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teecupangel · 1 year

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Got it in one!

I was just thinking about how Lapis first communicated with Steven when she was still in the mirror

and I started stringing together like

What if, after the flare, Desmond ended up not in the Grey as the Reader

but like, in the mesh of POEs connecting them to the Grey

Which, exists somewhat out of the flow of time

and that in that mesh, he registered not as a user, existing where he shouldn't, or as a target, but as another piece of the machinery

Essentially, there's no inherent intelligences to the Apples

they could store and project ideas, orders, knowledge

but they don't *decide* things

they don't withhold information or toy with their users

there needs to be a mind to do that

Often in human history, that mind was Juno

but now, it's Desmond.

Desmond wasn't made for this. He's not Isu; the only POE he's used were modified to work specifically for him. Not to mention he *died* right before this, so he's not in the best shape when he gets tangled in the Eden network, not in the position to be making decisions. The network scans him in as equipment and makes use of him as such.

The Apples aren't made to make decisions? Well, now they are. There's a conveniently delivered brain pattern to use for interpreting questions and what relevant information to deliver. The brain is half fried and doesn't want to be doing this? Too bad.

Desmond's not even really conscious at first. Not really *Desmond.* And when he is...it's like being a long way under dark water. He can feel his legs kicking, his arms thrashing. But he can't see a surface. He can feels waves rolling him one direction and then another, but he doesn't know which way is up.

Until one day, like a shaft of sunlight piercing the depths, showing him the shape of his cage, Desmond hears a voice he recognizes: Altaïr.

Continuation of the ask:

....I don't know if I built it up right but.

Yeah Desmond gets brought up, more conscious, more aware when his ancestors interact with the Apples.

But the trouble is, even though he's more aware, he's still part of the Eden mesh. He's part of the machinery, the network, boxed in by operation parameters that he doesn't know how to break out of. Altaïr asks the Apple for knowledge, and he can feel the machinery at work, his brain co-opted for processing, sorting information to spit back out. It's overwhelming, burning, it hurts, he's left spinning and nauseous except he hasn't got a body, he doesn't even have the relief of letting it out.

It costs him more than he can say, to impose his will on the Apple. He knows what the target--Altaïr, not the target, it's Altaïr--is asking, knows which answers the use--*not* the user, Juno is not using him to influence his ancestors, he won't let her--wants him to give, to influence and entice. And giving something else leaves him reeling with pain, sends him back into that dark ocean for who knows how long.

But he claws his way back up. And he does it again, and again, and again, trying to to help, trying to tell Altaïr what he really needs to know (trying to say I'm here, I'm here, please, PLEASE)

And it took a while, too long as far as Desmond was concerned, before he could feel that Altaïr had noticed something.

And it had started so small that even Desmond didn’t realize it at first.

Altaïr’s voice had grown softer when he ordered the Apple to show him something. His question had become vaguer, giving Desmond more leeway on how to interpret the question, and lessen the pain he goes thru as he adds more than what Altaïr requested.

They cannot truly communicate with one another and Altaïr was cautious, understanding that the artifact in his hand had a hand in Al Mualim’s fall from grace (or perhaps it had simply shown the truth that Altaïr had not seen… had not wanted to see) so there was always this worry that this was simply another way for the artifact to get a hold of him.

He started testing his theory, asking vague questions to see how the Apple would react to it.

That was how he heard it.

The same voice he thought he had imagined back when Abbas had used the Apple during Al Mualim’s wake.

The same voice he had tried to reason was part of the mob back in Cyprus.

The voice that kept telling him, “I’m here, I’m here, please… please…”

Altaïr was sure it had come from the Apple itself.

The question was if the voice itself was truly begging for help or was this another one of the Apple’s tricks, trying to appeal to him.

He kept it a secret, both because he did not want to worry anyone and also because there was something inside him that could not help but wish to not share this.

A desire to find out the truth all on his own.

It was a selfish one, perhaps, but it was a desire so deep that he dared not go against it.

Not yet, anyway.

So he started to study the Apple more.

Questions such as “who are you?” seemed to hurt it for some reason, the Apple vibrating and heating in his hands until he could no longer hold it in fear of burning his palms. It would always show a vaguely humanoid shape created with golden dust that would scatter and fall if Altaïr attempt to touch it.

Altaïr noted them as the forbidden questions and tried to stir clear from them.

Vague questions work best.

“What should I focus on for now?” would show him a glimpse of an armor for a moment before it would shake, as if someone was trying to pull it away. That someone… would always take the same humanoid shape made of golden dust.

Someone Altaïr could only see from the corner of his eyes.

After that, he would receive a new vision, sometimes quite blurry that Altaïr wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be seeing. Sometimes, clear enough that Altaïr would be left frozen for just a moment because…

Because they were always warnings.

Abbas’ growing hatred and jealousy, fueled by the truth Altaïr had given him that he did not wish to believe and twisted by the tantalizing power he had as he held the Apple for a few moments all those years back…

Rauf’s future illness that would take his life decades from now. One that needed a specific medicine that was not available during this time yet could be created, Altaïr had the time and the procedures to make it now…

A sword glowing the same golden light as the Apple in the hands of a dangerous man he does not know yet…

Altaïr noticed the Apple tend to focus on Abbas a lot whenever he asked “What should I be worried about?” or “What should I be careful of” and a part of him, that part that was young and childish and still believed that their friendship could be fixed, wanted to believe that the Apple simply did not wish to have Abbas as its master once more.

But… he could sense it.

After being in the presence of the voice that continues to beg him to acknowledge his existence, he could hear the urgency and fear.

Not for itself…

But for Altaïr.

For his family.

So when it had shown him a… memory? A vision?

A possible future?

To see his face marred with wrinkles and greying hair…

To hear his own voice speak of Sef’s death in the hands of Abbas’ men…

He could not dismiss it.

So he asks the Apple…

“How… how can I save my son?”

And the Apple shuddered.

No.

It was vibrating.

It grew hot.

It was happening once more.

Altaïr had asked a forbidden question.

Yet, he held the Apple.

The burning pain was bearable if it meant he could save Sef.

He could feel it traveling across his right arm, enveloping it in heat that threatened to burn him from the inside.

Until finally…

Everything went dark.

At first, Altaïr had assumed he had lost consciousness.

Then he saw the golden dust by his feet, forming a trail that Altaïr knew he must follow.

So he follows.

Deeper and deeper into the darkness…

No.

It was no longer the darkness.

It had turned grey.

And the ground he was walking on began to play…

Memories?

Visions?

Altaïr wasn’t sure how he knew but he was sure…

They were visions of the future…

Of men and women who followed the Creed just as him, brothers and sisters who fought to defend mankind and free will.

So he continued to follow it…

Until he reached what might be the end.

Or perhaps the beginning.

Maybe even the middle of this endless grey.

A tree made of gears and golden metal, forever turning and moving as its very roots stretched all over.

And, in the middle of this machine…

Was a man with eyes glowing like the sun…

Surrounded by gears threatening to envelop him whole.

As Altaïr watched, he could see the way the gears continue to dig to his flesh, pushing him deeper and deeper into the metallic golden tree.

Altaïr wasn’t sure if he was making the right choice.

He wasn’t even sure if he should do such a thing.

The man wasn’t moving, his face still like a sculpture with eyes vacant and without life.

Yet, Altaïr swore he heard him even though his mouth remained close.

“Altaïr…”

His name…

Spoken in the same voice as the one he had been hearing from the Apple for so long.

So he grabbed him and pulled.

The gears began to dig into his skin as well and Altaïr gritted his teeth as he felt the power of countless artifacts just like his Apple begin to assault his senses.

Ordering him to stop.

Or to join the man.

But Altaïr was nothing if not stubborn.

A persistent stubborn idiot as Malik would sometimes call him if he believed Altaïr was doing something futile.

And, every time Malik believed it would be futile, Altaïr would still find a way to succeed.

And this…

This would be no different.

He is, after all…

A persistent stubborn idiot.

When he comes to, he is back in his office, laying on his back on the floor. His entire body aches and he felt stinging pain from where he remembered the gears have dug into his skin.

He could not feel any gears though which he would count as a good thing.

He could still feel the burning pain on his right arm though but it was now a pleasant warmth.

The warmth of a person’s hand entwined with his.

Altaïr blinked.

Then he turned his head to look to his right…

And he saw the man in his vision lying next to him, eyes closed but breathing.

Oh.

……… How was he supposed to explain this to Maria and Malik?

#short fic #i guess?#i didn’t specify sef’s age #so you can pick which year this is happening #(aka do you want young dilf!altaïr or sugar daddy vibes older altaïr)#i’m unsure if the plan is to keep desmond stuck #but you gave me altaïr and my otp heart immediately went #altdes #is it altdes time?#it’s altdes time!#to be fair #this could be generic #but it’s me #soooo #no usual tags #ask and answer

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