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In one moment, Desmond was deep in memory, watching Altaïr place the Apple of Eden in a vault; the next, he felt a strange sensation, as though from outside the Animus someone had submerged his entire body in ice-cold water, and all of his limbs began to vibrate in unison.
His first thought was the Bleeding Effect — maybe this was some new symptom that Clay hadn't managed to encounter. Or maybe he'd completely failed to repair his mind, and he was about to totally lose his own sense of self?
But there was no way to check, and the sensation grew more and more painful, until he couldn't think at all, his brain whiting out from the pain.
He was convinced that he would die from this, that he was in the process of dying. But then, without any warning, the feeling stopped.
Desmond was suddenly completely aware of his body. His joints ached, and cold air blew on his face. It was dark; his eyes were closed, and he opened them.
The Apple of Eden was in front of him, glowing golden and drawing him in, and then — it was him, his face, his body, the scar on his lip twisting as his own voice said to him, "Who. Are. You."
"Oh fuck," Desmond said in an old man's voice.
The Desmond that had just been an artifact of Eden grabbed him by the shoulders. It was surreal to see his body move separately from him, and it took him a second to realize he needed to react before something really, really bad happened.
Desmond brought his arms up and between the hands grabbing his shoulders, and moved them outwards, breaking the hold. He spread his legs apart, ready to fight.
Apple-Desmond stepped backwards, and threw a punch. Desmond's body moved automatically to block it and the kick that followed. This was muscle memory that Desmond didn't normally have, and when he looked down at himself, he saw that he was wearing heavy robes and simple leather armor.
When he blocked another punch, he held Apple-Desmond's fist in his hand. His own skin was aged and wrinkled compared to the other Desmond.
Apple-Desmond's expression tightened, and he moved to the side, attempting to get under Desmond's guard.
The expression seemed somehow familiar, and Desmond jumped backwards — even in the heavy robes, with what felt like a cloak behind him, and his joints aching, his body obeyed him.
"Wait!" he shouted, putting up his hands. "Don't you think there's something strange going on?"
The other man ignored him, barreling towards him with single-mindedness and shoving him into one of the bookshelves lining the walls. The impact hit heavily against his shoulder, and hurt far more than it should have.
Apple-Desmond looked directly into his eyes. It was surreal to see his own face look at him with such fierceness.
Desmond was sure he was about to die — but then, the anger was gone. In its place was confusion.
"Who are you?" the man with his face asked. "Why are you in my body?"
Finally, the pieces came fully together. The body he was in must belong to Altaïr, and somehow, Altaïr was the man in front of him, in Desmond's body.
"I didn't mean to come here," said Desmond. "I don't know what happened. Maybe the Apple went haywire."
Altaïr let go of him, and stepped back. He appeared to be thinking.
"I really don't know why I'm here. I'm not supposed to be anywhere near here," Desmond said, just in case Altaïr didn't believe him.
"I...see," said Altaïr. "Certainly, no one should be able to enter this place. It is—"
"—Sealed, I know," Desmond said, before he could stop himself. Fuck.
Altaïr gave him a strange look.
"Um, I'm a big fan?" Desmond felt like an idiot.
"You will tell me everything you know," Altaïr said. "About how you possibly could have come here, why you have both stolen my appearance and restored my youth, and what you know of the Apple of Eden."
Desmond found himself nodding dumbly. Even in Altaïr's aged body, he still felt completely outclassed.
...Also, wait, Altaïr thought Desmond's body was his?
Nevermind.
"Is there a way we can try to get out of here?" Desmond asked. "I know it's sealed, but still...there must be some way to escape with the two of us."
Altaïr smirked. It was the ghost of the expression Desmond had felt within his memories, a remnant of the cockiness of youth, and it looked completely at home on Desmond's face.
"There is a way to leave this place. But you must answer my questions first."