Prologue
A dark speck crawled across white drifts of snow towards an empty horizon.
Miniscule in the white haze, the dot nonetheless moved steadily across the glacial Antarctic landscape with a sure sense of purpose. It never wavered a degree from its chosen direction, as though guided by an invisible line towards a patch of snow identical to the billions of others surrounding it.
The speck stopped, evidently satisfied that it had arrived at the right location, and removed its scarf and hood. From the heavy, concealing garments emerged a man. He squatted down and began patting the ground, wiping snow from concealed gray stone with a frantic eagerness. That didn't last long. I really wish I had brought along a shovel, the man thought to himself after digging for several tedious hours with numb hands. Eventually, the man cleared himself a respectable square, surrounded by the high banks of snow he had piled up. That should do it. Deep in concentration, kneeling motionless, he removed his glove and placed his right hand softly on the ground.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, gradually, almost imperceptibly, a falcon shaped sigil in the stone began to illuminate the man with a steady red glow,throwing soft shadows across the planes of his face. The glow pulsed, the shadows flitted in and out of existence, and the stone began to shake, shivering with deep, booming rumbles. The man allowed a smile to cross his face, but it was gone almost as fast as the ground beneath his feet. Falling with rock that had been solid ground just a second ago, he clung to it like moss, fingers scrabbling desperately for purchase on the smooth stone. The bottom of the newly-revealed cave came rushing up quickly, and man and rock slammed into it with a resounding crash. The impact made the whole cavern shake, sending huge clouds of dust up into the dead air.
Well, that's just wonderful. As the dust cleared, it revealed the man lying prone on the cracked rock, his right leg a bloody mess. A sharp shaft of bone protruded from the shin like the splintered mast of a ship, his foot sticking out from the ankle at an unnatural angle. The intense pain would have shut down a normal man's brain, but this man's pain circuits had been shorted out a good two hundred years ago. Pain was a nagging old neighbor to him, something to be dismissed as an annoyance, not a serious enemy. The wound was crippling, however, so he had no choice but to lie there, waiting.
He didn't have to wait for long. Almost as soon as it hit the ground, his splattered blood began oozing back toward the broken leg, instead of lying in the dirt congealing as spilled blood is normally wont to do. It crawled up his leg, gravitated towards the wound, and slipped smoothly back into waiting blood vessels. Gritting his teeth, the man grabbed his foot and wrenched it into position with a satisfying cracking sound. He did the same for his leg, aligning the bones together, then let go as they began to knit themselves together again. In less than a minute, the wounded leg was unblemished and whole. The man stood up and took a few tentative steps forward, moving away from the fallen rock and the pale shaft of light that was doing a piss-poor job of illuminating the room. There. Good as new.
Still a little shaky from the fall, the man began to get a feel for his surroundings, peering through the nearly pitch black gloom with narrowed eyes. Moving towards the walls, he pressed his hands to them and started circling the room, ready to find what he was looking for by touch. He had completed a half-circuit when his fingers alighted upon their target: A narrow crack that ran straight up and down the wall as far as he could feel. This is it. The Thought Elevator.
The man knew what it looked like, even in the darkness. An immense stone doorway, marked with all the signs of Geass and the Codes. A doorway that looked as though it were built for giants, or gods. And he needed to look inside.
Fortunately for the man, the doorway did not need to be forced open, in spite of its titanic proportions. The smallest contact of the fingertips was all that was needed, and the doors slid open with a quiet rumble. As the opening grew larger, the cavern became flooded with late evening light. The man did not go through the inviting archway when the doors finished their turn. He was too busy staring, transfixed by the ominous sight within.
This? This is that Brittanian ape's pet project? Is he INSANE? Killing God, our collective unconscious? This will mean the end of humanity as we know it. More importantly, it will mean the end of ME! And I am powerless to take any action.
The man turned away from the doorway, letting it close. His mouth was fixed in an angry snarl, breath coming in short, violent bursts. He paced around the cavern in aggressive circles, lost in thought.
Nothing for it but to continue as I have always done, and hope that only one of the idiots in my little adopted family is enabling this madman. Too late for me to do anything about it, not at this stage. The Dreams are set and hardened, I cannot unmold them. It succeeds or fails on its own now.
And yet after it fails... if it fails... when it fails... Are not some precautions in order? I will need to take steps to ensure this debacle will never be repeated. I will need to take steps to control Geass.
And the only way to control Geass is to control the Codes.
With that the man stopped his worried pacing and began moving with more confidence. He strode decisively towards the cracked rock that marked his "graceful descent." Once he arrived at the rock, however, he hesitated. Craning his neck up at the hole thirty feet above his head, then gazing with dismay at the smooth cavern walls, his new-found sense of purpose took its first blow.
Now how the fuck am I going to get out of here?
Author Note: Don't fret too much about the style and content of the prologue, the character roster will be expanded, and the style will change. If you're lucky,you'll even get characters with names and dialogue!
Remember, You The Reader aren't obligated to compliment me. I'm writing this to improve myself, so feel free to criticize any and all aspects of my prose, characterization, or plotting. In fact, I welcome it.