Chapter Text
Dies irae, dies illa Solvet saeclum in favilla...
...London 1888.
The thick fog of the Thames wasn't air; it was the cold breath of a sick city. It mingled with factory smoke and the stench of blood from the Whitechapel slums.
"fucking Hell" he mutters. He perfectly blends with the shadows, Over his face he wore the dark cloth and sewn over it with thick string was a real human jaw, yellowed and lifeless, a hunt trophy of his first kill back when he was just 17.
Beneath his dark cloth, his nose wrinkle at the disgusting scene after him: a prostitute serving her client in board daylight in a dead end.
It's not that Simon is innocent and Naive like a maiden, however some of his poshness and manners stayed in him.
"Corporal".
He turns lazily, his deep eyes staring at the two agent of Scotland Yard "Ya better having Fucking news about that Bloody Makarov"
The two just handle him an envelope. Simon aburplty snatch it from their hands and open it. Inside there were the pictures of the Informant he supposedly had to met in fuqing shambles, he had become a human puzzle.
"Fucking hell" Simon mutters placing back the pictures inside while the two men were gushing over the.prostitute.
With the corner of the eye he sees a figure parkouring across the Sloping roofs and hums.
"Still crabbit as ever, Corporal?" John smirk.
With a gesture of the hand, Simon makes the two agents trot away "I feel we both are here for the same reason" he boredly stare at the cocky assasin in front of him.
John shurgs leaning against a chimney "and what if I've missed you?"
Simon rolls the eyes "speak, Mactavish"
John rise his hands "the old bastard doesn't send his most prescious mastiff by chance, Grim reaper"
Simon frowns, feeling the surge to defend his boss but his words stay stuck in his throat. He looks down, staring at the Poor neighborhood.
John stares af his profile intently, admiring the Templar Grim Reaper after him "not Even god knows what's going on in ya mind. But anyway, I've all day" he leans back again against the chimney.
"Kingsley Klamath is dead" Simon suddenly says, flat, detached as ever.
John rise an eyebrow then scoff "seriously? I bored my ass for days after him and he died?! I betcha he was wasted as fuck"
Simon passes him the bag.
John stares at him questioning but seeing the hold of ground from Simon, he slowly open it.
Seeing the pictures his eyes widen for a moment to then get an expression as per say "I should have imagined it."
"Makarov, innit?"
Simon just shrugs and John becomes more and more confused "no witty comeback? Shepard is really tiring ya out" he smirk nudging him. Beneath his attempt there was a real concern. They were telling each other to fuck off for much less.
"Corporal?" John approach carefully then his eyes widen seeing Simon's Eyes roll back and almost Falling down dead weight "SHIT, SIMON!" he rush doing his best to hold him but if a six feet bulk man was difficult to hold, imagine a six feet bulk man in dead weight.
"DON'T YOU DARE!" Simon shout shaking him up and down "OI, OPEN YOUR BLOODY EYES IMMEDIATELY, IT'S AN ORDER. ROACH! ROACH DAMNIT, ROACH!"
Graves shove a young Simon on a side, away from the now corpse of Gary "Roach" Sanderson
"NO, DAMNIT."
Shepard looks at him with whicked satisfaction as Graves returns on his side. The two men keep pin the young Simon on the ground
"You know what happens to disobedient children, Simon. I thought I'd taught you that." Shepard gushes passing to Graves a lighter "To you the honors".
Graves smile..
"WHAT?! NO! NO STOP. IT"
No matter how much Simon tries to break free, the other two Templars.keep.pinning.him down. The acrid smell of alcohol hits his nose
"GARY, DAMNIT" the body of the young man set ablazs in the camp...
Simon wakes up in a jolt, a single tear running down his eye. He looks around the shackle he's is now, of course not the order's rooms.
He looks down at himself, striped of his Templar jacket but not mask.
He gently rubs the fingers against his scar on the chest. Despite it healed perfectly, the lack of proper anestesia had left the pain in the muscular memory
He immediately stiffs as someone enters, his eyes widen a bit "Captain..."
Price looks at him with Condescension, like the father of a prodigal son. He sets the tray with a pigeon soup aside on a nearby chair
"I'd never thought we'd cross paths again" Simon mumbles.
"So did I" Price drags a chair next to his Litter and takes a cigar "but ya dying on Soap wasn't exactly on my predictions for this days"
Simon looks away "sleep deprivation, I guess"
Price looks at him intently and Simon deliberately looks away to not feel even more vulnerable than how he already is
"You should've killed me when I was sleeping" he mumbles.
Price smack his back "shut up and eat, Melodramatic as fuck as always"
Simon smirk beneath his cloth and obey.