Desmond has travelled many places in his mind, although his body has left America only once.

He's probably the only person alive who remembers the stinging scent of Damascus steel as it quenches in a puff of steam, the rosy sheen of the Mona Lisa's freshly painted cheeks, and the exact lyrics of rowdy colonial marching songs.

He stares at the lid of the latest Animus and wishes that he didn't always end up in the same place.