Me: Hi everyone! Thanks for starting to read this fic. I'll be here if you have any questions.
Suzaku: So why am I here?
Me: Because, you can run on walls and dodge bullets,
Suzaku: That's not related to anything.
Me: Okay, fine. You're here to stand next to me and look awesome.
Suzaku: Lelouch could do that.
Me: Yeah, but I am a ninja with swords already took him. So I took you.
Suzaku: Great. How will I ever explain this to Lloyd…
Disclaimer: I do not own Code Geass. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fics about it, would I? No. I would be putting out episodes.
Notes: This story is going to be mostly AU, but I'm going to try and possibly fit in some of my favorite scenes. Also, you might recognize some scenes in here with incorrect dialogue. I know that it's not exactly the same as the episodes, but unfortunately, I'm too lazy to go on YouTube and watch the episode again. Sorry. (plus, some stuff might just be for a dramatic flair of sorts)
Lelouch Lamperouge had just won his 98th chess game of the year, and oddly enough, he was not pondering his winnings, but rather the number of times that he had won. 98, he thought. How ironic. After a moment though, his expression changed. How dreadful.
A usual man would be gloating over the luck bestowed on him that had allowed him to beat one of the most renowned chess players in all of Area 11. But Lelouch (as we all should know), was no ordinary man. The noble, who was now left flabbergasted in his heavily furnished office, had not presented a challenge in the least for the Britannian schoolboy.
Rivalz (as per usual) was chattering away about Lelouch's latest triumph as they exited the elevator. "Eight minutes and thirty seconds? That has to be a record. The setup was impossible!"
Lelouch showed no emotion, pride or otherwise. "The noble was overconfident. Also, he only had twenty seconds to make his moves as well."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right. At least the nobles pay up pretty well. You should play an Eleven sometime…"
Rivalz voice faded into the background as the pair exited the building. Lelouch squinted into the bright sunlight at the Britannian settlement. Sunlight gleamed off of every reflective surface. The settlement was a thing of wonder. However, if one looked of into the hazy distance, they would the ghetto where the oppressed Japanese people were forced to live their lives.
But Lelouch was focused on neither settlement nor ghetto. His eyes gazed pointedly at a large television screen mounted on the side of a building. Prince Clovis la Britannia's fine tuned face was shown as he began speaking with great emotion, which was obviously fake, at least to Lelouch's eye.
After a moment of listening, Lelouch's eyes narrowed and he turned away. As he began walking to the bike, Rivalz followed silently as he listened to the Viceroy's speech. Secretly, Lelouch was listening too. It had become a sort of hobby of his to keep tabs on his siblings; it gave him something interesting to do.
After a moment. Clovis quieted, observing a moment of silence for the "Britannian martyrs" who had died in the terrorist attack.
"You're not going to do it, are you?" asked Rivalz as he pulled on his helmet and stepped one leg onto his bike.
"No," said Lelouch as he folded his lanky frame into the sidecar. "Doing so will not bring back those who have died."
As soon as the pair had situated themselves, Rivalz gunned the throttle and they sped off. They made small talk as they rode, but neither of them was much into it. Each sat thinking about the trials and tribulations of his own life.
Nunnally, Lelouch thought. I know that she's about as safe as she can be at Ashford, but what if someone eventually recognizes her? What if someone recognizes me? I don't want to become a pawn again like seven years ago.
Milly, Rivalz thought. God, that girl is beautiful. If only she would acknowledge me as something more than a friend…
Obviously, one of the boy's matters were much more serious than the other's.
Suddenly, a large truck pulled up behind the bike, looming over the motorcycle in a monstrous manner. "Ahh!" Rivalz screamed as the truck honked its horn, once, twice, three times. It tried to push them to go faster, but Rivalz gave out and swerved over to the edge of the overpass. The truck, seeing an apparently faster route, careened off an exit ramp and into a construction zone.
Both boys peered over the edge of the overpass. "Eh, that wasn't our fault, was it?" Rivalz nervously rubbed the back of his head. However, Lelouch wasn't listening, instead staring at the billowing dust clouds and debris below. Almost in a trance, he began running faster than one would believe for a schoolboy as out of shape as him toward the truck.
"Lelouch! Lelouch!" Rivalz called out after realizing his companion was halfway down the ramp. "We're going to be late to class!"
Lelouch ignored him, and slowed to a jog as he reached the truck. He searched methodically for a door to the cabin, banging on the wall of the vehicle and yelling, "Hey! Are you okay? Hello?"
Inside said vehicle, the driver coughed, his blue hair shaking slightly. He glanced at his companion, caught her eye, and smiled. "Hold on, Kallen." He said a fraction of a second before he stomped on the gas pedal.
Before the Lelouch could realize what was happening, the truck was speeding off into the rubble. Lelouch blinked. Why would they be running away instead of waiting for assistance? That must mean… A smile crept onto his face. They were terrorists. Most likely they had something they considered vital to the rebellion in that vehicle, possibly a Knightmare Frame. It was definitely something large. Could it have been…
No. It was highly unlikely that this would be related to Clovis's pet project. But there was always a chance. Lelouch had been curious as to what Clovis had been researching for the past few months, rudely neglecting his duties as Viceroy. There was a good chance that this had nothing to with it, but out of sheer curiousity, he wanted to run after the truck. Should he? Was it worth the possible disappointment?
After a moment, he took off running.
"Squadron A, cover the ground."
"Yes sir!"
"Squadron B, cover all buildings and warehouses."
"Yes sir!"
"Squadron C, cover underground subways and tunnels."
"Yes sir!"
"Special Squadron, you're with me."
"Understood, sir!"
"Disband!"
Suzaku Kururugi, Private and Honorary Britannian, slipped on his soldier's helmet, listening for the pneumatic hiss to ensure that it was secure. He checked his suit, making sure that all of the hardened parts had interlocked together, making its protection the most effective.
After he was completely sure that his equipment was functioning, he ran off after the rest of his group, who were stopped near the entrance to the subways. Their squadron leader was at the front, barking out orders.
"DeMille and Ranges, you're with me. We'll be covering the far east side of the tunnels. Owens, Marcus, and Stone, you're a group. You'll be covering the central east part of the tunnels. Carter, Fournier, and Jackson, cover the central west." He turned to Suzaku. "Sorry, Kururugi," he sneered. He hated Suzaku, as he was the only Honorary Britannian in the squadron. "You're all alone. Cover far west."
"Yes, sir." Suzaku said obediently. It was best to try and stay on good terms with the higher-ups, even if you had never been on good terms to begin with. Talking back just made everything all the worse. Plus, if he put as much as a single toe out of line, he would be booted out of the military faster than he could say 'Honorary Britannian'.
He separated from his squadron and began jogging to the west entrance. Truthfully, he enjoyed working alone. He hadn't come to meet one officer or soldier in the military who actually had any respect for the Japanese, Honorary Britannian or otherwise. When forced to work with the others, he was forced to endure their constant taunts and jeers that prevented him from getting the job done. And always, always, always, it was blamed on him.
He put those thoughts out of his head and concentrated on the mission. The general in command of their force had given them the information that the terrorists had stolen a container full of deadly poison gas. Their task was to search for the container, and call for backup when it was found.
Suzaku descended into the damp tunnels of the abandoned subway line. The place was dreary, and most of the walls were exactly the same. It was almost impossible to find landmarks of any sort. Nevertheless, he pushed on, scanning the ground and walls for any clues as to where the canister may be.
As he continued walking, something caught his eye. Was it… a tire track? More like a skid mark of some sort. He ran down farther, and some grey paint scraped onto the wall caught his soldier's eye almost immediately.
He was on the right track, both literally and metaphorically.
Now that he was so close to finding the truck and gas, he became excited and sped up from a walk to a job. The thrill of working on completing a task never failed to make his heart pump, his blood race. Something as serious as this only added to the effect. His people's lives were on the line.
No, wait. The Japanese people weren't his people anymore. No longer was he Suzaku Kururugi, son of Prime Minister Kururugi. He was now Suzaku Kururugi, Private in the army and Honorary Britannnian.
Part of him missed being Japanese. He missed the early morning wakeups to go and practice martial arts at the dojo, the refreshing isolation of his private shack, and most of all, and the pride of being the Prime Minister's son. Japan was still a part of him, whether he liked it or not.
His helmet swiveled as he panned the wide tunnel for any sign of the targeted vehicle. The grainy feed in his helmet was dreadful, but it allowed him to see in the darkness. Truly, he wasn't sure that it was too dark to see with the naked eye in the tunnel, so he kept the helmet on just in case.
After a moment, he finally spotted it. The vehicle, a large transport truck, was tipped into a hole that had opened in the tunnel's floor. It was immoibilzed; in other words, trapped.
Suzaku ran to the front to try and get a better view so the general and squadron leader would realize that he had spotted the target. After he was sure that he had gotten a clear shot, he slowly walked forward, curious as to what kind of container would hold poison gas. A large sphere sat in the center of the truck, with what look like a type of pumps protruding out. It was quite interesting, in fact.
In the silence of the tunnel, Suzaku heard a loud groan. Of course! Someone had to drive the truck. His orders included detaining any terrorists for interrogation. He had to make sure that the man didn't escape.
Suzaku ran towards the cabin of the vehicle, and tried to throw open the passenger door. Much to his chagrin, it had become jammed in the various beatings the truck had taken that day. The driver's door was inaccessible, so that left coming in from the transport area itself. As he clambered into the area, and began beating on the door, his arm brushed a nearly invisible button on the mysterious canister.
A pneumatic hiss escaped from the mechanism. Suzaku threw himself to the ground out of instinct, though he knew that it wouldn't help if the gas had been released. As he dared to look up, he didn't see any smoke or haze in the air. Instead, he saw the most unusual girl that he had ever laid eyes on.
Her hair was long and green, and it floated around her as she threw her head back. Her face was perfectly unscathed, though it showed that much had happened in this girl's past. Her eyes were closed, and with her expression, she looked quite delicate. Later, or course, Suzaku would find that "delicate" was definitely not a word that could be used to describe this girl.
As soon as she had completed her motion, she fell back into the canister. Suzaku peered over the edge, and realized that her arms were bound to her chest; the sleeves of her jumpsuit were strapped so she couldn't take her hands out, and her legs were bound in three different places.
As he stared at the sight before him, Suzaku had only one thought running through his mind.
Who is she?
Me: Eh heh… sorry for making that so dramatic. My bad.
Suzaku: Come on. "Japan was still a part of him, whether he liked it or not." Really?
Me: Get off me. I needed to fill in something there.
Suzaku: Right.
Me: Okay, just ignore him. Hey, if you're logged in (or even if you're not) please review! I'll take anything you say, and I LOVE criticism! Thanks for reading this!
R&R?