Here’s a short story based on that premise: The Ghost of the North Atlantic

When Shay’s eyes opened again, he was back in the Assassin hideout in New York—years before he ever joined the Templars. Achilles stood over him, smiling.

He landed on the icy cliffs alone. The fortress doors were sealed with an Animus-locked cipher. Shay inserted his modified wrist blade—running custom RGH code—and the lock glitched, sparking. The walls shimmered, revealing ghostly projections of Assassins past, frozen in mid-attack. These were debug ghosts, echoes of deleted memories.

“Neither is the choice you think you’re making.”

One of them looked familiar. Liam.

“You’re not real,” Shay replied, drawing his pistol.

He turned the ship east instead of north. The map glitched, revealing a hidden route—a developer’s test zone. In the distance stood a lighthouse that shouldn’t exist, and at its top, a hooded figure watching him.

Suddenly, he was back on the Morrigan , the same cold wind, the same coordinates on his map. The mission had looped. A silent error. The DLC wasn’t meant for him to complete.

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