A mission to Bishopsgate Station seemed easy when my Mentor, Jacob Frye, explained it to me. A simple stealth mission, get the information, assassinate the Templar leader, then successfully sneak out. But, Jacob failed to mention the presence of the Rooks, Jack the Ripper’s gang, ambushing the remaining Blighters in the Whitechapel and slaughtering everyone dressed in a bleeding red. It was a massacre, and I wasn’t about to be among those who died by the hands of the Rooks. I pulled my hood up, concealing my face to any wandering eyes. Dropping down onto the train’s roof, I opened the hatch quietly, slipping inside with a small grunt.

As my boots made an almost heavy impact on the wooden floors, I crouched, hearing voices just shy of the other cart. The documents should be in this room. Searching through the various drawers and shelves, I found nothing; the only items there were we had already collected previously. But, the sounds of gunshots alerted me, and I quickly hid in the corner next to the door. The screams of the fallen made my skin crawl, who’s here other than the Blighters? Taking a deep breath, I took a peek over the window, a gasp leaving my lips at the sight in front of me. The Rooks…! They’re investing the station, taking out the Blighters in their wake. What are they doing here? But, one of the Rooks aimed his revolver at a Blighter running past the train, firing when he felt he got a good shot, but it missed, and instead nicked me in the arm. Yelping in pain, I stayed under the cover of the wall, holding my injured arm in my now shaking hand.

“Fuck!” I swore, racing over to the next cart to quickly check it for any documents that could be of use. But, with the help of memory, I found a document labeled, ‘To Jack the Ripper,’ from ‘Mr. Weaversbrook.’ Perfect! Now, to take out the Rooks and get out of here.

The way to Jacob’s lodgings was surprisingly clear of the Rooks; I was surprised to not hear various gunshots as I ran across the dark, empty street. It was raining as well, a downpour that went through my Assassin gear and chilled me to the bone. The burning cut on my arm didn’t make it any better. Racing through the back alleys, I took heavy gulps of the cold air, being careful of the homeless trying to take shelter from the harsh weather. I could see the brown door of the entrance to Jacob’s lodgings, but, he has always advised me to take the hatch on the roof, so no one would see his place of home. Pointing my gauntlet at the roof, I fired the rope launcher, grasping the rope with both hands and jumping off the muddy ground. Many gasps from below reached my ears, and soon I disappeared over the roof of the building, ignoring the wondrous cheers of the children pulling on their Mother’s dress. The cut made the trip more unbearable as I pushed up with my feet from the brick wall. Jacob will have my neck for not patching it up at my own house before coming to him.

The rain was even harsher up here, causing me to make haste towards the hatch near the chimney. Pulling on the lock with shaking fingers, I opened the hatch among the cold winds, trying to see inside. The flickering lights of the candles glowed from inside, meaning Jacob was home and awaiting the progress on my mission. Looking towards the door of the hatch, I found the brown piece of rope dangling from the handle, a means of closing it as we jump inside. Grabbing the rope, I hopped into the square hole of the hatch, feeling the rope give resistance against my forceful fingers and eventually hearing the hatch close.

Making a harsh impact on the ground, I shivered heavily once the warm air hit my cold body. I landed near the fireplace, the familiar pictures resting on top of them rattling at my loud entrance. “Mentor Frye?” I called, pushing my hood back down to unpin the clamps holding up my hair, running a hand through my wet

The Mentor’s Appreciation

By cavernofrandomness

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