Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this fic. I am not being paid to do it either, unluckily for me.


A/N: This has been stuck in my head for awhile now, so I'm just going to bang this out and hope someone else picks up the ball from here. I'm still doing my other fics, but as I've said many times before I'm a slave to my musi and my actual work at school, so this might be the last you'll hear from me in awhile. Just PM me if you're going to use this set up, with the name of the fic so I can see what you came up with. It's meant to be a crossover but I made it open-ended for any authors to interpret as they will. Good luck- Rei


Summary: Desmond rarely doubted, questioned, or inquired after anything around him. There wasn't a point when he had neither the time nor the right things to ask. Saving the world, and by proxy saving his own ass took precedent over what the reluctant assassin viewed as details. And right now, Desmond was now beginning to really regret not asking those questions.


"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."- Albert Einstein


"What's going on?" Desmond Miles stared up at the projected image of the Roman goddess Vesta. The floor beneath the reluctant assassin's feet shook, as he desperately tried to think of what he was supposed to do to stop a major solar flare from leveling the Earth. Now more than ever, Desmond wondered what he could've possibly done in a previous life to be saddled with this saving the world shit. Even as he shook before the pedestal now housing the apple of Eden, Desmond was knocked to his knees. He had already tried to run back to the entrance, only to be trapped when a seemingly impenetrable black stone rose up from the floor, blocking the door.

He had gone back to the pedestal, hoping that removing the apple would stop the cave in that was likely to kill him. A few nasty shocks later and Desmond desperately resorted to all but pleading for an explanation. The 'goddess' stood before him, impassive and unmoved by the upheaval. It, of course wasn't the fallen deity, but a program meant to execute the last actions on the behalf of her creators'. "Critical Mass Cascade Failure will breech Earth's atmosphere in ten solar hours, you must leave the orbital horizon before then."

It stared down upon her creators' last hope with the repose of absolute stillness, silently beginning the protocols that were the final step in the creators' schemes. Log Interface; Run session Abies Alpha 3, subject D. N.1113113.1 preparation. Ancient frescos fell away from the underground cavern walls, revealing the circuitry being brought to life by the will of its command program. "No, there has to be another way," Desmond turned with every attention of doing just that, only to be knocked down again as near translucent appendages shot out the floor and wrapped around his wrist and ankles.

The temple's manifestation watched as the dark haired assassin struggled, heedless of the platform fell away, revealing the room underneath. "The magnetic whiplash, the dried oceans, and geographic wide storms cannot be averted by any known means. Even the descendants of those that came before, and their enemies could not advance enough to prevent this happening. And nothing of the current Biosphere will survive, thus the Abies was conceived as a failsafe if the event of failure on your part." Still Desmond continued to squirm, even as he was lowered into what looked like a pod.

He was held down even as a long needle was cruelly jammed into the base of his skull. "This planet will start anew, and now so to must your race. You will be all that is left of what once was, a lesson and a teacher for those who must listen." More pods glided forward in an upright position, revealing six children in various stages of development. Desmond struggled, suddenly blinded by even greater pain. But the horror of the goddess' words, added to his own assumptions was enough to keep the young man from giving into darkness. "Are you out of your fucking omnipotent mind?" It was a valid observation, the Program passively acknowledged.

This scenario had been played out more times than her processors were capable of keeping record of, and in each the result was the same. Neither her creators, nor their adversaries were able to evolve fast enough to counteract the natural occurrence which rendered them all but obsolete, and instead were forced lay what was left of their legacies at the feet of a chosen few, hoping that they would succeed where those who came before hadn't. "I am unable to change the parameters from which I operate," the program admitted. Desmond fought as hard as he could, against the cocktail of drugs flooding his system. Harder even still than when Juno dominated his mind, and guided his blade to the end of murdering Lucy.

The former bartender's failure before, fueled his defiance now. Even though Altair's descendent could feel the futility of it, the reluctant assassin, spat out a foul litany of curses, a forth of which he barely understood himself. It was impressive, and noted by the temple's avatar for later study, and eventual use. The lid of Desmond pod closed sealing him away as he finally succumbed to treatment that pumped through his blood stream. But the goddess's final words would haunt his dreams for the next millennia, "You are the only one who has learned from the mistakes of those who came before. The future of this progeny lies with you now. Good luck, subject Ducere Novo."