The next afternoon, the phantom-like figure of Zero walked along London streets, the hollow eyes of refugees watching him closely from the shadows of the ruins not yet addressed by the Construction Council. Which was most of the city. No one dared approach him; around here, Zero was something of a wizard, a mythical figure of legend. They had no way to know that this Zero didn't have Geass, but that didn't mean he was any less intimidating.
Suzaku made his way slowly out of the heart of the city – the Thames still didn't run clear, but at least it was moving. It reminded him of the Shinjuku ghetto, which inevitably dredged up memories of the massacre that seemed to have been the beginning of everything. It had been the first time he'd seen Lelouch in years –
Forcefully stopping that train of thought with a shudder, Zero reached out and braced a hand against a beam rammed into the middle of the street, no doubt tossed there by an explosion. Harlesden had been a pit before, and was practically a ghost town now, littered with rubble and populated by the lost and abandoned that scattered at his approach. Vomit burned its way up his throat, and Suzaku's wheezing breaths did little to settle it back down as he squeezed his eyes against flashes of Lelouch and C.C. and Kallen and, God forbid, Euphemia.
Perhaps that's why the infamous Zero was such an easy target; it was almost too easy when he stood still, battling the poison of old memories as his preferred toxin faded from his system. At the last possible second, though, he lurched to the right. This allowed the 7.62 caliber sniper bullet to rip through his left shoulder, cracking his scapula and shattering his collar bone before it buried itself in the ground in front of him instead of severing Suzaku's spine. As he dropped bonelessly to his knees, ineffectively pressing his right hand to his shoulder in numb shock, the sniper, almost a block away, cursed under his breath.
"Dammit. Lucky son of a bitch." His spotter chuckled as the sniper ripped the bolt action lever back, sending the shell flying and smacking the length of metal forward with a dangerously practiced air. "Shut up. Twenty bucks says he doesn't get another block." The spotter raised his brows – he had known the sniper for two years, and the guy was pretty damn talented. But this was Zero they were talking about. The man had to be at least half magic. And they no longer had the element of surprise on their side.
"You're on." The sniper smirked, already sighting the cloaked figure in his scope. His brows quickly drew together, however, and before he could lock onto him, Zero was darting into the building next to him. He squeezed off a round that missed Zero by inches, cracking into the cement of the abandoned bar the masked man dove into.
"Motherfucker," the sniper growled under his breath in an almost wondering tone before sighing heavily. "Call it in. He's leaving a blood trail like a stuck pig – it won't be hard to track him down." The spotter tried really hard not to laugh as he radioed in. He didn't succeed.
The base in London apprised Havens of the situation, who sat at his desk with his fingers pressed together in front of his mouth. The sniper had failed to secure a kill shot, although they could confirm that Zero was wounded; Havens wasn't really surprised. Without a moment's hesitation, he gave the order for the hit team to move in. He had his orders. Zero had to die.
Suzaku stumbled through the musty building, tripping over rotting barstools as the intense rush of his own breathing scored his throat like cold air, the beat of his blood a roar in his ears. Blood had already soaked through his glove, and he could feel the damp heat spreading down to his waist. As the first shock of pain sifted through his system, adrenaline and Lelouch's order quickly unfurled to take its place. His breathing still hard and fast, Suzaku wondered that his heart didn't pound right out of his chest. There was the growl of a motor from the street, then a few shouts as doors slammed and boots stomped against the broken road. They were coming for him.
His cloak snapping like the wings of bird, Suzaku spun and streaked out of the back of the building, slamming through the doorway like a lightning strike out into a back alley that still reeked of urine. Moving on instinct, he turned to the left, dodging into an open doorway that led to a set of stairs missing a five foot section in the middle. Trusting his body to function despite the injury, he sprinted up the rotting wood, soaring over the gap with a balletic grace his opponents had once recognized. Only now, he was black, instead of white. He landed a little harder and less gracefully than usual, but he was already making his way to the third floor by the time the troops following him with guns raised and intent to kill burst into the alley. Suzaku could hear the click of their heels on the pavement, low commands murmured as the unit broke apart to box him in.
Unlike regular army soldiers, these men didn't shout orders and run like buffalo – they melted into the shadows, almost as stealthy as their prey. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Suzaku folded himself into a corner on the third floor, watching the men chasing him closely from the impromptu balcony ripped into the house from half of the floor's collapse. They moved into the shadows, and a few managed to cross the gap in the stairs with little to no fuss. The rest headed outside, no doubt lending cover and making sure he didn't escape to another building. Too bad he would disappoint them.
Heaving one last breath as a bolster, Suzaku leapt to his feet, fleetly running for a window in a dangerous bid for escape. The soldiers heard his steps skittering off the floor above them, sending them running up the steps after him. Calculating the distance and scrounging his memory of this neighborhood, Suzaku burst through the jagged glass, for once thankful for the cloak, coat, and mask of Zero's guise. He landed in a roll on the small, unsteady balcony across the street. Before he had a chance to take to his feet, bullets ripped through the wood from the soldiers stationed in the alley below, one grazing his right calf in a bee sting burst of pain. He had clapped his already bloody hand to the wound when the wood gave a gut-wrenching shriek, sending his eyes flying wide.
Reacting with the inhuman speed that had granted him the Lancelot in what seemed centuries ago, he launched to his feet, jumping up to snatch the top of the frame of the small door that opened onto the balcony. Just as the wooden platform broke free from the shattered stone, Suzaku rammed his feet into the door, shooting through just in time to avoid the bullets whizzing by his head. His blood-soaked glove slipped on the sill, sending him crashing down in a heap in the dusty living room. He landed almost fully on his wounded shoulder, sending him careening towards the black. Fighting it off with a sweaty grip on his consciousness, Suzaku struggled against the retching that sent his ribcage into a spasming fit. Slipping to his feet, he limped over to the doorway, sidling up next to the empty frame as he listened for signs of his pursuers.
When the soft patter of their footsteps drifted up through the floors, Suzaku squeezed his eyes closed, and thought to himself very clearly, "I'm going to die." Even more adrenaline gushed through his system, wiping out the drum beat of pain in his shoulder and the sassy tinkle of hurt in his leg. Moving with the economical movements of a man no longer truly in control of himself, he jogged down the hallway, hardly limping as his blood splattered against the wood floor scarred by time, war, and death. Clambering out another window, he took to the roof, seamlessly leaping from one building to another as he built his speed. His long legs pumped without fault, his iconic coat trailing dramatically. Even though his old injuries, broken ribs and torn ligaments and countless others, ached vehemently, his brain registered none of it.
The sniper and his spotter took to the roof of a building three blocks east of their original position. The man with the gun still thirsted for a chance to redeem himself; he would never be able to face his CO if his didn't at least wing his target again. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, crinkling at the corners in a sharp smile when a black figure on the rooftops started running back west. He would cut across to their right in about twenty seconds.
Dropping down to his stomach, the sniper readied his weapon, his eye already trained through the scope before his elbows hit concrete. The bones of residential buildings had given way to giant craters, some as broad as a field while others were narrow and drilled down to London's ancient sewers. The spotter's joking was gone – he knew that his sniper had the chops to make the shot and finish the mission, especially after the tactical team had run down their target for a while. And with the sting of the first failure burning his ass? He'd be unstoppable.
Zero sprinted along the rooftops, hardly pausing when he had to jump or dodge. The sniper narrowed his eyes – he sure wasn't moving like a man who had taken a bullet. Carefully adjusting for a moving target, he narrowed his eyes slightly, and was about to exhale and pull the trigger when Zero suddenly tumbled through the weak roof of one of the buildings, still visible since that facing wall was all but gone. He rolled like a ball before taking to his feet without pause, moving with a feline grace that belied his injury. The small pops of gunfire warned the sniper that the tactical team was closing in, their bullets thudding into the building's gray, flaking bones. They were all but herding Zero to him.
Clearly preferring the roof to running closer to the tactical team bullets, Zero made his way back to the skyline, moving more like a cat than a man. He made his way to a stand of rebar that had once been a building, black fingers of metal tangled as they reached for the sky. This time, the sniper didn't waste his time – on the slow exhale, he squeezed the trigger. He could tell by the jerk of Zero's shoulders that his bullet had found its target.
Suzaku stuttered to a halt, bending over as he gasped violently. He didn't think it was possible, but his Geass command was being overridden by too much pain. It would seem that he could feel more than even the magic he had never really believed in could control. Black bubbled in his vision, and the thunder in his ears started to slow. He didn't feel his legs collapse, but he was vaguely aware of his eyes rolling back as his knees hit the narrow beam he stood on and sent him tumbling into the bowels of the building.
The tactical team was quickly regrouping with the apparent termination of their target. The spotter clapped a hand to the sniper's shoulder as he finally popped the gum he'd been silently chewing the whole time. The sniper wordlessly watched Zero fall, limply crashing through the compromised floors and rotted beams with all the resistance of a rag doll without moving from his prone position. Zero's tattered and torn cloak cradled him, his limbs loose as he smacked against floors and beams until he eventually disappeared into the shadows cast by the building as the sun fell west. Pursing his lips as he heard the faint report of cracking bone, the sniper finally made his way to his knees. As he meticulously policed his brass, he could swear that he heard the faint splash of water. But he couldn't be sure.
Argh.
This story has commanded my life. I have a novel to write, damn it.
But it has gripped me in its hold. I can't stop thinking about it. /emSo Long Sentimentem by Celldweller almost brought me to tears repeatedly, as it's the song to a really good CG AMV. Like painful, sit-in-your-chest tears. I don't want to listen to it, but I have to! Is this what addiction feels like? I don't even feel that good, but a little catharsis (aka, this chapter) seems to let me deal with it a little better. I can't wait to introduce Aurora. This story seems so dark, so unhealthy, and my novel has huge incidents of child abuse. Way to be, Geass. Gah. I need someone with a little light, a little hope, a little health. So does Suzaku, I guess.
I didn't think I would have to say this, but if you want to see more chapters sooner, review. I am a hugely review-driven author, and I cannot describe how much I appreciate feedback.
Hope you like it!
Love, Tango