Anton Vanko and Ivan Vanko had no shortage of flaws. But compared to the Yashida family—where father Ichiro had barely gone cold before son Shingen was grinning—this father and son were practically a model of familial virtue.
Anton was greedy, no question. Ivan was arrogant, no argument. But the two genuinely loved each other. If Anton couldn't leave, Ivan wouldn't—even if you opened the door and shoved him out.
At this moment, the pair were absorbed in the final calibration checks before the Animus went live.
"Computation unit—online."
"Genetic scanner—ready."
"Genetic reader—ready."
"Test subject one—ready."
Once each stage had been confirmed, Bella quietly performed a divination. The reading came back favorable. She nodded. "Begin."
"Administering epidural anesthesia."
"Initiating scan."
"Reading DNA strand. Commencing temporal alignment."
Twelve high-powered scanners began extracting information from Sam Witwicky's DNA.
The data was immense—staggering in volume. Without the Arc Reactor to supply power, all of Los Angeles would have gone dark.
Ten minutes into the search, a match was found.
"Initial memory sequence—located and locked."
"DNA pairing—complete."
Everyone looked to Bella. She nodded. "Begin synchronization."
The projected three-dimensional world wasn't something the outside observers could fully experience firsthand—they could only take in the broad strokes.
The scrawny high schooler appeared to have arrived on a battlefield. Knights in full armor surrounded him on all sides, with several charging headlong into massed enemy ranks. The year was 484 AD. King Arthur and his knights were meeting the Saxons at the Battle of Badon Hill. The clash of war cries, the ring of blades, and the wet thud of spears punching through flesh converged into a singular, lethal symphony.
Bella stood with her hands clasped behind her back, watching. A short distance away, 006 and Gavin Banks exchanged low murmurs. The two were close in age, and an elite spy and an elite assassin shared more common ground than one might expect. Both also ran companies—006 managed Weyland, Gavin ran Yutani—which made them, in a certain sense, kindred spirits.
The Brotherhood wanted to expand its influence on Bella's side of the operation. Their plan was to push for a merger of Weyland and Yutani; if that went through, Gavin Banks and the Osaka Brotherhood behind him could use the opportunity to insert themselves into Weyland's core decision-making structure.
As it happened, 006 had similar ambitions of his own. He wanted deeper ties with Bella's inner circle, and the Assassin Brotherhood had caught his eye—the caliber of these operatives was extraordinary. If only I could have people like this working under me.
Both proposals, however, had been flatly rejected by Bella. Weyland was Weyland. Yutani was Yutani. If they merged into one happy family, where did that leave her at the top?
She didn't care about money. But she would not allow her subordinates to box her out.
"Does the kid have any unusual bloodline?" Gavin asked. As the supporting party, the Brotherhood's file on Sam Witwicky was far thinner than 006's.
006 looked quietly pleased with himself—a far cry from the clueless figure he'd cut in the basement of Trinity Church. He'd asked Bella a similar question before and received a fairly complete answer.
"King Arthur had twelve Knights of the Round Table," 006 said, "but the one he trusted and depended on above all others was the great wizard Merlin. After Merlin's death, to protect his secrets, all twelve knights swore an oath to adopt the Witwicky surname and jointly guard Merlin's descendants."
Gavin glanced at Bella's back, then down at Sam Witwicky, who appeared to be having the time of his life inside the virtual world.
"This kid is the current heir? He can lead us to the spaceship?"
Mention of the spaceship put an edge of excitement in his voice. Call it a lifelong dream, or call it a desire to represent humanity's first genuine step into the cosmos—either way, the Brotherhood's idealistic assassins were more fired up about finding that spacecraft than settling any score with the Templar Order.
"Yes." 006 lowered his voice. "Ordinarily, only Merlin's heir would know the ship's location. But that's where the Animus comes in—we've bypassed the guessing games entirely. We're going directly to the source. We're reading it from the knights' own memories. The answer has to be in there."
And roughly speaking, it was. The Knights of the Round Table had never passed down a single recorded clue about the spacecraft to their descendants—not one. But they had been there. They had witnessed it firsthand. Replicate their memories, and there was no riddle left to solve.
To keep Sam Witwicky cooperative and ease any suspicion on his part, the Animus had been set to begin the memory recall slightly earlier in the timeline than was strictly necessary.
For two solid days—breaks only for meals—the scrawny high schooler spent every waking hour inside the virtual world.
"YEAH! YEAH! Did you guys see that move?! Tell me that was sick! Was it sick?! SAY IT!"
"That barbarian came at me with a spear and I CUT HIS HEAD CLEAN OFF! On horseback! Sideways! One swing! Did you see it?! DID YOU SEE IT?!"
Two days in the Animus, ten thousand dollars richer, and Sam Witwicky had carved a path of absolute mayhem through a virtual warzone. The experience had left him in a state of euphoric delirium—he genuinely seemed to believe he was an undefeated champion of the battlefield.
By this point in the virtual world, King Arthur had long clawed his way out of the early losing streak. Two decisive victories had turned the tide; now it was all momentum—a thunderous rout, with enemies fleeing on foot while mounted knights bore down on them at full gallop. Anyone with a pulse would have found that satisfying.
Weyland's medical team monitored Sam Witwicky's health metrics quietly.
"Is this the Bleeding Effect?" someone asked. Sam's mental state was noticeably erratic.
"No." Dr. Jonathan Harlow, Weyland's chief medical officer, studied the readouts carefully. "His existing psychological tendencies seem to have been stimulated and amplified by the combat scenarios. Nothing serious—just the kind of manic episode you'd expect from an excitable teenager."
On the third day, Sam Witwicky logged into the virtual world again. The identity he had inherited was that of one of the twelve Knights of the Round Table—one of the few who had lived to a peaceful old age.
The knight's name was Geraint. He was Sam Witwicky's direct ancestor.
Inside the virtual world, Geraint marched alongside King Arthur and the other knights to give the great wizard Merlin his final burial—then helped lower Merlin's coffin, together with an enormous castle, into the depths of the sea.