Black Knight Rising
Disclaimer; Code Geass is owned by sunrise, Goro Taniguchi, and Ichiro Okouchi. Please support the official release.
Restarting this fic as a new fiction. Similiar but very different to the previous one.
Chapter 1- The Shape Called Zero
Jeremiah Gottwald stepped into the building with the same weary gait he always walked with. The detective had walked with the same weary gate nearly everywhere in the Tokyo Colony with this same weary gait. The price of being a senior officer of the Tokyo Knight Police. The first thing he saw in the building were others of his kind. Knight Police, just like him.
It was late, sleeplessness was slowing them all down. Hell of a career choice. The military probably never had to put up with this crap. Most of them were busy taping off the scene. Or at least the entrances to the scene. Gottwald ducked under a tape barrier. Ash Kewell notice Gottwald and walked over with an businesslike pace. Gottwald envied that in his more pitiful moments. He remembered being like that. Young and eager.
"It's a multiple assault," Kewell said dutifully, stiffly. It made Jeremiah cringe. Jesus, was he ever that stiff? "Multiple gunshot wounds. And long cuts. The investigators are still analyzing, but they're calling them sword wounds at the moment."
Gottwald's brain stopped thinking for a second. Sword wounds?
"I don't think I heard you right," Gottwald replied, uncertain. Kewell raised an eyebrow in an "I know, right?" motion. "Swords, do they just get crazier every day? Or is that just me?"
"It gets better. You haven't talked to the survivors yet." Gottwald's eyebrows shot up. Better? Than swords?
"Take me to them." Kewell walked stiffly deeper into another room. Gottwald winced at the color on the walls. That was a lot of red, and it was beginning to smell. There were spent cartridges on the floor, and not all of them were the local junk. Gottwald knelt down, a piece of tissue in his hand, and used it to pick up a brass casing. He examined the shell closely and his eyes narrowed as he spotted something. These numbers...
"These are Britannian military pistol cartridges. The subsonic ammo they use in the special forces. The attacker used special forces rounds?" Kewell winced as Gottwald rose.
"They...might've belonged to the victims," Kewell said, embarrassment in his voice.
"They were armed?" Gottwald asked, surprised, dropping the shell and putting his hand back into the pocket of his long coat.
"This place was a drug house, they were all armed." Gottwald blinked. The attacker had gone after armed drug dealers, with a sword.
"If this is a joke," Gottwald growled, annoyed, "my birthday was last month and I'm not retiring for another five years." Kewell winced again, emberassed.
"This isn't a joke." Gottwald winced, surprised, at the idea that someone had taken out a bunch of drug dealers with guns...with a sword. Kewell waved Jeremiah to keep following him. Jeremiah followed and was led to a man behind stitched up by a paramedic.
"Tell him what happened," Kewell ordered. The man glanced between the two, unimpressed, and ignored them to look back down. Jeremiah narrowed his eyes.
"If you refuse to cooperate we have enough to charge you and prosecute you," Jeremiah warned. "And I can always order the medic to let you bleed into the floor." The man glanced back up again, nervously, and winced.
"What do you want to know?" the wounded man replied.
"Start with your name," Jeremiah replied, wearily.
"I'm Gary," the wounded man replied.
"What were you doing here?" Gottwald asked, dutifully. Gary sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Me mates and I were guarding the place for Mr. Robinson. He runs the trade down in this warehouse. Almost done too. Am I going to jail for this? I ain't done nothing."
"Tell me what happened and I'll put in a word to the prosecutor," Gottwald assured, but his words lacked any kind of comforting presence. "Keep going." Gary sighed, sensing that this questioning wouldn't end well. But he continued.
"The lights went down."
Gary blinked, jumping, in the sudden darkness. His coworkers began to shout, along with Mr. Robinson. Gary went for his flashlight, attached to the automatic weapon in his hand. He was fumbling with the activation switch when he heard two gunshots, close enough to be almost one. A pair of mens' cries of pain erupted, and Gary hit the flashlight.
"Then I saw...it, I guess," Gary continued. Gottwald raised an eyebrow.
"What it?"
It was the height of a man, but covered in something black, with a high collar. And it didn't have a face on its spiked head. It started moving. Gary was trying to follow it with his light. It fell down with wings, like a bat, almost. Something was flapping behind it. A pair of gunshots again, then another pair, and more pained screams. The gunshots sounded off, too quiet.
Gary did what his gut screamed at him to do, and began to fire. The black thing seemed to sway around his bullets in the light caused by his muzzle flash. Gary was no trained soldier, any of his firearms skill came from a gang member showing him what button was the safety and how to squeeze the trigger and reload.
The black shape was on him, and Gary felt the compact weapon pulled from his tight grip and rammed back into his chin. Gary saw white for a nano second and heard a sequential pair of the gunshots that sounded like air being released. More automatic fire, this time from his other mates. The shadow was gone from Gary's view, but he heard more gunshots and men being wounded. How many were left?
Gary was on his back, and he tried to crawl to cover. More of the odd puffy gunshots. Gary leaned over the cover, some kind of table, and tried to spot something. In the shadows, Gary could make out some of the shapes. A gun clicked. Then another. Someone was empty, the attacker? Gary's breath was too fast, his heartbeat was in his ears and chest.
He heard something. Another sound. It sounded like being slid over leather. He heard a weird swooshing, and someone screamed. Gary heard various sounds of a scuffling fight, and three more screams. There were whimpers now, of wounded men. Gary would probably never forget that sound, lying in the dark, hiding like a child. Surrounded by whimpering grown men.
The lights came on. The figure was standing in the center of the room, a long piece of bloody metal in its hand. With a tiny mewl, Gary realized it was a sword.
"The guy had a freakin' sword," Gary said, pathetically. "He shot a bunch of us, and he used a freakin' sword. Like some kind of demon or something." Gottwald and Kewell glanced at each other.
"What the fuck do you want?" Robinson asked, standing up and gesturing with both arms spread wide near his sides. Well, one of them. Robinson had a gunshot wound in his left shoulder, and his right one was bloody near his hand. The figure turned its odd head to the drug-dealer and walked over, raising a gloved hand. The gloved hand gripped him by the lapels, dragging Robinson closer to the black demon.
It spoke.
"What did it say?" Gottwald asked.
"You're going to tell me, exactly who supplies you with the refrain you're selling in ghettoes," the figure asked in a reverberating, deep voice. Robinson squealed for half a second, before he answered.
"Chow, in Kyushu," Robinson replied, his voice mellow.
"Thank you," the figure replied, dropping Robinson. Robinson squealed again as he landed. "You have spread pain for your own profit. You're a parasite, feeding on those below you. You've helped keep the world harsh and cruel. This is punishment." Then the figure drove his sword straight through Robinson's shoulder, to the hilt. Robinson screamed and passed out.
Gary got up to run away. He made a glass beaker ring across the floor as he moved. The figure whirled and its arm flashed, and Gary's hand was pinned to the wall with a knife. Gary gave a scream as the figure's attention was focused on him. It pulled the sword from Robinson's shoulder and walked over to Gary.
"Please don't kill me, man. I just work here!" Gary pleaded. The figure paused.
"You were just doing a job," the figure said in its demonic voice, agreeing. "Then you can do a job for me. Tell others what you've seen here. Tell them what did this. And warn them that if they don't start helping the world, the same will happen to them." Then it's arm flashed again and Gary was knocked out.
Gottwald absorbed the story with a blank expression. He eyed in Kewell's direction, and Kewell met his gaze.
"Thanks Gary," Gottwald said nonchalantly to the wounded man. Gottwald walked off, hands still in his pockets. Kewell followed him, and the younger officer fell into step beside Gottwald. "So a vigilante has appeared in the Tokyo Colony. Alternative theories?"
"Military? A black operation?" Kewell theorized, his voice aggressive.
"Just one guy? No. And not for these syringe stickers. And unless they've gotten really weird all of a sudden, they don't really go for swords." Gottwald replied, correcting his younger associate. Kewell frowned at Gottwald's conclusions. "I guess we'll know when he strikes again." Gottwald moved to leave the building.
"How do you know he'll strike again?" Kewell asked as Gottwald walked off. Jeremiah stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"He's still gotta shut down Chow in Kyushu," Gottwald replied, businesslike.
0.0.0
The next day Gottwald was walking into the District Prosecutor Office. Same weary gait, different day. Hand in the pockets of his long coat. Still too old for the military, and too young to retire. He flashed his badge in the lobby and entered the elevator. As soon as it opened again Jeremiah headed for the first office.
A orange-haired young woman in a professional dress was shuffling through papers strewn all of the larger office. She looked exasperated, but wasn't letting it affect her, trying to smile as she worked. Jeremiah glanced around the office. It was being cleaned, he realized.
"New ownership?" Jeremiah asked in way of greeting. The girl jumped up and saw him and let out a breath, rolling her eyes as she recovered from the surprised.
"We have a new assistant prosecutor coming in tomorrow, and I'm behind on getting his office ready," the woman replied. She set the paper down. "Where are my manners?" she asked the air, throwing her hands up, exasperated. She offered her hand, smiling. "I'm Shirley Fenette. I'm a sub-prosecutor for the District office." Jeremiah shook the hand with a small smile.
"Detective Jeremiah Gottwald, lovely of you to meet me," he said, his usual joking introduction. "I needed to put in a word about the cooperation with the arrests last night." Shirley dropped his hand and began to work through the papers again.
"The guys claiming to be thrashed by a giant bat?" Shirley asked, not looking up from her papers. Jeremiah raised an eyebrow, jaw hanging open at the younger girl. She looked up, then frowned, embarrassed.
"I spent the night getting their statements," she admitted sheepishly, shrugging. Jeremiah scoffed, surprised at the girl's dedication.
"You like to do your job, I guess," he commented, amused. Shirley smiled a sheepish smile.
"Yeah, I kinda wanted to be a full lawyer for a long time. I was actually in line for the assistant prosecutor job...but..." She gestured to the office around her.
"And you got to clean the office for the new guy," Jeremiah noted, wincing. "Ouch."
"Yyyeah..." Shirley said, grinning a pained grin down at the paperwork. She looked back at Gottwald, her head leaned over to the side. "I'm very appreciated," she added, cheerfully sarcastic.
"Clearly," Jeremiah replied, smiling. "Nice meeting you," he said, turning to leave.
"Nice of you to have met me," she teased, echoing Jeremiah's greeting. Jeremiah gave a weary chuckle as he left the floor of the building.
0.0.0
Jeremiah sighed as he found the least empty carriage in the train. Only one person, dressed entirely in black, was in the room. Jeremiah slid the door open and leaned his head in.
"Mind if we share?" he asked the figure. The head turned to point purple eyes right at Gottwald.
"Certainly," the young man replied. He gestured for Jeremiah to sit across from him. Jeremiah slid inside and closed the sliding glass door behind him. He sighed as he sat down, hands still in his pockets. The younger man was staring at his chest, smirking.
"Love that tie," he commented humorously. Jeremiah glanced down at the obscenely orange tie that graced his neck, tightened and loosened over and over to get it over his shirt. Jeremiah winced and then chuckled as he looked back up at the younger man.
"Gift from a niece," he replied. "Didn't really have a lot of ties in my last job. Still, better than going without, I suppose."
"What was your last job?" the younger man asked, crossing his legs.
"Army. Knightmare pilot for five years," Gottwald replied, smiling politely.
"I've always found them to be more trouble than they're worth," the younger man said, his purple eyes narrowing at the edges, fixated on the tie. "They're a bit of a noose around your neck. I never wear them."
"Yeah, well, sometimes you have to stick to the accoutrements of the job," Jeremiah teased lightly, leaning back in the couch.
"Sorry," the man replied, unbuttoning his large black double-breasted coat. Unlike Jeremiah's blue suit and orange tie, this younger man wore almost entirely black, along with gold accents. Beside the younger man sat a long black fabric bag with many zippers and pockets. Jeremiah had no luggage. He reeked of good fashion and old money, unlike Jeremiah's tired dishevelment. His black hair was much shinier than Jeremiah's.
"What are you going to Kyushu for?" Jeremiah asked nonchalantly, trying to start a pleasant conversation of small talk. The man's young face didn't move, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at nothing, thoughtfully. His lips twisted slightly into a small smile.
"Business," he replied cheerfully. "You?"
"Same," Jeremiah replied, grinning. He eyed the man's luggage. He offered a hand. "You are?"
"Black," the younger man replied jokingly, shaking Jeremiah's hand. Jeremiah chuckled.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Orange."
0.0.0
Jeremiah was jerked awake by a steward and looked around the train carriage. It was now empty and Jeremiah looked out the window. The train was stopped and at the station. Jeremiah rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood, thanking the steward who asked if he was alright. Jeremiah walked down the train and finally stepped out of the train.
The station was nearly empty at this point. Jeremiah shook his head in amazement. He hadn't remembered getting to sleep. Jeremiah saw that the sun was beginning to set. He checked his watch and reached into his pocket, fishing out his cell phone.
By the time he was done making his calls it was dark. The Kyushu police were already sending a car for him. It was nice of them, considering Jeremiah had no jurisdiction besides knowing a little about the vigilante. And they'd sent a unit to watch the man known as Chow.
Jeremiah felt energetic as he entered the squad car. The unit took off to regroup with the unit watching the building with Chow. Jeremiah was anxious. If it was dark that might mean the 'demon' was already in the building. Jeremiah's eyes widened as they neared the building. The lights were off and the officers in the waiting unit were outside of their car, talking into the radio.
"He's already inside," Jeremiah announced. He got out of the car and drew his sidearm. The first time he'd done so in years. The others drew their service pistols as well. "Follow me, remember, their may be confusion, fire only if you need to defend yourselves." Jeremiah ran in through the door.
His body protested as they entered, but Jeremiah kept going. Lives might be depending on it.
"Police, throw down all weapons!" Jeremiah declared. A guard with an automatic weapon raised his gun at Jeremiah. A gunshot wound appeared on the man's arm, causing his aim to go off and miss Jeremiah. Gottwald spun, weapon leveled. And he saw the figure. The lights turned back on.
It was wearing a long black cape, with a high collar flipped up around its black helmet. It had five spikes around the rim and a purple visor over a gold symbol. It had a pistol aimed at Jeremiah.
"Lower your weapons," the figure advised in the deep voice. "I'm not your enemy."
"You lower yours first," Jeremiah ordered. "And you're not a friend. You hurt people."
"I deliver justice," the figure replied.
"What, you think you're a hero?" Gottwald asked, still aiming his gun.
"I'm not a hero," the figure replied. "I'm nothing."
"Well nothings have no rights. So I can shoot you right now." Gottwald grinned behind his gun. The figure then lowered his.
"That's just cute," the figure replied. Then the flash hit Jeremiah straight in the eyes. He felt something hit him and throw him to the floor. His vision was blurry and his ears were ringing when the effects began to rub off. Jeremiah got to his feet and looked around. He saw the black cape going up a ladder to the roof. Jeremiah quickly ran over and climbed the ladder after it.
When he got to the roof he saw the cape flapping behind the figure as he was running. Jeremiah leveled his gun at the ground and fired a couple of times. The figure halted, its hands raised partially. The purple visor looked over the caped shoulder to look at Jeremiah.
"Get on the ground," Jeremiah ordered. The figure began to get on its knees. Then it sprinted off the roof and jumped. Jeremiah ran after to see what happened. The figure landed with a roll and got to one foot quickly to look back at Jeremiah. Then it got back to both feet, and turned and ran back into the darkness. Jeremiah let out an aggravated sigh and lowered his gun.
All of the excitement and adrenaline burned out in the next few seconds. The train-ride, the brief gunfight, the shots fired. All of these exhilarating experiences led up to one word in Jeremiah's mind. His whole existence hinged on this word.
"Goddammit."
0.0.0
"Do you have any kind of idea the what kind of embarrassment you've brought down on this district and this police force?" The District Prosecutor rambled at Jeremiah. The train-ride back to Tokyo had taken Jeremiah all night, and this day looked to be the end all of bad days. Kewell sat next to Jeremiah as Jeremiah nursed his headache from the flash-bang grenade.
"Rushing into a potentially life-threatening situation with Kyushu officers outside of your jurisdiction, based on the testimony of a refrain dealing bodyguard? And then claiming that this assailant bested four officers, including one of our very best?" Jeremiah glanced over at Shirley, who offered a silent apologetic smile.
"Detective Gottwald, you have embarrassed this city. But, as you have served it well for the last five years, and your outstanding military record, we will not be pressing any charges. But do not repeat this incident. You're lucky that the building you entered was the supplier of sixty percent of the refrain coming into Tokyo. Good day, gentlement."
Kewell stood and Jeremiah pushed himself to his feet. The two left the office and Shirley followed them.
"You could have at least told me where you were going," Kewell hissed at Jeremiah.
"Sorry, Kewell," Jeremiah replied. He stuck his hands in his pockets and resumed his weary gait. He paused, frowning. "That bastard is still out there Kewell."
"Maybe," Kewell replied, irritated. "But we don't know where he's going to be next time. Chow was extradited back to China. And Britannian and Chinese relations are doing that well. So we'll never get anything of what the vigilante said to Chow."
Jeremiah was about to speak when the younger man from the train rounded the corner. He smiled in recognition.
"How do you do, gentlemen?" he offered his hand to Jeremiah, who shook, shaking his head and smiling, and then to Kewell, who shook it, glancing back and forth. Shirley stepped forward.
"This is the new Assistant Distract Prosecutor," Shirley announced. "How was your trip over?"
"Pretty dull," the black-haired young man replied. "It's nice to meet you again, Orange. I'm Lelouch Lamperouge."