Another new group, again. Ezio, as the days passed, grew less faithful in the situation of United Earth. There was little faith, as it were, but so many recruits and soldiers to their cause? This is full-scale war to him, or the makings of it.

The question was not directed to him, as Ezio had been a little ways away, but the accent was unmistakable. Italian, like his.

The voice was unmistakable too, an old tone from far off in his memory and his past, but really? Could it be? What if it had been another tactic from United Earth or the opposition?

Ezio steeled himself. When he turned to look properly, there he was: a man in white and red, hooded, like himself, like the clothing he wore once, many, many years ago.

"Father?" he asked, tentatively, as if maybe, just maybe it couldn't be true, that it was a mistake or a hallucination.