A/N: Thank you everyone for your reviews! It's definitely gotten me thinking of more ideas for this thing ^^

"Ah, Marquess. This is L. I believe it is time I called in my favour."

The first thought that went through Rivalz's mind, to his shame, was that Lelouch had some pretty big nerve to mess with a Marquess. And then it hit him: Lelouch was calling in a favour from a Marquess. With the intention of getting involved with whatever terrorist business was happening under their noses.

Lelouch, he concluded, was an idiot. An idiot maybe too smart for his own good.

Still, Rivalz couldn't find it in him to leave. He could have just gone, easily, with the bike behind him. They were going to be late for their next period, weren't they? But yet... yet, Lelouch was his friend. His idiotic friend.

So he stayed to listen to whatever crazy idea Lelouch was planning on his end of the phone.

"I need a Knightmare – one which as Prince Clovis's IFF codes," Lelouch said. Then pause. "Does it matter what it's for? You only need to know that all your debts will be erased. If you can get me access within five minutes, I'll even hand over all the documents I possess detailing some of your rather... illicit activities."

Rivalz never claimed his fish impersonation to be a good one. He found himself doing it as he spluttered at the implications: Lelouch, his best friend, had blackmail material. On a Marquess, the third highest noble rank outside of the Royal Family.

There was something so wrong about that. Rivalz felt something in his chest sink and roll over when he realized he didn't know Lelouch well at all.

"Yes... yes. Very well, I await your call."

—

Amor fati
N. Silvutra Mayhem

II.

—

"I accept your contract!"

Suzaku felt a rush. A rush of exhilaration, a wave of confidence swept within him, as if someone had been foolish enough to lock away a typhoon. Something prickled at his left eye, a thoughtful probing, and he had no doubts it had something to do with the power he received.

Geass, the whisper said.

The rush was replaced by cold fear when the Sutherland lifted its assault rifle. The weapon, ridiculously large and designed for destroying enemy Knightmares with rounds that could pierce through thick plates of steel, was nothing but overkill against flimsy flesh and blood. The probing magnified, countless invisible arrows stabbing at the surface and bringing pain. Unintelligible pain. With it, four words whispering in his mind.

"I..." Suzaku began. Fear gripped him again – then, he noted, a warmth bubbled from his eye amidst the pain, replacing the fear with foolish confidence. He took a deep breath before being swept by the winds, his voice saying words that weren't his own.

"I will not die!"

The next thing he knew he was pushed to the floor, and the Sutherland was shooting at him but only succeeding to turn the bullet-riddled truck to something akin to Swiss cheese, and then a green blur stumbled out of the truck and into the line of fire.

—the girl—

"You will not harm Kururugi-sama!" she cried.

Suzaku couldn't watch the bullets intended for him, but he couldn't look away. The armour-piercing rounds literally ripped a hole in her stomach and then there was blood—

But she still kept crawling toward the Knightmare, leaving a crimson trail behind her. The Sutherland faltered, and that was enough time for the girl to reach its leg. She placed a small hand against the side, the action weak but her resolution strong.

"You will not harm... Kururugi... sama..."

There were no words to describe what happened next. One moment, the Sutherland was still. The next, it had fallen forward as the pilot lost control, an outstretched leg the only thing to stop it hitting the ground as automatic safety precautions overrode the system. With its gun down, the monstrosity looked as if it were kneeling in submission.

Suzaku made his way out cautiously thanking that the truck hadn't collapsed, its structurally superior design being remnants of its past life. He made his way to the girl, forcing down bile when he saw her state. No part of the frail form escaped the blood seeping from the gruesome wound: she was beyond saving.

He turned his attention to the Knightmare and hesitated. If it were a trap, then he would be defenceless. But the alternative – waiting for the pilot to recover and then being shot into a mess similar to the girl – looked no better, so he shook out his arms and began climbing the side.

Once, a lifetime ago, Asahina Shogo pulled a teenaged Suzaku aside and divulged what he knew about Knightmares both enemy and their own. Suzaku remembered grinning when Asahina adjusted his glasses (—he didn't have that scar back then, and looked so young—) and said there were ways to take enemy Sutherlands from their hands. It would be difficult, but possible.

The trick lay in the emergency cockpit ejection system. It had a little-known safety mechanism that enabled a pilot to open the hatch out in the field if outside events forced it to close. The reasoning behind its design went something along the lines of pilots stepping out to arrest their targets but unable to return, and no protest was made in terms of theft because it was impossible a Knightmare to be used without the key and its corresponding code.

Of course, if the key and the code were already inputted within the system, it was another story entirely.

When Suzaku reached the cockpit, he pulled himself into a semi-stable position between the head and the large crimson shoulderplate. Then he pulled out his pocketknife and began work on the key-like hole on the side. It didn't take long before he felt a click, and as there was a pneumatic hiss he prepared to both hide himself and jump, whichever option was better. But fortunately, the hatch opened without him being gunned down, and he carefully crawled above the cockpit to make his way to the opening.

He had been prepared for an ambush. There was no other explanation for how docile and unmoving the war machine was. But he never expected the pilot – a curvy female with silver hair he might have considered pretty in any other circumstance – to be blank-faced, staring and twitching in shock.

What had the amber-eyed girl done, just before she died?

Suzaku couldn't complain about his luck, though. So he awkwardly moved the pilot into a position where she could be attached to the cord, and carefully lowered her to the ground. Setting the cord to auto-retract, he took the seat and flicked a switch so the cockpit would close. The monitors flared into life, the key under the joystick glinting under their light.

Impossible. He'd actually done it; he'd stolen a Sutherland.

He took a brief moment to familiarize himself with the controls. The Sutherlands were similar enough to the Glasgow, being an upgrade, and the Burai he was accustomed to were simply modified versions of both. Most of the controls were known to him at once, the rest easily identified by the idiot-proof labelling and inbuilt help system.

Sutherlands, anti-Knightmare frames, were mass-produced with the intention of using every man as their pilot in the case of a widespread Knightmare war, after all.

He turned off his transmitting IFF signal and customised the settings to his own. He had work to do.

Lelouch had received a reply within four minutes and twenty-one seconds, told by the Marquess to visit the ASEEC mobile base. In all honesty, Lelouch had expected the Marquess to pull in some favours of his own in getting one of the troops to hand over their Sutherlands.

Not that he would be staring down a scientist who created the first seventh-generation Knightmare Frame in existence.

Beside him, Rivalz stared wide-eyed at the inside of the trailer. He'd refused to leave, insisting Lelouch get a ride on his bike to the base instead of catching a taxi, saying something along the lines of 'If you're going to be late, we might as well be late together'.

"Hmm..." the scientist muttered, pale eyes and pale hair hidden behind a pair of glinting lenses.

Lelouch decided to take the initiative. "You are Lord Lloyd Asplund?"

When the scientist hmmed again, the kind-faced woman gave a nudge a little too forceful to the man's side before turning a smile to her two guests. "He is, I'm afraid. I am Cécile, Cécile Croomy."

"Lelouch Lamperouge," he said. "This is my friend, Rivalz Cardemonde. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Cécile smiled slightly, but Lloyd cut in before she could speak. "Are you sure you're the new part?"

Lelouch blinked, just as Cécile discreetly nudged Asplund again, this time hard enough for a wince to show.

"Pardon his manners," she said. "We're aware that Lord Tessmoor recommended you, but..."

"But I can't just hand the Lancelot over!" Asplund moaned. "What if you break it?"

None of them noticed Rivalz slightly edging away.

"That's unlikely," Lelouch assured. "I have experience as a pilot in multiple frames, and it can't be as fragile as the Ganymede."

It were as if that single word made the skies open, and instantly smoothed relations between the four. Asplund lit up and called for Cécile to get 'the devicer' a flight suit, Rivalz was pushed to one side with an indignant squawk during the commotion as they entered new biological data into the computer's systems and Lelouch ended up standing awkwardly with a manual and a coat hanger in his hands, eyeing the outfit suspiciously.

"Do I really have to wear this?" he asked.

"It's about your safety," Cécile replied. She lifted the camera in her hands, obtained at some point in time. "When you're changed, we'll take your photo."

Lelouch pursed his lips. "I would appreciate it if nobody knew I was here."

"Aaah, but that's a problem," said Asplund, who had returned to collect measurements. "You see, we need to keep a record of all the devicers on system."

Lelouch paused. A problem indeed; he'd foolishly overlooked that detail in his calculations. He spent a few tediously long moments trying to find something to say, anything that could keep his identity secret for longer. He would stop Clovis finding out, and he would not return to the Britannian Empire.

He started when he felt a kind hand on his shoulder, and found Cécile's kind smile.

"Don't worry, Lelouch," she told him. It was then he noticed the camera had been put away. "Lloyd's right, we do need to record everyone, but an image file for all of them will only use precious drive space so I guess we can make an exception."

"But—" Asplund began.

When Cécile kicked her boss in the shin and pulled him away, not before pointing Lelouch in the direction of a side room in which he could change, Lelouch knew. An extra photo would be nothing when considering the storage capacity of the modern era. She had seen his expression, and decided to bend the rules.

He once hated the human factor, he thought as he tried to dress and read the manual simultaneously. But now...

"Oi, Lelouch," he heard Rivalz mutter from outside the storage room. They were the first words he'd spoken since being ungratefully pushed away earlier. "I never knew the Ganymede was that good."

Lelouch pulled on the last sleeve before closing the zipper. He flicked through the manual once more to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, then swung the door open. Rivalz, once leaning against it, flailed backwards and fell into the room.

"The Ganymede was the first Knightmare Frame built," Lelouch said.

"Huh, and the prez uses it to make pizza? More importantly," added Rivalz, once he'd gotten back up, "whoa! You look..."

"Ridiculous."

"No, no! You look like a knight!"

Lelouch looked down at himself. Sure, the white and gold maybe made him look knightly (—he was a prince in hiding, he wasn't supposed to—) but all he could think about was how self-conscious he felt in the skin-tight uniform. It was worse than that gala where Milly made him wear tights before the entire student population!

(...No. Bad memories. He wouldn't think about that.)

A sudden female screech cut through his thoughts.

"What do you mean Prince Clovis never gave us authorization to deploy?"

"Ahaha," Asplund laughed, sheepishly. "What the Prince doesn't know won't hurt him. We are Irregulars, after all. Besides, we need combat data or our sponsor will be most upset."

Cécile looked as if she was struggling with herself. "Did he give his authorization?"

"Of course, of course! You needn't worry."

His words did nothing to calm her, but he spotted Lelouch and all was forgotten. Asplund grinned, dangling the Knightmare's key in one hand.

"You're done!" Asplund exclaimed. "I guess I have to thank the Marquess, I'll be very interested in seeing how a Ganymede pilot handles my precious Lancelot. He's not easy, you know?"

Lelouch took the key as it was offered, exchanging it for the manual he still held.

"This is where we part," said Asplund. "Follow Miss Cécile if you will, she'll take you around to the Lancelot's holding bay."

When Suzaku surfaced, as per Ohgi's directions via his transceiver, he felt chills at the sight of the Shinjuku ghetto. While it hadn't been as well-off as the Settlement, certainly, the dusty, dilapidated buildings were still places to live. They were still communities of people, trying to live their lives as best as they could in the little space Britannia allowed. There was oppression, but that oppression only brought what remained of the Japanese (—Elevens—) together.

Now nothing remained but corpses and blood, and the overwhelming pressure of desolation.

The terrorist cell he'd been assigned to were waiting in one of the better areas. Less destroyed. It had been a basketball court, the scratched, faded lines marked on the concrete hinting of times when there had been laughter and playful rivalry. Now several parts of the ground were ruined to the point where walking became impossible, and the buildings that once surrounded it like a protective nest were fallen and riddled with bullet holes. As he approached, he felt sick when he imagined the deaths in the one, single area.

Of course, in the bulky machine, the terrorist cell spotted him first. Until he activated the factsphere and zoomed in, they looked like nothing but a bunch of specks against ruin.

"I can't believe he got his hands on a Knightmare!" Tamaki hooted, jumping up and down.

"Ohgi," began Suzaku, as he switched the Sutherland to standby in order to save power and felt a shudder when the landspinners retracted. "What happened?"

Their leader ran a hand through curly black hair. His face was tired and worn, long lines that shouldn't have existed until a person passed their sixties. When he finally answered, he did so without getting up from the rubble.

"We're not sure," said Ohgi. "It seems the Viceroy ordered the destruction of the ghetto."

Suzaku could only reign in control long enough to turn off the speakers. Then he swore, colourful chains of garbled words bouncing off the cockpit's walls for no one but himself to hear. He suppressed the urge to smash his right display, the one showing the Viceroy's convoy, and clenched his fists instead.

He suddenly remembered the cuts riddled on his arm with surprising clarity. They didn't hurt – he could still pilot fine with them – but they should have been treated better.

The speakers were enabled again, and he started searching for a first-aid kit. Slim as the chance of finding one had been, considering the pilots themselves were often out of harm's way, there was one tucked under a flap behind the central display. Whoever had the Knightmare before him certainly was priviledged.

"Where's Kozuki?" he asked distractedly.

"Missing. She contacted us earlier, but she's too busy fighting."

Suzaku hissed, both at the news and the sting of antiseptic. "Try contacting her again. I'll go to her location."

Hesitation, filled with the shuffle of unwinding bandages.

"I can't let you," said Ohgi. "I was under strict instructions not to allow you access to any weaponry."

Suzaku scowled, and shot back, "Do you know why Toudou didn't let me?"

"...No."

"Because," he picked up the razor, "I was too good for him."

The sound of the bandage being cut echoed through the speakers like an ultimatum to his words. Suzaku didn't pause, packing away the first aid kit and then flexing his arm: it was good to go.

It occurred to him that Ohgi and the others were saying something, but he wasn't paying attention. He would show Toudou. He would show him.

There was a thump as his landspinners fell and he turned the Knightmare back on, and he began the activation sequence to return it to full form.

LANDSPINNER: STATUS/OK ; TONFA: STATUS/OK ; SLASH HARKEN: STATUS/OK ; ASSAULT RIFLE: STATUS/088 LOW ;

Low on rounds? That was fine, since the rest of the start-up check proceeded smoothly. He'd just have to avoid the assault rifle. Instinctively, he outstretched the Sutherland's legs and ducked forward to increase its aerodynamic output. He opened the throttle: three seconds.

LAUNCH: STATUS/OK.

The brakes were released, and he rushed toward the Viceroy's convoy.

Showtime.

The Lancelot, the very first seventh generation Knightmare to hit the battlefield. Every action it made felt as if it were going at full power, though the motors used just under eight percent of the total energy source. Its sleek, flawless curves cut through the air as if the air itself moved, and it was highly responsive, moving forwards even at the slightest inclination. The quality of the liquid crystal displays were crisp, even without needing to activate the factspheres for a clearer view, and any display lag virtually didn't exist.

It was incredible.

It was too bad that, for Lelouch, it felt like he was trying to move in a vat of thick syrup. He could immediately see why a person would have trouble interfacing with the device, and why Asplund referred to the user as a 'part'. To use the Lancelot, one had to be part of the machine. It was unlike its predecessors, who merely required button-presses and basic joystick handling to manoeuvere.

Basic handling would result in jerky movements; to pilot it correctly, one needed two things. They had to be fluid to move with the machine, possessing the ability to synchronise in a way that they could understand how every change in the cockpit would make it react. They also had to be physically strong enough to last the endurance the machine was designed for.

Truly, the Lancelot was not designed for the common man.

Lelouch lacked in the strength department. Severely. But his over competent capabilities in understanding were more than enough to compensate. The gap between the six and seventh generations was extreme; did it matter if he could only achieve part of the seventh generation's capabilities at the time?

"Very good, very good! This preliminary data is wonderful!" Asplund exclaimed, once the Lancelot cleared a lap around the trailer. "Now, go fight someone!"

Lelouch sighed and looked down at the IFF display. Yes, the Marquess had done well, getting him a Knightmare with the IFF signals he needed. Except, since he sat on the front lines in person and was expected to act, he'd relinquished his potential position as a commander to be a soldier. The Marquess had done too well, especially to get him access to a seventh generation prototype.

Lelouch made a note to blackmail someone in the lower nobility next time.

Then, without warning, he saw a barrage of LOST signs. The surrounding troops moved in to replace them easily, but just as Lelouch reached the conclusion that whatever threat at that location was visible, those troops fell as well.

He frowned. Ignoring Asplund's demands, he sent the two Harkens on his wrist to an open multi-storey carpark nearby and retracted them, hoisting himself onto a floor high enough to see the battlefield. It was to his surprise when the enemy turned out to be a single Purist Sutherland attempting to defend the Glasgow from earlier.

Lelouch snorted at the irony, remembering the previous battle. Then he froze; he saw.

The Sutherland was incredible. Though many in the military tried to deny it, Purist Sutherlands possessed exactly the same capabilities as a normal Sutherland. And Lelouch watched as the Sutherland fighting there, a Sutherland like any other, simultaneously plunge a tonfa into the stomach of one sneaking up from behind whilst taking out two more with either Harken. Its pilot knew that in such a crowded battlefield it was better to cripple and force ejections as the crippled Sutherlands were no better than dead – those who could not eject were caught up in the crossfire of bullets haphazardly aimed at the Purist Sutherland; bullets it didn't try to avoid.

Then he didn't know how he noticed it, but he did: the Sutherland's decreased movements meant the damage from the anti-Knightmare rounds were actively affecting the pilot's control. The decreased movements meant more bullets were going where they were intended to go. The cockpit.

And then everything went to hell.

Suddenly, abruptly, in a ridiculous display of nonsense, the Purist Sutherland and the Glasgow were left alone as every single Sutherland in the field turned on one another. Bullets were aimed at comrades, Slash Harkens were flying every which way, and... and it was nothing but chaos.

Lelouch started as all his screens were replaced by Asplund's annoyed face. That was when he realized he'd been ignoring every word said from the ASEEC mobile base. The Earl's hijacking meant he was desperate.

"Go! Go! Fight!" Asplund crowed, "Get me that data!"

"Sorry, sir, just scouting," Lelouch replied in his most demure tone. Then he jumped off the edge. "You might want to give me those screens back before I crash."

Asplund's face disappeared with a high-pitched shriek as the man feared for his Lancelot's survival, but Lelouch landed without problem. He winced a bit as the impact transferred from the Lancelot's surface to himself, wishing he were just a little more fit, but forced the machine to enter the fray.

Yes, he thought as he worked to disable all of the crazy Sutherlands. The Lancelot was superb. Several enemies were taken out at once using all four Slash Harkens, controlled using miniature joysticks for the four fingers on his left hand. Attacks that were too nasty were deflected with the Blaze Luminous system, activated with the press of his right thumb. The entire time he covered ground with the grip-controlled propulsion systems, configured in an instant so only the right controller was needed for their activation and steering.

Briefly, he entertained the idea that he probably wasn't using the Lancelot the way it was intended, relying on its components more than its capability for powerful physical attacks – and as a consequence, fighting as aesthetically as a scarecrow on wheels. It wasn't his fault; just lifting an arm tore at his own arm muscles, muscles that hadn't hurt so much since they relocated everything in Ashford's old storeroom to the one across campus.

Then, almost as quickly as the chaos had started, all the Sutherlands stopped. Lelouch took the opportunity to take out two more, and frowned. The mess had lasted forty seconds; exactly forty seconds. It was too perfect, too timed...

Asplund's face appeared on-screen again, and there may have been a grim undertone hiding beneath his delight.

"The G-1 base issued a withdrawal order, and I'm afraid you're included," he said. "Thanks for all the data~!"

"What happened?" Lelouch asked.

The cheer was gone, to be replaced by narrowed eyes and a pursed frown. "Well, there was a coup d'état."

"A coup d'état?"

"It seems so. Looks like this whole scheme was some convoluted plan made by General Bartley; Prince Clovis is dead."

A/N: Yes. L was a reference to Death Note. So is the forty second thing. (It was going to be thirty, but then I thought: hey, why not?) There's a lot of irony in this fic; Suzaku's Geass is a key example of this, the "Power to Live On". You'll learn its full specifications later.

Please review? :)