Chapter One: It is time, to travel in time!
Desomond Miles was tired. He was afraid. But it was time.
For months he had lain awake, weeping softly late unto the night. The blonde girl was dead, and he killed her, with his own ghost-possessed hands. He was afraid: the Animus had made him to do that, what else could it's velvety padded folds force him to do?
He looked down at the cyber chair. The padding was red, the same color her blood was: red.
But it was time. He sat down. It was comfy.
But it was time.