Kallen Stadfelt wondered what she was doing here – walking, pretending. Here, in the Concession, Brittania Area 11, it wasn't difficult to pretend she was alone. During the day, the Outer Concession wasn't quite devoid of life, but it wasn't far from it either.

Brittanians went about – their footfalls hushed, and their breaths pursed as they hurried to unknown destinations. Not quite running, but not walking either along pavements that might as well be their destination in themselves.

Honorary Britannians making themselves scare, and those that could be seen kept to themselves.

She glanced above the long shadows, above the noises of construction and endless labour, and towards a sun that still sat high.

It hadn't always been like this, of course. She remembered a day where Japan was isolationist. Hibari, the skylarks flitted and flew. Where the earth wasn't quite so dry and the pavement on which she walked wasn't so hard.

But Japan was gone, and globalised now and the Hibari with it. She missed them. She would even accept a Brittanian equivalent, but with their experience in colonising Australia, they were hesitant to do so. Instead, the local bird population was left to wallow and slowly die.

Kallen's phone vibrated. Distracted from her thoughts, she pulled it out, flipped it open. Her shoulders slumped and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and she slipped her phone away.

- It isn't safe out. Come home at once –

Mrs Stadtfelt's messages were always brief, and her concerns were always dressed with the curtness of demands. She expected Kallen to listen to her, and when it suited her, Kallen did. As the mistress of the Stadtfelt name, it was her prerogative – her right. It was a right that Mrs Stadtfelt took for granted and didn't hesitate to abuse. As a member of the nobility, she expected her demands to be followed, step-daughter or not.

Raised Japanese, this placed Kallen in a position she resented. She loathed Mrs Stadtfelt's arrogance, but as her mother in name, she deserved to be respected, regardless of their mutual animosity.

So she found herself reluctantly compliant. She didn't need to like it but Mrs Stadtfelt's concerns weren't without merit and nor was her concern fake. She had heard the news at school. Another terrorist attack, another dozen Brittanians killed, not far from where she schooled. As the sole remaining heir to the Stadtfelt name, she mightn't have liked Kallen, but she was important to the family line enough.

There were of course advantages in being about during the day, but they weren't without their negatives. With Kallen's activities, there was very little she could manage at the Stadtfelt residence under her mother's watch. Outside of that, say during school hours, so long as her mother was kept unawares, she was more than free to do as she wished. Ignoring Mrs Stadtfelt's demands though, certainly weren't worth the risk. Her cover didn't allow her much risk anyway.

Very well, she decided. She hadn't managed to travel far in the Concession, on foot, she couldn't manage much better. She pulled out her phone again and dialled a number she'd grown most familiar. She kept her voice frail, and with a weakness that was entirely unexpected of Brittanian nobility.

"A taxi to the Stadtfelt residence please," she said and coughed for equal measure.

A familiar voice answered. "It would be my pleasure, my Lady. Expect me there in five minutes."

Kallen hung up. How convenient.

The corner of her mouth twitch, and she didn't stop herself from forming a smile.

Sometimes, she decided, she didn't regret her Brittanian cover at all.

The taxi wasn't the cleanest, nor the most appropriate for a Stadtfelt but from the moment she found herself seated, and away from the luxuries of the nobility, she allowed herself to relax. Faux leather, cracked, torn and faded. Seat belts a little bit frayed but more than perfect, and the absence of smell – none of the designer Eau De Parfums of the nobility that pervaded her nose, her thoughts and her school, nor the dust and smog of the outer Concession.

Instead, she noted how the driver turned up the air-con and she breathed through her nose and felt how everything Brittanian leave her. Where Kallen Stadfelt was, instead, there was Kallen Kozuki, and clean, sterile air.

The taxi was more than perfect for Kallen Kozuki, although, she mused, certainly not enough for her cover.

"Best park around the back," she said, and the driver nodded, no doubt more than aware of the eccentricities of the nobility.

The taxi rumbled as he pulled it into gear, and with deftness unexpected for an Honorary Brittanian, he manoeuvred through outer Concession traffic with little difficulty. Not that she doubted him. She was, after all, more than familiar with this particular driver.

"What have you got for me?" She asked him.

The driver glanced at her through the rear view. Even here, in the confines of the car, he was cautious. He hid his dark brown eyes behind mirrored glasses and the mess of black hair beneath his cap.

His taxi registration named him as an honorary Britannian, one Akagi Akihiro, but Kallen knew better. The man behind the glasses and the man in the registration were hardly the same.

After the invasion, there was very little that remained of former Japanese records. The viceroy saw little value in this oversight, and so as long as it skipped his attention, records that could be forged with punitive ease.

"Our surveillance reports activity at the site," he said gruffly. He kept his voice deliberately, deliberately forgetful.

"Tell me," she said.

"They're preparing to either move the project, or it has reached operational capacity. Either way, it's nothing good." He passed her a number of documents, and Kallen paused as she rifled through them with increasing concern. There were a number of photos – truck registration numbers, Brittannian soldiers, there were even a number mass graves of Honorary Brittanian that had appeared nearby.

There was one consistency in all of this. Kallen hadn't the training to be sure, she'd leave that to Oghi, but it was the escalation of activity. It looked like Britannia was foregoing subtle. She imagined something had them spooked. A security breach perhaps, or court politics. No one wanted a chemical weapons facility near them after all.

Not even Brittanians.

"And we can be sure the container's poison gas?"

The driver shrugged. "Command thinks, it's a red herring."

Ah. Kallen could agree to that. Brittania, like the European Union, was a signatory of the chemical weapons convention. Regardless, they had little need for poison gas, with more than enough conventional and unconventional arms in Brittania– but the manner in which the Viceroy conducted his pet project pointed to the contrary. Their agents within the Clovis administration had already discovered financial cover-ups and missing shipments.

If Oghi thought so then it had to be for political reasons. Not that it mattered.

Unless -

"Is it a trap?"

"Kyoto doesn't think so."

Kallen let that one stew. Kyoto's involvement had a number of implications – none of them good for the resistance.

Already, the taxi was coming to a stop outside the Stadtfelt residence. Familiar with the mannerisms of their lady and her frailty, the Stadtfelt staff were already waiting where they expected her, around the back. Kallen didn't have much time and she wasn't prepared to leave just yet.

"What's the plan then?" She asked.

He eyed her coolly through the mirror. The household staff were close, close enough that he daren't risk suspicion on their heir. He had to be brief.

Kami knew that the servants reported to Mrs Stadfelt in every capacity. With the lord away and the terrorist attacks, she was paranoid enough.

"Be ready," he said, "Nine pm, tonight."

The taxi door opened and everything that was clean and sterile inside left her.

"My lady," one of her butlers held out his hand to help the Lady Stadtfelt to her feet. She took his hand, but the butler's hand didn't leave her, fully prepared to escort her inside. There was genuine care in the way he held her, but there was no doubt it was under the mistresses orders.

Her persona wasn't so frail she couldn't walk.

The door closed behind her, but the driver's window wound down.

"A most pleasurable journey," she said as she departed, her voice again meek and quiet. "I'll be sure to request your services again."

He nodded to her. No doubt prepared he'd see her again.

Perhaps, Kallen thought to herself, perhaps she'll see him again tonight.