[ EU ] You 've been hired by Abstergo to study your ancestors genetic memories . You hop into the animus and find yourself experiencing the life of a peasant/artisan/other generic commoner .

I wonder if they will have as much paperwork as we do. The idle thought batted around my head as I watched the too-enthusiastic, entry-level, multiple-other-dash-qualified clerk click at their holographic monitor. The latest form swung off their monitor towards me, and the young woman rotated her head in dutiful suit. 
 
 “ OK! It looks like we ’ re all finished here. ” Her fingers tapped the alabaster surface of the desk, and a gum sized black device bloomed from a hidden hole. “ Your research instructions and parameters are on the key. Please enter Study Chamber 1445. ” Her glazed eyes probably did not follow me out the door. 
 
 I loathe ambiguous room numbers. If a processing center on the second floor is 214, it does fall to reason 1445 is on the fourteenth. Five elevator rides later – a third floor front desk visit pointed me in the direction of a separate wing – 1445 slid to my left as my MeNetwork neared the proximity strip above the door. 
 
 “ Please place your research key into the animus core. ” The dim room intoned in a smooth Yorkshire man ’ s voice as I entered. The lights did not brighten, but there wasn ’ t much to see. The animus core was a watermelon-sized oval attached at shoulder height to the left wall which faced a twin bedroll in an opening on the opposite side. 
 
 The key spread blue light in a grid pattern over the surface of the core. “ Please lay yourself on the bed opposite the animus core. Place your feet towards the door ” A glass partition rose to close the bedroll ’ s space after I had arranged myself in wall hole, individual glass monitors awakening on its ascent. A panel slid open above my head, and a white mask descended over my face. 
 
 “ Simulation ” commencing…. 
 
 The bright sunlight had not appeared as much as I had. I was not surprised at the transition to the field as I had expected. I wore a loose fitting black wool robe fastened at my waist with a knotted leather strap. As I twirled for an as yet invisible audience, I caught a waft of my musk. I smell like a ball sack. 
 
 My shoes, sandals actually, were firmly planted in the dark muddy loam. I unconsciously checked my hair and felt a smooth leather skullcap on top. My hair was greasy and reached my shoulder. It merged with my beard in a grey and black mass. 
 
 “ Garsea! ” A voice called behind me. I turned to see a tall - he appeared at least two meters if I was the same height - man climb over a ridge. We were in the mountains of northern Spain, I believe. It must have been summer or spring, as it was warm, but the weather was still overcast. 
 
 The man wore brown hide pants and a vest over a linen shirt. He had long black hair and a tightly shaved beard. I started towards him, not through my own volition. The man looked puzzled. “ Why…why are you here? I mean, I had not thought to look for you. Since… ” 
 
 I – or rather, my ancestor – felt a flood of anger up my throat. This man must have been a noble as I could smell the perfume and his boots were deep leather. I became conscious of the smooth walking stick in my left hand. My mouth moved without any thought on my part, miming history. 
 
 “ Since you followed your lordly prerogative. ” The words felt unnatural, my ancestor had clearly parroted something that he had heard. The man ’ s brown eyes flashed and he spread his feet, readying himself. I was focused on the small dagger at his waist; his smooth right hand itched to reach for it. 
 
 “ Garsea…don ’ t do something tha- “ He cut off as my staff swung towards his head. He dropped below the swing, knife whipping out. I brought the staff in and down onto his hand as it brought the blade towards my gut. I whirled right from the blade and under his trunk-like arm. I brought the staff up and then down onto the inner part of his right knee. He growled as his leg crumpled but whirled left nonetheless, his dagger reaching again. With force, I wrenched my staff from his tangled legs and blocked his arm strongly. He tried to push forward, but I turned him again. I must have spent some time with the staff as the smooth wood began to serve as a dull spear spiking the giant in the groin, the belly, and the neck. He dropped the knife, sputtering, his face a deep crimson. 
 
 “ You ’ ll… ” he gasped out as staff finally cracked loudly across his temple. 
 
 Not as much paperwork at all. 

