Rebecca Ohashi

**Evilgoodguy** Fri Oct 12, 2012 10:19 am

Age: 27
Allegiance: None
Ethnicity: Japanese-American
Weapon of choice: an old Colt Revolver that just feels right to her

A letter waited on the kitchen table in her apartment. It was incomplete, blotched with tears and stained in blood, but mostly legible. Though to whom it was intended is still unclear.

I can't stay here. Ever since Pearl Harbor, my country has turned on me. I am considered inhuman for an atrocity committed by the land of some of my ancestors. I don't even share that much blood with them! My father is only mostly Japanese and my mother is all white. Aside from my eyes and hair, I don't even look like one of the "dirty Japs"! I hate that word. It's been thrown my way too many times these last few months.

Today that hate crossed an ugly line. Men dressed in black had come for me. I managed to defend myself, as if by instinct. I have no idea what it was, but I believe it was one of those flashes that's I've always seen.

I called my Pop to warn him, but he didn't pick up the phone. I drove to his house, but no one was there. I returned to my apartment and opened the box that my Pop gave me when I moved out. He told me that I should only open it when I needed it and that I would know when the time came.

I opened it. A golden ball that does nothing and papers that mention some kind of conspiracy between Assassins and Templars.

I cannot help but to wonder if the men who came for me were representing the American government or the Templars. Not that it would make much difference. If those men were Templars, were they coming for me? or were they coming for my great-grandfather's heirloom? I can't be sure. I need to find another place to stay. I need to find answers.

We will meet again someday, and know that I