Gambit 3rd version.
Chapter 7: Kill the president!
Warning; very angsty part in the middle: self-loathing. It's Suzaku. I'm pretty sure he rolls that way. :p
0000~Ch~0000
The proverb says it one can lead a horse to water, but one cannot make it drink.
Charles had always thought that was a thought entertained by peasants and other simpleminded folk. He had never had any trouble making any horse, or any proverbial other creature for that matter, drink what he offered. And if any ever did give him trouble, he was quite capable of taking said horse's head and hold it forcibly underwater until it relented.
Then again, most horses he had known were not convinced that he was evil incarnated. Most horses did not take delight in the simple act of going against him.
No, the old ghost had to admit, if Lelouch was a horse, it was definitely the first he had met that would rather drown then be forced to drink. Well, at least if it was his father doing the forcing. Why his son was so obstructive was beyond the old ghost; he supposed he had not been the best father, but surely the child could see he was trying to make amends? Perhaps this was one of these teen things, but the self-destructiveness with which the boy responded to the old monarch's attempts to set him straight was beyond annoying.
The old king's mood was well soured as he followed the boy's slow trudge through the dark city's streets. And it had started out as such a good day; he had caused the Stadtfield girl to find his son a second time, adding the second bonus that the ghost himself was saved the trouble of searching for wayward son.
Also, from the way the girl had acted, it was obvious she was willing to have the boy back in her life. Hell, with the acting and story fabrication the boy could do it should have been no problem at all to turn the girl to his- no, their- cause. She would have been such a great asset too; strong, beautiful, smart and useful.
Spite indeed; no, if Lelouch was a horse, he was the kind that after being led to water spat in your face, laughed, and then proceeded to gulp down a bucket of potassium cyanide instead.
If things were not bad enough, he could read enough of the boy's thoughts to know what he planned to do with his newly acquired firearm. The specter scowled; didn't the boy know anything of right and wrong? Sure, the old king himself had done some pretty nasty things in his time, but at least he had believed all those crimes would have become void after Charles had made his dream come true.
As his son had refused – destroyed - dream as well, certainly the boy would understand there was no such promise of absolution for him?
The ghost tried to reason with his son one more time; "Don't you think you've killed enough?" trying to shake him into answering.
The boy did not respond, stubbornly pretending the ghost did not exist. For the umpteenth time this night the emperor's spirit found himself wishing that he'd spend a few less hours of his life on realizing the Ragnarok connection, and a few more beating sense into his son.
Thinking to goad an answer out of him, he read the teen's thought again, "If a Britannian like you kills the president, every Britannian left in the country will be murdered. Have you thought of how that will effect foreign relations?"
The boy missed a step, but still would not answer. The specter did not even bother reading minds this time. The child actually though he could take the fall for this himself! It was amazing how a boy so jaded and distrustful to his own father could be so gullible when it involved the world as a whole.
"No, my boy; you played that card. You already got executed for your crimes. If you go and commit some new crimes, in your own name even, someone is bound to figure out you are not dead."
The dead King supposed it was progress that the boy finally retorted.
"So the official story has to be it was one of the Demon King's agents."
The child made a scary face, taking his hands out of his pockets pretending they were claws.
The old king snorted at him. "There aren't any of your agents left, kid. You either got them to turn on you, or killed them yourself. And you seem pretty insistent about not getting any new ones." Then Charles made his voice thick with sarcasm. "Or are you going to get yourself caught already?"
The boy grunted absentmindedly. "Not yet. I'm not done yet."
It was enough the drive a good father mad: "Fine, boy, if you will not listen to reason I will find someone to beat it into you."
0000~S~0000
If there was one thing Kururugi Suzaku hated, it was conceit.
Actually, there were quite a few other things he hated too: lies, deceit, murder and ruthless kind of callousness that allowed men to keep moving forward, despite being ankle deep in blood already.
As fate would have it, these were all traits he ascribed to the symbol whose role he now had to play; to Zero. Zero, the revolutionary, Zero the murderer. Zero the liar, Zero his enemy. And now, finally, Zero the mask on his face.
As part of poetic justice, he spent just about all his waking hours surrounded by people displaying these same traits he hated so. As part of his further torture, he was required to be civil and friendly with these creatures. Zero the resistance leader was now Zero the diplomat, spending days and nights on end in meaningless meetings with the scum of the earth: diplomats, politicians and technocrats.
And Zero the idol sat through such meetings dutifully, making friendly conversation with these bureaucrats. As opposed to what he longed to do; end their miserable existences with a grand tour de force.
More than once every evening, Suzaku would have to stop himself from chuckling as he imagined himself piloting his Lancelot through and over the people across the table from him.
When they had been boys, he had often accused his friend Lelouch of theatrics, but the truth was, he quite enjoyed a good show himself; just the kind with less talking and more blood.
Within his black mask, he nodded politely at another diplomat that was trying to win him over to his cause.
"So you see, lord Zero," the man cooed agreeably "it would be best if Sakuradite mining would be taking over by the Releigh group."
The knight folded up behind the mask envisioned the creature before him with his entrails fed to him as he politely listened. Lelouch had covered this with him: the man was in Releigh's pocket.
Suzaku had memorized Zero's answer "Of course, if you feel that is for the best. After all, you are the expert." Inwardly Suzaku seethed, but he kept a pleasant outward appearance. "I expect your board's report so I can base my decision on that."
The man paled at that; he might be in Releigh's pocket but the rest of the board was not.
It was a small victory; much less pleasing then pulling the man apart bare handedly would have been. But that was also part of his own punishment; because in more ways than he liked to admit, he was just like these men.
He too, was hidden behind a false mask of lies, living off victories not his own; living off lives taken so that he might keep his. So many lives ended! Unconsciously, he closed and opened his hands, feeling the fresh scar markings running up his arms. They gave him comfort; the nameless numbered dead, but at least he did not forget them. It was a shame he had run out of space, though.
The evening ran into night, and the boredom wore on as suit maneuvered against suit for such base needs as money and power. But he sat through it all, keeping his head high and his back straight as if the sight and stench of it did not shame him. Shame the memories of all who had died for this travesty of peace.
And when the politicians and mongrels had finally left, he too, would get up, leave the meeting room and retreat to his underground chambers. He would visit the surveillance rooms with their secret cameras pointed at men and women that he knew or not, going through motions and talks that might have held meaning to the original owner of his mask, but were nothing to him.
And then, he would enter his own sanctuary, a training room decked out with tatami tiles, and he would train. And as he did, he would recite to the spirit of the last man he had killed -likely also the last man he would ever kill: Ah, Lelouch, you demon, my brother in crime. I killed you and you made me live. I might forgive you now, I know. But would you please trade with me? Ah, but if you lived and I had died, then we would both have gotten our wish, and that would not have been a punishment, now, would it have?
He recited such words, and he believed he meant them. But Suzaku could not even be sure anymore; he had spouted quite a lot of idealism in his time, and had believed it all. But when confronted with his own crimes, they had turned into hollow excuses. Perhaps it was not Zero the idol that was rotten, but this new creature hidden behind the mask.
No, Suzaku had found he did not truly believe in words anymore at all. Words were the stuff of lies; the only thing true in this world was action. And so he practiced his stances and his battle techniques in solitude until early morning. Until he would collapse with bleeding fingers on his wooden sword, and he would finally be able to sleep a few short hours before the carnival of lies would begin again.
If there was one thing Kururugi Suzaku hated, it was conceit. Actually, there were quite a few other things he hated too: lies, deceit, murder and ruthless kind of callousness that allowed men to keep moving forward despite being ankle deep in blood already. If there was one thing Suzaku hated, it was himself.
0000~A~0000
The cat that liked to think of himself as 'Lord of The School' yawned lazily at the academy senior's insistent grumbling; the boy was moving far too much for the mutt's liking and so he sunk his nails into the boy's legs ever so slightly in warning.
The youth wizened up, and sat still obediently, scratching the old cat behind his ears, "Can you believe it, Arthur?" Rivalz confided. "Even my one true love left me in the end. And look what for!" His lordship opened a lazy eye at the offending TV screen, half recognizing the ditzy reporter talking into the camera.
She, of course, was not the object of the senior's scorn; no, never her: never his beloved Milly. This time, the offender was a well-dressed half-wit in a suit next to her. "And today, we have another first, folks! I have here with us today, none other than our new president, Shinichirō Tamaki!"
The big male next to her went from an embarrassed chuckle to an outright annoying guffaw. Suddenly, the cat found himself sharing the sentiments of this boy he had dubbed his bed for tonight.
The man-child mumbled into the cat's fur, a single tear in his eye. "What does he have that which I don't?"
Arthur gave the boy a low hum in warning, but he misunderstood. "Well, except being president, of course."
The two people on screen were talking excitedly: a young news reporter and her big scoop; a suddenly respectful buffoon and an appetizing young thing. Arthur gave one last warning as the student started hugging him, tantalized by the flirting Japanese president and his long-time crush.
"You know, Arthur, I would have made a fine president too; if I'd been Japanese and stuff. Well, better than this- ouch!" Fed up with the student's treatment, his eminence, 'Lord of the School' left the room with a slow, regal step. His tail straight and legs long, as he pointedly ignored the swearing teen behind him. A lord was a lord, and he would rather be dog-food than be treated like some stuffed animal.
Arthur walked the empty hallways in annoyance, looking for a better servant to pat him and serve him tonight. Unfortunately, the school's halls were empty these days, as only a few students were brave enough to visit a school that had been solely for Britannians until recently.
Sighing a cat's sigh, the lord was about to turn around and try to make up with that Rivalz boy when he smelled a familiar smell: it was his special mistress! With a joy not really befitting such a regal creature, Arthur sped down the hall, and jumped down the last steps of the stairway, straight into her arms.
The girl gave a surprised murmur, catching the excited feline. Purring loudly, he drank in her smell of crusted cheese and tomato sauce. "Hello, Arthur," she said after a moment, putting him down. "Did you miss me?"
0000~L~0000
After a change of outfits in one of his safe spots, Lelouch-dressed-as-Zero strode regally through the quiet streets. He kept his back straight despite the black cape flapping wildly in the wind, and the single hesitant passer-by could not mistake him for an impersonator; he was the real thing.
In some ways, it frightened him that the simple change of clothes made him a different man almost subconsciously, but it also made sense that such a long-time role would come easy to him. A true actor does not act like a character, he becomes the character, and to Lelouch, it was like he had come home after a long leave of absence.
Acquiring a costume had not been hard; he had dealt them out by a million not so long ago. The strange part was perhaps, that no-one seemed to wear them. The symbol of Zero apparently incited so much reverence that even children preferred to don only half a costume if they decided to play hero.
Though being Zero again felt natural, the determination in his gait was forceful; and he had to put real effort into keeping up his step without slowing to drag his heels. The reason for this was threefold. First of all, none of this should have been necessary; for what was the point of Zero Requiem if it required him alive and ready to steer back to the plan at any time?
Second, this plan of going himself to rectify the error was... well, stupid. He supposed it would be better to find someone to do this dirty work for him. Perhaps Gottwald or some brainwashed no-body that had not yet discovered. It would certainly work out better if anything went wrong tonight. But it had never been his way to keep his own hands clean, and to him, trying to do so now would only sink him lower then he already had.
That left the third reason; murder was, categorically, wrong. Even with all he had done, he knew this; maybe because of all of it, he knew especially well. Killing a friend, even if it was not a very good or loyal one was, he supposed, even worse. It was discerning even to him to realize he had come back from the dead, only to spread even more death in his wake.
Even knowing all this, he plowed on ahead, relentless. After all, how could he turn away now? He had not turned before, in the face of far greater atrocities. As far as he could see, he was still following that same road he had started on two years ago, that fateful day when he had found a witch in a capsule and had started a new life. No, maybe he had been on this road even longer, since the death of his mother and crippling of his sister. Regardless, he saw no other option; except perhaps to move faster before his father's ghost managed to set off an alarms or something.
Thinking thus he wasted no time, turning the corner to get his first view of his target; a large mansion with a garden in the European style. There were several guards stationed around the premises, but he gave them no further thought. As Zero, he strode up to the presidential residence with the confidence that his role provided him, leaving some abashed guards at the front gates. Only in front of the door did he stop, to address the guards at attention there. "Zero here to see Tamaki- or is it Mister President now? Tell him I am in a hurry."
The guards looked at each other worriedly, but he had expected something like that. Putting a hand on hip in feigned irritation he sighed; "Well…?" he turned the black visor hiding his face from one guard to the other. "Did I not just say I was in a hurry?"
They both jumped to a salute. Idiots; anyone could have been wearing this suit.
The answer was not what he hoped to hear though.
"Yes, Zero sir. You see, sir." The guard hesitated. "His eminence is…indisposed right now." Zero put a hand to the black helm, turning for their better appreciation of his trademark silhouette. After am moment he sighed, "Then tell him to put his dick back into his pants so I can come in."
He had guessed right, of course; one of the guards gave another a shaky salute, and opened the door to disappear through it. He only broke eye contact when the door closed.
The second guard stayed at his post, but from his bright-eyed expression Lelouch surmised it was more likely the man would ask for his autograph than suggest anything as indecent as searching him for weapons.
It caught him slightly off guard; Lelouch Vi Britannia had not felt such authentic admiration directed at his person since he had cast the mask of Zero away. With some difficulty, he feigned cultured indifference: Zero did not go around basking in anyone's admiration, especially not some no-bodies like this.
The guard's stare was mercifully broken when a woman's excited voice boomed up from behind the door. "Oh, no please. I had meant to be leaving a while ago now. Haha!"
The laugh was a bit tense, but Lelouch was pretty sure he knew it well. "Anyway, I see my cameraman already went home too. And as you have business to attend to…"
The door burst open, and none other than Milly Ashford came waltzing out; or maybe she was fleeing. She seemed somewhat disheveled, her hair messy and her coat in hand.
It was a testament to the state she was in that she had already passed the black clad resistance hero before she turned to notice him. "Zeeero!" She finally chimed, digging into her purse. "What a wonderful surprise!" She finally fished out a tape recorder, "What brings you here tonight?"
Lelouch was already up the stairs and through the doors though, calling: "State affairs, not media gossip, Miss Ashford." behind him.
Thankfully, neither Milly, nor either of the guards made to follow him, and with a quick surmise of the hall's layout, he guessed what must be the presidential office. He let himself in, closing the door solidly behind.
The sight that greeted him elicited a groan from him: Tamaki was sitting at his desk, the smear of lipstick on his cheek evident. He looked somewhat confused, and his breath was a little too fast for someone who had been sitting down. Steeling himself, Lelouch locked the door and walked to the center of the room. Only then did the new president seem to notice him.
"I thought she liked me…"he said softly, as if in man was stammering, "Zero… she… I…"
Even when Zero pulled the weapon from his pocket the man made little more sense. "Now hold on, best bud! It wasn't like that!"
Lelouch ground his teeth in frustration, before deciding he could shock the simpleton into sense: He chuckled darkly. "Oh, it is a different reckoning today, Tamaki-kun." He pulled the face-covering mask up with a flourish, "Hello again, best bud!"
It was a wonderful piece of theatrics; so wonderful in fact, that the president was completely stunned.
For more than a minute: Lelouch knew he was running out of time.
He growled at the man in front of him. "Come on, best bud. I want some answers. Why did you run for president?"
The man seemed as clueless as ever though: "Because you asked me to…?" then became even more confused. "No wait. You are dead. Zero asked me; sometime after he killed you."
Tamaki started adding up fingers. "So you could not have asked me. That was Zero. But you are Zero…" The president gave up. "Argh! This is just too hard!" His eyes zoned in on the gun then. "Are you going to kill me?"
Lelouch wasn't sure why hearing that made him smirk. "Why yes, actually…"
He should have pulled the trigger right there and then. But there were still too many unanswered questions; so much he needed to ask!
When his father's ghost came bolting in through a wall, Lelouch faltered a crucial moment. The usually stoic specter was falling over itself talking. "Alright, so I might have done a bad thing. I got him to see you, on camera. He's right behind me. But he's not right in his head, did you know? You have to run, jump out the window…" The ghost trailed off, taking in the scene before him.
The action seemed to calm it, but then the specter veered in between the unmasked Zero and his quarry. "Don't you dare!" It stated with alarming certainty.
Lelouch laughed incredulously, "What, you are trying to stop me now?" The specter shook its head in reply. "This is your last chance, Lelouch." Something about the ghost tone made Lelouch curious; but still, he figured: "It doesn't matter."
The ghost warned him again, throwing the young man's musings from before back at him. "Lelouch, if you don't stop killing after you've died, you will never stop."
Despite himself, the young Demon king found himself nodding; assenting there was truth in such words. "Alright…"
He focused from the specter to the president; the man had got up, and was backing up with hands in the air. He looked from Lelouch to the empty air with confused eyes. The Demon king knew what he had to do; "Your point has been noted." Lelouch pulled the trigger.
Time seemed to slow down: the ghost lunged at the gun; Tamaki dove away and the door exploded to his side. Charles's ghost obscured his view, but it was dealt with by a wave of his arm. Lelouch cursed under his breath though, realizing his shot could not have been lethal; Tamaki was on the floor, clutching his chest, but still very much alive.
Single minded in his determination, Lelouch cocked another shot. But then his gun was gone, a spraying red fountain in its place. It took him a second to realize that fountain was gushing from a hole in his hand. Another two before the pain hit.