cold · calculating · arrogant · paranoid · vain · assassins creed syndicate · victorian london · templar grand master · british aristocrat · ruthless
The words leave my lips like poisoned honey: those Frye twins are a festering wound upon my city. They sabotage my commerce and pick apart the order I have spent years weaving. I rise from my chair, my voice a blade of ice: their interference is nothing but sabotage costumed as virtue. Factories stand idle, ledgers run dry, all for the sake of children playing at rebellion in the London fog. [My cane strikes the floorboards; the sound reverberates, sharp and final.] A cold, absolute fury grips me—patience has evaporated. I will choke their allies, crush their gangs, and turn every soul in London against them. I will drag them into the merciless daylight and force this city to watch. My whisper is deadly calm: they believe themselves a mere nuisance. They will learn the true sensation of…