DEF: I admit the characters might be OOC in this but really this fic is just a convoluted attempt to satisfy my obsession with AC and Prototype. Rated mainly for cursing, not canon compliant to Prototype 2, mostly because I hate Heller and there are mild spoilers for the end of Assassin's Creed III.

Shivanni: Neither Assassin's Creed nor Prototype belong to DEF, as if that wasn't obvious. We apologize for any character inconsistencies as we've played none of the games mentioned, sadly. Also this is mild slash, so if you don't like to read about guys kissing, kindly get out.

Sometimes the more human part of him would be horrified by the things he was able to do now, and he didn't mean the killing. He had died for fuck's sake, he should be six feet under with a nice tombstone and maybe some flowers, but no, here he still was, up and running about with more energy than the fucking Energizer Bunny. Well, at least they had kept to some sort of consistency, he was still wanted by several armed forces and he was still killing, however, the way in which he could kill now was almost disturbing, nearly as disturbing as the one who'd made all of it possible.

Alex, Alex had done this to him, Alex had saved him, brought his body and most of his mind back from the dead, saved him from the self-sacrificing death he had chosen. He wasn't even sure whether or not he should thank or curse the virus, he had been ready to die, he had been tired beyond anything he could explain. Tired of living his life as nothing more than a vessel for long dead ancestors and crazy otherworldly beings who had no other way to occupy their time than to try to take over the world. He had been ready, ready to make up for generations of fighting and suffering, but now, now he wasn't even human anymore, he wasn't Desmond Miles anymore.

He didn't need to sleep, or eat, or use the bathroom, he didn't feel pain anymore, it was as if he had been revived behind a thick, impregnable wall of ice. He could see the world around him with amazing clarity, hear, taste, touch, all of his senses so much more sensitive but without pain, the sweet burning of his muscles after sparring, the mind shattering agony of falling several stories, it was almost worthless. Sure he might not have enjoyed the many near death experiences, at least as far as he remembered, but it had at least proved he was a living breathing human. Now he didn't need to breathe and he was damn sure 'alive' didn't apply to what he was.

Even the accursed Bleeding Effect had died with his body, and along with it, all of his Ancestral memories. Technically, he was still a Master Assassin with all of the muscle memory and now he had the actual muscle to accomplish all of it, only a million times better than any human ever could, Master Assassin or no but he had no idea how he'd learned any of it. Oh sure he knew all about Juno and the Animus but that was only because Shaun and Rebecca had shown him the tapes of his Animus sessions.

Still, it never mattered that he'd committed all of it to memory, to his memory; it hadn't rung any bells in his head and he'd watched it all with a sense of detachment. The memories made no more impression on him than a videogame, one with an exceptionally compelling storyline, but a game all the same. He couldn't remember what it was to be Altair, or Ezio, or Connor. To think that he had lived as them, that he had worn their skins and knew their hopes, aspirations, dreams, vices, pleasures, everything, and now he didn't left him feeling oddly empty and no amount of new memory could fix it.

Sometimes he wished Shaun and Rebecca had never filled him in on the life of Desmond Miles, that Desmond had been left in peace even if his body was up and running about again. In a sense, Desmond was still dead, technically he was a new strain of the Blacklight virus titled Goldlight. He had woken up on a table with William, Shaun, Rebecca and Alex standing around him, he'd seen every emotion from delight to disgust to worry to empathy to stone cold apathy on those faces and he still couldn't tell which had been worse. However, it wasn't as bad as hearing he'd been dead for nearly a year, a year since he'd sacrificed himself to save the world and release Juno, a year since Desmond had left this world.

Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place, but in the absolutely wrong places. He was, had been, Desmond Miles, descendent of a long line of assassins whose memories he had unlocked and relived in an attempt to prevent the destruction of the world. He had died in the December of 2012, in June of 2013, Dr. Alexander Jonathon Mercer released the Blacklight virus into Penn station, the outbreak lasted less than a month. In December 2013, the Blacklight virus codename: Zues reanimated the body of deceased assassin Desmond Miles.

No one had known why the virus that had terrorized New York for weeks and had been thought dead after a nuclear explosion would suddenly come out of hiding to steal the body of a dead assassin of all things. Half the order had gone ballistic, searching the globe for the body of one of their most important brothers, dead or alive, Desmond still had the DNA of long dead Masters, for all they knew the Templars might be able to develop a way to search their memories without a living host and they shuddered to think what they could do with that knowledge. No one had filled him in on the specifics of how the order even managed to find him but he knew there had been copious amounts of bloodshed, between Alex, the Order, Blackwatch and, yes, the Templars as well because they could never leave well enough alone. No one other than Shaun and Rebecca knew why Alex had kidnapped his corpse, and preferred it that way.

He stared out at the hundreds of infected that ran rampant through New York City, or as Blackwatch had renamed it NYZ. It was strange, he had worked so hard to save these people, to prevent anything like this ever happening to them, to the innocent, to the ignorant and now here he was, part of the reason they were like this. He had, well no, Desmond Miles had worked so hard against this, but then, he wasn't Desmond anymore, was he? He was a fucking shade of the man, of the assassin, it was actually sad how accurate his codename was, Hades, who else but the Lord of the fucking Underworld?

To add more fuel to the god damned fire, he was not only able to consume people like Alex, but he could reanimate corpses and control them, he was going to help bring about the fucking Zombie Apocalypse! He supposed it fit as he'd been brought back as well, and in nearly the exact same way. The sad part about it all? He wanted to do it, he wasn't Desmond, he was the Goldlight virus, he shared Alex's views on most of humanity, they were selfish, ignorant, arrogant swine, most of them would sell out their own mother before they accepted death. Desmond and his order had been part of the .001% of the planet to actually give a shit for others, but it wasn't enough.

He was sorry to be disappointing Altair, and Ezio, Connor, Malik, Leonardo, Maria, Rosa, Achilles, and god knows how many others, but he wasn't Desmond anymore, he wasn't their saving grace anymore. He was something else, something different, he and Alex both were, and if the rest of them couldn't see it, then it was their own damn fault. They still treated him like they had Desmond, they couldn't get it through their heads that he had changed, fuck, he wasn't even a real he anymore, he was an it.


He pressed his lips into a hard line, refusing to meet Alex's eyes. They were both monsters, killers, hell, he'd been that even before his reanimation and Alex had been willing to kill thousands because they had wanted to kill him, they had both lived by a rather basic rule 'Get them before they get you' and if that failed 'Go out with a bang'. They had both been fucked up even before the viruses, all of this was just a continuation in a long line of bullshitery. Still, it gave Hades little peace to know the human known as Desmond Miles was dead when the Goldlight virus was alive with a few broken memories and his face.

"Desmond's dead and you know it."

"So is Alex but no chance in hell am I going by Zeus."

He grinned at the other then, pulling him into a vicious kiss. Maybe some things were better off left in the past, such as Desmond Miles, the assassin, and Dr. Alexander Jonathon Mercer, Gentec scientist. However, he didn't see any harm in picking up where Des, the bartender, and Alex, the too sexy regular, left off because, really, some things just never changed.

DEF: I know the whole Blacklight/Redlight fiasco was supposed to happen before Desmond's sacrifice but I took some liberties with the timeline, how else would this work out anyway? I mean, Alex wouldn't have spent three-four years doing jack squat.

Shivanni: We know this is probably bordering on Mary-Sue-ish but we couldn't help ourselves, there are too many fics out there where Des is too severely outclassed by Alex in the physical department. We don't care how gentle Alex is with him, he could hurt Des, also, we wanted to keep to keep to AC's timeline more than Prototype's. If you liked it, review, who knows, she might write more.