelievable strength, speed, agility and fighting skills, so we figured, why not? Welcome aboard!”
“Well that’s … a bit disconcerting,” you reply. She looks at you quizzically. “Never mind. So, ‘welcome aboard’, huh? ‘Welcome aboard’ to what exactly?”
“Danny and I were interns at a company called Abstergo,” she answers. “They invented the machine, but things didn’t go, uh, so well for us over there, so we stole the Animus prototype, and … well, anyway, enough about that.”
“A prototype?” you ask. “So, it’s not even a fully-functional genetic memory time travel device?”
“It has its little quirks,” she replies merrily. “But I know what I’m doing.”
“Thanks, Greta,” you say. “You’ve actually made me feel a bit better about all of this.”
Greta blushes. “Thanks, but there’s only so much I can do, of course. Remember, if you die in your memories, you die in real life, too!”
“What, what?!” you exclaim.
“Good thing you’re an assassin!” she says happily, returning to her work.
Ask Handsome Danny about where you’re going.
Ask Penelope about the space apple.
I’m done asking important questions that will probably help contextualize my experience. Prepare to be Animusized.
Penelope leans against a nearby corner, tall and muscular. She’s dressed all in black between a hoodie, t-shirt, and jeans. Her face is twisted into a scowl beneath a mop of long, brown hair.
“Nice to see you again, Penelope,” you say sarcastically.
Penelope casually lifts a large knife from its belt holster, and lowers it again without meeting your eyes.
“So, uh, what do you know about this space apple thing?” you ask awkwardly, trying to spark a conversation.
She runs to the side of your bed and speaks through quick and passionate words. “The Piece of — the Space Apple thing that we know nothing about is an incredible piece of transdimensional power in physical form. We must find the apple, and your genetic code contains the key to all of it. If you fail, I will spin up your esophagus with a fork and spoon like overcooked spaghetti before offering it as food to your family as they wither inside of my dungeon. And it will be a choice between lunching on your gullet or a slow, agonizing starvation for each and every one of them before the end!”
“Okay,” you reply. “So, uh, who are you again?”
Penelope walks back toward the corner and ignores further questions.
Ask Greta about the machine, and the identity of the group.
Ask Handsome Danny about where you’re going.
I’m done asking important questions that will probably help contextualize my experience. Prepare to be Animusized.
Image Source: Son of the South
“Okay, I think this is the button,” you hear Greta say. “Wait, no, it’s this one.”
As you turn to look at her, your body is suddenly upright and free of restraints. The silent room grows noisy with the sound of ten different conversations that slowly fade from Spanish to English, the only language in which you’re fluent. You pat yourself to make sure it’s all real. Your fingers find a doublet over your chest, and raise to find a thick beard across your chin, and what feels like an extremely silly hat on top of your black, curly hair.
“Stop fondling yourself, and pay attention,” a man says quietly into your ear. “This affects you, too.”
You turn to him, as he turns his attention to a man and woman seated in large, ornate chairs ahead of him. This must be the king and queen that Danny was talking about.
“But your majesty,” the man beside you pleads, “this expense is but a pittance compared the vast riches that discovering a sea passage to the West Indies would bring Spain.”
“We agree, Mister Columbus, but cannot give what we do not possess. If you find your funding, you will have our support,” the woman – presumably Isabella – replies. “Now, leave us.”
Columbus bows politely to the queen and turns, grabbing you harshly by the arm and dragging you alongside of him as he walks toward the back of the court.
“Fix it,” he says, releasing you harshly against the wall.
“But I– ” you say in an unfamiliar voice. As Columbus storms off, another man approaches you.
That’s Rodrigo Sanchez, you hear Danny’s voice narrate to you.
You look around frantically for the source of the words. They seem to be projecting from all around you, and no one else in the room seems to have noticed.
“Do not look so worried, my friend,” Rodrigo laughs, strongly patting your shoulder. “There are ways to find the money if you only know where to look.”
If you ever hope to find this apple, or even meet your potential as an assassin, you’re going to have to get this ship on the water.
“One moment, Rodrigo,” you say through a wide smile before ducking out into the hall to collect your thoughts.
Call Handsome Danny with your … brain? He probably as more information about Rodrigo and how this voyage was funded.
Speak with Rodrigo before consulting with Handsome Danny.
Image Source: Son of the South
Handsome Danny, you think loudly. Nothing happens. “Hey, Handsome Danny,” you say in a stage-whisper. “Is this thing on?”
I’m observing your memories as you control them, if that’s what you’re asking, you hear his voice project.
“What do I do now?” you ask. “I thought I was supposed to be some sort of assassin, not an accountant!”
Actually, Rodrigo is Columbus’s accountant, Danny replies. Well, comptroller technically, but it’s basically the same thing. Anyway, according to the Abstergo database we found on a thumb drive, he’s also an assassin. You can trust him.
“Is he going to suggest some sort investment IRA 401k type of solution?” you ask. “I’d rather be, you know, fulfilling my destiny and stuff. With swords, if possible.”
I don’t know, he replies. This stuff isn’t on Wikipedia. But a quick Google search does mention that hunting hides was very profitable in the late 15th century. You might sate your apparent bloodlust while still getting the money together. I don’t know, that’s as far as my expertise on this matter goes.
Work with the accountant.
Depart for the woods outside of the city.
Image Source: Son of the South
You decide to speak with Rodrigo about the funds, and find him at the back of Isabella’s court.
“Rodrigo! My closest friend and confidant!” you say, hugging him.
“I didn’t realize you thought us so close,” he says, lightly removing you from his torso, “but … I thank you.”
Cool it, Danny chimes in.
“So, you had some ideas about the money,” you say. “Please, I’m anxious to hear them, regardless of how boring they may be.”
Rodrigo pulls you close. “There is no time for boring accounting, my friend. If you want to find that money, and quickly, you’ll need a method beyond good bookkeeping. You may have heard Isabella claiming that the Spanish crown does not have the funds for our master, however, that simply isn’t true. The coffers are low, yes, but the money is there. You simply need to choose how best to extract it.”
“Then what are my options?”
“Did you see the red and white pearl necklace hanging proudly around Isabella’s throat? Rumor has it that such jewels are valued far beyond the price of an expedition such as ours. And speaking of rumors, there’s another that whispers certain … unloyalties of good Ferdinand to his dear wife. He may be willing to part with much for such a rumor to remain a rumor. Now, if you’re feeling conflicted about doing harm to the monarchs, you could always attempt to remove an obstacle standing in their way. War with Granada draws near, and her sultan’s expedient disappearance might, shall we say, lubricate the funding process of our voyage. I leave the path, and the details, to you.” He steps back and smiles.
“Thank you,” you reply. “You’ve given me much to consider.”
“Consider this also,” he replies. “I will be watching. And if you do well, there may be other opportunities we can discuss.”
With that, Rodrigo disappears into the crowd.
Get more information from Handsome Danny.
Attempt to steal the queen’s necklace.
Attempt to blackmail the king.
Travel to Granada and attempt to assassinate the sultan.
You decide to jump right into the action, and test out the genetic assassin skills you were promised on some valuable animal butts. Your new duds came complete with a dueling sword, so as far as you’re concerned, you’re completely good to go.
Travelling by foot, you arrive in the woods near sunset and immediately happen upon a large pack of nine wolves travelling over a hill in the near distance. What luck! Those creatures are sure to provide a challenge worthy of your heritage and their pelts should sell for a fine coin.
Attacking the full pack successfully should yield nine pelts at once, but is a great risk to your person. On the other hand, baiting one wolf to branch off before attacking it will be safer, but risk taking too long for Columbus’s voyage.
Attack the pack.
Wait and bait.
Image Source: Son of the South
“Handsome Danny, what do you think?” you ask once you’re alone.
One sec, he replies. You can hear the sound of typing while you wait. Alright, it says here that Isabella’s necklace is indeed worth a great deal of money, but it’s not under special guard. She wears it during the day, and leaves it in an unlocked jewelry box at night. Historically speaking, she’ll eventually pawn it to finance a war. As for Ferdinand, I’m not seeing anything here but the fact that he was deeply in love with Isabella – a rare thing for royal marriages – but that doesn’t necessarily mean he didn’t also have someone on the side that historians never discovered.
“All the better for a blackmailing,” you reply.
Maybe, he says. As for this assassination, things are looking grim on that front. Seems the Sultan that Rodrigo was referring to is one Muhammad XII of Granada, and this guy does not look like a pushover. And, don’t forget: Granada is not exactly next door. No offense – really – but from what I’ve seen so far, I’m not seeing this as your best option.
“What are you saying?”
I’m saying that if were me, I’d go for that necklace. Blackmail can get messy fast, but it could still work if there’s evidence behind it. This assassination is out of your reach, and remember, Rodrigo is watching. You need to do this right to get his attention. He’s our best lead right now.
Work on a plan to steal the necklace.
Work on a plan to blackmail the king.
Work on a plan to assassinate the sultan.
Image Source: Sterling Jewelry
You decide to steal the necklace. After all, you know it exists, you know it’s worth as much money as Columbus needs, and you know that there’s got to be someone around this city willing to fence it for a nice cut of the profits.
Walking back into court, you get a better view: a simple thing, clasped around the back with a twist of gold wire. Pearls are light enough, and based on how long she’s been wearing it, her neck probably won’t feel any differently if someone were to remove it.
The trouble, of course, is getting close enough to pocket it. Making an attempt during the day would be the most unexpected, and if she allows you close enough, then her guards won’t see any cause for alarm. It’s a brazen move.
Another option is to wait for nightfall and steal it from her jewelry box. The container may not be locked, but there will surely be patrols of guards, and two people in bed to potentially disturb and awaken. The cloak of night may feel safer, but such a theft would be far from child’s play.
Use your dashing charms to flirt with Isabella and get close enough for the grab.
Wait for nightfall and sneak into her room.
Image Source: Marerico
Blackmail is an ancient and respected art. Well, ancient, anyway. And proven. Yeah, you convince yourself, this is my move.
Your play depends on Ferdinand being unfaithful — no room for doubts now — making the question, “When?” There are two ways to go about exploiting this man for his sinful lust: observation or agitation.
Observation is waiting, following the king until what you believe is the inevitable outcome: two naked people, only one of them royalty. Catching him in this manner would involve stealth and cunning, but you gain the chance of uncovering a meaningful affair, one that’s ongoing, and therefore ultimately more profitable.
The other route would be to simply hire a comely young Spanish maiden to seduce him. If his libido is as vigorous as you are led to believe, you should have no problem luring him into the trap. The blackmail could also be performed by the woman, keeping you farther from the transaction.
Observation
Agitation
You spend the rest of the day making travel plans, booking passage with a travelling merchant, and visiting the blacksmith to sharpen your sword. While there, you make sure to purchase a few throwing knives just in case things get messy.
The following morning, the merchant departs with you seated near the back of his cheese wagon. You choose a comfortable wheel of Gouda to sit on, and fall asleep waiting to arrive in Granada.
Later, you find yourself awoken as the cart slows to a stop. You stand and look past the driver to the road ahead, spying four armed men blocking the road. One of them approaches the back of the wagon, as you step to the dirt, knocking a few packages of cheese to the ground as you go.
“And who are you to stop this merchant?” you ask him.
“Asking about Granada,” the man replies casually. “Even sharpening your sword … ” He brings a gloved hand against the blade holstered at your side and flicks the steel. “Did you think we had no presence in Spain with war so close?”
“I don’t know what you’re–” you try.
“Please,” the man says, stepping back from you. “Spare me the lies. They won’t spare your life.” He draws his blade and charges forward. Just before he cuts you, his boot catches a discarded wheel of cheese. He tumbles onto his sword, and impales himself. The three men accompanying him begin to run in your direction.
Drop your sword and submit. These three men’s boots are unlikely to meet such a serendipitous wheel of cheese as their comrade’s.
Stand and fight. You are an assassin. You knew it might come to this.
What’s the point in being a master of death if you can’t flay a few hounds against the edge of your blade? Drawing your steel, you rush the hill, waving your weapon out ahead of you in wild, inaccurate flails. For a moment, the wolves look at you, perhaps with a sense of utter bewilderment.
Before you can inflict the slightest wound, one wolf has your leg. Once on the ground, there’s nothing that can stop the smorgasbord that is you.
The end.
Go back to last checkpoint.
Image Source: Funny Pica
Without the proper supplies for baiting wolves – if proper supplies for baiting wolves is even a thing – you decide that you’ll need to use your sharp, assassin cunning. Hiding behind a tree near the pack, you grab a small stone and throw it at the nearest wolf. You miss, but hit another instead. It lifts its head and looks around.
You lift another stone and aim at the wolf you hit, but miss and hit the one for which you’d been aiming the first time. This wolf seems much more interested in discovering who’s throwing rocks at him than his pack mate, and begins to sniff the wind. Soon, he is heading in your direction.
With your scent now in his nose, you move farther away from the hill, drawing him further and further away from the safety of his pack. Seeing your moment, you leap from behind a tree, sword aimed at the beast’s maw. He jumps to the side easily, and tears at your side. The pain is immense.
You wave your sword, trying to fight it off, and barely scrape the side of its hide. It whines, and runs back toward the hill. Soon, he will return with the pack.
You run back toward the town, eventually running out of breath near a brook. Sitting behind a rock, you spy a group of beavers. Nice fur, large leathery tails? These could be just as good as the wolves, and far less dangerous.
Attack the pack of beavers.
Attempt to lure a single beaver to the rock.
Forget this hunting stuff, go back and talk to the accountant.
Image Source: Linda
Sword drawn and pride hurt, you rush the beavers. Expecting at least some of them to flee, they instead turn to face you like ranks of a tiny brown militia. You’re able to cut the tail from one poor animal before the others descend upon you with their teeth, teeth sharp and strong enough to fell might trees. You fare significantly less well against them.
Though you may never have helped to discover the New World, your bones did go on to become a vital component of a nearby dam for thirteen months, and some would argue that’s just as important.
The end.
Go back to last checkpoint.
Image Source: Funny Pica
You’re even less sure about attracting beavers than you were about attracting wolves, so you simply begin to tap the water noisily with your fingers as if trying to get the attention of a dog. Eventually, a single beaver looks up at you and cocks its head.
“Come on, little guy,” you coo, sword drawn and waiting.
The beaver inches closer and you swing down at it, grossly miscalculating your blade’s reach. Your eyes follow your weapon down, and notice a small group of baby beaver kits playing with a nearby twig. You barely missed them.
You look back toward the beaver you initially attacked and, based on its suddenly nasty facial expression, can safely assume it to be the mother. Before you can lift your sword, it’s dug its large two front teeth into the side of your arm. You shake the mamma beaver from your limb, and recover your blade. Your attacker lies dazed at your feet.
These dam beavers are going down.
Enough blood has been shed this day. Cut your losses and head back to meet with the accountant.
Image Source: Div
“My, my, my, Queen!” you exclaim loudly across the small court. “Why, you look ravishing, my modern model of a monarch.” Applying your most scintillating strut, you stride down center court and approach the thrones.
“And who are you to approach us?” Ferdinand asks sternly.
“Just an admirer of your most wonderful wife, my liege,” you reply, putting a careful foot forward toward the royal platform, keeping your eyes locked to Isabella’s.
“And –” the king begins.
“Let him speak,” Isabella interrupts. “His brazen actions have me curious as to his intent.” She smiles at you. “Well, speak such intent if you will, sir.”
“I have heard about your troubles with Granada,” you say, keeping your tone as honeyed as possible. “May I?” You nod toward her throne. She shrugs, and you step upon the platform, circling behind her.
“And I was thinking that if you were to send your main force here” – you carefully place a hand on her shoulder – “and sweep south into the city this way … ” – you trace the hand down the side of her arm while the other sneaks toward her necklace. You feel its latch between your fingers. One small movement and the necklace drops into your palm.
“Enough!” the king bellows. “How dare you approach and touch my wife, your Queen, in such a manner?”
All eyes fixate upon you.
Backtalk the king as further distraction while you swipe the jewels.
Abort! Abort! Back off and consider options of blackmail.
Image Source: Sterling Jewelry
Sneaking your way into the kitchen, you find a particularly large tureen and curl yourself inside. Hours pass like days until finally the sun drops from the sky, and the last member of the cooking staff has left. You creak from your hiding place out into the hall, and quietly make your way toward Isabella’s quarters.
Moving up the stairs and past a heavy blue curtain, you see a corridor with three large wooden doors: one close and two in the far distance. The one nearest has two guards on either side of the entrance; this must be their bedchamber.
You run to the guards in a flurry, pretending to be out of breath. “Assassin … Granada … East Garden … ” you pant with your hands against your thighs. Both guards stiffen, and noisily run down the stairs you just climbed.
Earning your chance, you ease open the door and sneak inside. You can see Ferdinand lying nude above the sheets, and the shape of Isabella under cover beside him. A cursory glance around the rest of the room finds it barely furnished. A small, plain wooden box rests on the nightstand. It’s not as ornate as you’d imagined, but there’s nowhere else the necklace could be.
You approach the box and carefully lift its lid. There is, indeed, a necklace inside, but not the string of pearls you expected. In its place is a golden choker encrusted with what look like rubies. You turn toward the bed and are alarmed to see that the woman beside Ferdinand is not Isabella at all, but a young lady you don’t recognize! That explains the lack of decor and the guards: this isn’t the royal bedchamber at all.
The sound of heavy footsteps approach from the far end of the hall outside.
A ruby necklace is still of great value. Take what you came here for.
Bail immediately. Knowing there is a truth to the king’s infidelity leaves him open to a stratagem of blackmail.
Image Source: Div
“Cannot such a wife and queen speak for herself, good king, or do you think this regal lady an incapable mute?” you ask.
The king stutters, trying to find words to match his fury. Isabella turns toward him, and as she does, you flick the latch and her necklace drops softly into your hand. You hold your breath waiting for her to notice. She doesn’t.
“Well?” Isabella asks him. “Do you find me an incapable mute?”
You use the resulting argument to slip quietly from the court.
The following day you await a fence arranged by Rodrigo. You arrive five minutes early, excited to reap the benefits of your gambit.
Suddenly, a blade appears before your throat, and a voice whispers in your ear. “The king sends his regards,” it says.
“He saw the necklace?” you gasp.
“Necklace?” the man asks curiously as he slices his dagger across your Adam’s apple.
The end.
Return to last checkpoint.
Worried about the guards, you hastily snatch the choker, accidentally knocking the wooden box onto the stone ground below it. Ferdinand stands erect, pointing at you.
“Who are you?!” he yells. “Guards. Guards!”
You stumble back, and lose your footing briefly as you reach for the door behind you. It slams open anyway, its frame filled by the body of two large men.
“Well?” Ferdinand yells at them. “Thief. Royal justice, you know the drill. Come on, come on, my wife will be alerted soon!”
The left guard shrugs and slides his sword through your neck.
“Now get her out of here,” you hear the king say, as you drift into death.
The end.
Return to last checkpoint.
Image Source: Digital Art Gallery
You tackle Columbus as he attempts to open the door. A moment later it opens anyway, and on its other side are the two assassins you’d seen following you.
“We came as soon as we saw him headed this way, we knew you might need help,” one says, helping Columbus up as the other holds you by your arms. “We overheard him say he was on his way to murder you. Looks like we arrived just in time.”
“They’re lying!” you yell.
“Do you mind?” one of them asks, raising a sword.
“No, not at all,” Columbus remarks.
He runs it across your throat. You bleed out as they drink a toast to foiling your schemes.
The end.
Return to the last checkpoint.
You die within moments, but at least it wasn’t as embarrassing as the guy who tripped over the cheese. What a doofus.
The end.
Return to the last checkpoint.
“Take me to the sultan,” you say. “My secrets are for his ears alone.”
The inquisitor laughs. “I don’t believe you have any secrets, my boy,” he says. “I’ve kept you locked here just long enough to discover your identity. You’re not even Spanish. I do wonder what brought you here, but not enough to bother asking.”
The man nods to a nearby guard as he leaves. The guard thrusts his pike below your ribs, into your lung. You cough once. It hurts. Then you die.
The end.
Return to last checkpoint.
Image Source: WikiHow
“I surrender,” you say loudly, dropping your sword. “Do not kill me! I have information your sultan would wish to hear. I am no threat to you.”
The men look at their fallen leader, and back to you. There’s a few minutes of arguing, but eventually, it’s decided that you travel back with them to Granada, where you believe you will stand before the sultan’s judgment. If you can think of something, this could be your chance.
You arrive four days later, and are placed in a dungeon cell. You are never visited by the sultan, only his inquisitor.
Pretend you have secrets to feign cooperation.
Refuse to speak to anyone but the sultan.
Image Source: WikiHow
“I know Isabella’s plans,” you say to him. “Now draw me a bath, roast me a chicken, gather a bottle of whatever passes for wine in these lands, and we can talk like civilized men.”
The inquisitor laughs. “I don’t believe you have any secrets, my boy,” he says. “I’ve kept you locked here just long enough to discover your identity. You’re not even Spanish. I do wonder what brought you here, but not enough to bother asking.”
The man nods to a nearby guard as he leaves. The guard thrusts his pike below your ribs, into your lung. You cough once. It hurts. Then you die.
The end.
Return to last checkpoint.
Considering that the majority of your hands’ life experience involves little more than mouse-clicking, you choose to keep them as far out of this process as possible. No need to sneak about when you can simply point to a pretty girl and watch the money arrive a few days later.
You inform Rodrigo of your plan, and he seems skeptical, though willing to help. He arranges an interview with two willing ladies from the village.
The first you meet is Joan, a dashing, dark-haired beauty with an easy smile. She seems sharp, ambitious, and quick with a suggestion of her own for each step in your plan. The second is Julia, a sweet-mannered farmer’s daughter whose heart brims with innocence. She’s here because she’s been told it’s a matter of national loyalty, and agrees to each of your proposals with a determined, yet heavy heart.
Hire Joan. For this sort of work, you need someone who can think on their feet.
Hire Julia. For this sort of work, you need someone to do the job, and not overthink it.
Image Source: Marerico
There’s no need to bring anyone else into this mess. More people means more liability, and you do not want to risk this situation to chance. You’re sure he’s sleeping around, and so all you need to do is confront him about – preferably at the most uncomfortable time imaginable.
You begin to shadow the king, and cozy up to his guards. Between your tail, and the loose lips of guards with too much free wine in their bellies, you discover the king’s schedule. Each Tuesday he sleeps apart from Isabella, under the guise of some “rejuvenation program” nonsense endorsed by a charlatan physician on his personal payroll. Tomorrow will be your best shot without waiting an additional week.
There’s no decent way of doing this – it’s dirty blackmail, after all – but plans must be made.
Hide beneath the bed, and pop out mid-act. It’s somewhat disgusting to be sure, but there’s no way he could possibly deflect the accusation or easily summon his guards.
Wait in the hallway, and throw open the door after the deed is done. They won’t be caught red-handed, but a naked woman is a naked woman, and the open door will do much to amplify his feeling of vulnerability.
You hire Joan, and she nods to you stonily as if there was never a question. Confident in your decision, you part ways with the woman, and attend to your own sleep, anxious for good news in the morning.
Morning comes, but good news does not. Joan meets behind the smith’s shop as planned, with a smirk.
“Well?” you ask. “Did you, uh … ”
“Yes,” she replies smugly. “I ‘uh’ed.”
“Fantastic,” you reply. “Will he deliver the full amount?”
“Yes,” she answers. “To me.”
“But that wasn’t–” you say.
“Now it is,” she replies. “Why would I need a middleman to take the majority of the cut, when I also have nothing to lose by the exposure of the information?”
“Treacherous wench!” you yell.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she says. “I’m also now blackmailing you, as the architect of this foul scheme. Your estates in Castille, and 40% of whatever earnings you derive from this shipping route you discover, will buy my silence. A fair price to avoid the king’s justice, I might say.”
You stutter to find a response, and end in silence. There is nothing to say that she hasn’t already considered. She’s won, and your time is up. The expedition must be funded by the next morning.
Return to Rodrigo with the bad news.
You decide to hire Julia, whose sweet demeanor should be easily manipulated at the first sign of trouble. She frowns when you tell her that she’s been selected, but nods in understanding, like a soldier summoned to the front.
The next morning you meet with her again, and are immediately suspicious of her newfound grin.
“Julia … ” you say, “You’re looking rather well this morning. Productive night?”
“Oh yes!” she exclaims giddily. “And thank you so much for orchestrating my meet with the king. We had an incredible night filled with discussions of everything from what makes the stars to modern philosophy. He is a great man, a noble man–”
“But is he a … well … fulfilled man?” you ask impatiently. “Did you arrange the payments?”
“The payments?” she asked. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. We did not share a bed. What we shared was so much more valuable. We’ve found a love, he and I, and he’s agreed to provide me with lands, a title, and income. It is the best that could have come of this, and I thank you for it.”
She kisses your cheek, and skips away before you can formulate a response. Perhaps there is opportunity to blackmail him with this new knowledge, but your time is up. The expedition must be funded by the next morning.
Return to Rodrigo with the bad news.
Image Source: Marerico
You decide that you’d rather avoid the risk of being accidentally knighted by the royal saber, and instead plot a significantly more modest approach. That night, you walk the hallway, your station and newfound friendship with the guards enough to keep your stroll free of suspicion.
Upon your third pass of the door shielding Ferdinand’s infidelity, you finally hear a quiet sigh – a far cry from the howling raucous escaping the room on your first two laps around the quarters. This is your moment.
“Ah-ha!” you yell, as you slam open the door. As predicted, Ferdinand is beneath the sheets, startled from a newly found sleep with his arm around the shoulders of another woman. “You, King, are a caught king,” you say proudly, the words somewhat less cool than they’d sounded in your head.
“What do you want?” he asks quickly. “Please, close the door. I can pay–”
As the king pleas, two guards appear behind you.
“What’s this, then?” one yells. “The king sleeping with not the queen?”
“Yes, yes,” he says worriedly. “Please, come in, all of you.”
“What’s going on here?” A woman yells from near the guards. It’s Marta, the kitchen head. “Is that the king?”
“Please–”
“Oh, lord and savior!” yet another voice cries out. You turn to find a group of six nuns crowded near the door, struggling for a look into the room.
An hour later, you find yourself in a large, 28-person group seated on the floor of the king’s bedroom. Ferdinand’s “date” lies beside him, mortified, as he offers each a small reward for their silence. Bargaining anything more than a small handful of gold would be near impossible with so many other witnesses. You agree to a measure of silence about the affair, and slink off to find your quarters.
Return to Rodrigo with the bad news.
Image Source: Marerico
You sneak into the king’s room during the feasting hour, and plant yourself quietly beneath his bed. The curled, ornate dust ruffle surrounding the frame does much to keep you safely hidden.
Hours pass, and soon you hear the voice of both the king, and an unfamiliar young girl who seems capable of little more than nervous giggles. It isn’t long before they begin to exercise above you.
You quickly roll out from under the bed and jump to your feet.
“Ah ha!” you yell.
The girl screams, clutches her chest, and then collapses.
“Who–what–I–huh?” the king mutters.
“Um, miss?” you ask kindly, poking at the girl with your finger.
“Good God, have you killed her with your bizarre prank?” the king asks.
Embarrassed, you say nothing, and instead continue to poke at her body.
“You just … wait here,” the king says. He moves to the door and calls in one of his personal guards. The man walks inside with the king, looks at the dead girl and sighs.
“We’ve got a serious situation here,” the king says to his guard. “My wife cannot find a dead girl in my bed.”
“If she did,” the guard replies, “what do you think would happen?”
“Did you hear me?” the king yells.
“I’m just contemplating the ifs,” he replies.
“I don’t want to hear about no ‘ifs’,” the king says nervously. “All I want to hear from you is, ‘You don’t have a problem, king. I’m on it. Go back to your own bedroom, chill out, and wait for the cavalry, which should be coming directly.'”
“‘You don’t have a problem, king,” the guard repeats. “I’m on it. Go back to your own bedroom, chill out, and wait for the El Lobo, who should be coming directly.”
“You’re sending El Lobo?” the king says. “Well that’s all you had to say. Alright, as for you,” he says, turning his attention back to you. “I don’t why you came tonight, but I have one enormous mess to clean up because of you. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll forget this ever happened, in exchange for you forgetting this ever happened, alright?”
You nod.
“Now get out before El Lobo arrives to dispose of the body.”
Return to Rodrigo with the bad news.
You make your way back to Rodrigo to explain the situation. You’ve been thoroughly unable to acquire funding and, frankly, have done little to prove your prowess as a potential assassin.
He looks at you judgmentally as you enter, shaking his head. “You’ve been thoroughly unable to acquire funding,” he says in an admonishing tone. “And, frankly, have done little to prove your prowess as a potential assassin.”
“I know,” you say quietly. “What happens now that we don’t have the money to sail?”
“Oh, we have the money,” he says angrily. “Unlike you, I leave nothing to chance. I took it upon myself to arrange private financing from Italian investors. I even gave you the credit, when asked by Columbus.”
“You did?” you ask excitedly.
“Not that it means a thing,” he chides. “That man recognizes no achievements but his own. But at least it should save you from becoming suddenly unemployed.”
“You have my thanks,” you say earnestly.
“Thank me by getting better,” he says gruffly. “Now come, the preparations are underway.”
Three days pass.
Image Source: Flickr
AUGUST: 1492
“Catch!” Rodrigo says, lobbing a rapier across the cabin. It spins slowly in the air, and you reach out a hand to catch its haft, only to be cut by its blade instead. Rodrigo hangs his head and sighs.
The Niña, Pinta, and Santa María departed from Spain three days ago. Ever since, you’ve been trailing below deck on Columbus’s personal ship, the Santa María, under the mentorship of Rodrigo, who’s shown Herculean patience with your lack of advancement, though his facial expressions and harsh words imply the opposite. The first days were theory; how to hide, how to find disguise, when to strike, when to stay concealed in shadow. You didn’t much understand it, but the old assassin seems to have advanced you to weapons training anyway, as if he knew something you didn’t.
You pick up the rapier from the ground and do you best to hold it as Rodrigo holds his.
“Now,” your teacher says. “We begin with the most basic maneuvers. I will swing this weapon at you, and you simply move out of the way. We assassins call this art a ‘dodge’.” He swings toward you slowly. “Just move out of the way.”
Attempt to swing at him instead.
Attempt to counter his attack.
Image Source: Flickr
You lift your sword and drive it toward him. He’s surprised by your response, but deflects it easily.
“No!” he yells. “Just move out of the– ah, forget it. Alright, you want to work on coming back at your victim with a counter attack, then so be it. Let’s try that again. Now, just do what you did before when I attack, and watch my reaction as your opponent.”
He slowly moves his weapon toward your body.
Impress him with an agile dodge.
Distract him with a complex flourish.
Image Source: Flickr
You whack at his sword with yours, and shout, “Ho ho!”
“What are you do– I said to just … dodge– oh, never mind. Alright, you wish to work on counters, let’s work on counters. Now, do what you did again, and observe my reaction to it.”
Impress him with an agile dodge.
Distract him with a complex flourish.
Image Source: Flickr
You jump wildly to the side, attempting to dodge his attack. As you land, you turn your foot the wrong way and trip over yourself, tumbling to the ground. Your cape lands above your head.
“Why did you–” Rodrigo begins. Suddenly, a loud creaking wail drifts below deck from the outside, interrupting him. You feel the ship shudder beneath you. People are yelling outside of the cabin.
Travel above deck to discover the cause of commotion.
Remain, and continue to work on your training.
Published: Oct 25, 2013 04:00 pm