Code Geass
The Millionth Miracle
BontaKun117
Chapter IV: Vanishing Act
We're still sitting on the roof when Zero finally emerges from His meeting with Red and the Boss Lady. There're about three seconds where everyone is excited to see Him, then Captain Chiba takes it upon herself to ruin the mood. She's really good at that. Commander Asahina is right behind her and starts demanding an explanation from the Boss Man. Honestly, even I'm offended at that. For a subordinate to demand anything of their leadership – especially when that leadership is Zero – is the kind of thing that Britannia would have a guy executed for. It's still hard for me to make the transition sometimes.
Again, Zero shows of His inability to be surprised. "Everything is for victory over Britannia," He says. Simple enough, but it's hardly the explanation that anyone is expecting.
That dumbass Tamaki tells Him to go on and give us a little bit more. I feel the hairs on my neck stand up. This insubordination trend is starting to piss me off.
"That's all." Everyone down in the garden starts getting all hot and bothered about it. I'm willing to bet that the only reason we don't have a mutiny on our hands right then and there is because of General Todoh and Deputy Commander Ohgi. Gotta admit, those two are pretty damn good at defusing situations, which is surprising if you ask me. General Todoh isn't exactly known for being a great debater.
Luckily, DC Ohgi is there to pick up the slack, and it's not long at all before all the Black Knights down in the courtyard are shouting Zero! over and over again. While they're chanting, Zero looks up at me. "Vincent, a word if you would be so kind," He says.
All I can do is look stupid and offer a confused "yes, sir." I didn't think He knew I was up here. Satoshi and I look at each other and I see that he's just as surprised as I am. I swear there are times when it seems like Zero's fucking psychic. That, or He's just so perceptive that He makes even the most detail-oriented folks look like unobservant morons. I know it's probably option B, but I can't help but wonder sometimes.
He's already back in the office by the time I get there. His cape is draped over a chair and His mask is sitting on the desk. Seeing it sitting there is kind of creepy, actually; too easy to imagine that there's still a head in it. Zero – or should I call Him Lelouch? His Highness? Hell, I don't know anymore – is sitting behind the desk doing His best impression of a patient evil mastermind. He's hunched over a little bit, elbows resting on the table and fingers woven together in front of his mouth. C.C. is lounging on a couch. Looks like they were having some kind of discussion.
"I need your help with a matter of some importance, Vince," He tells me, waving a hand to the chair across from C.C.'s couch. I take a seat in it and find that, while padded like nothing I've ever sat in before, it's not comfortable at all. "In order to maintain continued operational security, I will need to leave tonight." This is one thing that I'll always love about the Boss Man: He gets right to the heart of the matter with me. "There is a maintenance corridor that will allow for covert access back into the Settlement proper."
So that's how the gaudy Knightmare got away. I was wondering about that. "You want Satoshi and me to take a look at it, make sure there aren't any surprises waiting for You, sir?" I ask. I could probably do it myself, but Satoshi needs a distraction right about now.
Zero smiles. "Precisely, Vince. Once I've made it back to a safe area, the two of you are to remain hidden until called for again."
Bam. Nailed it.
"Yes, sir. We'll head out immediately." I stand up to leave, but he holds up his hand. Guess He's not done with me yet.
"There is one other matter, Vince."
I take my seat again and wait for Him to continue.
"At this point, only a select few of our organization know My true identity. For reasons that I'm sure you understand, we need to keep the truth confidential."
"Then what You said back at Babel Tower is true… You really are Prince Lelouch."
He tenses up at that. It's not very often that I get one up on the Boss. Have to admit that it's not a great feeling. "Yes, I am. I've been going by the name Lelouch Lamperouge since the end of the war. You no doubt know that Lelouch vi Britannia is counted among the dead."
I go to the door and look over my shoulder. "Guess that makes us two of a kind, doesn't it, sir?" I ask Him. C.C. actually smiles at that. "I'll call You when Satoshi and I are done with our sweep, sir. And don't worry about Your identity getting out. I won't tell a soul."
I close the door behind me as I leave. Just before it whispers shut, I hear C.C. say something about Zero not using 'it', whatever 'it' is. Probably talking about whatever it was that made all those OSI bastards off themselves. I'll have to ask Him about that at some point, but it'll wait until later. Satoshi and I have a job to do, after all.
I call him and brief our mission and we're linked back up some short minutes later. He still looks like hell, but he's got purpose back in his eyes. The kid's got a lot of heart, that's for damn sure. When I ask him if he's going to be alright, he just nods. He's all grim determination and barely suppressed rage. It's a bit of a mixed blessing. On the one hand, the determination'll help him in ways that I don't even have to mention. On the other, he's got to keep a tight hold on that rage. One slip up, one moment in a firefight when he's not thinking clearly, and he's done.
I'm worrying about that the entire time we're getting ready for our little operation. We've got to leave our kit with our allies and scrounge up some maintenance worker uniforms. It's a surprisingly annoying task. Evidently the Chinese don't believe in keeping spare uniforms handy.
We do eventually find a couple, though. It's not much of a disguise, but I've had to make do with worse before. The fact that it's a dark night should help us from being too easily identified, too. With luck, the Britannians have yet to set any traps and it'll just be a simple stroll. As we make our way down the maintenance corridor, flashlights cutting through the darkness, it seems like luck is on our side in spades.
And then this happens:
There are two doors leading out into the night. One is a large garage door, meant for vehicles, work loaders, and Knightmares. The other is for pedestrians like Satoshi and me. The garage door is closed and locked, which is good. The small door is, weirdly enough, wide open. Satoshi and I stack on opposite sides of it with our pistols drawn. I hold up three fingers to Satoshi and give him a countdown.
Three… We haven't been working together long, but we both know what the other is most likely to do in a given situation. Two… That's why all I have to do is give him a silent countdown. One… He knows that once the last finger is down and I shake my fist, he's supposed to go through first and check left. NOW! He's barely through the doorway when I swing around to follow him.
I don't make it through the door.
As soon as I swing around and expose myself, a pair of gunshots goes off. One round takes Satoshi in the leg and he hits the pavement with a shout. The second round hits my pistol. It doesn't hit my hand or forearm or even graze my fingers. It actually hits my fucking pistol. The gun tears spinning out of my fingers, wrenching my thumb back into an angle it wasn't meant for. I'm forced to duck back into cover, holding my hand and suppressing a shout of pain.
I can hear Satoshi moaning outside, then he growls a little bit and I hear him say something in Japanese. I'm not sure, but I think it translates roughly to 'son of a bitch', 'shithead', 'mother fucker', or some other similar term of abuse. I glance around the doorway just enough to see him raise his pistol. I'm about to tell him to stop acting like a moron and get his ass back in the corridor when a third round knocks the gun out of his hand. This time I pay attention to the report. It's a Britannian sidearm.
In all my years, I've only ever seen one person with such unerring aim with a pistol. If the shooter is who I think it is, then this whole situation is about to get a lot fucking worse. I decide to take a chance; I know how he likes to fight, and I can, hopefully, figure out where he is.
I take a step back and dive out of the door at an angle. Just before I land, I start a roll and come up sprinting. I've got to change direction a few times, but sure enough I find him. He's kneeling behind a trashcan, sidearm stabilized on its lid. I juke left, then right. Some bullets whiz past me as I come closer and I know that he's just playing with me. He could take me out in a heartbeat if he wanted to. Another quick combat roll and I'm back on my feet, right next to his trashcan.
I pull my fist back for a haymaker and our eyes meet.
I brought my fist forward and really threw my hips into it, but he deflected it easily and backed off a few steps, smiling.
"Trainee Miles! What the fuck was that?!" Sergeant Barton screamed. Penrose and I stopped and looked at the sergeant. "How's about you just fucking tell him what you're planning to do next time?" Barton crossed the mat in a few long strides. Before I knew what was happening, his fist was in my gut and I was gagging for air. "That is how you fucking hit, get it?! You've gotta surprise your enemy with it. Otherwise you end up dead." Sergeant Barton really was such a gentle soul.
That's sarcasm, by the way.
I was able to choke out a "yes, Sergeant!" despite the lack of proper diaphragm function. All the while, Penrose just stood there smiling at me like an asshole. He didn't drop his guard, though. He was too smart for that – knew that I was able to fight even though I could barely breathe.
Sergeant Barton nodded and got back off the mat while I brought my breathing back into its regular rhythm. It only took a few seconds, but Penrose managed one of those cliché "come-on" hand gestures. He always was a cocky son of a bitch.
Then again, his arrogance was kind of warranted. Back then, we were the only people in our Selection class that had never beaten each other. Even the most evenly matched guys would win some and lose others. He and I just hit a wall though. It was like we both knew what the other was thinking before he thought it.
If that made any sense at all in any way, please let me know. It confused the hell out of me back then and has continued to do so in the intervening years.
Anyway, back to the fight: I lunged in with a quick little right-hand feint. He slapped my hand away, but was so focused on it that he missed my left. It caught him on the side, right in that irritating little floating rib. He grunted, which was about the best win I could ever get from him, but stayed his ground.
Penrose tried to return the favor with a knee to my wide-open crotch. I only barely managed to block it by bringing my own leg up and letting him hit my thigh instead. I managed to escape the brunt of the pain by spinning with the hit. When I came back around, I threw another left-handed punch. I caught him pretty good in the shoulder with it, but it was hardly a useful hit. His fist snapped forward and whitened my vision for a fraction of a second.
I felt something flowing out of my nose, but I couldn't spare the time to check what it was. I was sure I would find out sooner or later. He threw another punch. I managed to catch his wrist and tried to give it a savage twist. He was a little too fast for that, though, and slipped out. Again, we squared off, circling each other and looking for the opening that would give the definitive advantage.
Penrose was the first to strike this time. He tossed an off-hand jab at me. I ducked it and shot forward, tackling him to the ground. When we landed, I was in the mount, and I couldn't help but grin. It was time for a little ground-and-pound. I sat up and started in on him. My punches rained down on him, but he's a damn good blocker. I hit his raised forearms more often than his face.
Needless to say, I got tired of that in a hurry. I grabbed his wrists in one hand and planted them against the mat above his head. The other I brought way back for the knockout. I was so damn sure I had this sparring session in the bag, too.
All the way until he bucked his hips and flipped me over his head. Penrose always did have some crazy lower-body strength. I rolled on my shoulder and came up to my feet with my back to him.
Having your back to your opponent is never a good idea.
So I did something he didn't expect: I kept my back towards him, but only long enough for a quick backwards snap kick. I don't know how – I was facing the wrong direction, remember? – but the bastard managed to catch the kick. The next thing I knew, pain was arcing up my calf from my ankle, which he was twisting like a champ. My only option was to roll with it.
We were back on the mat, this time with me on bottom and him in my hastily-erected guard. I squeezed on his torso as hard as I could with my legs, but that only made him go harder. To be fair, my own answer would have been the same.
The fight went on and on like that for what seemed like hours – it was only minutes, really, but that's how it goes when you're fighting with all you've got. Just a constant back and forth with neither of us able to actually gain any kind of real advantage. When Sergeant Barton finally called the match yet another draw, we realized that the entire class and even the instructors were circled around our portion of the mat.
We were both sweaty and bloody, heaving for breath and ready to go some more, bruised and battered and absolutely loving life. It was then that I finally wiped my nose. To absolutely no one's surprise, my hand came away smeared with blood. Penrose held out his hand to me and I took it. We shook and gave each other the kind of hug you save for a brother after you whoop each other's ass.
Something tells me there won't be a friendly hug-it-out at the end of this particular fight, though.
I bring my fist forward, aimed right at the side of his head. I don't know if it's because we haven't sparred in over a year and he's rusty or just that he wasn't expecting it to be me, but my fist actually connects and hammers him to the ground. He tries to raise the pistol and point it at me, but he's slow and shaky after having his bell rung. I boot the gun away. Now that it's not an issue, I can focus on causing as much harm as possible as quickly as possible.
I raise my foot over his chest, hoping to stomp him flat like a cockroach. He's too fast for that, though, and he rolls away. My foot slams into the pavement and I feel the shock shoot painfully up my leg. Penrose is back on his feet in roughly the same amount of time it takes to blink. He backs off a few paces and raises his fists, that shit-eating grin on his face like he was born with it. "Vincent fucking Miles," he says as we circle each other. "Saw you at the Embassy earlier, buddy. Flippin' the bird to all us poor soldiers wasn't nice, but hey, at least you're lookin' pretty damn good for a dead fellow."
Well there go my hopes that he wouldn't recognize me. There isn't even a point to lying about it: he knows the truth by how I fight. "Nice to see you again, Duncan," I tell him in a voice that makes it clear that I'd really rather he'd been anywhere else tonight. "You're losing your edge." Is he really? Not fucking likely, but I'm hoping I can give myself a few more seconds to find that ever-elusive opening.
He shatters my hopes and throws a snap kick my way, aimed at my inner thigh. I grab his foot and use his momentum against him. I spin him around so that his back is facing me and lunge in, trying for a good old-fashioned headlock. I almost get it, too, up until he gives me what he calls the "Supersonic Elbow." Makes sense that he calls it that, now that I know what it feels like: kinda like getting hit by a brick moving at roughly Mach 2.
In short: it's a really shitty feeling.
I lose my grip and stumble back a few steps. My leg hits the trash can and I fall to my back, gasping like a fish out of water. I can't afford to let a little thing like lack of oxygen stop me, though, because he's turned around and diving my way. I put my foot up and send him tumbling over me. He lands awkwardly about a meter away. I'm not completely sure, but I think I hear some kind of wet pop when he hits the pavement.
I'm scrambling back to my feet when another gunshot echoes through the night. Penrose and I both snap our heads towards the sound and find Satoshi leaned up against a wall, pistol in hand. Penrose growls out a curse as he jumps up to his feet and runs for it, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Satoshi tracks him with the pistol until he disappears around a corner.
Now that I've got some freedom, I run over to Satoshi. There's a trail of blood leading from where he landed to where he is now. The pool's already spreading underneath his leg. "Why didn't you shoot him?" I ask as I tear a sizeable strip of cloth from my shirt. "I trained you better than that, damn it!" It sounds like I'm mad at him, but it's not like that at all.
I'm pissed off at myself.
Satoshi tosses the gun aside. "It's fucked," he tells me rather eloquently. Not surprising, really. Guns are meant to send bullets, not receive them. "I aimed at his chest, but the round went wiiild!" I'm tying the makeshift bandage around his leg rather roughly as he gets to the end of the sentence. At least he doesn't cry out – we've drawn enough attention for now.
"Alright, well at least he's gone, huh? Let's get the fuck out of here." The last thing I need is to have to explain to the police what happened here. I pick Satoshi up and settle his arm over my shoulder. "Where's the nearest safehouse?"
He groans as we stand up. "Shit! A little more gentle, please?" We're moving before he even starts to tell me where we're going. I know where it is but this is a check for head trauma too. "It's a few blocks away. Nobel Arms apartment complex, room one-one-four."
"Good."
It's slow going, getting to the safehouse with Satoshi gimping along, but at least there isn't any traffic. This late at night, damn near everyone's asleep. I wait until we get to the apartment to call Zero. I can't spare time to give Him a full report, so I just tell Him to take a security detail when He leaves to… wherever He's going.
Honestly, I can't even remember exactly what I told Him. My main focus is helping Satoshi. I've got to get him patched up before he goes into shock or bleeds out. The bullet missed his femoral artery – which is damn near miraculous – but we're still on a time limit. I lay him on the dining table and rush to grab the first aid kit. It's stashed under the bed with some other survival gear. I'm suddenly really grateful that I helped set this one up: I know what our inventory here is and where everything is hidden. A rifle and four full magazines hidden in the couch, a few grenades stashed under the refrigerator, a set of NVGs in a plastic bag in the toilet's reservoir, and a few other odds and ends that should help us get out of here alive.
By the time I get back to the dining room, blood's starting to drip off the table and pool on the floor. Satoshi's breathing heavy and has his face pinched in concentration. He's fighting off the pain as best as he can. I give him a couple light taps on the face with my palm. "You're gonna be alright, buddy. Just stay with me."
His eyes shoot open. "Your bedside manner sucks, Vince," he tells me through clenched teeth as I start on his leg. First thing's first: tourniquet to slow the bleeding. He growls a little when I lift his leg to put the thing on. The growl turns into a full-fledged shout when I start wrenching it down. One of his hands starts grabbing at the air, the table, me, anything. Anything he can grab and hold. There isn't really a reason for it, but it's something I've seen countless soldiers in do. His hand finally latches onto my shoulder and he squeezes like it's the last thing he'll ever do.
He's got some impressive strength, considering he just got shot.
I give the tourniquet a final twist and he cries out again. "Almost done, buddy. Just a little longer," I say, just making sure that he knows he's being taken care of – that the pain's got a purpose. The blood flow out of his wounds slows to a minor trickle. After the tourniquet's secured, I cut the bloodied strip of my shirt from around the holes. I don't know who the shirt belonged to originally, but I don't think they'll be wanting it back now; I drop the shred on the floor. It's shortly joined by the remains of his pant leg. I use what seems like most of the aid kit's gauze just wiping blood from the wound.
I've still got enough to wrap his leg a few times, though. This isn't the first time I've been happy that my perception wasn't reality, but it still kind of surprises me. I finish off with a pressure bandage wrapped over the gauze to hold it in place as well as, you guessed it, keep pressure on the bullet holes. I bend his knees so that it looks like he's about to do some sit ups on the table and take a step back, suddenly exhausted.
When was the last time I slept? Or ate? I can't remember. Satoshi's eyes open up again. He's pale and it looks like he's having a hard time focusing on me. "What now?" he asks in a voice that, despite its shakiness, is pure determination. He really is one tough son of a bitch.
It's a good question. There's a trail of blood going straight from where we had our run-in with Penrose right to the safehouse. A half-blind-half-retarded monkey could follow that. It wouldn't surprise me at all if company was on the way. "We need to move. The sooner the better," I tell him as I start digging through drawers. It's gotta be here somewhere…
I'm still searching when the table creaks. I don't have to look to know that he's trying to get up. "Lay back down, moron. Move around too much and you'll go into shock; do that and you'll be useless."
He sighs and the table creaks again. And then, finally, I find it. I can't help but scowl at it a little. "Shit, was I seriously smoking these back when we set this place up?" They're a Japanese off-brand of Britannian cigarettes. The Britannian ones taste like ass and these knock offs are even worse. That doesn't stop me from lighting up, though. Sometimes you've got to pretend that a few milligrams of nicotine can take the place of rest and food. I move about the apartment while I smoke the thing, gathering up the useful supplies: the rifle and its spare magazines, the NVGs, and a flak vest that was hidden in the closet in a duffle bag. I'm about to grab Satoshi and get the hell out when there's a pounding at the door.
Shit.
A look through the peephole reveals a pair of cops. The cigarette falls from my lips as I try to think my way out of this. The lights are on, so I can't just pretend that no one's home. I could try to shoot them through the door, but I'd probably only manage to take one out before the other got to cover. If I ask them to help my hurt friend, they'll see the gear laid out on the coffee table…
I decide that, maybe, that last one has some merit. I put on my best Oh-Thank-You-So-Much-Officer face and swing the door open. "Officers, thank god you're here!" I say as I step aside to let them in. "My friend and I just got mugged – he's been shot!" The cops storm past me without a glance and, strangely, uncomfortably, I feel something in me stir… and it smiles.
"There were reports of gunfire," the first one says as he looks around. The second one is a step behind him. "What were you two doing near the Chinese Consulate?" he asks as I snake my arms around the second's neck. He's got maybe half a second to react before I snap his neck like an old stick.
He's too slow.
The first one hears the wet crackling of his buddy's spine and nerves severing and spins around, hand going instantly to his holstered sidearm. Number Two hasn't even landed before I step around him and grab the back of Number One's head. His face meets my knee at a speed that the nose wasn't designed to handle. It spreads wide on his face as it breaks, pouring blood and snot like a faucet in hell. The force of the knee shoots his head up and he's standing for a second with tears and other assorted fluids streaming down his face.
I follow with a straight-arm punch to his throat. I can feel his windpipe and vocal cords shatter under my fist. The pain and shock of being attacked so violently drops him to his knees. He clutches at his throat, trying to do something about not being able to breathe. I'm looking around for something heavy and hard to smash his skull in with when one of his hands moves. I'm expecting it to go for the gun, but he surprises me and reaches for his radio's handset.
It's an older model – still connected by a wire. That works just fine for my purposes. I snatch the thing off his vest and wrap it around his throat while a few quick stutter-steps bring me around behind him, where I jam my knee into his back and slam him to the ground. My knee's right in the small of his back when we land and it forces the wind out of him while I pull on the wire around his neck. It's elastic enough to be a massive pain the ass as a makeshift garrote. I let off on pulling for a second and get better purchase on the cord before wrenching it tight again.
His hands go for it, trying to pull it a little looser. I've got it stretched to the limit, though. It's not long before he slips into unconsciousness. It's even shorter after that before he quits breathing. The twitching stops a little after that. I let go of the radio and stand, breathing heavily. I spare a look at Number Two.
The guy's lying on the floor in the sprawled, boneless manner of a person whose brain doesn't communicate with the rest of his body anymore. Were he alive, he couldn't be a threat no matter how bad he wanted to. No chance of that, though. His eyes are open to the ceiling, blank and unblinking. Dead. His face is frozen in a tableau of confused shock.
With both enemies taken care of, I glance outside. Their patrol car sits nearby, lights flashing red and blue in the early morning darkness. No one else is in sight, though. The door's just about shut when Satoshi calls out from the kitchen, "Vince? What's going on?"
"We've got transport," I tell him when I get back to his side. "Now come on. We've got to move." I lift him off the table and take him out the front door, past the two dead cops.
He whistles. "Damn." I'm setting him into the passenger seat of the car when he asks, "You're one hardcore son of a bitch, you know that? I hope I never have to fight you."
Again, that cold and alien thing in the back of my mind smiles and I almost drop Satoshi. "Just shut up, would you?" I ask him, more than a little uncomfortable with this new feeling of mine.
Could it be that I'm actually… starting to like this shit? I can't help but wonder about it as I roughly drop Satoshi into the squad car's passenger seat. No, I decide, not sure if it's the truth or if I'm just lying to myself. I hate killing. This isn't the way humans were meant to live.
We're on the highway, speeding past the few other motorists on the road before my mind presents me with a new thought. Are you sure? I ask myself with a barely-suppressed shudder. You are awfully good at it.
Satoshi saves me from that line of thinking. "Where are we going, Vince?" He sounds worried. "You just passed the exit to the ghetto."
Shit, I was really zoned out. "Yeah, sorry. Don't know what I was thinking."
Who am I trying to kid? I know exactly where I was trying to go. There's an exit about two klicks away. Take that, then the third right, an immediate left, head up to the 10th floor. Apartment number 1016. I wonder how much money they spent on remodeling the place after I blew it to hell.
"You're a shitty liar," Satoshi grunts. He shifts in his seat a little – looks like he's trying to get his leg in a more comfortable position. Can't say I blame him: the whole thing probably feels like it's on fire. Once he situates his leg more to his liking, he points out the window toward a cluster of skyscrapers. "That was where you lived, wasn't it?"
I could play stupid here, pretend I can't tell which building he's pointing at, or act like he's got the wrong area. I could just keep my mouth shut. But I don't. "Yeah," I tell him. I leave out the part about it being over a year and a lifetime ago. A little bit of quick thinking saves me from having to explain any more. "There's a hospital up ahead that treats Japanese patients." I can only hope that it's still open.
It isn't long before we arrive at the hospital. I've got a lie made up for the receptionist by the time I've found a parking space: I'm a cop, formerly a Medic in the Britannian Army. Found this Eleven on my way home from the station. He'd been mugged by some other Elevens hopped up on Refrain and they shot him in the leg when he tried to fight them off. I rehearsed it with Satoshi a few times as we pulled up to the hospital.
I can't tell if the receptionist falls for it hook, line, and sinker or if she just doesn't give a damn anymore. She looks Britannian, but her eyes have the characteristic almond-shape of Japanese birth. She looks tired, but in a way that's more than just run-of-the-mill physical exhaustion. She looks worn down, like every part of her is weary. She looks like she's a few short steps from giving up. Still, she's got a job to do. "Very well then, my lord," she says with a bow of her head, and it makes me want to pop her in the nose.
Goddamn, do I hate that 'my lord' shit. I'm nobody's lord except my own. I can' tell her that, though; can't break character. I swallow the anger while she gets some nurses to come along and move Satoshi to the ER. I let them take him off my shoulder and watch as they cart him away on a gurney.
When I finally turn away from the desk, the few scattered Japanese in the waiting area flinch and act like they weren't watching me. It's probably the first time they've ever seen a Britannian actually helping one of them. Correction: all but one of them. There's a little girl sitting with an older man, probably her father, in a corner of the room.
He's looking at the floor like he can see his future in it and he doesn't like what he sees. The girl, though…she's maybe eight or nine. Delicate features and skin that'd be flawless if it weren't for the dirt and grime. Her hair, blacker than night, is cut into a short bob and her slender fingers, laid flat on her lap, are caked in filth. I'd be willing to bet that she's got more callouses on those hands than I have on my own.
And she's looking right at me.
More than that, she's looking me in the eye. Even this far away, maybe six or seven meters, I can see the cataract that's forming in her left eye. I could ignore her; take a seat somewhere else in the waiting room and pretend to read one of the three-day-old newspapers. I could shout and tell her to quit staring at me, use my assumed power to keep her from drawing any more attention to me. But I don't. Why? Well – to put it simply – I'm a complete dumbass sometimes.
Instead I walk right over to where she's sitting. Her eyes follow me the whole way. The old man's shaking like crazy by the time I'm standing in front of the girl. He doesn't lift his view from the floor when he stammers, "P-p-p-please, my lord, s-she means no, uh, no offense. Her mo-"
"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it," I tell him with a dismissive wave. "And quit with the 'my lord' shi… crap." Little ears around. Gotta watch what I say.
"Y-yes, my… uh?" He's confused now that he isn't calling me his lord.
I turn my attention back to the little girl. "Hi there. What's your name?" I put on my most friendly face, but I somehow doubt it's very convincing.
"Hikari," she tells me in a high, musical voice completely devoid of fear.
I take the seat next to her with a sigh. "Well, Hikari, my name's Vince." I may be a heartless bastard at times, but I won't lie to children. Kids never forget the lies that adults tell them.
"Was that your friend?" She pauses for a heartbeat. "Is he going to die?"
Shit. Talk about getting right to the heart of the matter. "Yeah, he's my friend." One of my only friends in the world. "He'll be alright. Just got hurt is all," I tell her. Sounds to me like I'm trying to convince myself more than anything.
She gives my clothes a pointed once over. "What about you? Are you hurt too?"
I take a look down myself and the cooling, half-dry stickiness against the skin on my legs and stomach registers. A few hours ago, that same cooling, half-dry stickiness was pumping through Satoshi's veins. By now, the blood's soaked deep enough into the threads that it's not even really red anymore. "I, uh, no. No, I'm not hurt." Not on the outside anyway.
She nods a few times, like she understands exactly what I mean. A few minutes pass before either of us talks again. "I saw you on TV."
You hear that sound? Kind of a wet, squelchy popping? Yeah, that's the sound of my mind getting fucking blown. I'll tell you right now: not a fun time. All I can manage is a half-hearted "huh." Hopefully she thinks it was a question.
"Everyone was scared." She turns her head and looks away from me. "But you weren't. Why weren't you scared?"
"I was." Near as I can tell, that's the truth.
"It's not nice to lie." She's still looking at the far side of the waiting room. "You looked like you were having fun." I'm about to tell her that I'm not lying, but she cuts me off before I can get a word in. "Are you one of them?" She glances around in a manner she thinks is discrete and leans in close. "Are you a Black Knight?" she whispers.
She's not quiet enough, though, and the old man flinches. I catch him looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He suddenly finds the wall at his side really interesting. "What makes you think that?" I ask Hikari, still staring down the old man, though. You know, just in case he gets any ideas.
"He helped you get away." The way she says it, it's like I'm the little kid and she's the adult. It's pretty obvious that she's seeing right through my attempts at evasion – and who she's talking about; you can hear the capitalization of He. "He wouldn't do that unless…"
The old man mumbles something to Hikari about having to use the restroom and walks off. I watch him leave as my stomach curdles. The restrooms are down the same hall as a bank of payphones. I wait for him to turn the corner. "Hikari, I've got a very important question for you." She looks back at me. "That man. Is he your father?"
She hesitates a moment. "No. He's just the man that's sleeping with my mom." Sounds like she's not his biggest fan ever. "He's mean and stupid. He likes to hurt mommy and me."
This just gets better and better. My anger starts building. "Why's he so stupid?"
"He thinks that the Britannians should be in charge."
A fucking Tory. I should have seen this coming. "Stay right here," I tell her as I get up. I've got to get Satoshi out of here before the military or the police show up. The receptionist doesn't look up when I get to the desk and ask her, "Where is the man I brought in?"
"He's in surgery right now, my lord. Room number three."
I have to keep myself from running to the stolen cop car outside. A quick look in the trunk reveals a jacket big enough to hide my rifle and the back of my waistband serves to conceal my pistol. When I get back into the waiting room, Hikari is waiting right where I told her to and the old man is still gone. I give her a "come with me" nod of the head. The two of us walk together towards the surgery wing. At Surgery Three, I stop and take a knee in front of her.
"Alright, Hikari, time for the truth." She looks me in the eye, solemn. She's way too mature for how young she is, and that fucks with me to no end. There's no reason for any child to be this grown-up. "You're right: I am a Black Knight. My friend in here is too. The two of us need to get away before the bad guys get here. Do you understand?"
She goes to nod but stops. "What about mommy and me?"
Shit. "You would be safer if you stayed behind." But I wouldn't have taken her with me if that was my plan and she knows that if the look on her face is any indicator. I stand up and take the pistol out of my belt. "Just keep your head down. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to run, you run."
I open the door slowly and slip in. It opens into a room adjacent to where the surgery is actually taking place. There's a window between the two rooms that takes up most of the wall. Standing in front of that window is a man in a doctor's white coat. His hands shoot up when he sees the gun, even though it's not even pointed at him. He starts babbling, terrified. Probably thinks I'm just some drug-and-racism-fueled Britannian punk looking to kill a few Elevens.
"Shut up," I tell him as I walk into the room. "How soon will he be ready to move?"
The man's professionalism overrides his terror for a moment. "Not until tomorrow night at the earliest. There were fragments in the wound that-"
"Okay, great. Shut up again." I stand next to him at the window, the gun hanging at my side. Looks like they're almost done in there. "Hikari, get in here." She walks in silently and the doctor gawks. Can't imagine he was expecting such a young girl to accompany me. She looks at me like I hold the keys to the future. I would worry about that, but I've got more pressing concerns like, you know, getting us out of here alive.
Holy shit, I hope that'll be as easy to do as it is to say.
I'm about to interrupt the surgery when reality decides I've had a little too much in the way of downtime. Personally, I think I'm due a little more, but you tend to listen when someone uses a hospital's public address system blows your cover worse than you've already done yourself.
"This is the Britannian military. There is a Britannian fugitive posing as a police officer. If you are approached by this man, do not attempt to intervene. He is a traitor to the Holy Empire of Britannia. Any hospital personnel witnessed helping this man will be treated as accomplices."
Again. They're doing it again. Playing the role of the big implacable evil empire like champs. At least they're not mowing everyone down like they did back at Babel Tower. They're not doing it yet, anyway. Here's hoping I can keep this from getting too out of hand.
The doctor's eyes widen even more. "That's you?!" he asks, absolutely blown away by the idea. He probably expected me to be taller or something.
I ignore the question and start writing on a nearby clipboard. I train my free hand – that is to say: the one with the gun – on the doc's chest. "Alright, moment of truth." I finish the note and look him in the eyes. "This one's the biggy. What do you think of the Black Knights?" It's a loaded question if I've ever asked one. I mean, hey, I've got a damn gun pointed in his general direction: what's he gonna do, disagree with me?
Not fucking likely.
He stammers something about thinking we're the best thing in the history of ever, but I'm not really listening to him.
"Good. Take this." I rip the page off the clipboard and hold it to him and lower the gun. "Give it to him when he wakes up," I tell him with a nod to Satoshi. The doc nods a few times and starts to look at the note. "Don't read it. You do and you're an accomplice. Stay ignorant and you might just get out of this alive." That gets his attention.
A few more quick scribbles and another tear and he has a second note, this one with a phone number, in his hands. "That one you can look at. Call it in three days from a pay phone and the Black Knights will be happy to pay the bills for that guy in there." The number is for a Burner – a single-use disposable cell phone – used by the head of Finance.
"Hikari, come on." She and I head to the door together and I peek out. No one yet. Good. It kills me inside to have to leave Satoshi behind, but it's the only way any of us are going to see tomorrow; I can't protect myself, Hikari, and him all at the same time without back up. Besides, we've got a few designated rendezvous points just in case of situations like this.
I've heard it said that every battle ebbs and flows – the trick is recognizing when the moment is right or wrong for you to make your move. Unfortunately, the tide's coming in and I forgot my fucking floaties. I can't be too sure about the quality of it, but I'm positive the Brits are setting in a cordon. Probably several. One around the hospital for control of the immediate area. A secondary a few blocks out to make sure no one leaves or comes into the area, is pretty damn likely too. That makes exfil more than a bit tricky, but that's kind of the point.
My other option is to find someplace to hunker down and defend my position. Typically, the advantage goes to the defense in a battle. The most common ratio is 1:3; one defender can effectively hold off as many as three hostiles at any given time. Of course, that ratio is taking things like cover and concealment, supplies, and further back up into account. Guess what I'm fresh out of?
We've got to move.
I take Hikari by the hand and head leave the OR. She lags half a step behind for a little bit, but eventually catches up. I round a corner and damn near run over a Britannian soldier. The three of us spend a good second or two staring stupidly at each other. The soldier recovers first and tries to raise his rifle while hollering that he's found me.
I let go of Hikari's hand and put a snap kick to his knee. It buckles and he drops. Dude's good, though. His rifle's well on its way to aiming at my chest. I use my other leg to kick it to the side. It's a weak hit, but it does the trick: when he fires, the round burrows into the wall.
I fall forward, slamming the guy to the ground on his back, with my forearm pressing down on his throat. He throws – and lands – a few punches at my head, but I keep pushing. From his position on the ground, he can't get very much power behind them. The one that hits square on my ear is a zinger, though. It's not long before his struggles slow and eventually stop. I stand up and grab Hikari again.
She's frozen. I can't say I blame her, honestly. This is probably the closest she's ever been to a fight. At least I can say that it wasn't to the death. Not this time, anyway. "Come on," I tell her, giving her hand a tug. She snaps out of it and nods.
We're starting back down the corridor when the soldier's friends show up at a four-way intersection about 10 meters away from us. I push Hikari back behind the corner and dive after her. Just in time, too, because they open fire without a second thought.
I'm reminded of something that Penrose told me back when we were running counter insurgency ops in the Homeland.
It was one of our easier missions. A mid-level rebel leader had been hit by a car and had been hospitalized for a broken leg. The cops already had him in custody, but we were taking him to our interrogation experts. We were riding up the elevator to his floor. The second the doors slid open, someone opened up at us with a machine pistol.
We took cover on either side of the doors and waited for him to reload. We pulled our pistols out and looked at each other. "God damn it," Penrose said, more resigned than angry. "I hate fighting in hospitals. It's no fun at all."
There was a short lull in the fire before it picked back up. Evidently the shooter had been practiced his mag changes. "Yeah?" I asked, incredulous. "And what is fun to fight in?"
Penrose thought for a second before the fire stopped again. We both popped around the corner the shooter, a woman, was looking at the pistol in her hand like it had betrayed her. Penrose and I shot her twice each. She was dead before she even hit the floor. We run forward and I wrenched the machine pistol from her hands. A shell was jammed in the slide, preventing further firing until the jam was cleared. She was the only one alive on the floor. She had even killed our target.
As we were leaving, Penrose looked at me and said, deadpan, "To answer your question: gardens, electronic shops. Antique stores, but only if they're classy."
"You're one weird bastard. You know that, right?" I asked him with a smirk as we got into the car.
I peek around the corner. One of the soldiers down the hall is reloading while his buddies cover him. They do a damn fine job of it, too, because a few bullets go snapping past my head when I look. Hikari is crying quietly next to me. Shit, this is not good. They're cornering us like rats in a maze. I point my pistol around the corner and start popping off rounds. It's not long before the magazine is empty.
I drop the gun and grab Hikari. We've got to go back the way we came. Hopefully the Brits'll keep in cover for a little bit after that fresh, if short, barrage. I'm practically dragging Hikari in my wake as I haul ass down the hallway. A couple more soldiers show up at the far end of the corridor, shouting at me. No time to think – I dive sideways and slam through a door.
It's a stairwell. We might just have a way out of here. I pick Hikari up and take the stairs two at a time toward the basement. She wraps her arms tightly around my neck.
I have to set her down when we get to the bottom: I need two hands for the rifle I've still got hidden under my jacket. I pull it out and release the bolt. It slides forward with a reassuring snap of metal on metal. I've got about 40 rounds. Better make them count. "We're leaving." I start down the hall at a jog. Hikari has to damn near sprint to keep up, but she'll be fine.
It's not long before we find what I'm looking for: the garage. Best way out of here would be by air, but that's not an option. Going up to the top floors would bring the net in tighter. In an ambulance, however, I've got a chance at sneaking out the bottom.
I kick the door to the garage open and step through, rifle raised. There are only a couple of surprised First Responders standing nearby, smoking beside their ambulance. I aim in their general direction. "Keys. Now," I demand as I take a half-step toward them. They freeze and look at me like I've got a dick growing out of my forehead. "I said give me the fucking keys!"
That gets them moving. They both start digging in their pockets and it's only a matter of seconds before there's a key ring jangling its way across the pavement at my feet. "Hikari, get in." I keep the rifle pointed at them. Have to make sure they behave themselves, after all. She makes her way to the ambulance in silence and crawls up into the cab. Once she's in, I reach down and pick up the keys.
The smokers take off the second I turn toward the ambulance. Good for them. The tires squeal when I jam down the accelerator and we shoot out of the garage. We catch a little bit of air at the top of the ramp. Hikari whimpers a bit and I can hear equipment dancing around and shattering in the back. I turn on the lights and siren as we come around the corner of the hospital. Maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to bluff my way out.
There's a checkpoint ahead. I slow down a bit as I get closer. A soldier steps out between the parked police cars and motions for me to stop.
So much for my plan, then. I set my rifle in my lap, pointing at the door, and pull into a slow stop at the checkpoint. The guy's got his hand on the grip of his pistol as he approaches my window. Probably on orders to detain anyone trying to leave the area. That's unfortunate. "Hikari, close your eyes," I say before I roll the window down.
"Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to-" his bored, rehearsed line is cut short when I shift the rifle up and pull the trigger. A burst of rounds take him in the chest and face. At this range, the bullets pass right through him, carrying trails of blood into the air behind him. He's dead before he hits the pavement. It's messy, but it gets the job done. Hikari starts screaming next to me and I jam down the pedal again. We take off past the checkpoint.
We only make it about a klick before police and military VTOLs are on our trail. I switch off the lights and sirens, hoping that I can shake their visuals, but they'd be beyond useless if they couldn't spot the big white box speeding down an empty street. One of the VTOLs, a military job, jets off ahead of us and lowers to street level, its gun pointed at the cab. I'm certain that this is it.
After all this time, all the running, all the fighting. All the killing. This is how my life ends.
"Stop the car, Vince," a familiar voice booms from the VTOL's loudspeakers. It's a voice that I'm all too familiar with. "You wouldn't want me to do anything to your Eleven buddy, would you?" I can't stop. I can't get captured, not yet. I have to. I won't leave Satoshi to the Britannian military – to Penrose.
I stop and tell Hikari to stay where she is. Should have known that Penrose wouldn't let me get away that easily.
"You always were a sucker, Vince," Penrose tells me as I climb out of the ambulance. The street's still deserted, but I can see a few lights on in the buildings. How about it, Britannians? Ready to see the truth of how your great and wonderful nation does its work? Keep watching.
Penrose hops out of the now-landed VTOL and starts toward me. A pair of soldiers dismount after him, carrying someone on their shoulders. I can't see his face from here, but I know it's Satoshi. I curse under my breath. I had been hoping that he was bluffing.
Satoshi's head rolls around loosely on his shoulders. He's still doped up from the meds. "Vince," he croaks. I can barely hear his morphine-slurred speech. "Fuckin' run! Leave me and go!"
"You really should, Vince," Penrose puts in. He says it like we're still friends and it pisses me off. "I mean, hell, you know the shithole I'm about to put you in. I'd rather spend my last few hours on the run than there."
"Shut up, Satoshi," I say, letting my anger show in my voice. "Penrose. You let them both go in exchange for me. That's the deal."
Penrose looks at me incredulously. I count three more VTOLs circling overhead while he comes up with his response. "Yeah, no fucking deal there, buddy. I don't give a rat's ass about the girl, but I'm taking you and your fellow terrorist in."
He wants to play hardball, then. I can play too. I lift the rifle and point it at something really important. Not the Britannians – that would be beyond stupid. I put the barrel right under my chin. One twitch of my thumb and my brains turn into mist. "I'll come quietly," I tell him. "Have fun trying to explain to the brass that you let me turn my own head into Swiss cheese."
Penrose actually laughs at this. "Hot damn, Vince. You were a hard bastard before but this? This is pure gold!" He turns to the soldiers and says something to them that gets lost in the distance. It's not long at all before they haul Satoshi off to the side and prop him against a trashcan on the sidewalk. I wait until they're back next to the VTOL to lower the rifle.
Penrose may be a sick sadistic son of a bitch, but he's never been a liar.
I switch the rifle to Safe and set it on the pavement. A good kick sends it bouncing across the pavement towards the Brits. It stops about five meters away and I'm still trying to think of a way out of this shit when Hikari screams, "Look out!"
The next thing I know, my chest is filled with fire and every muscle in my body is seizing. I'm pretty sure I piss myself, but that's hardly my biggest concern seeing as I just got hit with a shock round. You've seen Tazers, right? Same concept, just at a much faster rate of travel and greater distance.
The only way I know that I'm on my back is all of a sudden I'm looking at the grey pre-dawn sky, wedged between a pair of skyscrapers. I can tell that my muscles are still convulsing, trying to relearn how to move correctly. It's not that I feel them so much as my vision shakes every now and then. I'm gasping for breath as my lungs go through the same agonizingly slow process as the rest of my body when Penrose stands above me. For once he looks impassive, almost like he doesn't want to do this.
"What happened to you, Vince?" he asks quietly, almost sadly.
I always thought I'd have something smart to say at a time like this. Some witty little piece of defiant trash-talk that I could spout. As it stands, all I can manage is a sound that's all too similar to someone choking on their own tongue.
This is how it happens, you know. All those people in the Homeland and elsewhere that are on time for work or dinner or whatever one day and the next they're gone like they never existed at all; all the mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers that vanished into the thin air of political prisons. We called them Black Bag Jobs back when I fought for the Empire. Penrose pulls his heel up above my face and his grin comes back. I knew the fucker was enjoying himself. He brings it down, hard, and my head bounces off the pavement as the world fades to black.
And just like that… I'm a ghost.
Author's Note: Well then. So much for all my promises from Chapter III, huh? Sorry about that, folks. I cannot begin to tell you how much hassle this chapter gave me. I must've been stuck on page 6 or so (total page count is 18) for about two months. And then I got stuck on page 8. And then the ol' brain started firing again. Anyway, I wanted this chapter to pick the pace up a little thanks to Chapter III taking a much slower direction. Thoughts?
As always, a big thank you to Dark Freddie and Mika Kuruyame for being there to edit this story, put up with my bullshit, and giving me some sorely-needed advice. Another round of thanks goes out to you, the audience. Without you, this story would be meaningless. Anyway, stay tuned for Chapter V. It should be out soon-ish/eventually ™.
