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The late 1700s.
Colonial America.

"Nicholas Biddle..."
Shay had been more focused on his drink than the newcomers up until now, but things were starting to get interesting. He recognized one of the men: Robert Faulkner. He had always meant to kill the Assassin naval commander, but the washed-up old drunk posed no threat to the Templars now. His companion, practically just a boy, lunged for his comrade Master Biddle, but was held back by Faulkner.
"Let go of me!"
Beneath the table, Shay gently slipped his flintlocks from their holsters and thumbed the hammers, the business ends leveled at the boy's kneecaps. If this continued for too much longer, he'd ensure the kid was no longer a threat to anyone...But he didn't want to kill him. What little he could see of his face was coldly calm, but his eyes burned like fire...The same expression Liam wore when he cut him down.
"Connor, come on...This isn't the time. Come on, come on..."
Still staring down at the table, Shay watched out of the corner of his eye as Faulkner escorted the boy, Connor, out the door, a restraining hand on his shoulder. He felt a hand light down on his own...It was Biddle's.
"It's probably nothing, Master Biddle. I know the old coot...He hasn't sailed in decades."
"It's not Faulkner I'm worried about. You're probably right...But still, follow them and find out what they're up to. Just to give me some peace of mind."
Shay gave a small nod and downed the rest of his lager, rising from the table and holstering his pistols.
"I'll be back within the hour."
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Some time later.

Shay was beginning to think more and more that he had been right about Connor. He'd been following the boy and his companion Faulkner for nearly an hour and seen nothing to indicate that he was anything special. Then again, he thought, I've been observing menial supply purchases and crew recruitment. There was a far more effective and readily available way to test Connor...He grinned thinking about it, and wrapped a gloved hand around the grip of his pistol. The right opportunity was the only required variable...
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And later still...

The conflict was over nearly as soon as it had began. Connor, strolling side-by-side with Robert Faulkner, had suddenly found himself alone against a skilled adversary. He had noticed that the latter had fallen behind, and had turned to find him on the ground, a tiny dart sticking out of the back of his neck. Its contents weren't deadly-simply a temporary sleep agent-but the stranger who dropped down from the rooftop to his left certainly was.

"Who are you?" Connor truthfully couldn't have cared less who the attacker was, but simply used the question as an excuse to get a better look at his opponent. The man wore the same style of bladed gauntlet that Achilles had once shown him, but his gait was identical to the proud, prejudiced walk of Charles Lee and the Templars. Though he made no attempt to brandish or conceal it, a flintlock pistol was held openly in his gloved hand. "Who am I?" the assailant had repeated with a chuckle. "Who I am isn't all that important, my young friend. Who you are is what my colleagues are interested in...Who you might become, even more so." Connor's hand had slowly begun to slide down his thigh towards the tomahawk hanging on his belt, but the stranger had raised his weapon so that it was level with the former's chest, delicately thumbing the hammer. "I'll blow you to hell if you even try it, boy." "Quite a few men recently died with those exact words on their lips." The attacker had tightened his grip on his weapon, considering Connor's words, then tossed the pistol aside and slowly drew his sword from its sheath. "Well then...What say I see what you're made of, boy, instead of the two of us standing around and making threats?" A smirk had stretched across Connor's face as he whipped his tomahawk off of his belt and brandished it with all the menace he could muster.
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An hour later.

The battle lasted only a minute or two. It hadn't taken Shay long to overpower the boy-he had far more experience and training under his belt. Connor had no way of knowing this, but Achilles had trained him too, and he'd used all of his skills to eliminate the former Colonial Brotherhood. A solid uppercut had knocked Connor unconscious, but Shay couldn't bring himself to kill the boy once he had him at his mercy. The fire in his eyes, the naive belief in justice and equality, had brought memories of Liam back to the forefront of his mind, and in that instant he had fled.

"Well?" Biddle inquired expectantly as Shay settled back into his seat. "The boy's nothing to be concerned over." he reported. Later in life, Shay would come to regret the biggest lie he had ever told and everything it had cost the Templar Order.